Page 6 of Livia in Rome
‘Yeah, well, I’d still get tongue-tied saying those things in front of Nina.’
‘So maybe classes will be good then?’
‘Maybe,’ I accept. But still...what kind of Italian needs to take Italian lessons?
‘Hey, you’re in the city centre, right? Let me see the view.’
Isla always knows how to get me out of a funk, because when I open the shutters I can’t help grinning. The window faces exactly the way I hoped, giving us a glorious glimpse of the Colosseum.
I point my camera towards it. ‘Nice, huh?’
‘Gorgeous,’ Isla says dreamily. ‘Utterly gorgeous.’
I’m about to agree, but then I realize she isn’t talking about the most famous building in Rome. She’s drooling over the boy in the foreground – Giulio, leaning casually on the balcony next door, admiring the blue Vespa below like it’s the Mona Lisa.
Ommioddio– seriously? He lives next door? I yank the phone back towards me and slam the shutters closed.
‘Oh Liv,’ Isla laughs. ‘You are so doomed.’
Talk about a rude awakening. The first thing I see after groping for my phone in the pitch dark is a dozen Giulios grinning down at me from the collage on the wall, illuminated by the glow of my screen – like he’s been mocking me even in my sleep.
I yelp at the time, cursing myself for setting the shutters to wartime blackout mode to block out Giulio’s existence. Problem is, these are heavy-duty Italian shutters – they don’t let in any heat, any light...or any inkling that I’ve massively overslept and it’s practically midday.
I throw on the first outfit I find and thunder downstairs, almost taking Giulio out as I fly through the door connecting the apartment to the bar. He grabs my upper arms to steady me and my skin prickles at the unexpected touch of his skin against mine. He’s like a stinging nettle, I think darkly, taking a step back to put some distance between us.
His eyes flick to the wall clock, then to my unbrushed hair and wrinkled T-shirt. ‘Nice of you tojoin us, Scotland.’
Scotland?Uffa!Can’t he say anything without reminding me I’m an outsider?
It’s the first English word I’ve heard him say, but his Italian accent wraps around it, making it sound warm and tropical. Nina said he’s not interested in learning the language. Maybe I can use that. In Scotland, Italian can be a handy secret language. Here, English could be the same...
‘You missed the breakfast rush,’ he adds, nodding towards the dirty cups and plates cluttering the sink area.
I fake an apologetic smile. ‘You’re right. I should have been here. Why don’t you take a break now and come back in, say...’ I look at the clock, too. ‘September?’
I mentally pat myself on the back for saying this in Italian, even if I’m not sure it was entirely correct.
‘Livia!’ Ma, who has been wiping tables outside, points the nozzle of the spray cleaner at me as she comes back in. ‘Behave! Giulio has been a lifesaver this morning. He’s even taken Nina her lunch already.’
Great – now Nina will think I’m lazy, as well as a pale misfit who desperately needs Italian lessons.
Giulio moves to the glasswasher but, determined to show him I belong here as much as he does, I snatchan apron from a hook on the back wall and, tying it firmly around my waist, nudge him aside. ‘Leave that. I’ve got it covered.’
Giulio’s lips quirk upwards in what I can only describe as a wicked smile as he ever-so-slowly looks me up and down. ‘Sure about that? Because, from where I’m standing, it’s pretty obvious you don’t have anything covered at all.’
I frown in confusion. Then my face flames to the very tips of my ears.Ommioddio.I’m wearing one of those novelty aprons I’ve seen outside tourist shops; the ones that make you look like a naked statue wearing nothing but fig leaves. This one happens to be of a woman.
‘A couple of backpackers left it here last week,’ Giulio says. ‘They’re probably long gone, so feel free to keep it...it’ll save you buying your own.’
I fold my arms across my chest, covering myself up and expressing my annoyance in one go.
Uff!I hate this boy. He sounds SO reasonable on the surface, so kind. Thoughtful, even, with his wholeHere, Livia, have a spoon for your pasta. Hey, Livia, why don’t you keep that tacky tourist apron? You know, Livia, I’m more than happy to hold the fort and feed your grandmother while you lie in bed.
Ugh! Well, Ma and Nina might have fallen for hischarm, but I can read between the lines. And it goes something like this:You’re just a lazy turista and you’ll never be one of us, Livia. And, by the way, you stink of cheese.
I resist the urge to do something murderous with the apron strings, and channel my Inner Isla instead. I give Giulio the same slow head-to-toe once-over he just gave me, making sure to look unimpressed – which means ignoring Inner Isla’s inconvenient observations about how the apron he’s wearing is tied tight enough to show off his swimmer’s body, and how he looks like he’s stepped right out of a billboard ad for Armani Exchange or some other Italian brand.
‘You should get the apron that has Michelangelo’sDavidon it. It would be...you know...a big improvement.’ I let the dig hang in the air between us. That particular statue is the symbol of youthful male beauty. But far from being put out, Giulio’s cow eyes gleam with mischief.
