Veronica joins us as Jacopo’s mum goes inside. ‘If you’re going to charm Evie, Jacopo, can you do it on the way? Your cousin’s sitting for us this morning and we’d like to have breakfast first.’
Jacopo loops his arm through mine as we trail after her, as though it’s completely natural.
‘About that,’ Jacopo says to Veronica. ‘She forgotshe has a dress fitting for the Festa delle Marie today.’
Veronica sighs. ‘Always Carnevale.’
I must look confused because Jacopo adds, ‘The Feast of the Maries – an event for the twelve most beautiful girls in Venice.’ He wiggles his brows. ‘It’s a shame they’ve already been chosen.’
Leo groans and covers his ears.
I swat Jacopo’s arm. ‘Where do you get this stuff? An old dating manual?’
His outrageous flirting is making it tough to pin down a mythical match for him. No Scottish creature has that much friendly Labrador energy.
‘Are you with InterSTEAM too?’ I ask hopefully, stopping to let a deliveryman haul a wheeled trolley over a narrow bridge.
Veronica gives a small laugh. ‘Jacopo has no interest in fine art. And actually, Evie, you’re the only student joining us through the programme – the only international one, too. The others have been with us since we opened in September, coming from schools in and around Venice. You’ll get along well. They’re all the same age as you and Leo.’
‘Oh.’ So I’m the only new kid. Great. I just hope the others aren’t like the faerie prince. Fine art, though. Who said anything about that? My stuff’s digital, all pieced-together layers, not something youadmire from a distance with your hands behind your back.
Jacopo nudges me with his elbow. ‘Don’t be sad. You will still see me. My school is close to the Institute. I drop Mamma off, then leave my boat,Catrìn, at Leo’s, and we walk in together every morning. Parking isimpossibilein Venice, and they have a spare permit.’
He cuts across me to a noticeboard layered with posters, tapping one showing a ribbon-covered boat packed with oarsmen in matching sashes. ‘And I officially invite you to thecorteo acqueoon Sunday. I’ll be rowing with my dad.’
I frown. ‘The aquatic … something?’
‘Water parade.’ Leo helps me out. ‘And you don’t need an invitation. Half the city goes.’
‘Youdon’t,’ Jacopo shoots back. ‘Why not bring Evie. Show our traditions.’
Leo scoffs. ‘No way.’ Then, after a sharp look from Veronica, he adds, ‘I’m busy.’
‘Ah, yes. Your father’s lecture on glazing. He sent me the link to the live stream earlier.’
Jacopo drops his voice. ‘You would not want to disappoint your father,no?’
Leo flicks a hand towards Jacopo’s ear, but Jacopo yanks me between them, using me as a shield. I’d justpulled out my phone to message Rebel and the sudden tug knocks it from my fingers.
Jacopo catches it before it hits the ground. He doesn’t give it back.
‘Can I text myself so I have your number?’ He sticks out his bottom lip. ‘Per favore?’
I agree, and pretend not to notice Leo glaring holes straight through us.
‘Relax, Leo,’ Jacopo teases. ‘I’m just sending her the parade details. I won’t share your secrets or anything.’
As if perfect Leonardo Ballarin even has secrets. And anyway, I have enough of my own to worry about.
After a dizzying number of bridges and tiny alleys, I let out a breath. ‘I’ll never find my way back alone. Even the streets have weird names. There are nopiazzas orvias like I learnt.’
Jacopo grins as if he’s been waiting for this. ‘Calliare the skinny streets,campiare the squares, andfondamentaare the ones by the water. Easy.’
‘Right. Easy,’ I echo.
He splits off when we stop at a tiny bar with no sign and no menu, and I’m sorry to see him go. I squeeze in at the counter with Veronica and Leo and, when they order, I copy them by saying, ‘Anche io’ – me too.
I’m handed a teeny-tiny espresso cup that’s only half-full, and a round golden bun topped with glazed syrup and thinly sliced almonds.
