Enough.
The Italian throws me. Leo’s usually so careful to stick to English around me. But it’s not just the language. It’s his tone.
Fulvio’s smirk falters, and he tosses the paper back on to our desk.
‘Relax. You can keep your little scribbles.’
I’m tempted to shoutbastatoo, when the afternoon drags on and Fulvio continues to needle us from the desk behind. Silvia makes us stay even later than usual to fine-tune parade logistics – timings, routes and who’s going first.
‘You’ve worked hard on Veronica’s brief,’ she says finally. ‘And I know the committee are looking forward to the show. I’d love to see more of your individual styles one day, but for now, you’ve earned a break – you should celebrate!’
‘Sì!’ Alessandra punches the air. ‘Class night out. Who’s in?’
‘I am,’ Fulvio says quickly. ‘We should catch up properly. Discuss how everyone’sreallygetting on.’
A few people exchange looks.
‘Rialto?’ someone says, prompting a back and forth about who has a boat and whichbacaroto try.
‘You can ask Jacopo to come,’ Nadia whispers on our way out. ‘I tried to chat to him at the ball, but he was very shy. Maybe if you and Leo are there … ?’
Yeah. Not sure what to make of that.
Jacopo’s been moaning about feeling left out since Leo and I got together at the masquerade ball a whole two nights ago, so he jumps at the invitation. He picks us up inCatrìnafter dinner, then we swing by a mooring near San Polo to collect Nadia, Alessandra and a quiet boy called Pietro I’ve barely spoken to.
The engine judders beneath us as we cruise up the Grand Canal, sending a constant buzz up through the bench and into my legs. Being on the water doesn’t make things calmer. It’s still traffic – just louder and closer, with nowhere to pull over.
Most of our classmates are already there when Jacopo eases into a quieter stretch near Rialto. I assume we’re getting out, but after grabbing snacks and drinks from thebacarowe drift back to where we were, and settle into a loose circle between the boats, the wall and some steps. I start to hope Fulvio won’t show. After our clash this afternoon, I know he’ll be out for blood.
Just when I stop looking over my shoulder, a huge motorboat tears past, sending a wall of wake crashing into us. Spray hits my legs. Jacopo mutters something that’s definitely not school Italian.
Fulvio’s at the helm, one hand on the wheel as his boat idles.
‘Seems like I’m late,’ he calls. ‘Still, I bet Leo and Evie haven’t let you in on their little secret yet.’
Nadia groans. ‘They’re in love. Big deal.’
I almost choke on my anchovy skewer.
‘I don’t care about that,’ Fulvio says. ‘It’s their plan for their floats I’m worried about.’
Alessandra rolls her eyes. ‘What are you talking about, Fulvio?’
Jacopo, who’s been quiet since we picked Nadia up, stretches his legs, his confidence flickering back. ‘I knew you were an idiot the moment I saw you.’
Fulvio’s head rears back. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Big boat, big engine, big wake,’ Jacopo says casually. ‘Venice isn’t built for that.’
‘Exactly.’ Nadia squeezes Jacopo’s arm and he sits up a little straighter.
‘You’re just jealous,’ Fulvio snaps.
Jacopo laughs. ‘No. I like my city in one piece. A small boat’s smarter. I don’t even need a licence plate. Harder to catch me when I park somewhereI shouldn’t.’
‘Because you can’t afford the fines.’ Fulvio looks around like he expects everyone to laugh. Nobody does.
‘It’s because I respect Venice,’ Jacopo says calmly. ‘But not thevigili urbani.’
