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W hen Giulio and I leave the hospital the next day, I’m not thinking about our impossible deadline for once.

With my belly full of gnocchi alla Sorrentina , and my heart full of the progress I’m making with Nina, the stress of having to come up with a whole lot of cash in only nine days is briefly overshadowed by my recent wins. Small ones, but I’ll take them.

Nina didn’t flinch once at my accent. She even complimented me on the green cami I bought from a local market, telling me she likes to shop there too.

And the only time the tiniest crease appeared in the artificially smooth skin of her forehead was when I told her Giulio was going to show me some of her favourite places in the city, and she asked if Ma would be alone at the bar.

She must still be worried about Ma having secret meetings.

Or maybe it’s to do with the betrayal Signora Pedretti mentioned.

I still haven’t told Giulio about that. Right before seeing Nina was hardly the best time, and bringing it up as I climb on to the Vespa isn’t either.

My feet automatically find the fold-out pegs to rest on.

The dip of the suspension adjusting to my weight is familiar now too, but I’ll never get used to the feeling of my knees brushing against his legs, or how the warmth of his body through his T-shirt makes me all floaty inside.

It’s the heatwave, of course, and the helmet trapping the sweltering air around me, making me light-headed.

At first, I think we’re going to the Bocca della Verità, the giant stone face that’s rumoured to bite off the hands of liars who dare to put their fingers in its open mouth.

But he drives straight past the long queue of people waiting to see if the legend is true.

I’m relieved – not because I’ve been lying to Ma about the bar’s debts but because I’m just not comfortable being around the big tourist traps. I don’t want to feel like an outsider.

Instead, we park a short distance away on the Aventine, and I hear Ma’s preachy voice in my head. This is one of the Seven Hills on which Rome was built, Livia!

Between Ma and Inner Isla, I think I might need to see a doctor.

Giulio leads me to Il Giardino degli Aranci, a public park with rows of orange trees, their sweet, citrusy scent almost too much in the warm air.

He walks just ahead, clearly trying to build suspense.

I’m about to call him out on it, but then we reach the end of the path and, when he finally moves aside, I stop dead.

Rome is right there, laid out in all its glory – hills, monuments, ruins and modern buildings – all wobbling in a heat haze.

‘It’s SO beautiful.’ I lean out over the wall, drinking it all in.

‘It is,’ Giulio says quietly. But his eyes are on me.

My stomach does that weird little flip. I turn back to the view, but my every nerve-ending stays with him, hyper-tuned to his slightest movement.

He clears his throat. ‘Historical lasagna.’

‘Huh?’ The blood whooshing in my veins must be messing with my hearing.

‘It’s how Nina describes Rome. Layers and layers of history, built one on top of the other...like a lasagna.’

‘Well, that fits...what with Rome and food being her two favourite things.’ I freeze, my own words taking me by surprise. I know this about Nina. Not because of something Ma or Giulio has said but from my own experience of her, from our daily lunch visits.

I trace the path of the river Tiber to the small island where the hospital sits, its peachy-orange walls just visible through the trees. My connection to Nina stretches over the city...a bit stronger than it was before.

‘Historical lasagna...’ I try out the words. Nina’s words. ‘Sounds like something Ren would cook up.’

‘So, will he be coming to the bar every night?’

I frown at the shift in Giulio’s tone. ‘Is that a problem? Some new people looked like they were about to come in yesterday. I think it helps having Ren and my friends there.’

Giulio follows a crack in the paving with the toe of his trainer. ‘What’s the point in new customers if he’s giving food away for free? Not exactly helping Nina’s profits, is it?’

‘If more people come, they might buy...’ I start to defend my friend, but I see Giulio looking back the way we came, to where his Vespa is parked, a muscle pulsing in his clenched jaw.

‘Oh! I still haven’t filled you in on yesterday. When you distracted Ma with the sun umbrella, I spoke to Signora Pedretti. She said something about a “misunderstanding” between Ma and Nina...something about Nina feeling betrayed.’

Giulio gasps. ‘Betrayed? By Caterina?’

‘Well, we know Ma’s been apologizing for something.

..’ I bundle my hair into a ponytail and fan the back of my neck.

‘But then Ma did that whole hair-clip hack before I could get the whole story.’ I sigh, frustrated.

‘And I can’t tell if it’s serious enough that we shouldn’t trust her with the truth about the debts.

I mean...we’re talking about my mum – she’s all about cats and romcom marathons and.

..unsolicited advice about kissing boys. ’

I did not mean to say that last one.

Giulio smirks and lifts a brow.

I keep mine super still – I’m not going there.

He raises the other, daring me to keep going.

I fold my arms, adding a slight frown to double down on my point. Nope. Not happening.

A smile tugs at his lips and he pushes away from the wall. ‘Come on, Scotland. There’s one more thing I want to show you.’

We leave the orange garden and walk for a while, arms swinging at our sides, almost touching, until Giulio stops beside a huge green door set into a high wall.

He points to the small brass keyhole. ‘Have a look through there.’

‘What, so someone can poke me in the eye...or squirt water at me?’

He laughs, that rich, belly-warming sound again. ‘Trust me, Scotland.’

With a jolt, I realize I do trust him. And that, even if it is a prank, it won’t be a cruel one.

I barely have to crouch to press my eye against the keyhole.

At first, all I see is a blurry darkness.

Then, as my sight adjusts, an image comes into focus.

It’s so vivid, I think someone’s slotted a postcard into the keyhole, like a photo in a locket.

But birds are swooping in the clear blue sky, which means the dome of St Peter’s Basilica, perfectly framed by a path of arching greenery, is actually real.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this – no bar, no debts, no secrets.

Just this tiny, hidden view of one of Rome’s most famous landmarks.

‘This is . . . amazing,’ I say, glancing back at Giulio.

He shrugs. ‘Nina would’ve shown you if she wasn’t in hospital. I’m just standing in for her.’

Of course. I blush, reminding myself that this is about Nina, not us. I mean...there is no us.