Chapter Forty-Seven Luca
FORTY-SEVEN LUCA
It is ninety-five degrees on court, and Luca feels like she’s standing in a pool of magma. No matter how much she dries her face, sweat drips into her eyes. Summer has come back for a cruel last day, the autumn equinox only two days away.
Regardless of how the heat threatens to drag her into an exhausted slumber, Luca feels excellent. It’s always nice to play on hard courts, even if heat shimmers off them like a mirage. Despite the rising temperature, the atmosphere in New York is electric, and it buzzes in her blood.
Karoline Kitzinger stands before her, looking cool and collected in her light linen suit. Luca wonders how they managed to convince her to be the on-court interviewer, but she’s surprisingly charming when she’s not heatedly trying to encourage them to win.
“Luca, congratulations. We all know how immensely talented you are, and after that incredible comeback in Cincinnati, I can’t help but feel you’re hitting your stride. What is it about this New York atmosphere that invigorates you to play your best tennis?” Karoline asks.
A dozen different replies rise to her lips, but she chooses the most neutral. “Well, I am most at home on the hard courts, and I have really found a love and appreciation for New York. This city has treated me well.”
The crowd roars, and Luca allows herself to smile, even as bubbles of anxiety simmer below the surface.
“You, Zoe Almasi, and Remi Rowland are locked in a war for the number one ranking. You have to win the title to lock in your ranking for the next few weeks. What are your preparations to ensure your success?” Karoline asks.
“I haven’t really been thinking about the rankings, if I’m being honest. Not for a few weeks.
I’m trying to live in the moment, and every match is difficult, as you know,” Luca says, and Karoline nods.
“But I try not to put too much pressure on achieving a certain ranking and instead focus on enjoying the game and hoping that I can play my best. I’m excited to play more matches and see where I can get to. ”
“One final question,” Karoline says with a lightning quick smile. It knocks Luca off-balance. “I know players don’t like to speculate on who you’re playing next, but you’re either playing Ingrid Karlsen or Juliette Ricci in the semifinal on Friday. What are your thoughts on those two?”
Luca knew this question would come up eventually. “Well, I don’t know Karlsen that well. I’ve played her only once, but I know Ricci really well.” Luca scratches her thigh, where a love bite from Juliette is still healing.
Karoline’s fair brows jump into her hairline. “Really well? In a keep-your-enemies-closer sort of way?” There is a sharpness to her eyes, and Luca realizes her mistake. “Because Ricci is your rival?”
Luca shrugs. “That’s what people say, but we have a lot of respect for each other. I got to know her during the Connolly Cup.” She hopes everyone watching will attribute the flush flaming across her face to the hot sun and court.
“Would you consider her your rival?” Karoline asks.
Luca shrugs. “You’d have to ask her that.
” She holds up her hands, her smile placating.
“Regardless, I’m going to try to be as ready as possible for either of them, because they’re both super different players with distinct styles.
They’ve both had an amazing season, and they’re both playing really well.
” Luca pauses and then adds, “I just hope it’s a long, excellent match for all the fans to enjoy, and whoever I play is a little tired on Friday.
” Luca snickers, winning a ruckus of laughs from the crowd.
“Well, excellent work today, Luca, you’ve played incredible tennis in this blistering heat. Get your well-deserved rest, and we’ll see you in the semis.”
Luca steps back from the microphone with a gracious thank you and waves to the crowd, squinting away from the sun.
JULIETTE
Juliette’s match gets pushed deep into the night because of a men’s quarterfinal going five sets.
And even though Luca should be sleeping, she can’t miss the match.
During the tournament, their schedules rarely aligned, but at the end of the night, they would collapse into their bed and wake entangled in a mess of limbs, hair, and sheets.
After three grueling sets, Juliette finally crushes Karlsen in the deciding tiebreaker. Despite how Luca’s eyes burn, she keeps herself upright as she watches Juliette’s postmatch interview.
She looks tired, dripping with sweat and hair lank against her shoulders, a red line ribboned across her forehead from her tight headband. But there’s a brightness to her eyes that Luca knows intimately well.
Payton Calimeris is conducting the interview. “Congratulations, Juliette,” she says. “That was an amazing performance against Ingrid, who has had such an incredible run and been on court for half the amount of time you have.”
The camera focuses on Juliette’s face, and the edge of her mouth lifts into a barely-there smile.
Juliette talks through her strategy and the emotions of the match, stumbling through some of the words, which betrays how tired she is.
It’s strange to watch her now, with her media mask in place and her guard up.
Before, Luca thought this version of Juliette was the only one that existed—the carefully crafted persona of a charming athlete that oozed with saccharine charm and silver-tongued sharpness.
But Luca knows the deeper parts of Juliette now.
The ways she’s quietly sensitive and vulnerable, but still willing to be brave and goofy.
Her profoundly caring and kind personality that isn’t without its wicked edges, insecurities, and jealousies.
People are patchwork mosaics of not only their experience and genetics, but also of everyone they’ve ever known, and Luca yearns to know every quilted block of Juliette.
“So, you’ll be facing your rival, Lucky Luca Kacic, on Friday. How are you preparing for that match?” Payton asks.
The mask melts away as Juliette laughs. “Rival, huh?” Chuckles scatter through the crowd.
“Would you say you’re not rivals? She did say to ask you about it,” Payton says with a cheeky grin.
Juliette tosses her head back and huffs out a laugh. “Of course she did,” she murmurs, a touch too fond. Luca wonders how tennis fans will analyze that. “I think we’ve come a long way since January and the Australian Open.”
“Understatement of the century,” Luca says out loud, even though she’s alone.
“Of course, for the drama of it all, we’re rivals,” Juliette continues.
“We’re both vying for the same titles, the same accolades, the same acclaim.
But at the end of the day, we’re both just human beings, and I think over the last couple months since the Connolly Cup I’ve come to understand Luca more and more.
Our relationship has certainly changed.” There is an undercurrent to Juliette’s words that makes the hair on the back of Luca’s neck stand up.
Anyone could read between the lines, read deeper into what Juliette has said and the familiarity in which she uses Luca’s first name. If someone is looking really closely, like Luca is, they could plainly see the love on Juliette’s face.
“So, will it be easier or harder to play Kacic since you’re, shall we say, tentative friends?” Payton asks delicately.
Luca snorts. Tentative friends. Right.
Juliette scratches her arm, adjusts her wrist wrap, and smiles to herself.
“I think we both know how to do our jobs and be professionals. I think it’ll be a really good match because we’re both competitive.
I don’t think it’ll be harder to play her, because it’s always difficult.
She’s an unbelievable tennis player, and even if I haven’t always given the most glowing praise about the way she plays, her tenacity and fortitude have to be admired.
She won’t make it easy, I know that, but I don’t think it’ll affect us outside of the court. ”
Payton nods. “Well, thank you so much, Juliette, and congratulations on this spectacular win. Go get some rest, you certainly deserve it, and we’ll see you on Friday!”
Juliette nods and waves to the crowd before stepping away. Luca watches, barely listening to the commentary as Juliette signs a can of tennis balls and hits them into the crowd with a smile as bright as the sun.
Eventually, the coverage flips back to the booth, where a couple of former players are giving their analysis. Luca leaves it on as white noise while she brushes her teeth, sprays her lavender sleep mist, and takes her melatonin.
She’s exhausted, heat-beat, and aching, but she can’t find sleep yet. She stares at the wall and mulls on Juliette’s interview. They haven’t talked about what it will be like to play each other in any match, let alone the semifinals of a Grand Slam. Maybe they should talk to Remi and Xinya?
“We’ll figure it out,” Luca says to herself, as if speaking it aloud will make it manifest into existence and prevent it from festering in her brain. And eventually, despite her spinning thoughts, sleep rises like a tide and sweeps her into blissful black.