Page 20 of Backhanded Compliments

She can’t tell Kacic that she said those things because her drunken self has no filter and saying those mean things betrays how much she hates and wants Kacic in equal measure. That she makes Juliette hot under the collar, her skin prickly, and her throat tight. So instead she says, “It’s complicated.” It’s a bad excuse, and shame snares in her chest.

Kacic scoffs. “Complicated?”

“Whatever,” Juliette mutters, giving up for now. She needs a coffee to even attempt to be coherent.

Juliette storms into the house, yanking her satchel off the counter and hiking it over her shoulder. She pulls out her pair of rounded John Lennon sunglasses from the pocket and slides them on her face. She pauses in front of the mirror hanging by the door and scrapes her curls into a scrunchie, fiddling with a stubborn curl that’s trying to go rogue.

“You’re so vain,” Kacic says from where she stands at the sliding glass doors.

“Thank you,” Juliette says, flashing her a smile that is all teeth. She slams the door on her way out, playing with the keys as she heads for the bikes around the side of the villa.

An SUV pulls up in the drive, bouncing along the gravel, and all Juliette’s seething anger and guilt vanish the moment the car stops, the doors pop open, and her sisters spill out. Claudia bounds over to her, wrapping her in a hug with a squeal. “Surprise!”

“I thought you were coming later?” Juliette asks as she melts into the hug. Claudia pulls back but keeps an arm around Juliette’s shoulders.

“Livia got us earlier flights,” Octavia says, tossing her dark hair over her shoulders. Unlike the rest of them, she straightens her curls. The humidity is working hard to bring some of the curl back in the form of frizz, even though she’s done her best to tame it into chic, long layers and curtain bangs.

“And we come bearing coffees and breakfast,” a familiar voice says, the backseat door closing to reveal Leonardo Mantovani. Ranked number ten and one of the men’s tours’ biggest heartthrobs, Leo has been dating Octavia for nearly six years. He slings a tattooed arm around Octavia’s shoulders. He’s more handsome than sin, and Juliette has certainly heard enough grumbling about how unfair it is that ice queen Octavia Ricci pulled him.

Hell, Juliette had a crush when she first clapped eyes on him. Until she found out that Leo had her sister’s name on his wrist. Thenher desire to jump his bones had fled and she only saw him as a brother.

The front door opens and Juliette freezes. Claudia looks behind her and Juliette catches the edge of her mischievous grin. “Hello there, Luca!” she says, slipping into English.

Sometimes Juliette really hates her.

“Hello, Claudia,” Kacic says. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just fine,” Claudia purrs, and Juliette rolls her eyes. “How are you? Hope Jules didn’t bite. She’s testy before her coffee.”

Juliette glances back at Kacic, who is awkwardly loitering on the step.

She looks at Juliette, and for a moment, Juliette thinks Kacic is going to say something snippy and mean. Or perhaps tell Claudia that Juliette was a giant bitch.

Instead, Kacic flashes a secretive half-smile at Juliette, and her stomach swoops. “She welcomed me to Italy with limoncello, so I can’t complain.” Juliette notices a dimple pop on the corner of Kacic’s mouth. It’s strange to see it in real life.

“Oh, how sweet of her,” Claudia says, nudging Juliette’s side.

“Enough chitchat, the coffee is getting cold!” Octavia says, now balancing four to-go cups in her arms. Leo has several brown bags in his arms. “Sorry, Luca, we didn’t know you were here, otherwise we would’ve asked what you wanted. You can have Claudia’s coffee; she doesn’t need any more caffeine.”

“Hey!” Claudia protests.

Kacic laughs. “Not a problem. I don’t drink coffee.”

Juliette busies herself by relieving Octavia of two of the cups. “Come on, let’s eat on the patio,” she says, brushing Kacic’s shoulder as she moves around her and into the house. In the whirlwind of dumping out the pastries and fruit, somehow Claudia has maneuvered it so Juliette is at the end of the table across from Kacic.

“What is this exactly?” Kacic asks, looking down at the lobster tail–shaped pastry on her paper plate.

“It’ssfogliatelle, a pastry, obviously,” Juliette says. “It has ricotta and candied orange peel in the custard.” Juliette’s mouth waters. Theridges are dusted with sugar, flaking off as she cuts through the shell with practiced ease and the custard cream seeps out along the rich brown pastry. She groans softly as she eats each bite, the sweet and tangy taste vibrant across her tongue.

When she looks up at Kacic, she has an odd look on her face. Her eyes trace down Juliette’s throat and she has stopped eating. “Kuna for your thoughts?” Juliette asks, drawing Kacic’s gaze. Surprise flickers across her face and Juliette tries to smother her smile.

“That’s pretty cheap,” Kacic says, sounding oddly delighted.

“Is it?” Juliette tilts her head. She doesn’t know what the conversion rate is, her knowledge only extends to knowing that Croatia doesn’t use euros. “Anyway, you looked deep in thought.”

Kacic’s mouth thins and she shoves a forkful of pastry into her mouth. Cream catches on the corner of her mouth and Juliette suddenly wants to lick it off, heat burning in her stomach. “How do you like it?”

Kacic shrugs, her tongue swiping along her mouth. “Citrusy,” she says.

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