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“It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but . . .”
“Then I joined the band.”
“So that first band meeting was the first time you saw each other again?” Toni asks disbelievingly.
“Florence, you naughty minx,” Izzy purrs. “That explains the look on your face when you saw her. I fucking knew she was your type.”
Luca perks up, her eyes bright with glee as she looks at Florence. “I’m your type?”
Florence buries her face in her hands. “Obviously.”
“But,” Miray cuts in, “why didn’t you two say anything?”
“I asked Luca to keep it a secret,” Florence says. “We really weren’t dating during the tour. We kept our distance because we . . . Because I thought it would be better for the band.”
Toni frowns. “Who asked you to do that?”
“Well—I just thought—what if it doesn’t work out and we break up and everything is awkward? Then it’d be our fault if the band fell apart.”
“What if Izzy breaks her hand and can never play bass again?” Toni asks. “What if one of us gets sick? What if someone wakes up one day and realizes that the music thing isn’t what they want to do after all?”
“Those are all horrible scenarios,” Florence points out.
“They’re all things that could happen,” Toni shoots back. “Bands are fickle, everyone knows that. But right now, none of that is happening, so what use is there in worrying about it?”
Florence doesn’t have a good answer to that. She knows better than to try to argue with Toni.
“I just can’t believe this,” Miray says. “You’ve really been having this . . . clandestine, Romeo-and-Juliet love affair all throughout the tour?”
Florence gives a miserable nod.
“No offense,” Izzy snorts, “but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. How is pining dramatically over each other any less distracting than just boning it out?”
Florence hates that Izzy is right—on principle, but especially when the matter concerns her own love life. They have wasted a ridiculous amount of time and effort acting like there was nothing between them. It all feels very silly in hindsight.
She would rather die than admit to that, though, so she says instead, with as much dignity as she can muster, “I would prefer it if you didn’t reduce the complexity of our relationship to boning it out.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Izzy looks at Luca. “Jesus wept. Is she like this in bed as well?”
“Excuse me?” Florence gasps.
“Izzy, no,” says Miray.
Luca only laughs, quiet and flustered, and asks, “So is there anything new with you guys?”
“Oh, come on, I was just—” Izzy begins, but Miray, bless her, immediately cuts her off.
“I’ve spent the last week sleeping ten hours every night.”
“That’s nice.” Izzy stretches a little, making her spine crack. “I was mostly working.”
“Same here,” Luca says.
“Esther broke up with me.”
Abruptly, the room falls silent.
Toni is staring intently at a spot somewhere on the wall. Florence tries to catch Izzy’s eyes, then Miray’s. She’s not sure what the appropriate response to this news is. Toni hasn’t seemed particularly happy for a while now—on tour, most of the calls she had with Esther ended with Toni testy and quiet for the next fifteen minutes. With anyone else, Florence would go over and offer a hug, but Toni reacts to physical affection the same way a disgruntled cat reacts to taking a sink bath.
