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T he Vespa saddle looks long, but by the time I climb on behind Giulio – with only slightly more dignity than I managed the hammock – and scoot right back against the grab rail, we’re still uncomfortably close.

I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact and wish I’d worn jeans instead of this skirt, because it feels like there’s not enough material between us.

The engine whines as Giulio accelerates into the road, tilting us sharply.

I grab his sides, feeling hard muscle under my fingers before I pull them away and grip the saddle instead.

I’ve never actually been pressed up against a guy before and I try to keep away from him, but every bump in the road shoves me closer, like the city itself is determined to throw us together.

It’s impossible to avoid touching him. I can even feel the heat of his back through his shirt as we speed through the bustling streets, past historic landmarks and crowded piazzas, each corner and curve offering a snapshot of Rome’s street life and fancy buildings.

The city’s beauty almost distracts me from the awkwardness. Almost.

When we reach Isola Tiberina, I slide off the saddle on shaky legs, trying not to think about having to do this all over again on the way back.

Giulio pulls the Vespa on to its kickstand, and we head to the trattoria to pick up our food.

It’s the only building besides the hospital, a church and a small pharmacy on the tiny island, as if access to restaurant-quality food is just as important as religion and healthcare here.

And judging by the delicious smell of the carbonara and the mouth-watering aroma of sage and prosciutto wafting from the saltimbocca we pick up for ourselves and Nina, I can totally see why.

Inside the hospital, we walk along the corridor side by side and I rack my brain for friend-type questions that might get me close to the information I’m looking for. ‘So, you’ve been working at the bar for a while then?’

Giulio’s step falters a moment. ‘I suppose. Nina’s needed me more, recently. Even before she broke her leg.’ He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I detect a challenge in his voice when he says, ‘She’s like family.’

I’m not sure what to make of that. He sounds sincere...like he actually cares about her. But does he? Would he be creeping around stealing her letters and making dodgy phone calls if that were true?

I brace myself as we reach Nina’s door. I know I’ll have to speak.

I can’t keep showing up without saying a word, but the thought of messing up my Italian in front of her is paralysing.

It’s bad enough watching Giulio scrunch his face when I talk, as though understanding my less-than-perfect accent requires all his effort.

I hover awkwardly by the door, feeling like an intruder, as Giulio leans in to kiss Nina’s cheek – a mistake I won’t be making this time.

I watch their easy familiarity, a pang of jealousy tightening in my chest – not just for their closeness but for the effortless way he fits into her world and into this city.

Giulio straightens and Nina’s eyes meet mine. It could be my imagination, but her smile dims slightly. ‘Livia. You woke up in time today.’

‘Yes, Giulio was kind enough to bring me along,’ I reply, forcing myself from the doorway and burying the hurt where neither of them can see it. It almost kills me to say something nice about Giulio in front of her, but what if Isla’s right? What if the way to Nina’s heart is through him?

‘He is a bravo ragazzo , isn’t he?’ Her face splits into a wide smile when Giulio places the food on the overbed table in front of her. She inhales deeply. ‘Saltimbocca!’ She pats Giulio’s hand. ‘How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted?’

Giulio’s eyes flick to me and I read their silent message. I might be Nina’s family, but I don’t know her like he does. I don’t share their history. I don’t know her taste in food. But he does.

‘Can you get the cutlery?’ Giulio asks casually. Too casually. ‘It’s spaghetti, so a fork for me and Nina...and whatever you need.’

Easy, Livia. Easy , Inner Isla warns. I thrust my head into the cabinet and scowl at Giulio in secret, only coming out when I’m back in control.

But he’s ignoring me anyway, chatting with Nina, one hand hooked casually into the back pocket of his jeans.

The same pocket where I saw him stuff that mysterious letter.

It’s payback time.

‘Didn’t you pick up some post for Nina yesterday?’ I ask brightly.

There. A definite shiftiness in Giulio’s eyes. He narrows them slightly before tutting. ‘Nothing to worry Nina about. She’s here to recover, remember?’

I flush at the reprimand in his words.

Mannaggia! How does he always twist things so that I’m the bad guy?

‘But you can tell her about that silly mishap at the bar,’ Giulio adds. He’s getting me back – does he know I’m suspicious about the missing letter?

‘What mishap?’ Nina asks sharply.

I hesitate, partly because I really don’t want to tell her, and partly because I’m scared I’ll mess up my accent or get the verb endings wrong.

Giulio, of course, can’t wait to fill her in. ‘Oh, you know what Signora Pedretti’s like about her coffee. She wasn’t happy with the one Livia made for her, but I explained she doesn’t know what she’s doing yet.’

He turns to me, a worrying gleam of fake concern in his cow eyes. ‘Don’t worry, your Italian classes start in a few days. We might let you back behind the counter if you really apply yourself.’

The only thing I want to apply is my fist to his face, but I choke out a laugh as if I find him funny rather than.

..well...completely and utterly hateful and obnoxious.

It’s bad enough that he’s so comfortable here, so at ease, while I’m stumbling over words and worried about mistakes.

Now he’s making me look incompetent at the bar, too!

I’m almost afraid to look at Nina, to see what a disappointment I am to her.

But she’s staring off into space as if caught in a memory.

‘Signora Pedretti...of course.’ I think she’s frowning, but it’s so hard to tell.

Then it’s gone and she’s reaching for Giulio’s hand.

‘Yes...well, at least you’re there to help, caro .

I hope you’re paying yourself on time. Don’t wait for me to get out of hospital. It might be weeks yet.’

I turn my gasp of shock into a small coughing fit. Did I hear that right? Giulio’s paying himself? From the till? My eyes dart between them, searching for signs that this is some kind of joke. But there are none.

Did Nina break her head as well as her leg?

I want to demand answers, but Giulio has a knack for turning my words against me.

Instead, I put my head down and tuck into what should be the most delicious carbonara I’ve eaten in my life (sorry Pa!).

But my head is so full of questions about Giulio and the bar that I can’t even take pleasure in my flawless twirling technique.

By the time we leave the hospital, I’m fuming inside and trying very hard to hide it.

Giulio’s charmed Nina again, even while throwing me under the bus.

But I’m not letting him distract me. I need to figure out what’s going on with that letter and why he’s so determined to keep things from Nina and Ma and me.

I just hope I can find out before he does any more damage.

One thing’s for sure; it’s going to take every ounce of patience I can muster.