‘That’s the traffic police,’ Leo translates when, this time, people do laugh.
I take a breath. ‘Actually … Fulvio’s not wrong.’
Everyone turns to me.
‘Leo and Iarechanging our project,’ I admit, squeezing his hand as he searches my face.
‘See?’ Fulvio spreads his arms.
‘It’s just not what he thinks,’ I finish, wiping the smirk off his face. ‘The showcase is a chance to show everyone who we are. I don’t want to waste my shot pretending to be someone else, even if it means not getting a certificate.’
The pride in Leo’s eyes is unmistakable as he threads his fingers through mine.
‘And I don’t want the committee seeing some polished version my dad would approve of,’ he says. ‘I want them to see the real me.’
‘The real us,’ I add quietly.
Nadia’s eyes go wide. ‘But it’s only two days away.’
‘We’re not starting over,’ I say. ‘Just adding to whatwe already have, like that day we worked with Silvia – doing what she asked and showing our personal style.’
Leo surprises me by pulling a folded sheet from the pocket of his jeans – our sketch from earlier. He smooths it out on his knee and passes it around, explaining how we’d layer something new over our existing portraits.
Fulvio taps the wheel of his boat. ‘I want to know what Martino Ballarin thinks of all this.’
The name hits like cold water.
‘My dad will never approve,’ Leo says. ‘That’s why it has to be a last-minute switch. A secret.’
Fulvio scowls. ‘You’re going to ruin it for everyone. I’m out.’
He shoves the throttle forward, the motor coughing once before catching, then pulls away fast, dark water churning behind him.
Pietro leans in. ‘What are you going to do?’
I take a breath and open the Art Exchange. My thumb hovers for a second before I turn the screen around. ‘This is me.’
I hand my phone over before I can change my mind. Selkies, kelpies, green-clad vampire girls – layered, messy, mine. For once, I don’t hide it, even from people who draw like the artists you see in museums.
‘And this is me,’ Leo says, showing his feed: Renaissance figures stencilled in spray paint, brought into the twenty-first century.
Voices overlap.
‘Definitely not like your dad.’
‘Didn’t I see that near the Arsenale?’
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘A couple of things, really. Silvia’s comments. But this too.’ He passes around the image of Veronica’s watercolour. ‘My mum’s been holding out on us.’
Nadia puts a hand to her forehead. ‘OK, this calls for more snacks.’
We eat, laugh, and by the end of the evening, it’s decided. We’re going for it. All of us.
‘One thing,’ I say. ‘I’ll need some tech to pull off my idea.’
Jacopo leans back with a grin. ‘I know a guy.’
