Page 100 of Backhanded Compliments

She trudges to her room, feeling like a fool for hoping to see Luca. For thinking maybe she’d see the same misery she feels reflected in Luca. That Luca might storm over to her and shake her and tell her she’s being stupid.

Maybe she is being stupid.

She goes through the motions of getting ready even though she wants to collapse face-first into the freshly fluffed pillows and let sleep take her away from her messy feelings.

Juliette finally opens Livia’s text. A new one flashes at her. It’s a recommendation to post something about Claudia’s doubles’ win and wish good luck to Octavia. Juliette groans and considers ignoring the suggestion, but she doesn’t want to seem petty by ignoring her sisters’ success when she’s flopping.

She yanks her camera out of her satchel and lays back against the covers to start flipping through her photos. None of them are particularly great, so her eyes glaze over until she hits a photo she forgot she took.

She gasps, her stomach suddenly aching as she stares at Luca. In a jolt, Juliette is back on Miami Beach. She can feel the tickle of saltwater air in her nose, hear the din of a crowd in her ears. The beginnings of Luca’s smile is just starting to curl at the corners of hermouth, the dimple on her left cheek starting to show, a shadowy hint of the real thing. She is squinting against the sun, but her gaze is fixed firmly on the lens. OnJuliette.

Juliette scrolls back further, to pictures of a night she sometimes wishes she could forget, but can’t. Luca at the gala, bathed in red light. Juliette’s shaky hands give the photo a blurry edge. But Luca’s eyes are on her… again. Sharply in focus, as if Juliette is the only one in the room.

With her heart heavy in her chest, pressing her into the bed like an anvil, she goes to the first photo she ever took of Luca. Her fingertips tingle with the memory of Luca’s cheekbone against her skin.

She’d caught Luca midgasp, with her cheeks just starting to flush, a soft gradient of rosy pinks that Juliette knows spreads all the way down her neck and chest. The lighting is low, but Juliette had adjusted the settings to make Luca visible. Her eyes are so soft, windows to her emotions. Longing and want andhope.

Juliette hugs her camera against her chest, unable to look at Luca looking at her like that. Its weight presses against her collarbones, much like the swell of yearning that surges outward from her heart. ShemissesLuca. Her presence, her humor, her insight, herlove. Even if they haven’t said it yet, Juliette knows it down to the marrow of her bones.

She may be able to get her career back on track without Luca, butfuck, she doesn’twantto. She doesn’t care if her life spirals out of control again because Luca grounds her.

Juliette breathes out, the tightness in her chest unwinding.

She has to fix this.

THIRTY-NINELUCA

A storm brews on the horizon. Luca can’t see it, but she can feel it as she steps out onto Center Court. If she squints, she swears she can see a crackle of electricity in the snapping heat. The sky is a marbled tapestry of charcoal and dove gray. The temperature has been cruel, rising steadily all week until Saturday, where it is reaching a crescendo, and the threat of the storm is ratcheting up. The hair on the back of her neck rises, and goose bumps bubble across her skin as the crowd roars. Luca hopes she can win quickly.

She shouldn’t be worried. She has played Octavia Ricci twice before, winning both times. But she is Juliette’s sister, and Luca can’t afford to think about Juliette right now.

Luca readjusts the strap against her shoulder, watching Octavia’s lithe silhouette walk down the sideline to the opposite bench. She closes her eyes in an effort to focus through the 1990s pop music and burble of the crowd. Her palms are already sweaty as she grabs her racket and jogs to the net for the formalities. She keeps her energy and focus in order for the first game. Her serve snaps, the court is fast, and the balls lance through the heat. Octavia is a slow starter though, Luca knows this, so she has to stay on top of the game. Pounce before Octavia sinks her teeth into the match.

Octavia struggles to guess where her serve will go. And when she does get into a rally with Luca, she has Octavia dance on a string, running her from side to side until Octavia makes an error or Luca ribbons the ball down the line for a winner.

Luca’s mind is unusually clear. The match is playing out in even,clinical strokes, and she wins her first service game easily. They switch sides, and Luca straightens her strings, plucking at them as more of a habit than them actually being uneven. She glances to her left, eyes lifting, and meets the intense and intimately familiar gaze of Juliette Ricci. A shiver traces down Luca’s spine as Juliette holds her stare before taking a breath and leaning back in her seat, lazily lounging with her arms crossed.

Luca knew that it was more than likely that Juliette would be at the match. She thought she was ready for it. She’d seen her around the tennis complex without issue. Sure, her pulse had sped up, but she hadn’t spiraled.

She snaps out of her stupor and jogs to the baseline, heart hammering in her chest.

She hadn’t thought it would affect her this much, to see Juliette. Still, her stomach clenches uncomfortably at the idea that Juliette had positioned herself front and center so Luca could see her. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, Luca won’t let it affect her.

JULIETTE

It is odd to be sitting in the opposite player’s box than the one Juliette had been in less than twenty-four hours earlier. Now, instead of being flanked by her father and Octavia, she’s in the center of the box next to Claudia and Leo.

She watches her sister exit the tunnel, waving at the crowd. To the untrained eye, anyone would think Octavia was the pinnacle of calm. But Juliette can distinctly see the tension shifting in her shoulders, her nerves in the way she fiddles with her watch, the way she smooths the collar of her tank top down.

Sweat trickles down Juliette’s neck, and she sighs. Maybe she should have followed her father’s advice and gotten on the plane to New York. She uncaps her water bottle and sips, the coolness soothing her aching throat for a moment.

At this point, it doesn’t matter. She’s already here, feet from the court, and it would only upset Octavia if she left.

She had thought the sight of Luca would knock her breathless, but instead, her heart rate picks up, and her skin prickles. Intense longing sweeps through her so fast it’s dizzying. Luca looks focused, intense, energized. She looks more tan in her black and white kit, glowing and beautiful.

Luca and Octavia are matched in strengths and weaknesses. Octavia is fast as lightning with quick hands that neutralize Luca’s heavy power. But if Luca stays aggressive on the baseline, she might be able to cut Octavia apart with short angles. Still, no matter how their styles line up, it will come down to their mental fortitude.

“Do you think Octavia can pull this off?” Claudia asks, leaning into Juliette, whispering so Leo doesn’t hear her. He is sitting on the other side of Juliette, leaning forward and already dialed in to watching, intense as ever.

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