Page 66 of Backhanded Compliments

“I missed one practice,” Juliette says, barely restraining an eyeroll.

“One practice during one of the most important weeks of the year,” Antony hisses, his voice low but harsh. “I have been lenient with you over the years. Perhaps too lenient, but you almost won the Australian Open.”

Juliette flinches. She doesn’t want to be reminded of that failure.

“You’re almost twenty-four years old, Juliette. It is time to stop being irresponsible and take this seriously.” Antony’s eyes are as sharp as a shark’s, his voice pitched low, even though there’s probably no one in this area able to understand Italian.

“I am taking this seriously!” Juliette exclaims. “Missing one practice does not mean I don’t care.”

Antony’s eyes narrow. “Where were you?”

Juliette considers lying, but she thinks one of her sisters probably already spilled about where she was. “With a friend.”

“Which friend?”

Juliette swallows. “Luca Kacic.”

Antony scoffs. “You are not friends with her.” He shakes his head. “Do I have to remind you who took your Australian Open win away from you?”

“No, you do not,” Juliette says, heat burning along the back of her neck. “But you have no control over who I’m friends with.”

“Juliette,” he says slowly, his eyes boring into her. “Please, let’s not be naive. I only want what is best for you.” Juliette grits her teeth as Antony stares at her. Then he stalks across the lawn and plants his hands on Juliette’s shoulders. He gently taps Juliette’s cheek like she’s a child. “AndLuca Kacicis your enemy.” He spits her name as if it is poison. “Even if she is your soulmate.”

Juliette shakes her head. “She isn’t my enemy. And I’m not throwing away my career by having friends.” For years she’s kept herself busy and away from other people. She has let friendships and potential partners slip through her fingers for the sake of tennis. “I still want to be the best,” she says. “I can balance friendship and tennis.”

Antony frowns, as if he doesn’t believe her. She wants to shout and shake his shoulders. Force him to understand that she still lovesthis sport and she won’t disappoint him again. Juliette’s stomach turns unpleasantly. “As long as you still work hard.” There is an assumed question at the end of his statement.

Juliette nods. “Always,” she murmurs. She knows it’s true, deep in the marrow of her bones. But tennis isn’t the only thing she’s allowed to care about.

Antony doesn’t look convinced, but he nods before stepping past Juliette and back into Claudia’s apartment.

He’s ceded ground, but somehow, Juliette feels worse.

TWENTY-SIXLUCA

Vladimir insists on joining Luca at her hotel to watch Juliette play in the Wimbledon quarterfinal. It’s stressful watching her play Chen Xinya and near impossible to keep her face neutral. Every missed backhand and randomly thrown-in double fault has Luca flinching.

She hasn’t talked to Vladimir about her tenuous friendship with Juliette Ricci. She hasn’t told anyone about it. Nor about the sudden appearance of Juliette in her dreams, or the longing that has buried itself between her ribs. Luca swallows around the realization that Juliette has subtly intertwined herself in Luca’s heart without her even realizing it. It is possible Juliette wants to screw her over, but despite everything Juliette has said, her actions say something completely different. And in a rush of unstoppable desire and the absolute knowledge that thisisright, Luca has let herself fall. If she thinks about it too much, she’ll panic, so she chooses to trust her gut.

Watching Juliette does nothing to lessen the feelings. It’s thrilling to revel in Juliette’s fluid grace, her toned body, her sweat-slicked olive skin tanned by the sun, her tousled mess of highlighted-brown curls that darken with sweat as the July sun beats down on her….

“Are you sure you should play Miami?” Vladimir asks as Juliette breaks to win the first set.

Luca can barely breathe, she has been so invested in the match. It’s a weird sensation, to be rooting for her rival. Especially when Juliette winning Wimbledon would mean she’s a step closer to overtaking Luca’s number one ranking.

“Yes,” Luca says belatedly, mentally cursing the TV as they cut toa commercial even though Juliette is lifting her shirt to wipe the sweat off her brow and lip.

“Luca,” Vladimir admonishes.

Luca looks over at him, reclining on the adjacent couch. She doesn’t understand why a penthouse living room needs three couches, but at least both of them can lie down to watch the TV. His hands are clasped behind his head, showing off the plethora of tattoos that snake across his pale skin. Luca never dared to ask what they meant, even though she knows Vladimir would tell her.

“What?” She looks back at the television. “I have a lot of points to defend.”

“It’s going to be so hot. You’ll be cooked! The pavement will melt.”

Luca frowns. “I’ll be fine.” The doctor gave her the all-clear for playing in the next tournament.

“You shouldn’t have to be. I don’t know why they made Miami the beginning of the US hard court swing.” Vladimir heaves out a resigned sigh. “April was better.”

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