Page 11

‘Any dirt on Giuli-hot?’

I sigh with relief as her teasing tone floats out of the speaker. Right. Not an emergency then.

I’m still shaking my head when I pass Nina’s room on my way to the kitchen.

Ma’s sprawled out in the middle of the bed in her vest and knickers, half-hugging the ever-present box file that’s spilling paperwork on to the mattress beside her.

The horror of it propels me straight to the fridge where I stashed a leftover bombolone alla crema before I went to bed last night.

I can’t think of a better breakfast than a custard doughnut with an Italian upgrade.

There’s also a slice of pizza bianca stuffed with wafer-thin slices of mortadella that I’ve earmarked for my morning snack.

Grabbing a small carton of apricot juice, I head up to the roof terrace and the promise of a breathtaking view.

I’m not disappointed. The sky is streaked with wisps of pink and orange, brightening even as I look at it.

It must be seven on the dot because bells start tolling all around me, and I remember Ma telling me there are over nine hundred churches around this city.

I seek out a few domes and bell towers, finding them easily.

Not trusting my ability to get into the hammock with my breakfast in one hand and phone in the other, I perch on the stone balustrade; the red-tiled roof sticking out directly below it giving me the illusion of safety.

I FaceTime Isla to discuss messaging etiquette and how NOT to give me a heart attack first thing in the morning.

I almost think I’ve called the wrong person when her make-up-free face appears on the screen. ‘ Ommioddio , you’re spending so much time at the cattery – you’re turning into Ma. What are you doing up so early?’

She sticks her tongue out at me before stretching her mouth into a gigantic yawn.

‘Emergency cat drop-off in half an hour. Your dad had to leave super early for a wedding up north, so your mum said she’d pay me extra if I came in for six.

’ She rubs her fingers together in the universal gesture for money.

‘I’m going to have my helix pierced by the time we go back to school.

’ She yawns again, then squints at the screen. ‘Are you...outside already?’

Instead of answering, I pan the phone camera around the rooftop. I can’t see her face, but her gasp of awe is even louder than the hum of scooters and the clatter of bins being emptied down below.

‘You’d better bring me with you next time, or else,’ she threatens, as I show her the view from the other side before flipping the phone back to me.

‘So . . . how’s it going with Giulio?’

‘A-ma-zing,’ I blurt, my words overlapping with her question as I take my first bite of the soft, doughy bombolone .

‘Really? You’ve changed your tune.’

I stick my own tongue out. ‘Ha ha. Very funny. I meant this.’ I hold my breakfast up to the camera. ‘Way tastier, trust me.’

‘Aw, shame. I’ve got a bet on with your mum that your first French kiss is going to be Italian...she thinks the same though, so we can’t work out how to decide the winner.’

‘Right, that’s it!’ I splutter. ‘No more unsupervised calls between you and Ma.’

A door creaks open behind me and I snap my head around. Giulio’s on his roof terrace just a few paces away...definitely within hearing range of this super-embarrassing conversation.

Isla’s hazel eyes fill the screen. ‘Hey! What’s up? You’ve gone bright red!’

‘Call you later!’ I close her down before she says anything else and study Giulio’s face.

How much did he hear? I squirm inside at the thought of him knowing I’ve never properly kissed a boy before.

Not unless you count the school Christmas dance when a boy in the year above me leant in and half-mashed his lips against mine before running off to the boys’ toilets.

It’s...too private. Something I’ll have to remind Ma about.

Honestly, the sooner that woman’s back with her cats, the better.

‘Buongiorno .’ Giulio links his hands behind his neck and stretches, his T-shirt hitching above the waist of his jeans with the movement. My eyes snag on a stripe of tanned abs.

‘Enjoying the view?’ he adds, his sly grin telling me he doesn’t mean the cityscape.

A blush crawls over my skin. A hangover from my conversation with Isla, I tell myself. Because I’m definitely not falling for Giulio’s charms like some tourist girl – not when there’s so much about him I don’t trust.

‘It was better before you showed up,’ I reply, reaching for a jokey comment to disguise my next question. ‘What are you doing here anyway? Making calls?’

Giulio freezes, arms still clasped at the nape of his neck, and I wonder if I’ve given myself away. Scrabbling for an excuse, I show him my own phone. ‘The reception’s much better up here, isn’t it?’

His arms drop to his sides and he leans one hip against the railing separating his roof terrace from Nina’s. ‘I just like to come up here before the day begins. It’s peaceful.’

He sounds sincere and, for a moment, he’s less like the cocky barista and more like...well, a real person.

‘Yeah, it is nice,’ I admit, admiring the view – Rome’s famous landmarks tantalizingly within reach.

When I turn back, Giulio’s watching me with an odd expression.

‘What?’ I ask defensively.

He shakes his head slightly. ‘Nothing. Just...you look different when you’re not making weird faces at me.’

I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already turning away. As he disappears back inside, I’m left feeling...restless. I finish my bombolone with less enthusiasm than before, wiping my sugary fingers on my pyjama shorts. The peaceful mood from earlier has vanished.

My phone pings again as I get up to leave. It’s another message from Isla:

Having a little rooftop rendezvous with Giulio, are we?

I send a selfie of my unimpressed face – a face that is entirely alone on the terrace – ignoring the lingering warmth in my cheeks.

Ma’s rinsing a chopping board in the kitchen when I go downstairs. Her tortoiseshell hair is tangled and matted on one side, but at least she’s spared my eyeballs further trauma and thrown on a long T-shirt.

‘Ah, eccoti . I thought I heard you up there. Were you on the phone?’

‘Yeah, just Isla,’ I say, grabbing a glass of water. ‘She was at the cattery in time for that emergency drop-off, by the way.’

I want to bring up their stupid bet, but I don’t want to open up a kissing conversation with Ma either – a can of worms, if ever there was one.

‘You’re looking a bit flushed, tesoro . Everything OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly. ‘Just...the sun. It’s already getting warm out there.’

Ma crosses to the fridge and starts pulling out peaches, apricots, kiwis and melons – all so much brighter and juicier than what I’m used to. ‘Give me a hand with these? I’m making a macedonia for the bar.’

I nod – mouth already watering; I love fruit salad – and look for a tea towel to dry off the chopping board.

I find one in the drawers beneath the kitchen window; a window that looks directly on to the building next door.

When I look up a bit, I realize it also offers quite a good view of Giulio’s roof terrace.

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as I catch Ma’s reflection in the glass – and the infuriatingly knowing smile on her face.

Did she see Giulio up there? Did she hear our conversation?

My mind races. I’ve got to be more careful.

The last thing I need is Ma thinking she has actual evidence of me being the cliché foreign girl.

But at the same time, that brief exchange on the terrace felt like a little breakthrough; like I might actually be capable of pulling off this whole friends charade.

I start chopping, taking my frustrations out on a jumbo watermelon. The quicker I get closer to Giulio and find out what he’s up to, the better.