Chapter 7 #3
Darcy had assumed Juliet would be the first one to say something, when she drew up to their shared table. That seemed to be her M.O., after all.
So, when Darcy came to a stop behind her own empty chair, curling her fingers over the back but not quite pulling it out yet, she paused. Waiting.
Only at that moment did Juliet drop her eyes away from Darcy, looking down at her menu.
Darcy’s hand tightened on her chair. So that was how it was going to be? That was how it was still going to be?
She pointedly cleared her throat as she sat in her chair, staring across the table.
At this point, it was a part of her own pride to not look away from Juliet.
Maybe Juliet wanted to glance away from her, maybe Juliet thought that was how she would maintain some sort of power here.
But Darcy would maintain her own power by refusing to back down.
“It’s so great to finally meet you,” Darcy drawled, her eyes narrowing slightly as she continued to stare Juliet down.
Juliet hummed noncommittally. “That was almost believable.”
Darcy could feel the muscle in her jaw twitch, a retort burning in the back of her throat.
But she pictured Eliana. And beyond that, she pictured Shelby Linwood.
And she blew out a deep, calming breath.
“At the very least, I’m glad we can actually have a face-to-face.
We can bury whatever this issue is and focus on our song. ”
She figured they could at least both agree on that. Right?
Juliet finally lifted her gaze back to Darcy’s, slowly lifting an eyebrow up at her. “Our song?” She echoed back, sounding both amused and exasperated. At least, Darcy thought that was it.
“Yes… our song for Shelby Linwood? ‘Porchlight,’” she spoke slowly, wondering if Juliet somehow had come to this lunch uninformed. “The song we’re supposed to be recording together tomorrow?”
Juliet’s eyes narrowed. “I know what ‘Porchlight’ is, Darcy. But referring to anything as ours, implying you and I have joint ownership over anything is…”
She trailed off, her lips pursing tightly.
Darcy couldn’t help but toss her hands into the air, letting them fall into her lap. “Okay, seriously, what is your problem? You even take issue with my saying our song when I’m referring to the song we’re going to be doing together?”
What the literal fuck?
“No, you’re right. It’s our song,” Juliet murmured back, shaking her head. “Oh, by the way, I appreciate that you dressed up for our lunch.”
Darcy eyed Juliet’s outfit, or what she could see of it, anyway.
In a pale blue wrap top – the fabric light and airy – that dipped just low enough to show the hint of cleavage but not ever more than a hint, and her hair half-up and pulled away from her face in a braid, she looked precisely how Darcy would have imagined.
“That’s pretty ironic, you know, coming from you. ”
She didn’t say anything else; she didn’t have to.
Mostly because she knew from the way Juliet’s eyes narrowed even more at her, the way they burned so bright, they were both thinking about how a couple of months ago in an interview, Darcy had referred to Juliet’s “signature look” being that of a grown-up television child star.
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s cute,” she’d said.
And, if she was being super honest, she actually did find it cute.
Not on many adults. Definitely not on herself.
But Juliet – so fucking annoyingly – really did look like she should have a halo shining above her head.
Especially here, right now, in this blindingly bright restaurant.
She was one of few adult women who could wear her cute, relatively conservatively cut outfits and manage to look really good.
Juliet would never dare wear a genuinely low-cut top, or a dress with a dangerously high slit up the side.
Juliet’s glare was now in full force. “Like I’ve said before: I think it’s really refreshing that you haven’t let anything change who you really are, deep down inside. I’m sure you’ve worn that outfit while tending the bar at the bowling alley. It’s incredibly precious.”
And there it was, the mirror of the words Juliet had thrown around about her that had forced Darcy’s hand into commenting on Juliet’s wardrobe a few months ago.
Annoyance zipped through her. “I’m just going to cut through the crap and say it: you’re not better than I am, Juliet,” she stated, her hand digging into her own thigh. “Just because you have your dad’s money to back you up, just because you were successful before I was–”
“Stepdad,” Juliet cut in sharply. “And, I’m sorry, when did I say I was better than you?”
Darcy’s mouth fell open in offense because she’d believed they were at least past the bullshit. She leaned forward, the edge of the table biting into her chest. “Literally the first time you ever spoke my name.”
Juliet waved her hand, imperiously. “I was talking about music, not who you were as a person.”
“It’s the same damn thing, and you know it.” Passion surged through her as she leaned in even farther, as far as she could, making sure to keep her voice down at the last second. “I know you know it.”
She knew Juliet was lying out of her fucking teeth by saying it was about music, but that it wasn’t personal.
Maybe to Blythe, that would fly, because she was so damn secure, she never took anything personally.
Maybe to someone else who didn’t care as deeply about this the way Darcy did, it could be palatable.
But Darcy put all of herself into her music; it was her identity. She’d put every ounce of time and energy she’d had, her blood, sweat, and tears had been poured into this since long before she’d ever been able to create something that could be considered good, something to be proud of.
Throughout so much of her life, it was one of the only things she felt she could be proud of.
It was personal.
She didn’t have a real relationship with Juliet, so it was highly likely that certain aspects she’d inferred about her could be inaccurate. But if Darcy was certain about one thing when it came to Juliet? It was that she felt the same way Darcy did about the music they created.
If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared so much about their sparring in the media. If Juliet didn’t take comments about her music as comments about her, Juliet-the-person, she wouldn’t have gotten that look in her eyes that she had in all of the video clips Darcy had watched on repeat.
Anger, frustration, hurt – all of those impassioned feelings simmering under the surface.
Darcy could see it in Juliet, because she felt it, herself, in the same way.
Juliet had that same look in her eyes right now.
Even as the rest of her expression was masked into something perfectly placid – god, Eliana would die for Darcy to be able to replicate that – that look in her eyes was anything but. Stormy and heated – yeah, Darcy knew Juliet fucking felt it.
“Even if that was the case, you were the one who made things really personal,” Juliet snapped back, her voice just above a whisper. “You were the one who took the next step.”
Darcy reeled back, incredulously stabbing her index finger against her own chest. “Me?!”
“Yes, you. You’re the one who wrote a fucking song about me and posted it online.”
“You–” Darcy was so indignant, she stuttered over her words. “You started everything. I would never have taken some random shot at you. Never. You’re the one who couldn’t stand it that I got an award and decided to bad-mouth me.”
No matter what else Juliet would ever try to say in her own defense, the truth about how this had started could never be denied. Darcy had beat her at the North American Music Awards. Juliet was bitter. The end.
Well, it had technically been their beginning, but – whatever.
Juliet opened her mouth, and Darcy was buzzing inside with anticipation. Ready for the fight about whatever Juliet was going to say this time. Her exhaustion was long forgotten, because the way her blood was thrumming through her veins made her feel so… alive.
Then Juliet’s eyes darted over Darcy’s shoulder, and her face did something so irritatingly impressive.
Her features smoothed into a beautiful smile, and it looked so genuine, it was enough to throw Darcy completely off.
She really, really wished that the way Juliet looked in photoshoots and music videos and in televised interviews wouldn’t ring true to how she looked in real life.
Darcy now knew, first-hand, how much makeup and staging went into all that. It could have been super feasible for Juliet not to be this attractive live, up-close, in-person.
But no.
Her skin looked just as soft as it did on a front-page, so apparently it wasn’t air-brushed.
Her very light sprinkle of a few freckles over the bridge of her nose gave her a cute, delicate look that, somehow, was both at-odds with and complementary to her pouty bottom lip and that fiery look in her honey brown eyes.
“There’s paparazzi over your left shoulder, right outside the window – don’t look. Are you kidding me right now?” Juliet hissed between her teeth, miraculously managing to barely move her lips as she was still wearing that sweet grin. “Don’t be so na?ve.”
Darcy felt her cheeks heat because, fine, yes, she had been about to turn around and look. She rolled her eyes. “Excuse me, but it’s normal human instinct to look when someone tells you there’s something over your shoulder.” It wasn’t na?ve.
“Get up,” Juliet muttered, nodding at her.
Taken aback, Darcy could only stare as Juliet smoothly pushed up and out of her seat. Paired with her top was, predictably, a cute, light brown skirt that – of course – didn’t reveal too much leg.
“What are you doing?” She asked, totally lost, dragging her eyes up Juliet’s body to land on her face.
“Get. Up,” Juliet repeated, her eyes so intense as they bored down at Darcy. “Hurry. We’re going to hug. This is what the whole lunch is about, Darcy.”