“I don’t sing in the shower,” I say. “Ithinkin the shower. It’s peak thinking time.”
“What do you think about in the shower?”
“Work. Solutions. Family issues.”
“In the shower?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to think you’re a psychopath.”
I shrug. “Rude! You don’t think in the shower?”
He bites his bottom lip, leaning an elbow on the wall beside him, tilting his frame slightly. “I’ve certainly been known to use my imagination in the shower.”
“Ew. Gross,” I say, turning away from him before he can see my smile.
“I write songs, Sara. Get your head out of the gutter.”
“Well go write songs then because we only have one day in Rome and I plan on using it.”
“I’ve been awake since six! It’s you whose been lying in like a bloody princess.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Get ready and meet me in the courtyard in twenty.”
“Twenty minutes, that’s all I get?”
I make a comical face as I reach the door. “Guess there’ll be no singing in the shower today.”
Then I bolt before I can embarrass myself further. Sure enough, Gus is showered and dressed twenty minutes later. He finds me in the courtyard, appreciating the beautiful oleanders. He takes my arm and guides me to the side of the villa.
“Where are we going?” I ask, allowing him to direct me. But before he can reply, I spot a blue and white Vespa and two helmets. He steps up and puts one on his head, handing the other out to me. “What are you doing?”
“Cole said we could borrow his Vespa.” He grins.
“Absolutely not. These things are lethal.”
Gus scoffs. “No, they’re not. Besides, aren’t you tired of walking everywhere?” I shift my weight, reluctantly accepting the helmet.
I’ve never been on a motorbike before, and these past few days I’ve seen Vespas darting in and out of coaches all across Italy, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the adrenaline rush.
“I am, but I don’t… I’ve never driven one of these before.”
“Well, I have. And I know Rome well enough. I lived here for a summer.” He takes the helmet and sets in gently on my head. “I’ll drive safely,” he assures me, pressing it down overmy head and fastening the strap. His fingers accidentally scrape against the soft skin under my chin and I glance up at him, my lips parting.
“Shall we?” he asks.
“Ugh, fine. But only because I’m actively trying to be irresponsible and let my hair down.”
“Well, your hairisdown,” he points out, climbing on and waiting for me to clamber up behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle, as unromantically as I can possibly muster, before saying, “Now obviously I don’t have my licence on me, but when in Rome, eh?”
“Oh for—” the words get trapped in my throat as the scooter lurches forward, zipping through Cole’s front gate and heading up the cobbled street towards the city.
Rome is even more hectic than Naples. It has that “don’t stop on the pathway or I will shout expletives at you” rule that exists in central London at rush hour. We jostle along towards the Colosseum, a must-see while in Rome, and I’m unsure whether Gus is breaking all the rules of the road or if other drivers are just irrationally angry, but horns are blaring almost every couple of seconds.
“Fuck,” I say out loud.
Gus flinches, peeking at me over his shoulder while we’re stuck at traffic lights. “What?”
