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“Three!” Izzy echoes incredulously.

Again, Florence has to bite her tongue. “I’m sorry for going behind your backs to talk to Saturn Records,” she says, forcing herself to look at each of her friends in turn. “They reached out to me while we were in Prague. They said they were looking to sign me as a solo artist. I should have told them right away I wasn’t interested but . . .” She swallows thickly. “I . . . I guess I thought I could negotiate with them, get them to sign all of us. I didn’t want to leave the band. I know there’s no way to prove that but, I swear, I have never wanted to leave the band. I love playing with you. I don’t want to do any of this on my own.”

In the silence that ensues, she focuses hard on the feeling of Luca’s knee pressing into hers. Her white curtains billow in the ominous breeze that precedes a storm.

It’s Miray who speaks first. “I believe you.”

Toni studies Florence, her gaze intent enough to make Florence squirm beneath its weight. “Did you really not know it was your father’s label?”

“I didn’t,” Florence says. “But I am sorry for dragging all of us into this mess. I never wanted our image to get tangled up with his. I wish I—”

Izzy cuts her off. “Shut up,” she says, but Florence notes with some relief that there’s no real heat behind it. “Are you going to apologize for being born as his daughter next?”

At that, Florence abruptly shuts her mouth.

“So you’re sorry about talking to a label without us,” Toni summarizes. Florence still can’t read her face for the life of her. “What’s the second thing?”

This is where things get even more uncomfortable. “Saturn Records,” Florence says, looking down at her hands, “wasn’t the first label I was in contact with. Over the last few months, I’ve been sending out demos of our songs to every label that accepts unsolicited submissions.”

The furrow between Toni’s brows deepens. “What?”

“A few months?” Miray echoes. “You mean . . . since before we went on tour?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Izzy asks, bewildered. “We could’ve helped.”

Florence digs her nails into her palms hard enough to hurt. She’s been asking herself the same question. The answer occurred to her last night, when she was lying awake in Luca’s bed thinking of what to tell them. “I didn’t want to let you down.” Mortifyingly, her eyes are starting to sting. She has shed more tears in the last week than she thinks she has in the rest of her years combined. “I founded this band. I wrote the songs. I thought . . . if they weren’t good enough, then it would be my fault. I wanted to deal with the rejections alone. Best case scenario, I could surprise you with an offer.”

“I’m guessing there haven’t been any offers,” Toni says.

Florence shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck that,” Izzy says, and this time she actually sounds angry. “This isn’t the fucking Florence Gibson Show. We all are a part of this. Our success isn’t just because of you. And neither are the rejections. That’s what being in a band means, you muppet.”

“Izzy’s right,” Miray says. “You wrote the songs, but we played them together. We edited the lyrics together. We did the arrangements, together. If the labels don’t want them, then that has to do with all of us.”

Florence flushes. She was expecting anger, but this is . . . not that. This feels less like a punch in the face and more like a well-meaning slap to sober someone up. “I think,” she says haltingly, “most of all, I was afraid of failing in front of you. I realize that is stupid and something I should probably unpack.”

“Probably,” Toni says dryly.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough groveling,” Izzy says. Long legs stretched out in front of her, she spins on Florence’s chair. “Can you just tell us the third thing and get it over with?”

For the first time since they sat down, Florence dares to glance over at Luca. The single second of eye contact is enough to make her blush. “We . . . um.”

“We’re together,” Luca blurts.

It shouldn’t surprise Florence that this is the news that gets the biggest reaction.

“What,” Toni demands. “Are you serious? The internet was right?”

“I knew it!” Izzy crows. “Oh, this is incredible.”

Florence blinks. “It . . . is?”

“Since when?” Miray asks, her eyes wide as she looks between Florence and Luca.

“So, er . . . funny story,” Florence says awkwardly. “We actually met the day we got the call from Juno.”

“We had a one-night stand,” Luca supplies.