Page 22 of Backhanded Compliments

“I still don’t see why you hate her. She’s very pretty.”

Juliette spins around. Claudia leans against the bedpost to kick off her shoes. “You don’t know her,” Juliette says flatly.

“You don’t either.” Claudia rips the scrunchie out of her hair and her blond curls tumble around her shoulders, wild and messy. “Come on, tell me, why is she here with you? We were supposed to arrive first as a surprise. It’s why Livia changed the flights.” Claudia shimmies out of her sweatpants, tossing them onto her bed as she goes to her suitcase.

“She got here last night,” Juliette says, leaning back against the wall. She nearly knocks down a painting in her effort to remain cool and collected.

“Last night?” Claudia’s eyes spark and her brows raise. She pulls out her bikini and Juliette turns around.

“She said she didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“So she came to you?” There is thinly veiled excitement in her voice.

Juliette rolls her eyes. “No, Karoline probably told her she could stay.”

“All right, you can turn around.” Juliette does as Claudia shrugs on an old T-shirt over her head. “Well, I’m going to rally everyone to go to the beach. You want to come?”

“Someone has to be the greeting party,” Juliette says. “You go with Octavia and Leo. I’ve been at the beach all week.”

Claudia slides her flip-flops on and loudly clomps over to her. She tucks a loose curl behind Juliette’s ear and smiles. “I can tell. You’re very tan.” She taps the tip of her nose. “Sunscreen?”

“Always,” Juliette says, rolling her eyes. “Stop mothering me and go swim.” She lightly shoves Claudia out the door and can’t help but smile as Claudia cackles with glee.

Octavia tries to play hostess, but Juliette uses Leo to shoo her to the beach. She probably should have ordered groceries the night before, but Kacic’s arrival rattled her. Or so she tells herself, because she could have ordered them earlier, but she isn’t in the mood to be responsible for that.

The rest of the players chosen for the Connolly Cup trickle in slowly. The youngest of the women is Bulgarian phenomenon Nadia Valcheva. Or maybe it’s her twin, Tatiana. Juliette can’t tell, because she’s never played against her before. Nineteen and quiet, there’s something about her wide eyes as she takes in the villa that makes Juliette think of a ghost.

Arriving right after her is the second best player in the world, Zoe Almasi. She’s Claudia’s close friend, and Juliette greets her warmly.

“Claudia is at the beach if you want to see her,” Juliette tells her as they bring the last of her bags in.

“Oh,” Zoe says quietly. Despite being a fierce competitor, she’s soft-spoken. The direct opposite of Claudia in every way, and sometimes, Juliette wonders how they even get along. She fixes Juliette with a neutral smile. “Thanks.” She rubs her neck as if it aches. “See you later.” Then she heads up the stairs.

Now that the majority of the women have arrived, Juliette sits on one of the many couches in the lounge and kicks her feet up with her laptop. She needs to edit the photos she took during her week-long solo vacation. She usually prefers to use film, since the first camera her mother ever gave her was from the 1980s, but Livia has been pestering her about more content for her Instagram, and it’s easier to use a digital camera.

She pops her headphones on, listening to her newest curated playlist. It’s mindless work, moving all the files off her camera and into the correct folders, so her mind slips into thinking about Kacic. In the kitchen, glistening with sweat and lightly panting, how would she taste after her run? Of sunscreen and sweat, washing off easily with whatever soap she uses. Instead of sweat, Juliette pictures water splashing down the curve of Kacic’s throat, across her collarbones, running down her sternum to her belly and lower…

Juliette blinks, recoiling out of those thoughts. Shecan’tthink of Luca Kacic like that. Maybe if they weren’t rivals, she could consider sleeping with her and then moving on. Maybe if they weren’t soulmates, she could pursue a sexual relationship, but Juliette knows most people haveexpectationsabout their soulmate. They want the romantic relationship, and Juliette won’t commit to that.

Hands land on her shoulders and Juliette startles, ripping her headphones off. “What the fuck?!” she screams, twisting around to find Remi Rowland smirking at her.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for like, fifteen minutes, Jules,” Remi says, skirting around the couch to plop down on the opposite one.

Remi Rowland is the golden girl of the United States and, infuriatingly, a spot ahead of Juliette in the rankings. Remi was the first of their generation to shoot to the top of the rankings, hitting the Top Ten before her nineteenth birthday. The only ding on her career so far is her inability to close a Grand Slam final, but at least she always chokes in spectacular fashion. Like when she won five straight games in the second set of her first Grand Slam final and then double faulted four times to give one of the breaks back. Then, her nerves got thebest of her and she lost thirteen straight games, gifting Zoe Almasi the French Open and the number one ranking.

Unlike Juliette, though, Remi has never been anything but easygoing about her big losses. Gracious in defeat and oozing charm no matter the scenario.

She grins with her perfectly shaped and plush mouth like she knows something Juliette doesn’t. They haven’t always been friendly. Juliette’s temper clashes too much with Remi’s outgoing and bright persona for them to be anything more than acquaintances. But in the last six months, Remi has seemed to be on a mission to be chummy and friendly with her. “So,” Remi drawls in her sweet southern accent. “You and Kacic, huh?” Remi toys with one of her box braids.

Juliette tenses. “What about us?” she asks through gritted teeth, and Remi’s smile, somehow, widens.

“How long has she been here with you?” Remi asks, leaning forward. The sun warms her deep brown skin and catches on her high, chiseled cheekbones, illuminating her sparkling brown eyes. Juliette itches to take a picture. This slant of light highlights her features so beautifully, and her fans, the “Rowdy Rowlanders,” would love to see it. No wonder she’s always featured in sports magazines and New Balance commercials.

“Since last night,” Juliette says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Have you two slept together yet?”

Juliette’s jaw drops. “What?”

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