Page 15

I kick off my shoes and head straight up to the roof terrace, wiping my cheeks as I go.

The sun is directly above me in a cloudless blue sky, the concrete beneath my feet as hot as the jet of steam that burnt my hand.

My quiet sniffles turn to sobs as I dash over to the hammock and pour myself into the stripy fabric with even less grace than the last time.

The sun-warmed cotton embraces me like a hug, taking the weight of my body. But it doesn’t lift my mood.

I was so sure I’d find a sense of belonging here, in the city and the business where my family’s roots are buried deep, but I keep getting things wrong – the wrong coffee, the wrong pastry, even the wrong air temperature.

Why is everything so difficult here? Why can’t I just.

..fit? The city’s noise, the distant hum of traffic and the bursts of calls and chatter from the streets below, all feel like a world away – someone else’s world.

I shift on to my side, trying to shake off my thoughts, and my phone digs into my hip. I don’t reach for it. What’s the point? Isla’s too far away to help, and what would I even say? That I’m homesick – for a home I don’t have?

I close my eyes, wishing my brain had an off switch.

That’s when I hear the scuff of footsteps again. I wriggle up a bit and peer over the side of the hammock to see Giulio appear on the other terrace. Why is he always turning up when I’m here, too? Is he trying to annoy me?

I duck out of sight, but it’s too late. The dull clank of metal tells me he’s climbing over the railing. His long shadow falls over my body as he leans his forearms on the balustrade beside me and stares down into the street below.

I roll my eyes, already guessing what’s captured his attention. ‘What is it with you and that Vespa? Are you so fissato , you have to watch it 24/7?’

Fissato. Obsessed. I didn’t even know I knew that word. But it just came out. Naturally. Maybe I’m not as hopeless as Ma thinks I am.

Giulio’s broad shoulders curve inwards. ‘Yeah, well, I might not have it for much longer.’

I sit up slightly. Was I right? Does he need money to fix it? Then another thought occurs to me. ‘Didn’t it belong to your nonna?’

‘Yes, but...’ His head drops as if holding it up is too much effort, and it’s clear we’re both having a moment, each of us struggling with our own difficult thoughts. He sighs and stands up straight, his gaze snagging on the hand I’m cradling against my chest. ‘You won’t want to hear it anyway.’

‘Try me...’ And I’m surprised to realize I actually want to know.

He leans his back against the balustrade, considering me for a moment with those dark cow eyes. ‘You hate that I’m close to Nina...’

I open my mouth to protest, but he nudges the hammock with his knee, making me swing precariously.

‘Don’t bother denying it. But she’s been there for me, and.

..’ He hesitates, then takes a deep breath.

‘When my parents couldn’t afford their own place, they moved into the two-bedroom apartment with my nonna – where I live now.

But I had my own bedroom at Nina’s because she wouldn’t hear of me sleeping on the sofa when she had a spare room.

So I used to move between the apartments via the roof terraces. ’

‘I didn’t know that.’ I blink, taken aback, although it explains why his stuff is in my room.

He shrugs, but I catch a glimpse of something deeper. ‘It wasn’t always easy, you know? Being around my parents...they argued a lot. Nina’s place was...a refuge.’

His jaw tightens as he speaks. It’s clear he’s not used to opening up like this. But I’m still confused. ‘So...what does this have to do with your Vespa?’

A shutter falls over his face, the openness from a moment ago vanishing. ‘Look, it’s nothing for you to worry about. I only came out here to check on your hand. The burn...it was kind of my fault.’

My heart skips a beat at the unexpected concern. There’s a softness in his voice that I hadn’t noticed before, and it throws me off. ‘It’s fine,’ I murmur, looking down at the red welt.

He nods, lashes lowered, masking his expression. ‘Good.’

His phone buzzes, breaking the tension. He checks it quickly, his face hardening as he shoves it back into his pocket. ‘Anyway...’ Another forced smile. ‘I need to go. Enjoy your...Italian dialect lessons.’

His lips twitch like he’s suppressing a grin – a real one this time – telling me that, despite Kenzi’s Oscar-worthy performance yesterday, he’s still not buying it. I watch him disappear over to his own side of the roof.

The unease in my stomach deepens. There’s definitely more going on with Giulio than he’s letting on.

Something involving the Vespa. Strangely, though, I’m curious not because I want to unmask Giulio, but simply because I want to know more about it.

..about him. As I settle back into the hammock, I realize something unexpected: a real friendship might be possible.