Page 79 of Scorpio Season

“Luca,” Toni calls from inside. “Let’s go.”

Luca gestures apologetically to the car waiting behind them and gets back into the van. She watches with a sinking feeling as Florence disappears inside after Miray, fading out of view when Toni starts to drive.

30

Because she’s tired and a coward and she doesn’t know what else to do, Florence gets up early the next morning to avoid facing Miray and seeks refuge at the one place she can think of: the basement of The Hare and Oak.

On some sick, masochistic impulse, she ends up spending the bus ride there watching her father’s interview. It’s been a while since she last heard him speak and even longer since she’s seen him in person. In her mind, he’s perpetually frozen at the age he was when he first performed at Glastonbury, fresh-faced and rain-slick and just on the cusp of something. Sitting opposite the breakfast show host, he looks like he usually does: dressed in soft-looking slacks and a sensible brown sweater, his dark hair shot through with gray, his posture easy and relaxed.

It’s jarring to hear her name from his lips.

“My daughter, Florence—you might have heard of her and her band. They’re touring with Juno Wilde right now. They’re terrific. It’s always nice to see fresh young talent coming up.”

The host leans closer. “Oh, Scorpio Season? I have seen some clips of them, but I didn’t realize Florence was your daughter.”

A small smile, his warm eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “I’m actually in talks with her—I would love to get her signed for my new record label. She embodies everything we want to do with Saturn Records.”

“What about the rest of the band?” the interviewer asks.

“Right now, we are primarily interested in Florence. You know, I was in a band myself once—it can be great to start out, but if she’s anything like me, she’s going to want her creative freedom. I would love to be the one to give that to her.”

It’s at this point that Florence has to rip out her earbuds and take several deep breaths to keep herself from screaming or, worse, bursting into tears. Somehow, she managed not to cry yesterday; after getting back, she collapsed into bed and fell asleep within minutes, too numb to process how thoroughly she managed to mess everything up. She refuses to start on the bus.

When she scrolls farther down, the comments on the video are about as awful as she expected.

Industry plants.

Disappointed but not surprised.

Money can’t buy talent.

Florence has had nightmares that went exactly like this. There’s a reason why she didn’t mention her father when applying to be Juno’s opening band, why she doesn’t follow him on social media, why she goes by her mother’s last name. When they made it, she wanted to be sure it was because of the music. None of it matters now; in the public eye, she has been reduced to being Jeffrey Blake’s daughter, and short of faking her own death, there’s nothing she can do to take it back.

Two years of work, undone in a three-minute interview.

It’s almost funny, how she’s gotten everything she wanted in the worst way possible. All her life, she craved her father’s attention, and now she has it. She wanted to be known, and now all eyes are on her. It’s a twisted, funhouse-mirror version of every childhood dream she’s ever had.

Her father still hasn’t replied to her texts. His label, on the other hand, has called her twice.

So has her mum. Florence knows she has to call her back at some point. She probably wants to know if the rumors are true: if Florence is truly considering signing with his label. It must feel like a betrayal to her. Not just the label, but everything that Florence has been doing: traveling the world and playing shows and not picking up the phone. How is she any better than her father?

The bus rocks to a stop. She jostles her way to the doors without meeting anyone’s eyes.

As she gets off the bus, her gaze snags on the bus stop across the street. It’s the same one where she met Luca what feels like a lifetime ago. The memory makes her throat constrict in a way that promises tears, but she swallows against the feeling.

At just a few minutes past eight in the morning, The Hare and Oak isn’t open for business yet. When she lets herself in with the key that Earl gave her ages ago, she finds him puttering around behind the bar. One of his playlists—a mix of seventies rock and blues—is crackling from the speakers. The air smells like floor cleaner and spilled beer and the ghost of cigarette smoke.

The familiarity of it all nearly brings Florence to her knees. It’s like the last three weeks of tour were nothing but an elaborate dream. That is, until her eyes find the newspaper clippings hanging in frames behind the bar counter, next to one of the postcards they sent.

London band opens for Juno Wilde on European tour

From Shoreditch to the big stage: Scorpio Season is a band to look out for

“Florence?”

She flinches at being addressed and finds Earl peering at her from behind his reading glasses.

Summoning a smile takes every ounce of strength. “Hello. I thought I’d drop by.” She aims for breezy and ends up in the vicinity of pitiful. Her eyes sting traitorously. “How are you? Is that a new shirt? Did you miss—”