Page 48 of Livia in Rome
My double-take is cartoonish. The space in front of his building, those narrow white stripes where his Vespa’s always parked, is empty.
My stomach drops like a boulder. ‘Oh no, Giulio. What have you done?’
The church bells chime 11 p.m., marking the start of the live count, and Giulio pulls a fat envelope from his pocket and hands it to Ma. ‘I’d like to donate seven and a half thousand euros.’ He smirks at the bank manager. ‘I sold the Vespa, to someone who knows its true worth.’
That smirk used to drive me up the wall, but with Bertolli on the receiving end, I love it – the smirk, and maybe the boy too. He sold his nonna’s legacy – something Nina had forbidden – just to help us save the bar. To help my family hold on to its own legacy.
Bertolli’s own perma-smirk fades. ‘You sold it?’ His eyes bulge in his red face. ‘Well, don’t expect any leeway now. The deadline stands – midnight, full amount, or the bar is mine.’
Signora Pedretti snorts. ‘Leeway? From you? As if you were ever going to offer that.’
Bertolli’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he scowls as she steps up to the Bar-O-Meter like she’s one of the showgirls on the Italian gameshow Ma and Pa watch in the evenings.
‘Forza!Gather round.’ She gives her calf-length skirt a flirty shake then draws a thick black line marking Giulio’s contribution. Sofia’s camera clicks away, capturing the moment. Ren lifts Kenzi off her feet, both of them whooping and cheering while the crowd claps and whistles – I don’t know if it’s for the show Signora Pedretti’s putting on, or because, in one fell swoop, we’re already at the halfway mark.
I want to grab Giulio’s hand and squeeze it.
Yeah, right. And the rest . . .
OK, Inner Isla, this time you might be right, I admit, a stupid grin plastered to my face. But then it hits me – I’m standing exactly where Flaminia stood yesterday and he’s smiling at me now, just like he smiled at her.
Ugh. I have to know. I need to Be More Isla...in a roundabout kind of way.
I lean into him, my voice quiet amongst the crowd. ‘Allora...how come you’ve been gone all day?’ The question comes out sharper than I meant.
‘It’s taken me for ever to get back from the suburbs.’ He holds his arms out as if to saylook at the state of me. ‘The Metro only started up again when I was already two stops away. I saw Sofia’s posts and left a comment, but there were so many, I don’t evenknow if she saw it.’
Another loud cheer erupts as Signora Pedretti draws a line at the ten thousand euros mark and does a celebratory shimmy – Sofia’s crowdfund has pulled in a whopping two and a half thousand euros. I notice Bertolli out of the corner of my eye, and the tiny twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth.
We might actually do this.
It’s the cash donations next and Ma shouts out every time she counts up another five hundred euros. But the line on the Bar-O-Meter is inching up slowly now, and the cash is disappearing fast.
Worry threads through me and I edge closer to Giulio. Somehow, the fate of the bar and whatever’s happening between me and him are tangled together – both uncertain, both on the edge of something.
‘So . . . you weren’t with . . . anyone?’ I aim for casual, but I probably sound as desperate as I feel.
Giulio’s brows knit together, then his face relaxes and a slow smile spreads across his lips. ‘Is that what you thought, Scotland? That I was with someone...a girl, maybe?’
Heat rushes to my cheeks and my toes curl inside my shoes.
He pauses just long enough to make my heart stutter, then says, ‘I was.’
My eyes snap to his.
‘I went to meet Flaminia. She’s—’
‘I know who she is,’ I interrupt, looking away. How could I not, when she’s all I’ve been thinking about? Her instant likeability. Her teeny, tiny little nose. The two of them together.
His fingers capture my chin, lifting it so that I’m looking straight at him.
‘But only to sell her the Vespa.’
He cups my face, showing me there’s more to his words – that subtext he’s oh-so-skilled at. It was maddening in the beginning. But now...
‘Oh . . .’ I mumble, feeling a bit foolish. ‘It’s just . . . you were with her the other day . . . laughing . . . and she had my . . . I mean, your spare helmet.’
Giulio smirks. ‘It’s actually Nina’s helmet. But tell me...Were you spying on me, Livia Nardelli?’
