There was no bus, no golden chariot; instead, there was Marcello and a helmet held out to me.

I recoiled. ‘What is that?’

His eyes dipped to his hand, confused. But I wasn’t referring to what he was holding; my attention was fiercely locked on what was behind him. Marcello’s eyes eventually followed.

‘I am not getting on that,’ I said, crossing my arms and taking a step back.

Maria touched the side of my arm tentatively. ‘It really is the fastest way to get back, and far more comfortable than you would expect.’

‘Where’s the bus?’

Maria sighed, looking at her phone. ‘Pietro is not answering his phone. He won’t be back here for another three hours for pick-up.’

I paused. Was three hours really so long in the scheme of things? I looked at Marcello, my knight in shining armour, though there was nothing shiny about him. He was dressed in all black: black jeans, black tee, black boots, black mood. The cheery, smouldering Marcello I kissed last night had been replaced by a cold, distant stranger. Maria looked between the two of us, our body language speaking volumes, my arms crossed, his insouciant lean. It was like she was working with two defiant children. The fact he seemed so unimpressed about having to help me made me all the madder; had he regretted last night so much? While I was seated on the cobblestones lost in dreamy reminiscing about what could have been the one highlight of my Roman adventure, he was dragged here to help Maria clean up my mess.

A story to tell my grandchildren? Jesus, Sammi, wake up.

‘Sammi, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to the group and I can’t leave without knowing what you want to do.’ Maria’s voice snapped me out of my death stare and I blanched.

Shit, it’s not always about you, Sammi.

‘Sorry, Maria, of course. Look, I think I will wait for the bus. I have water and shade and I’ll be—’

‘Get on!’ The helmet was thrust into my chest and I juggled the black, shiny dome, watching on with an open mouth as Marcello made his way back to his Vespa. I swallowed, seeing the determination in his stride as he slid onto his bike, placing on his own helmet.

Maria giggled. ‘I don’t think waiting for the bus is going to be necessary.’

I gripped the helmet. ‘Is he always like this?’

Maria shrugged. ‘That’s Marcello.’

I turned away from his angry eyes, lowering my voice. ‘Maria, how is Marcello associated with the group?’

Maria sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

Her answer gave me absolutely no confidence; I was about to climb onto the back of a tiny death trap with this man. Maria led me over to the Vespa; it felt like a funeral procession, or a walk to the gallows. I would have sooner taken my chances with possible heatstroke and dehydration than be forced to wrap my arms around Marcello.

‘I can’t believe you haven’t told Sammi what a terrible person I am,’ Maria quipped as Marcello fastened the strap at his chin.

‘I am not convinced you are,’ he said, gripping the handles and looking at her with interest.

‘Well, we’ll see,’ she said.

Marcello shook his head. ‘So you still haven’t made up your mind.’

‘I told you I would think about it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m still thinking,’ she snapped.

‘And then what? Tomorrow you are gone and again … nothing.’

Their words were heated and my attention snapped between them like a tennis match. Was this a lovers’ quarrel? What was she equivocating about? Whatever it was, it clearly burned Marcello’s blood. If he looked unhappy before, he looked near on homicidal now.

‘Just give me time, and when we come back, who knows?’

Marcello scoffed. ‘That’s what you said last time, and the time before that.’

Marcello started the Vespa. Though I didn’t know much about them, I could tell that he had started it rather violently, and not how you were supposed to do it. I didn’t know if it was my eagerness to leave this awkward conversation behind, but I clipped on my helmet and jumped on the back of Marcello’s Vespa so quickly that I barely had enough time to secure my arms around his ribs before he peeled away from Maria and sped into the fray of death-defying traffic.

Oh, God, what had I done? I had climbed on the back of a Vespa with a madman, quite literally.

I had heard that the best way to see Rome, in fact the only way to see Rome, was on a Vespa, but with my eyes firmly closed and my koala-like grip around Marcello I wasn’t going to see anything. All I could do was feel and hear the sensations that would only amplify my terror if I opened my eyes.

‘Can’t breathe!’ Marcello laughed, yelling above the soaring sounds of traffic and chaos. Only then did I open my eyes a little.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I shouted, loosening the tiniest amount but still clinging firmly.

Marcello peered back at me, and maybe it was the distance he had put between him and Maria or the wind in his face and the sunshine on our shoulders, or maybe it was just this particular angle, but his dimples were back, and his bright white smile flashed as he glanced at me.

‘Keep your eyes open,’ he said, and I could feel the vibration of his laughter in my chest.

‘Just watch what you’re doing,’ I yelled, gripping tighter once more as he expertly veered around a honking car.

‘Well, stop distracting me,’ he said, veering down a side street. The buzzing of the motor echoing off the curved buildings and my head turned upwards as the coloured flags of strung-up washing whizzed by. We sped along places and paths that no bus could possibly go, and I don’t know if it was exactly the shortest route back to Hotel Luce del Sole, but it certainly was the most distracting. In a good way. I felt the cool wind at my cheeks, and any sickness I had felt was replaced by a new energy, a thrill in the pit of my stomach and the safety I felt whenever I was with Marcello. It was something I pushed to the back of my mind, even as I found myself resting my chin on his shoulder, my body melting into his. I didn’t know if he could tell from the change in my posture, but Marcello glanced back at me again, fleetingly. There was no missing the lightness in his eyes, the flash of something shared; he looked, dare I say it, happy, and it was the kind of look that could fill you with warmth better than any sunshine could. I didn’t want it to be over, I wanted him to keep driving long past Hotel Luce del Sole; I didn’t care if we never made it. With the promise in Marcello’s face in stark contrast to the reality of what awaited me at my hotel, I hoped that my telepathic pleas to Marcello would work.

Please, keep going, just a little longer.