Page 69 of Backhanded Compliments

I mean that earnestly. like are you fucking with me?

LUCA

I’m not. If you want to come early for Miami, we can have some fun? It’s fine if not, but I thought I’d offer.

Luca does not have to wait long for Juliette’s response.

JULIETTE

have fun, huh?

Luca’s cheeks heat, and she fiddles with the fringe on a pillow, the blinking cursor laughing at her as she tries to parse precisely what she wants to say.

LUCA

Another massage perhaps?

Get to know each other better?

“Way to break back, Nicky!” Vladimir’s voice is too loud and too close, and Luca slams her phone onto her chest.

“Yes! He’s playing well,” Luca says, even though she wasn’t paying attention. Her phone buzzes, and as Vladimir arranges himself on the couch again with a sandwich, she sneaks a glance at the text.

JULIETTE

gimme the room # and I’ll be there

Luca smiles to herself as she texts her room number. Warm tingles spread out from her stomach, excitement taking root alongside her low-level buzz of anxiety.

For once, the idea of exploring something physical with Juliette doesn’t make Luca want to vomit from fear.

Well, it does, but Luca is not going to sit and play passively until they both lose.

TWENTY-SEVENJULIETTE

Juliette is not in the habit of lying to her family, but she does not want her nosy sisters checking in on her when she’s with Luca. They’ve already harassed her enough about the snack experiment, which Livia keeps insisting on calling a “date.”

So she tells them she’s going to practice early in Miami. All the Ricci girls lost Wimbledon. Claudia and Octavia both lost in the third round, while Juliette made it to the quarterfinal. Claudia is staying in London, putting off going to the next tournament as long as possible. Octavia, on the other hand, is vehemently against playing Miami in July.

“It was acceptable heat in April. I will not be dying for this stupid sport,” she said when Claudia complained about being left without a doubles partner.

There’s still a week after Wimbledon ends before the Miami Open starts, but her father still insists he come help Juliette train. At least she’ll get two days of Antony-free time. And even though she has an ulterior motive for coming to Miami, she does intend to get a few decent practices in so she can grow accustomed to the heat.

Andhave fun, as Luca put it. Her hands shake with jitters, and a nervous excitement refuses to leave her body, even though she should be exhausted from her flight.

It’s easier to focus on these emotions rather than the devastation of losing to Xinya in the quarterfinals. It hurts more than she wants to admit. She should have won. It felt within her grasp after the first set, but one bad bounce off the chalky line and suddenly her forehand was off.

And now fans online keep saying her quarterfinal curse is back in full effect.

Maybe she should delete the apps from her phone.

Now she’s in an Uber to the hotel where all the players are staying. The hotel sits off the Biscayne Bay and has a sleek modern style that matches the glitzy Miami aesthetic. Juliette admires the deep reds and lush ocean blues that accent the elegant curves of modern architecture and give a youthful flair to the otherwise gold and white hotel. Despite the late hour, a bellhop takes her luggage up to her room, even if she won’t be sleeping there tonight. It’s only been a few days since she last saw Luca, and she’s surprised that Luca initated this. Her snack experiment worked out better than she could’ve anticipated. And this invitation feels like an olive branch extended by Luca, one Juliette is hopeful works out.

She gets her key and makes a beeline to the elevator. She pulls her hood up, sunglasses perched on her nose, and keeps her head low. She doesn’t want anyone to catch her going up to the floor where Luca is and potentially start a rumor.

The glass walls of the elevator reveal the sprawl of Miami, and her stomach twists at how high up she is. The expanse of rippling water shimmers with lights from party boats and the other high-rises. She curses. She should have turned around and taken the stairs, but it’s too late. The dizzying height makes her vision swim, the blur of starry lights disorients her. The elevator eases to a stop, and the doors ping open. She stumbles out and leans against the wall, taking a few steadying breaths. Then, once her heart rate has slowed, she glances around the empty hall. Colorful photographs depicting Miami nightlife clash with the riotous black and navy wallpaper speckled with pink flamingos.

She bows her head, overstimulated by the brightness of it all, and jogs down to the correct door. She shakes out her hands before shoving her hood back. She dangles her sunglasses in her fingers as she lifts her other hand to knock on the door. She swallows and taps three times. Juliette’s skin prickles. Her stomach is in knots, and her heart is pounding as if she’sfalling, falling, falling.

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