Page 46 of Scorpio Season

Luca: So you can see, Izzy’s done my makeup. We went with some gold on my eyelids. Some green on the, er . . .

Florence: Waterline?

Luca: Yeah! [Laughs.] So . . . that’s the fit!

Florence: That’s the fit! [Laughs.] Good job.

Luca: Follow for more fashion content.

Florence: [Laughs.]

Miray: See you soon, Amsterdam!

Luca: See you soon!

19

Luca can barely keep her eyes open. They’ve been on the road to Berlin for thirty minutes now, and she has spent every one of them fighting sleep. Florence isn’t any better off; she’s almost fallen asleep twice now but startles awake every time her head droops. The third time it happens, Luca catches her chin in her palm.

Florence blinks drowsily at her. Her voice comes out slurred. “Sorry.”

Quiet enough to be drowned out by the music on the radio, Luca tells her, “You can lean on my shoulder, if you want. So your neck doesn’t hurt.”

Florence yawns, eyelids already falling shut again. “Are you sure?”

Instead of responding, Luca guides Florence’s head to rest against her shoulder. “Go to sleep,” she whispers.

Florence does. Luca closes her eyes, listening to her soft breathing. She’s wearing a different perfume today—it smells like oranges and wood and something else, warm and familiar. Luca dozes off before she can name what it is.

She jumps awake again when Miray lets out a yelp that almost has Toni swerving off the road.

“What!” Toni says. “What is it!”

“There’s a video,” Miray says. In the rearview mirror, her eyes find Luca, which can’t be good.

Izzy leans forward, jostling Florence, who blinks her eyes open with a long-suffering expression. “Spit it out, Tiny.”

Instead of responding, Miray reaches through the gap between the front seats to hand Luca her phone. Luca almost recoils when she sees herself on-screen. So far, she’s done everything in her power to avoid looking at recordings of their performances.

“Is this from ‘swallow me’?” Izzy asks, craning her neck to see the screen.

It is. Luca’s mouth goes dry as, in-video, Florence comes up behind her. She’s wearing a black dress that cinches tight at the waist, rings glittering on each finger. Her hair is in a complicated half-up, half-down style that Luca watched Miray do before the show. Her voice sounds like velvet even through the phone speaker.

“Oh,” Izzy realizes. “This was when you . . .”

Whoever took the video zooms in on the two of them just as Florence puts her knuckles under Luca’s chin. Her head falls back easily at Florence’s touch, exposing the pale line of her throat as Florence makes her drink. Through it all, their eye contact doesn’t break once.

Luca is suddenly overly aware of every spot where Florence’s arm is pressing against hers. Next to her, Florence has grown very still.

“Can anyone explain what’s happening?” Toni demands.

“It’s a video from last night. When Florence gave Luca some of her water,” Izzy says distractedly, and then, “Jesus. This looks like soft-core porn.”

Luca’s laugh is too high, bordering on hysterical. The video ends with Florence ruffling her hair before skipping back to the front of the stage.

“Look at the view count,” Miray says.

Luca looks at the view count, then promptly wishes she hadn’t.