When you’re headed into the unknown it always takes forever; with the promise of an exciting adventure you can never quite get there fast enough. Heading back is always a much quicker journey. I didn’t want to get back to the hotel just yet; sure, my pinky toe throbbed, and I had a matching blister forming on my other foot, but I didn’t want the day to end. I stalled as much as I could and, as far as distractions go, a stopover to Giolotti—Rome’s most famous gelateria—was a pretty damn good one. As promised at the Spanish Steps, I paid for our iced treats, though Marcello had insisted he pay for lunch; it definitely felt like some bizarre date. In retrospect, I hadn’t exactly lied to the others about my plans for the day. The fact that it also included Marcello’s raspberry and chocolate gelato, and my pistachio one, well, that was just an added bonus.

We veered down the narrow, familiar street towards the hotel. Our gelatos were long gone and the air hung heavier in the onset of afternoon; it seemed like a lifetime ago that we bumped into one another on this very street, when I had in some way swayed him into showing me around. I thought about how the day might have turned out. Me, hobbling aimlessly in inappropriate footwear, lost, feasting on overpriced tourist food and seeing a fraction of the sites. I thought about how Marcello could easily have ended up showing Jodie and the others all the places he had shown me and something twisted my insides; I didn’t like the feeling and I sure as hell didn’t understand why. I mean, Marcello didn’t belong to me; he wasn’t my private tour guide, although in some strange way he kind of felt like it. We stopped outside the hotel, awkwardly standing at the front entrance, facing one another, again just like a first date.

‘Umm, thank you, Marcello, today was really great,’ I said, fidgeting from side to side. I brushed my hair out of my face, looked down and then up, then placed my hand on my hip, trying for that casual, cool persona, like hey, whatever. Ugh, I was the worst.

Marcello, on the other hand, was the epitome of cool and casual; he was so confident and sure of himself he didn’t even need to hide behind his shades, and when he looked at me, giving me his sole attention, he did so without apology. If Marcello wanted to look, he looked, and one thing I learnt rather quickly is that I would never win the staring competition, not with him. I don’t know if it was the deep, dark brown colour of his eyes that was his advantage, but they sure were mesmerising. Screw it, he had dreamy bloody eyes. No woman stood a chance looking into those.

I stood there, not really knowing what was customary: do I shake hands, curtsy, offer a tip? Oh, Jesus, should I tip him? Would that be embarrassing? What was more embarrassing was the way Marcello was looking at me now, his eyes narrowed, fixed to the side a little. Oh, God, did I have gelato on my face?

But before I could wipe at my cheek, Marcello stepped forward and lightly touched my face.

‘You got a bit of sun today.’

If my face wasn’t already burning from the Italian sunshine, the feel of Marcello’s skin against mine seared like a brand.

I swallowed. ‘Did I?’

He smiled, nodding and letting his hand fall to the side. He was very close to me and I suddenly felt really hot, or maybe it was the sunburn? I looked down, then back at Marcello, who definitely had the darkest eyes I had ever seen, so dark they were almost as black as his lashes … aaaand now I was staring and he was staring right back at me. I stopped my awkward fidgeting and just stood there, aware of my uneven breathing and his proximity. Could he hear the crazy beating of my heart? I swear it was threatening to leap out of my chest; that couldn’t be good.

‘Well, thanks for not drugging me and selling me off as a sex slave,’ I half laughed.

Marcello’s beautiful dark eyes double-blinked and I saw a flash of horror mixed with confusion. I instantly cursed my big mouth.

For fuck’s sake—internal thoughts, Sammi, remember?

I laughed nervously, stepping back to put space between us, no doubt much to Marcello’s relief.

‘See, told you I was different.’

And before I waited for him to answer, I turned on my heel and headed into the hotel.

‘Ciao, Gabriello!’ I saluted to the man behind the desk, who, like most of his guests, probably assumed I was drunk. No, just mortified, I thought, taking to the stairs, only wincing slightly at the building pain of my bruised, blistered feet.

Who would have ever believed I’d be so relieved to see the inside of Hotel Luce del Sole? Certainly not me, not in a million years. And I wouldn’t call it a sense of nostalgia, but as I made my way up each aged, grimy step to the eighth floor I found myself smiling, wondering if any of my tour buddies had as good a day as me. Had they seen the things I had, learnt as much, tasted in the delights of delicious Italian food, and been immersed in the history with skin heated by the Mediterranean sun? Whatever they had done, I couldn’t imagine them enjoying their day as much as me, I thought smugly, twisting the handle of my room with a contented sigh, pushing it open to—

‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ I shielded my eyes, turning so quickly I walked straight into the door, flinging it closed and trapping me inside the room with an alarmed scream and rustling sheets for company.

‘Get out, GET OUT!’ Jodie screamed.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see, I’m gone, I am so gone,’ I babbled, scrabbling for the door, opening it and flinging myself into the hall, shutting it firmly behind me. I leant against the wall, my heart racing as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying so desperately to unsee the tableau from a moment ago. But try as I might, there was no amount of squeezing my eyes or wishing away that would work; the images danced a sick and twisted loop around my brain, images of Jodie’s ankles around … Bookworm Gary’s ears.

Jodie and Bookworm Gary?

‘Holy shit.’

I had so many plans: shower; get changed; have a little snooze on my top bunk bed. Scribble down all the sights I had seen—well, not all of them—and message my parents about how amazing my day had been, minus Marcello and the live sex show. But right now I was far too terrified to venture through that door. Instead, I decided the safest bet was to sit at the Hotel Luce del Sole bar, if you could call it that: it was really just a tiny bench wedged in the corner of the hotel restaurant. It wasn’t even busy enough to have a full-time bartender; the deeply sighing hotel desk manager, Gabriello, had to split his time between front reception and coming to top up my drink. After the first time, I sipped very slowly, comforted by the solitude and enjoying the dark corner, until an unmistakable sound sliced through my quiet contentment. It was like an insane tourist running with the bulls, except replace ‘run for your lives’ with an obnoxiously loud rendition of ‘That’s Amore’. I shrunk away from Nate and Johnny, who were wearing matching, skin-tight ‘I Love Roma’ T-shirts. I could only imagine how well they would have fit in holidaying and bar-hopping in Bali, but, lucky me, of all the tours in the world, they had to book mine.

‘Hey, S-S-S-S-Samantha,’ Nate called out, spotting me and diverting his path from the stairs towards me, Johnny in tow.

‘Oh, kill me now,’ I muttered under my breath, spinning on my stool and pretending I was shocked to see them.

‘Looks like someone’s had a good day,’ I said.

Not as good as mine, and definitely not as good as Jodie’s.

I forced my fake smile wider, hoping it didn’t seem creepy, or as if I was hiding anything.

‘Well, looks like you can’t wipe the smile off your face so I’m guessing you and Marcello had a pretty good time,’ Johnny said with a wiggle of his brows.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him; were Johnny and Jodie a thing? They seemed like a couple last night, and this morning for that matter; was she cheating on him? I shook the millions of questions from my mind. Not my business. My smile morphed into something else, something real as I thought back to my day.

‘Yeah, we really did,’ I said, enjoying the fact that, unlike this morning, I wasn’t actually lying.

Nate pulled up the stool next to me, his huge frame engulfing what was left of the tiny corner bar. I edged back a little but our knees still touched. Nate slid my drink over and without apology took a big sip, before grimacing and reeling back in disgust.

‘Ugh, that’s just nasty.’ He shuddered.

Johnny curiously picked up the drink and sniffed it, his questioning eyes lifting to me.

I sighed, rolling my eyes and taking my drink from him. ‘Yes, heaven forbid that a drink doesn’t have alcohol in it.’

‘No alcohol?’ Johnny repeated, as if certainly such a concept weren’t possible. ‘You mean, like one of those mocktails?’ he asked in apparent distaste.

I shrugged, taking a deep draw on my straw, trying not to think about where Nate’s mouth might have been in the past twenty-four hours.

‘Oh, hell, no!’ Nate exclaimed, taking the drink from me and chucking the straw into the air.

‘Hey!’ I protested.

‘You are coming out with us,’ he said, as if it wasn’t up for negotiation.

‘What, where?’ My heart started to race, in a way that was less ‘oh goody’ and more ‘oh God’. Obviously I had trust issues.

‘Honestly, Sammi, you need to remove that stick from up your butt and come out with us tonight.’ Johnny whacked me on the arm like one of the lads.

Rubbing at the pain and scowling, I said, ‘I don’t have a stick up my butt.’

‘Good, then get ready.’ Nate leapt off the stool, victorious, and pushed Johnny into motion.

My shoulders slumped. I really didn’t want to go out, the thought of consuming alcohol while suffering a mild case of sunstroke did nothing for me. Nor did I like the idea of being trapped in a confined space with the likes of Jodie. Then, as if conjured from my imagination, she appeared, blocking the boys’ path on the stairs.

‘What are you two so pleased about?’ she asked.

‘Sammi’s coming out with us!’ exclaimed Johnny, with way too much excitement. I wanted to hide. If there was one thing I had learnt it was to keep my distance from Johnny: he belonged to Jodie. Apparently she had quite the collection; would Nate be safe? Should Marcello be warned? I felt a pang of something inside me, deep in my gut, at the thought of Jodie’s tentacle-like arms flailing over Marcello. I didn’t like this primal feeling, which disturbed me more than I could say. In fact, it disturbed me almost as much as the way Jodie was looking at me now, her catlike eyes boring into me from above.

‘Oh, goody!’ she said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

‘Hey, Sammi, Jodie will help you get ready,’ Nate called out before turning back to Jodie. ‘Something really short, okay?’

‘You’re such a pig,’ Jodie sneered, moving to let them barrel up the stairs.

‘Oh, come on, you love it.’ He laughed, flexing his muscles. It could have been a shared moment between girls, for Jodie and I to look at one another conspiratorially and say, ‘Men!’ with a massive eye roll, but there was no bonding, no camaraderie. All I got from Jodie was a filthy ‘I loathe everything about you’ death stare before she continued down the steps and through reception.

I sighed; if this was a preview of things to come, I seriously had to clear the air.

‘Hey, Jodie, wait,’ I called out, abandoning my mocktail and limping after her.

Jodie swung around, stepping up into my face. ‘If you tell Johnny, I swear to God I will destroy you.’

I stepped back, stunned. Jodie’s wild eyes stared into mine, her finger pushing into my shoulder. With her being a whole foot shorter than me, the situation had the potential to be comical if I wasn’t so intimidated by her.

‘It’s none of my business,’ I said, holding up my hands in surrender; if there was a white flag I would have flown it.

‘Damn straight it’s not, so keep your mouth shut.’

I nodded. ‘Or you will destroy me, got it.’ It sounded like a threat made from a Marvel comic-book villain, but I did not mistake the meaning in Jodie’s manic eyes, and I had no doubt she would happily serve time if it meant making me pay. I would have to have had a death wish to mess with Jodie, all five foot of her.

She flicked her hair in a departing ‘Fuck you’ motion before walking out the front door; somehow I think it was safe to say we would not be braiding each other’s hair tonight and giggling about boys as we got ready to paint the streets of Rome red. I just hoped that we didn’t paint them blood red.