It should be magical. But instead it’s all noise and elbows and camera phones. And I keep wondering if Leo’s told Veronica I lied to get on the course and that my parents don’t even know I’m here. What if this was my one chance and I’ve ruined it, for what my parents think is a few scribbles and a boy who didn’t even kiss me back?
By the time I reach the edge of the square, a hush ripples through the crowd.
And there she is.
The Angel.
Lowered from the bell tower in a glittering costume, feathered wings outstretched.
But in my head, I’m the one dangling – suspended in mid-air with nowhere left to hide.
One snip and I fall. Straight back to Raeburn Academy and a future I don’t want. And Leo’s the one holding the scissors.
We only have a week left to finish the floats, and Veronica’s in full micromanagement mode. She hovers at every table, adjusting a measurement here, correcting a brushstroke there, as if each slip will be held against her personally. Every few minutes she drops the same reminder: the Inter-STEAM board and some very influential sponsors will be visiting Venice to judge our progress – and Martino Ballarin will be one of them.
The name settles over the room like an extra supervisor, and everyone works faster. I’m surprised the stern portrait from the Ballarins’ dining room hasn’t been moved here to intimidate us while we paint.
Leo and I haven’t been this close to each other since kiss-gate. Not an accident. At the palazzo, I’ve been sticking to Veronica like a shadow, keeping a buffer between us.
But that won’t work here.
‘You haven’t told your mum yet, have you?’ I siftthrough the brushes, trying to act casual.
‘Why would I?’ Leo says quietly. ‘We’ve got more important things to discuss.’
‘More important than me lying my way in here?’ My laugh comes out flat. ‘The whole project could be at risk if that gets out … maybe even the school itself. You’ve heard your mum say how important the funding is.’
He steadies his brush against the frame. ‘Evie, if you really knew me, you’d know that’s not what I’m worried about.’
‘Oh yeah, sorry. I keep forgetting your dad could just …’ I snap my fingers. ‘Open another one.’
‘Is everything all right here?’ Veronica removes her glasses to study my background detailing up close. I brace for the sigh, the inevitable correction. But instead she tilts her head, tracing the texture with her finger. ‘I really like this. The colour, the balance. It has something.’
I almost forget the mess I’m in. Did Veronica just compliment my work?
Then she straightens, smoothing the moment away. ‘Martino and the committee will be looking for something more Baroque – more of that dark–light contrast. Here, let me show you.’
She takes the brush, demonstrating how the layersbuild, step by step. Her strokes are precise, her explanations easy to follow. It makes me itch to try it for myself. We hear so much about Martino Ballarin, about his standards and opinions – but watching Veronica, I wonder whether what I’ve heard is only half the picture. Who is she when she isn’t standing in her husband’s shadow? I realize I’d like to know.
By the end of the day, my hands ache from painting, and my head aches from trying to block out Leo.
Nadia links an arm through mine as we leave the studio. ‘Bacaro?You look like you need some … relax?’ She tests the word, as if she’s not sure it’s right.
I nod. It’ll be my first time going for snacks with her. I’ve always skipped it to save money, and only agree today to avoid walking back with Leo, because he never goes either.
Except Nadia and Alessandra gang up on him. ‘You too, Leo. Want to come?’
I bite back a groan when he agrees. Great.
I was expecting something fancy, but thebacarois the opposite, dim and narrow with mismatched furniture. Students and workers are packed into every corner and, five minutes in, I understand why Leo avoids this place.
Fulvio’s cornered him by the door and is quizzinghim about his dad.
I’ve spent almost two weeks with Leo now, and his little micro-expressions are as familiar to me as Griselda’s. He wants out.
‘Hey, Leo,’ I call over. ‘You said you’d explain the food to me.’
Fulvio scowls, but Leo’s already pushing his way to the counter and the tapas-style bites displayed in the cabinet.
