Page 10 of Livia in Rome
Isla scoops the black-and-white tuxedo cat into her lap and scritches him – yes, definitely him – under his chin to keep him still.
‘From what I’ve seen, he’s the opposite ofeww,’ she quips.
‘Ha ha. Well, get this. I think he’s hiding something, but there’s no way Ma and Nina will think he’s capable of any wrongdoing unless I have proof. I need to find out what he’s really up to. I need...a plan.’
Isla sits up straighter. I knew this would get her attention. Isla prides herself on being devious, like the time she set up a fake home screen so it looked like we were doing homework instead of gaming, or when she made a copy of the key to the high school greenhouse using a potato mould so we could spend break there in secret.
I quickly fill her in on the letter he swiped from the postie, and the call on the roof terrace. As she listens, I can almost see the calculations taking place in her head. So I’m a bit disappointed when she says, ‘Simple. Get close to him. Be his friend.’
I stare at her in silence and she backtracks.
‘OK, fine.Pretendto be his friend.’
‘Err . . . there’s a reason I quit drama after one term, remember? I was thinking more . . . spy on himfrom a distance?’
Isla laughs. ‘What distance? From what you’ve told me, you two practically live on top of each other.’
I feel myself redden at her words, but mercifully Isla doesn’t notice.
‘There’s more to it than that,’ she insists. ‘I don’t like it when people are mean to you, right?’
I think of the boy at school who called me O-Livia Oil when he saw me drizzling a home-made dressing over a sad little salad from the school cafeteria. That was four years ago and Isla still ‘accidentally’ knocks into him whenever we pass him in the corridor.
‘Ye-es,’ I say cautiously. ‘But I still don’t follow.’
‘Think about it. If Nina’s as fond of Giulio as you say she is, she’s not going to like you being mean to him. But if you’re his friend, she’ll warm to you more quickly. You’d be closer to the action, better placed to find out what he’s really up to. And we both know how hot he is—’
‘I do no—’
‘So it shouldn’t be too hard,’ she finishes, speaking over me. ‘What’s that saying your dad uses...the flies and the vinegar thing?’
‘Umm...you can catch more flies with a drop of honey than a barrel of vinegar?’
Cavolo!Why is Isla’s reasoning always so...reasonable? Could I really pretend I want to be friends with Giulio? It would take some serious skills to pull it off. But isn’t it worth a try if it helps me uncover what he’s doing behind everybody’s backs, and maybe even find evidence that neither Ma nor Nina will be able to sweep under the Giulio-is-great carpet?
One thing I do know – if I’m going to pull off this charm offensive, I need to look my best.
Maybe it’s the water quality in Rome, or Nina’s expensive bath products, but as I tuck my tee into my waistband and check myself in the small mirror, I actually don’t hate my hair for once. Yeah, there’s still an insane dark mass floating around my head, but it’s less of a frizzy mess and more light and swishy. It bounces around my face as I hurry downstairs.
I walk into the bar just as Giulio arrives. He freezes when he sees me, a weird expression on his face that has me checking the hem of my maxi skirt isn’t tucked into my underwear. No, it’s not that. I look at my feet. No, definitely no flip-flops, just plain white canvas Superga trainers; they claim to be ‘The people’s shoe of Italy’, so he can’t pick fault with them, right?
I want to scowl but then I remember Isla’s advice and switch to a smile instead, hoping it doesn’t look the way it feels – like I’m baring my teeth.
Giulio’s expression switches from cryptic to very, VERY confused.
Ma reaches over the counter to ruffle my hair. ‘Ah, you’re up early today! Isn’t my daughterbellissima, Giulio?’
Then she winks at him. Actually winks! And there’s a big cheesy grin plastered to her face, too. Oh no. That look. She’s going to be straight on the phone to Pa the minute I’m out of earshot with her ‘I told you so’s.
Nope. Not happening.
I spear Ma with a reprimanding death stare as I come out from behind the counter. This is one problem Isla didn’t consider in her grand plan – how to act friendly towards Giulio without Ma thinking I’m making foreign-girl moves on the cute Italian boy.
As the breakfast rush kicks in, it becomes painfully obvious that Ma and Giulio don’t trust me with the coffee orders or the till. Frustrated, I stalk Giulio’s every move like a cat chasing a laser dot, waiting for him to grab more post or sneak in another dodgy phone call. But nope – while I’m stuck picking up used toothpicks and getting my face steamed every time I open the glasswasher, I have to endure him chatting and joking with the regulars with an ease I can only dream of.
Just as I’m wondering if the day can get any worse, Giulio announces, ‘It’ll be lunchtime soon. I’d better take Nina some food.’
And there it is – Nina. He’s calling her by the name I gave her when I was little. He’s taking something that is rightfully mine. I bite my lip and scrub at a decades-old coffee ring to keep from snapping.
