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When Luca is done, she sits in the grass and watches the others get ready.
Florence sinks down next to her a moment later. Smiling, she leans over and gives Luca a soft kiss, careful not to smudge her lipstick too much. “You look so handsome.”
“You too,” Luca returns. It’s an understatement. In a puffy-sleeved white dress and a brown corset with flowers embroidered on it, Florence looks like something out of a fairy tale. Her lips are painted a deep wine color, some of which has probably transferred onto Luca’s own mouth.
“Are you nervous?” Florence asks, bumping their shoulders together.
“Not as much as in the beginning,” Luca answers. It helps to know that there are people she knows out there. A few minutes ago she received a selfie from her family waiting in the VIP tent. Jemma is also there, along with a few other coworkers from the café.
Florence takes her hand and turns it over so she can trace her thumb along the lines in Luca’s palm. “I really want to kiss you on stage,” she says. “Can I?”
Luca stills. They both know that Florence isn’t just asking to kiss her; she’s asking to confirm the rumors that have been following them since the beginning of tour. The idea makes Luca feel so giddy she can hardly breathe. They’ve kissed a thousand times since that first night at Luca’s place, but not like this. Not for the entire world to see. “Yeah,” she says. “Yes. Of course.”
“I’ll come over to you during ‘swallow me,’” Florence says, ghosting her fingers over the inside of Luca’s wrist.
Luca grins. “Can’t wait.”
“All right, Scorpios!” Amy chirps. “You’re almost up! If you’d follow me to the stage entrance, please?”
“Here we go.” Luca gets to her feet, pulling Florence up with her.
They fall into step as they trail after Amy toward the enormous stage. Up until now, Luca has done her best to tune out the crowd waiting on the other side, but the closer they get to the stage, the louder it gets: the sound of sixty-five thousand people waiting for a show, an electric hum in the air that Luca can feel in her chest.
At the bottom of the steps that lead to the stage, they gather in a circle, arms slung around shoulders and heads bent together for Florence’s speech.
“A few days ago,” she begins, “I honestly wasn’t sure if we would make it here.”
“Please don’t make me cry,” Miray says, already sniffing.
Laughing, Florence presses a kiss to her temple. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am to be here with you all. This has been the best summer of my life. Whatever happens next, I will always be so, so thankful that I got to do this with you.”
“Fuck off,” Izzy groans.
Luca closes her eyes and focuses on the steady in and out of her breath, the heat of Izzy’s body on her right and Florence’s on her left, the now-familiar rush of adrenaline that comes before every show.
“This is the biggest stage we’ve ever played,” Florence continues. “It might be the biggest one we ever get to play. So . . . let’s make the most of it, all right?”
They’re about to break apart when Luca gathers the courage to add, “I wanted to say thank you as well. I’ve had a bit of a shit year so far, with my . . . dropping out of uni and everything. A few months ago I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life at all. So . . . thank you for giving me something to want. I love you guys a lot.”
“We love you too,” Miray says, blinking rapidly. “Scorpio Season forever.”
“Scorpio Season forever,” the others echo.
“Two-minute warning!” Amy announces, and they all scramble to put in their in-ears.
The last seconds feel like they drag on forever. Luca rocks back and forth on her heels, drumsticks clutched in her sweaty palm while her heart thrums eagerly against her ribs. When they at last get the sign to walk on, she grins so wide her cheeks ache. They’ve already seen the sprawling meadow stretching in front of the stage during sound check, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the crowd when she steps out.
“Holy shit,” she says. She tries to find her family over in the VIP section, but there are so many people. The noise is deafening even through her in-ears.
On autopilot, she moves toward the drum set while the rest of the band take their familiar spots. As she sits down, she chances another look at the sky. The clouds are bruise colored now. She tries to place what the sight reminds her of, and shivers when she realizes.
Glastonbury, 1991.
Later, Luca only remembers the show in snatches. The sight of Florence, the wind tearing at her hair as she twirls and prowls and drops to her knees. Toni playing her guitar solo with grim precision, like she has something to prove, and Izzy whispering something to her afterward, a soft touch to Toni’s shoulder. Miray smiling like a fool as she spots someone over in the VIP section, the kisses she blows her family between songs. Florence climbing onto the drum riser during “swallow me,” cupping Luca’s face in both hands as she pulls her into a kiss that tastes like honey, a giddy laugh getting lost in the crush of their mouths.
The moment when Florence steps forward, fingers curling around the mic stand, and says, “This next one is a song we only finished a few days ago.” Toni comes to a halt next to her, her electric guitar exchanged for an acoustic. “It’s called ‘my eyes, your eyes.’”
The first chord rings out across Hyde Park, sweet and softly melancholic. Luca can feel Florence’s nerves from all the way across the stage. She wonders if Florence is thinking of the same thing: the two of them in Luca’s bed five nights ago, the first time anyone heard this song. Pretend you’re singing it to me.
