Page 76 of Scorpio Season

Her words drop like stones to the bottom of Luca’s stomach.

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you,” Florence says. “It’s just . . . I think it might be too confusing.”

“Confusing,” Luca echoes hoarsely.

“Yes.” Florence looks up. “You know, with . . . with the band, and what we talked about. I don’t . . .”

“Florence,” Luca says. She hates the way it comes out—too raw, too desperate.

It has a strange effect on Florence. While Luca feels wide open, her face shutters. “We agreed we would keep our distance.”

“Did we?”

The sight of Florence’s frown is so familiar, Luca thinks she could trace its lines in her sleep. “We did. When you first met the band.”

Luca’s knee keeps going up and down, up and down. Her skin feels too tight over her bones. Her laugh comes out awkward, forced. “I remember you telling me that we had to keep what we had a secret,” she says. “I think there’s a difference.”

The frown deepens. “You’re acting like I forced this on you.”

“You didn’t,” Luca says. “But . . . don’t you think things have changed by now?”

Florence smooths her hair behind both ears. She looks utterly composed in her matching pajama set. Still in control. Still carefully curating what she wants Luca to see. “I don’t think that matters.”

Luca feels like a punch in the gut would probably hurt less. Her brain offers up a dozen responses with the potential to hit Florence in the same tender way. She bites down on all of them. What comes out instead is a quiet, pleading, “You kissed me.”

“I know,” Florence says, looking away. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Maybe you should do that more.”

“Luca.”

“I just—can’t we at least try?” Luca’s voice cracks on the last word. She feels vaguely pathetic, but she’s not ready to let this go. “Toni and Izzy hooked up. That didn’t break up the band.”

For the first time, something like true irritation flits over Florence’s features. “That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because they weren’t—fuck.” Florence breaks off. “Luca, I can’t do this.”

Luca is aware of her heart racing, of her fingers laced together, white-knuckled in her lap. Florence can pretend to be unaffected all she wants, but Luca won’t play that game. She will care enough for both of them.

She asks, “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Yes, you are.”

A muscle twitches in Florence’s cheek. “You met me six weeks ago,” she says tightly. “Do not presume to know me.”

It’s so perfectly Florence—the haughty expression, the crisp Oxford accent, the way she throws up the vocabulary of her private school education like a shield when backed into a corner. Luca wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her almost as much as she wants to kiss her until she can’t string words together anymore.

“I do know you,” she says doggedly. “I know what music means to you. I know that you hate your dad and also miss him, and that you want to be exactly and nothing like him. I know how you like your coffee and that you always sleep on your right side. I know that your mum’s expectations were way too high, and now nothing you do ever feels good enough. I know how hard you work.” She pauses and waits until Florence meets her gaze to continue. “I know you didn’t mean to let anyone see this much of you. But I have. And I’m sorry if that scares you, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

Florence opens her mouth. Closes it. Her eyes are shiny, but Luca knows she would take sandpaper to her vocal cords before crying even a single tear right now. Luca watches helplessly as Florence takes whatever emotion is simmering inside her and squashes it down.

“That’s absurd,” she says. “This band was my idea. Why would I get up on that stage if I didn’t want to be seen?”

“There’s a difference between being seen and being known for who you really are,” Luca says quietly. “You know that, Flo.”