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Livia dramatically slaps the enter key. “Done.”

Juliette picks up her sugar-free chocolate ice cream and digs in without a grimace.

EIGHTJULIETTE

Coming home to southern Italy is the balm Juliette needed on her aching heart. She cannot imagine a better way to spend ten days than sinking into the familiarity of her native tongue and basking below a sky so clear she swears she can see the heavens through wisps of delicate pearl clouds. The salty air coils playful fingers in her hair, the sand scorches her feet, and the sun melts away any of the lingering disappointment about Paris. It burnishes gold into her caramel curls and further bronzes her olive skin. The sea cradles her tenderly, healing her worn-out muscles and quieting her mind.

Her father’s voice nags in the back of her head that she should pick up a racket, but it’s easy to ignore that voice with a cocktail in her hand and sunglasses on her face.

Before she knows it, the vacation slinks to a close and the Connolly Cup is upon her. The Cup isn’t always held in Naples, but with nearly half of the participating players being Neapolitan, it wasn’t hard for their father to convince the Fierce Four to hold the tournament in their hometown. Especially with their sponsorship connections. Juliette should be excited about this week—Octavia still talks about how fun the previous year’s festivities were in Shanghai. Unfortunately, due to karma, Juliette has found herself on the same team as Luca Kacic.

On her last evening as a solo woman, she makes her way to Karoline’s villa, where all the players will be staying during the Cup. It sits off the water, a white-sand path leading to a hidden stretch of beach and delicate waves. She finds the keys under a welcome mat and letsherself in. She claims one of the larger rooms, a boon for arriving a day before everyone else.

The sun sets late, and leaf-patterned shadows creep across the terra-cotta floors. The final rays of gold flash across the expansive kitchen island Juliette doubts any of them will use. She pours a limoncello neat, the icy burn of it sweet against her tongue and down her throat. She shivers, grinning as she pours another into a tulip tasting glass to enjoy on the patio. She slides into a lounge chair, staring up at the blushed lavender sky and watches as it slowly bleeds into indigo. Her eyes slip closed, and she listens to the cries of cicadas, the distant burble of the water, and the sweet rustle of branches. The day’s heat lazes on the dark slate of the patio, radiating onto Juliette’s skin and bringing the suggestion of sweat to the back of her neck beneath her curls. Tomorrow the villa will echo with shrieks of laughter and accented conversations, but tonight, Juliette enjoys the quiet.

She is half done with her second limoncello when the rumbling of tires on gravel stirs her from her peace. Juliette sits up, glancing down at her phone. The group chat has been silent for two hours, ever since everyone confirmed their flights and arrival times for tomorrow.

Only Luca Kacic hadn’t said anything. Her number is the only unsaved one—a petty choice, but she’s blocked Kacic everywhere else, so why would she give her the time of day in her phone?

Annoyance prickles beneath her skin as Juliette swings off the lounger and pads back into the house. Light slices across the front windows, and she frowns.

For a moment, Juliette wonders if she’s about to get murdered. Panic flashes through her at the thought, and she dives for the kitchen, ripping a knife from the block and holding it in front of her. It isn’t unusual for these things to happen; another player was stabbed in the hand by a home invader years ago.

Several quick knocks break the silence.

Juliette narrows her eyes. Intruders don’t knock, but maybe they would if they wanted to know if anyone was home. Something heavy hits the ground and Juliette swallows hard, edging closer to the door.Frosted glass lines both sides, and she can see a shadow pacing back and forth.

Her phone buzzes.

Juliette shrieks and drops the knife. The figure outside stops and Juliette fumbles to get her phone free.

It’s the random number she assumed was Kacic’s. She declines the call because she’s not above being childish.

The knocking begins again in earnest, more akin to pounding. Juliette weighs her options, picking up the knife off the floor. She decides it’s much too much of a coincidence for it not to be Kacic at the door, but she keeps the knife in her hand as she swings the door open.

“Oh my God!” Kacic cries, nearly swinging into Juliette with her fist. “Is that a knife?!” She recoils sharply, her mouth agape.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Juliette says instead of answering, still brandishing the knife.

Kacic stares at her, blinking so many times she reminds Juliette of a lemur she saw at the zoo once. “What does that mean?” Her voice is rusty and quiet, her brows pitched together in confusion.

Juliette fumbles for her phone, switching the knife to her nondominant hand to grab it out of her pocket. “Everyone gets here tomorrow,” she says. Of course, of all the people to arrive early, it’sKacicwho shows up without warning. Juliette hadn’t planned for her final night of peace to be disturbed, and she certainly hadn’t mentally prepared for the sight of her. It’s just like Kacic to ruin all of Juliette’s best-laid plans.

Kacic opens her mouth to say something and then closes it. Her eyes fall to the phone and Juliette glances at it. She holds it in her left hand, and she remembers, with regret, that she isn’t wearing her wrist wrap.

LUCAis exposed to Kacic for the first time.

Juliette shoves her hand back into her pocket. “The door was unlocked, you know,” she says, heading back into the villa. She sets the knife on the kitchen island and considers racing upstairs to get her wrist wrap. Kacic grumbles behind her and Juliette glances over hershoulder. She drags her suitcase up the stairs, her tennis bag slung over one shoulder. Juliette wonders how she doesn’t tip over the railing, so wildly off-balanced.

Annoyingly, Kacic is several inches taller than Juliette, but thin as a rail. Lanky, lean, and bony in the shoulders, with an awkwardness that hides her agility on court. She vanishes upstairs, grunting and banging the wheels of her case the whole way. Juliette’s stomach swoops with the realization that she is here,alone, with Kacic.

Juliette digs her fingernails into the stupid name on her wrist and wonders if there’s ever been an anti–soulmate—a soulhate. Maybe she and Kacic are the first. She steps onto the patio again and breathes in the humid air, her lungs sticky in her chest. Even though she never goes high in skyscrapers, never lingers near windowsills in hotel rooms and never, ever, climbs another tree, she is still stuck in that same feeling of falling she experienced as a child.

Warm light from the kitchen spills suddenly across the flagstones. Juliette unglues her feet from the ground and rushes back to the lounger, getting adjusted back into it as the sliding door eases open. She stares at the sky, her eyes tracing the patterns of stars in the inky darkness. She grits her teeth as sneakers scuff across the tile.

“Is this the path to the beach?” Kacic asks, her voice a rasping whisper.

Juliette’s eyes flick to Kacic, more out of instinct than anything else. She looks exhausted, with deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, a furrow between her brows, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She rolls a water bottle between her palms, her body swallowed by a cozy creamy white sweatshirt. Her hair is twisted into a bun on the top of her head, but strands are falling out of it, floating around her face in honeyed brown frizzes.