Page 16 of Livia in Rome
‘Buongiorno.’ Giulio links his hands behind his neck and stretches, his T-shirt hitching above the waist of his jeans with the movement. My eyes snag on a stripe of tanned abs.
‘Enjoying the view?’ he adds, his sly grin telling me he doesn’t mean the cityscape.
A blush crawls over my skin. A hangover from my conversation with Isla, I tell myself. Because I’m definitely not falling for Giulio’s charms like some tourist girl – not when there’s so much about him I don’t trust.
‘It was better before you showed up,’ I reply, reaching for a jokey comment to disguise my next question.‘What are you doing here anyway? Making calls?’
Giulio freezes, arms still clasped at the nape of his neck, and I wonder if I’ve given myself away. Scrabbling for an excuse, I show him my own phone. ‘The reception’s much better up here, isn’t it?’
His arms drop to his sides and he leans one hip against the railing separating his roof terrace from Nina’s. ‘I just like to come up here before the day begins. It’s peaceful.’
He sounds sincere and, for a moment, he’s less like the cocky barista and more like...well, a real person.
‘Yeah, it is nice,’ I admit, admiring the view – Rome’s famous landmarks tantalizingly within reach.
When I turn back, Giulio’s watching me with an odd expression.
‘What?’ I ask defensively.
He shakes his head slightly. ‘Nothing. Just...you look different when you’re not making weird faces at me.’
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already turning away. As he disappears back inside, I’m left feeling...restless. I finish mybombolonewith less enthusiasm than before, wiping my sugary fingers on my pyjama shorts. The peaceful mood from earlier has vanished.
My phone pings again as I get up to leave. It’sanother message from Isla:
Having a little rooftop rendezvous with Giulio, are we?
I send a selfie of my unimpressed face – a face that is entirely alone on the terrace – ignoring the lingering warmth in my cheeks.
Ma’s rinsing a chopping board in the kitchen when I go downstairs. Her tortoiseshell hair is tangled and matted on one side, but at least she’s spared my eyeballs further trauma and thrown on a long T-shirt.
‘Ah,eccoti. I thought I heard you up there. Were you on the phone?’
‘Yeah, just Isla,’ I say, grabbing a glass of water. ‘She was at the cattery in time for that emergency drop-off, by the way.’
I want to bring up their stupid bet, but I don’t want to open up a kissing conversation with Ma either – a can of worms, if ever there was one.
‘You’re looking a bit flushed,tesoro. Everything OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly. ‘Just...the sun. It’s already getting warm out there.’
Ma crosses to the fridge and starts pulling out peaches, apricots, kiwis and melons – all so much brighter and juicier than what I’m used to. ‘Give me a hand with these? I’m making amacedoniafor the bar.’
I nod – mouth already watering; I love fruit salad – and look for a tea towel to dry off the choppingboard. I find one in the drawers beneath the kitchen window; a window that looks directly on to the building next door. When I look up a bit, I realize it also offers quite a good view of Giulio’s roof terrace.
A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as I catch Ma’s reflection in the glass – and the infuriatingly knowing smile on her face.
Did she see Giulio up there? Did she hear our conversation?
My mind races. I’ve got to be more careful. The last thing I need is Ma thinking she has actual evidence of me being the cliché foreign girl. But at the same time, that brief exchange on the terrace felt like a little breakthrough; like I might actually be capable of pulling off this whole friends charade.
I start chopping, taking my frustrations out on a jumbo watermelon. The quicker I get closer to Giulio and find out what he’s up to, the better.
Ioffer to open up the bar while Ma has a shower, and my heart rate kicks up a notch at being alone and in charge for the first time. Only the low hum of the refrigerators and the clatter of a rolling shutter cranking up next door keeps me company. I flick the switch on the coffee machine, half-expecting it to blow up in my face, but it hisses and gurgles in the usual way and I let out a shaky breath.
Then, something unexpected catches my eye – a sleek, modern-looking air-conditioning unit installed near the ceiling. I can’t believe I missed it; it’s so glaringly out of place. But maybe the promise of cool air will entice more customers. I find a remote control attached to a little plastic holder on the wall beneath it. A silent, cool breeze blows out of the vents and I mentally pat myself on the back. Surely Giulio should have thought about doing this?
With a new bounce in my step, I secure the door shutters to their hooks on the outside wall and find a white box with the logo of a localpasticceriaon one ofthe outdoor tables. The underside of the thin cardboard is still warm when I pick it up, the pastries fresh out of the oven and fragrant. I know I’ve just had abombolone, but...
