Page 101 of Scorpio Season

“Anything?” Florence echoes, drawing out the syllables. She shuffles closer on her knees until she’s clambering into Luca’s lap, arms winding around her neck. “You would do anything to hear me sing?”

Luca lets herself sink back into the mattress, pleasantly trapped under Florence’s weight. “You know I would.”

“Mm-hm.” Florence leans down to press a kiss to her lips, then another to her jaw. She’s grinning when she leans back. “That’s right. Because you like it when I decide.”

Something about that reminder makes heat shoot into Luca’s cheeks. “Only after you sing it,” she says doggedly. She isn’t that easy. Probably.

Florence laughs, like she knows exactly how little it would take to make Luca fold. “All right. Because you asked so nicely.”

Heart skipping in her chest, Luca settles back against the headboard and watches as Florence crawls to the other end of the bed to retrieve her notebook. It’s dizzying—the knowledge that she’s about to be the first person to hear this song, the only one who gets to see Florence like this, rumpled and pink-cheeked in Luca’s overwarm bedroom.

“Here it goes.” Florence clears her throat. “The world premiere.”

With her back straight and her legs folded primly beneath her, she begins to sing.

38

When they get to the flat at 3:55 in the afternoon, Miray is already waiting for them in the stairwell. At the sight of her, Florence freezes so abruptly Luca almost runs into her. A heartbeat later, Miray is flinging herself at her, both arms crushing Florence to her, and it’s all Florence can do to hug her back. The familiar scent of her—of home—makes her throat feel tight.

“I can’t believe you,” Miray says. “I was so worried when I woke up and you weren’t there. It was just a fight, Flo! You didn’t have to immediately move out!”

Florence teeters a little on her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She cuts herself off. “I was so scared you hated me.”

It sounds incredibly stupid as it leaves her mouth, and the look Miray sends her as she pulls back conveys the same sentiment.

“We’ve known each other since we were eleven years old,” she sniffs. “You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me.”

Florence is so relieved, she could cry. With her arms still wrapped around Miray, she leans down to press a kiss into her hair. Before she can say anything else, she’s cut off by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. She manages to detach herself from Miray’s arms just as Izzy and Toni make it to the landing.

Toni fixes her with an unreadable stare. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Florence croaks.

There’s a moment of unbearable silence during which Luca fidgets silently and Florence conveniently forgets every word she’s ever known.

Finally, Izzy jerks her chin toward the door to the flat. “Gonna let us in or what?”

“Yes!” she says, too loud. “Of course. Come on in.”

One after another, they shuffle inside.

The reason why Florence has been staying with Luca until now is so she wouldn’t be able to change anything about her room before the band sees it. No tidying it up. No curating it. She regrets that decision as she pushes open the door, hovering near it while the others survey her bedroom.

Everything’s just as she left it the day before tour, with the exception of her unpacked suitcase standing next to the bed. She tries to see it through her friends’ eyes. Her furniture is an eclectic mix plucked from flea markets and antique stores, and art prints and vintage postcards hang above her bed. Stacks of worn paperback novels line the walls. The ghost of incense still lingers on the air.

“You can sit anywhere,” she says stiffly, picking at her nail polish. “Would anyone like some tea?”

“I’ll take some,” Toni says. Luca nods.

Florence turns on her heel and darts into the kitchen. She can hear the low murmur of the others talking while she puts on the electric kettle and hunts down five clean cups. When she returns with a small tray, the others are scattered around her room: Miray and Luca sitting on the floor, Toni on the edge of the bed, Izzy leaning back in Florence’s desk chair.

Florence busies herself for a moment, setting down the tray, handing out cups, opening the window. The heavy air promises a thunderstorm. Florence uses a match to light the candles on the desk and bedside table so the room isn’t as dark. She’s moving toward the lamp on her nightstand when Izzy says, “For fuck’s sake. Can you just sit down?”

Out of habit, Florence wants to snipe back at her, but she bites her tongue when she remembers that this isn’t why they’re here. She sinks down next to Luca on her little thrifted rug. “I. Um. I want to apologize.”

Across from her, Toni crosses her arms over her chest.

“There are things I’ve been keeping from you,” Florence continues. Already, her palms are sweaty, her hair sticking to the back of her neck in the muggy heat of her room. “Three things, to be precise.”