Page 32 of Scorpio Season

Henry:

also you have so many followers now wtf

She quickly realizes the reason behind the flood of new followers is the picture Miray posted on their band account. It’s a photo Amy took of them minutes after the show. Miray and Toni are sitting on the dressing room sofa with Izzy draped across their laps. Florence is perched on the back of the sofa, with Luca standing next to her. Seeing the photo, her body provides her with the sense memory of Florence’s arm around her middle, her hand splayed over Luca’s rib cage. In the photo, Luca is laughing, looking down at Florence with sweat-damp hair falling in her eyes.

“Luca?” She jumps when the door to the bathroom squeals open and Florence slips inside like she was summoned here by Luca’s thoughts. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” Luca says instinctively, pocketing her phone.

“Are you sure?” Florence leans against the counter with the sinks. “You seemed quiet during dinner.”

Luca blinks at her. She didn’t think she was any quieter than usual. “Oh. Sorry.”

Florence frowns at her. Where Luca still feels sweaty and disheveled from the show, Florence looks impeccable: Her white blouse is tucked into high-waisted black slacks, and her red wine–colored lipstick is perfectly intact even after two dinner courses. “We can leave if it’s too much,” Florence tells her. “Today was a lot. If you’re feeling overwhelmed—”

“No,” Luca says immediately. “I really am fine. Sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean to make you worry.” And what a strange concept that is: Florence worrying about her. Florence paying enough attention to notice she was gone from the table too long and following after her. Luca doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

Florence is still studying her with an intensity that has Luca wanting to melt into the tiled bathroom wall. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?”

Luca suppresses a frustrated noise. She’s not sure how to articulate the squirmy wrongness in the pit of her stomach, the way her skin doesn’t seem to fit quite right when she’s the center of attention at this particular table. “No. I just . . .” She gestures vaguely. “I’m not good at pretending to be something I’m not.”

It’s only because they’re standing so close that she notices the way Florence flinches.

Not the right thing to say, then.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. “Sorry. I’m just not very good in groups.”

It’s not entirely true. She doesn’t usually get like this. The last time she felt this way was during a group discussion at uni. It was a similar thing, then: a sense of being in over her head, and knowing deep in her bones that everyone else could tell as well.

Florence is still studying her with a tiny furrow between her brows. “I disagree” is all she says. “Do you want to stay here a bit longer, then?”

“No,” Luca says. “Let’s go back.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. Hiding away in the bathroom with Florence is the opposite of keeping her distance. She doesn’t need anyone speculating about why they were away from the table for so long.

Together, they make their way back to their seats. By the time they get there, dessert has arrived. Luca sits back down and watches as Florence works her way through her mousse au chocolat while regaling the table with the story of how she convinced Toni to join her and Miray’s band. With every person hanging on her words, she looks just as she did on stage: expressive, untouchable. Completely in her element.

14

“There,” Izzy says, tossing a paper bag into Florence’s lap. “Breakfast of champions.”

Florence opens the bag, sighing in delight when she sees it’s filled to the brim with pains au chocolat. Miray, sliding into the passenger’s seat, is carefully balancing a paper cup holder.

“A mocha for Izzy,” she says, handing a paper cup through the gap between the seats. “Oat matcha latte for Toni. Soy milk latte with two pumps of caramel and one pump of vanilla for Flo . . . and a cappuccino for Luca.”

Luca smiles gratefully as she accepts her drink from Miray. Her energy levels this early in the morning are mystifying to Florence. While she was still gathering the strength to open her eyes, Luca had already gone for a thirty-minute run around the block. Even now, she’s thrumming with energy, her fingers drumming on the outside of her cup as everyone gets settled inside the van.

Izzy knocks her own cup against Florence’s. “Pretentious.”

Florence wrinkles her nose at her. “You are literally drinking hot chocolate. I’m not taking any criticism from you.”

Izzy slurps her drink loudly in response.

Up front, Miray plugs the ancient aux cable into her phone. “Any music requests?” she asks.

“Hozier,” says Florence.