Page 12 of Livia in Rome
‘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 abravo 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 heknow 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 hopeyou’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.
To say I hadn’t been looking forward to language classes would be an understatement, but after one whole week of non-stop Giulio, and a dismal Sunday lunch at the hospital with Ma, my face could really do with a break. My cheeks literally ache from switching expressions all the time; scowling at Giulio when Ma’s eyes are on me, forcing a smile when they’re not. Getting away from the pretence, even if it’s just for a few hours, is a welcome escape.
I find the school as easily as Nina said I would, just across the road on the corner of the street, the entrance tucked around the side. It looks like any other apartment building, with its graffitied walls and mustard stucco, but there are no geraniums or bougainvillea spilling over the balconies, just a line of teenagers filing in through the main door. I fall in behind a group of exchange students with matching backpacks and wait for my turn at reception, asking myself why I silenced that annoying little Duolingo owl. Would I be more confident now if I’d completedthe Italian course on the app? Proper Italian, and not just the hybrid I speak with Ma and Pa.
‘Livia Nardelli?’ The receptionist repeats my name back to me, like she’s expecting me to tell her there’s been some mistake. ‘Italiano?’
A wave of heat washes over me as I nod, resisting the urge to apologize and confess that, yeah, I have the name and look the part, but I’m a fraud. I’m the equivalent of a red-haired, freckle-faced Morag McDonald turning up to learn the chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
The receptionist switches to English, clearly changing her opinion of me as she points at the stairwell. ‘Second floor. First door on the right.’
Inside the classroom, the exchange students have already claimed one entire side of the U-shaped desk arrangement and are chatting together in a language I don’t recognize. Posters of the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps and other famous landmarks adorn the walls and it’s crazy to think they’re nearby, beyond this street and these four walls. But I can just imagine what Giulio would say if I took a day off to go sightseeing.Turista.
‘Ehi!’
I’m so lost in thought, it takes me a moment to realize the petite girl with the swingy ponytail is saying hello to me. I do the thing where I look overmy shoulder then point awkwardly to myself, but she continues to nod and smile, revealing the whitest, wonkiest teeth I’ve ever seen.
I must be staring because she laughs, an even bigger grin splitting her face. ‘I know, I know, the teeth are...a thing.’ She holds out her hand. ‘I’m Kenzi. I saw you arrive by yourself and I’m on my own too, so...’
I stutter an apology. I feel awful – it’s like when people stare at my nose – but the truth is, it wasn’t her teeth that caught me off guard, it was her words, spoken in perfect Italian. I may not be able to copy it, but I know a Roman accent when I hear one. Her vowels are open and lengthened, like Pa’s, and the endings are dropped, too. I give her the same quizzical look the receptionist gave me. She’s every bit the Italian teenager – stylishly casual, and a little bit sophisticated. But her name...
