The floor drops away. The handshake … our code.
It’s really him. Leo is Rebel.
He pulls his hand back. ‘Sorry. Too much? Seems I’m always—’
He breaks off as a glass appears at my elbow, passed down from Alessandra to Nadia like a relay baton. ‘For the record,’ I say, deflecting their scrutiny, ‘this is just my face. I look pale next to anyone with a tan.’
I take a sip anyway.
Over the rim, I see Leo’s phone light up on the table. ‘Mamma’ flashes briefly on the screen.
‘Your mum wants you,’ I say, hoping he’ll leave and let me get my head together.
He scans the text. ‘She wants both of us. Silvia’s coming to dinner.’
‘Now?’
Fulvio, who’s clearly been eavesdropping, leans in. ‘Can I come? I have some ideas I’d like to run past your mum and Silvia.’
‘Not this time,’ Leo says, holding my coat open for me.
Fulvio drops into Leo’s empty seat. ‘People like her always get special treatment. First it’s free tuition, now it’ll be extra help.’
Nadia and Alessandra release a flood of Italian in his direction. I only catch ‘idiota’ as we step outside and the din of thebacarofades behind us.
It’s freezing now, the kind of cold you only get near water. We walk fast, shop windows blurring past in flashes of gilded, sequinned and painted masks. And Leo’s been wearing the most convincing one of all.
‘You knew,’ I whisper. ‘You knew and you didn’t tell me.’
‘Evie …’ His voice is pleading. ‘I tried.’
‘Not hard enough! You let me—’ I break off, cheeks burning. ‘You just let me …’
No. I can’t say it out loud. I can’t remind him of the kiss.
I don’t have to. It’s written all over his face – a pained look that sears my chest.
The palazzo is hushed and warm after the street. I gaze longingly at the staircase, aching to be alone to unpick my thoughts, but Veronica’s voice pulls us towards the dining room, where she and Silvia are waiting, table laid and food set out. Everything’s alevel fancier than usual, like Jacopo’s mum has pulled out all the stops for tonight’s guest.
I reach for the bread roll on my side plate. I’m not hungry. Not even a little, but I need something to do with my hands, something to distract me from the boy sitting next to me.
Silvia piles a generous helping of a thick pasta in some kind of anchovy sauce on to her plate. ‘We were discussing the mask-making workshop. Veronica wasn’t sure how useful it was. I’d love to hear what you thought, Evie, given that you’re on the programme.’
My stomach sinks. Worst timing ever. Talking about art in front of Leo feels impossible. He knows the truth about me, all the messages where I told him I was struggling, all the lies I’ve told to even be here. I might as well be naked.
‘Um … it was interesting,’ I manage. ‘Kind of incredible how we all started with the same base and ended up with totally different masks.’
Leo nods. ‘That something so … blank … can become so meaningful. It’s rare. And special.’
I grip the edge of the table. Blank. Another one of our codes.
Veronica shrugs. ‘I can see why this sort of activity appeals to tourists.’
‘Which is why it shouldn’t be only for them,’ Silvia says lightly, eyeing the roll I’ve shredded to crumbs and sliding the breadbasket towards me. ‘Yours was intriguing, Evie. I admired the fierce edge. People often aim for pretty.’
Leo sets his cutlery down and twists to face me. ‘I only saw it for a second, but it really struck me.’
‘Did it strike you straight away?’ I snap.
