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Florence regards her with a cool indifference that would almost look genuine if Luca couldn’t see how much her hands are shaking. “I told you,” she says. “This band is the most important thing to me. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that my priorities had changed.”

Luca looks at her, disbelieving. Florence looks back at her. It feels like a stalemate, and also like they just went three rounds in the ring. Luca isn’t used to caring enough about something to fight for it. She doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

In the end, she’s the one who breaks eye contact first.

“Yeah,” she says numbly. “I’m sorry too.”

With an overnight stay in Paris, it takes them two full days to get back to London. Luca spends the time alternating between napping and stewing in the awkwardness between her and Florence. Florence looks just as drained as Luca feels; her face is pale, and there are deep shadows under her eyes, which don’t meet Luca’s once.

In hindsight, trying to talk about her feelings the night before their return home may have been a spectacularly stupid idea. Then again, Luca doesn’t think the results would have been much different if she’d brought it up at any other time. At least now she knows where she stands—even if she would rather stand anywhere else.

They’ve almost reached the Channel Tunnel by now. It feels like a lifetime has passed since they crossed it in the opposite direction.

“Ready to get back to jolly old England?” Toni asks.

“Not particularly,” murmurs Florence.

“I’m looking forward to my own bed,” says Miray. She turns in her seat to beam at Florence. “And our cooking evenings. Can we make lasagna when we get back?”

The idea of the two of them laughing together in the kitchen in their shared flat while a home-cooked meal is in the oven makes something inside of Luca’s chest ache. Tomorrow, she’s going to wake up in her own room. She’ll have to unpack her bags and do laundry and clean her dusty room. She’ll have to go back to writing grocery lists and setting alarms and remembering to feed herself. The idea of returning to her everyday life makes her feel like she’s standing at the bottom of some insurmountable hill with a rock she knows she’ll never get to the top.

They cross the Channel Tunnel. Luca wishes it would last longer.

When they emerge on the other side, Toni turns on the radio. For the first time in almost three weeks, they receive the BBC. The first song they tune into is one off Juno’s latest album.

“Do you think they’re playing our song here as well?” Miray asks.

“They are,” Izzy says, looking up from her phone. “One of my flatmates texted me the other day.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that?” Florence asks disbelievingly.

Before Izzy can snark back, the song on the radio ends and the familiar voice of the afternoon show host sounds through the speaker. “That was Juno Wilde with ‘Laika’! What a track. I—like many of you, I’m sure—can’t wait to hear her perform this one live at her London concert in two weeks. And her opening band, of course.”

“Oh my God!” Miray says, turning up the volume.

“Scorpio Season have caused quite the stir online. You could almost call their rise meteoric—a month ago, they were playing tiny pubs around London; now their music is all over social media. Recently, though, people have been speculating about the band being industry plants, and as much as I hate that term, in this case it seems it might actually apply.”

Luca stiffens.

“Wait,” Izzy says. “What?”

“In an interview on a breakfast show, Jeffrey Blake let it slip that the powerhouse front woman of the band, Florence Gibson, is none other than his daughter.”

Florence has gone so still, Luca isn’t sure if she’s still breathing. Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping her own knees. The look in her eyes is pure animal panic.

“Toni,” Luca begins. “Can you—”

“Shhh.” Izzy leans closer to the radio.

“He also revealed his plans to launch a new record label, Saturn Records, with Florence set to be one of their first signed artists. Looks like maybe the band life wasn’t for her. I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed—with the way things were going, I had Scorpio Season down as one of this year’s breakout groups. On the topic of breakout groups—”

At last, Toni turns off the radio. The van falls unnaturally quiet.

“That’s such bullshit,” Izzy says finally.

“I can’t believe your dad would go on a breakfast show and just lie like that,” Miray says. She twists in her seat, warm-brown eyes latching onto Florence’s. “What does he get out of it?”

“He did lie,” Toni says slowly, “right?”