Page 88 of Backhanded Compliments

told y’all something was happening with them. look me in the eyes and tell me i’m wrong about them being soulmates i’ll wait

@paytoninafountain

god I wish I could find my soulmate so they could look at me like ricci looks at kacic

@wta4me

they’re so important to me #juluca

Juliette tosses the phone down to the end of the bed and throws her arms over her face with a groan. Maybe she has done this to herself. She’s certainly stoked the flames of Twitter before, encouraging speculation about her and Luca. But it’s more fun when there is nothing at stake. Now, everything feels so fragile and Juliette selfishly wishes they’d just keep their thoughts, opinions, and theories to themselves.

A current of energy and jitters course through her body, and she throws herself out of bed to hit the gym. She knows it might not be wise to wear Luca’s clothing, again, but she finds a nondescript pair of shorts and a black tank top. Luca is taller but thinner, so the shirt is a bit too long and spans a little too much over the breasts, but it works for her purposes. It’s less incriminating to wear that than it would be to wear Luca’s pajamas down to her own room to get her sneakers and sports bra.

As she heads down the stairs to her floor, she knows she shouldn’t care. This shouldn’t matter. She has never let fan speculation or gossip get to her before. But this nags at the back of her throat. For once, she wants this one thing to be hers and hers alone.

Although with her meddling sisters and overbearing father, maybe that was never destined to be true. With their status as professional athletes, the fans will always crave a slice of their lives, a moment to look behind the curtain and get a peek at the intimate details. The media keeps nothing sacred. That was the first lesson Juliette learned from watching how Octavia and Claudia conduct themselves in the tennis world—Octavia keeping everyone at arm’s length and letting the media demonize her as “aloof” for being private, and Claudia letting in too much spotlight to use attention as a whip, forcing the media to love and hate her in the same breath. She realized it would be no use trying to be anyone other than herself. Unfortunately, this means the media witnessed every single one of her hormone-induced breakdowns on the court and labeled her animmature bratbefore she hit her second growth spurt at nineteen. But now, after having let everyone see her, it’s almost impossible to close off that tap of access, especially when she wants everyone to know she’s more than her teenage self.

Juliette barges into her room and slams the door shut. She shakes off the thoughts as she changes clothes, then shoves her headphones over her ears. This will blow over. Everything always does.

It does not blow over.

At least not quickly.

Juliette doesn’t see Luca for the rest of the day, which she expected. They’re on different practice schedules, and she’s sure her father is somehow pulling the strings so they don’t end up anywhere near each other.

“Do you know where Livia is?” she asks Antony as they finish their early dinner and strategy meeting. They’ve been diligent in avoiding the topic of last night and Luca. Even though his glare tells her that he isn’t letting it go, she practiced really well and he can’t complain when she’s showing how dedicated she still is.

Antony blinks, tilting his head to stare at Juliette as if she’s grown three heads. “I have no idea. She’s an adult.”

Juliette huffs and wonders if Antony should have ever become a father. “Well, I’m going to go find her. See you tomorrow?”

Antony nods stiffly, turning back to his phone without comment. Eventually she’ll have to deal with his anger, but she has bigger things to deal with right now.

Livia picks up her call after three rings, which is two more than usual. “Hey, Jules, what’s up?” She sounds breathless, like she’s been running.

Juliette pauses in the middle of the hotel lobby, narrowing her eyes. “Where are you?”

“In my room? Why?” She hears the snick of a door closing.

“Livia, we need to talk,” Juliette says, trying to hold back the tide of frustration building in her chest.

“Uh-oh, full name. Is this about the selfie? As your PR manager—”

“You are not my—”

“I think it is a bit of an overreaction,” Livia continues, bulldozing through her as she always does. “And before you ask, no, I cannot make the other people take down the photos.”

Juliette pinches the bridge of her nose. She is not having this conversation in the middle of the lobby, even if she doubts anyone around her can understand rapid Italian. “We need to talk about this in person. What room are you in?”

“No!” Livia squeaks.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Juliette hisses into the phone, turning away from a family who is staring at her with open curiosity.

“Nothing! Nothing you need to worry about. I’ll talk to you later tonight. It’s a family cocktail night at Octavia’s rental house.”

Juliette wonders if it’s too late to be adopted into another family. “I thought Octavia wasn’t coming to Miami? And why did no one tell me this?”

Livia huffs. “You clearly do not look at our group chats. Octavia isn’t playing Miami, but she’s here to support you, Claudia, and Leo. Duh. Anyway, check your texts for this cabana she booked without my knowledge, and I’ll see you there. Oh, and bring Luca!”

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