It was rather comical speaking to my mum, knowing that we were both hiding the truth from each other. I had no doubt that my sister was sitting in the background, miming questions to her; I could tell from the uneasy, wooden conversation.

‘And is the weather nice?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, you already asked me that, Mum—it’s lovely.’

‘Oh, right. So what’s been your favourite part of the tour so far?’

My mind flashed to an image of Marcello’s head between my legs. I cleared my throat and pushed that out of my mind.

‘Oh, um, the, ah, Pantheon was pretty amazing,’ I stammered. I could only hope that I wasn’t on loudspeaker; Claire would be picking up on my weirdness with her older sister’s intuition.

‘Ah, anyway, Mum, I better go. We’ve got another jam-packed day planned.’

‘Oh, yes, of course, you best hurry. Don’t want to get left behind.’

I bit my lip trying to contain myself.

If only she knew.

‘Okay, well, give my love to Dad.’

And Claire and Louis.

‘I will—love you, be safe.’

‘Love you too.’

By the time our call ended I think it was safe to say we were both equally relieved; living a lie was exhausting. Though I wanted to be honest, to tell her I had been abandoned in Rome and was now stranded in a gorgeous Italian man’s apartment with no passport, I knew that no matter how much I assured her I was safe, she wouldn’t believe it. The important thing was that I knew I was safe; I mean, there was a nonna keeping an eye on me, for God’s sake. Could there be a better bodyguard? I think not.

I wasn’t sure where Rosalia was at this point—possibly restocking the cavernous pantry for lunch—but she could be lurking around the corner at any given moment. So I stayed in the sunny kitchen, flipping through a newspaper, looking at the pictures instead of trying to decipher the words; it was something to pass the time, and I sorely needed distraction as Marcello’s class was taking forever. Finally, I heard the approach of cackling laughter once more, and I straightened from my slumped position at the table.

I leapt out of my seat and made my way towards the voices. I walked out into the hall, and out from the elevator stepped a group of smiling, flushed faces sporting rather windswept hairdos; it was enough to tell me the roof-terrace session had been a success.

‘Simply stunning. I’m telling you, young man, hit me up with some more of that local wine and I’ll be back again and again,’ said a tall lady with dyed black hair and thick plum lipliner that didn’t quite blend with her lipstick.

‘Now, our canvasses will be ready to pick up when?’ asked a delicate little lady with hot-pink nail polish who had her arm linked with Marcello’s.

‘Tomorrow. I will have them all wrapped for you,’ he assured her.

‘And we won’t have any trouble at Customs, will we?’ asked big Tex.

‘Not at all; there are no materials used that will pose any problems for Customs.’

‘Oh, super! I am going to hang my Roman masterpiece above the fireplace,’ announced his wife.

‘Very well,’ Giovanni called. ‘Best we get a move on.’

It was then that Marcello’s eyes landed on me, hovering near the kitchen doorway.

‘Hold up, Giovanni!’ he said, moving to skim through the group and come directly towards me.

‘Looks like you got some happy customers there,’ I said.

Marcello’s face was lit up in a way I had never seen before; he looked energised and impassioned, and it was contagious. He pulled a sheet of folded paper from his back pocket and handed it to me.

‘Here.’

I looked at his outstretched hand rather sceptically. ‘What’s this?’

I took it from him, but before I had a chance to unfold it, Marcello, like an excited child, started telling me, ‘It’s a ticket to the Colosseum—Giovanni will take you. It’s a “Skip the Line” pass so you don’t have to wait all day.’

I laughed. ‘Skip the line?’

A woman squeezed in between us. ‘Oh, honey, at our stage in life we don’t have time to waste on lining up! Some of us would be dead by the time we got to the front of the queue,’ she said, breaking away and moving to be ushered out by Giovanni, who appeared to have the patience of a saint.

I turned back to Marcello, who was still looking at me. ‘I know you didn’t get to see it last time so …’ He shrugged.

Grinning like a mad thing didn’t really convey what I was feeling in that moment, and although we had an audience—a loud, boisterous one at that—I did the only thing that could truly express my gratitude. I stepped forward, cupping the sides of his face and kissing him so passionately that the entire apartment was drowned out with wolf whistles and cheers. I thought Marcello might have pulled away, embarrassed, but he kissed me back, circling his arms around me and tilting me backwards like in the movies, putting on a real show. He lifted me up and we laughed like teenagers at the commotion.

One of the ladies was fanning herself with a booklet. ‘Does everyone get a goodbye like that?’

Marcello jokingly went to step towards Giovanni, his hands outstretched, but Giovanni quickly bolted to the stairs. ‘Let’s go! Avanti! Avanti!’

The cackles rolled down the stairs, delighting at Giovanni’s embarrassment. We lingered at the top. ‘You don’t want to come?’

‘I’ve got to clean up, organise their paintings.’

The kiss had turned more slapstick than I intended, so I stepped forward again, kissing him gently on the lips, wanting him to know I meant it when I said, ‘Thank you for this.’

Marcello smiled. ‘Thank me when you survive the Golden Slumbers experience.’

‘Good point.’ I giggled, heading down the stairs to where Giovanni held the door open.

‘Are you ready for this?’ Giovanni asked.

‘As ready as I will ever be.’

I was on a rickety bus with a driver who continually ground the gears. After each crunch of the gear box, without fail, big Tex said ‘Excuse me’ as if suffering from a severe case of flatulence, to a chorus of giggles. I, too, found myself laughing, even when the joke got really, really old. I was clearly in a jolly mood, indeed. It was an unexpected delight to be heading back to see the Colosseum, a place so old yet so alive, which in retrospect summed up my newfound travel companions rather perfectly. On this tour, the pace was slower, the laughs were louder and my spirit had completely changed as we lined up with our elitist ‘Skip the Line’ passes. I was even presented with a Golden Slumbers T-shirt, which I wore with pride, even if it was three sizes too large. I tucked it into the front of my shorts; wow, if only the other group could see me now.

The last time I had left the Colosseum I had been sick and sorry, with unsatisfied curiosity, speeding away on Marcello’s Vespa. Now, I stood in front of the large stone mass, awe-struck and ready to discover the layers of its history. Our tour explored not only the main arena but the dungeons and upper tiers that were closed to the general public, revealing the deepest, darkest secrets of the arena. It was a sobering exploration: long gone were the giggles and jokes; instead, a quiet reflectiveness came over the group. It would take more than one afternoon to truly unpack this ancient wonder, but it was a mighty good way to start ticking off my Rome wish list. I couldn’t have hoped for a better experience, with a better bunch of people. When Nora’s little blue-rinsed head rested on my shoulder on the journey home, and a light snore filtered through my ear, I didn’t mind, and I was a little sad bidding the Golden Slumbers crew goodbye from Marcello’s doorstep.

With my new T-shirt and a spring in my step, I knocked on the big green door. To my surprise, it opened straightaway, but no one stood there to greet me. I pushed it slowly open, peering inside to see Rosalia.

‘Ciao!’ I said; I was in such a great mood that I was happy to see her, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual. Mumbling under her breath, she scooped up the sunglasses and set of keys that Marcello had dumped on the side table, then headed for the stairs.

‘Busy day?’ I pressed.

Rosalia stopped on the stairs, turning to look down at me. ‘He is like a snake, shedding his clothes by the door, things here and there.’

I tried to contain myself; it was the most English I had ever heard her speak.

‘Boys, huh, always so messy.’

She hmmphed, rolling her eyes and starting up the stairs; once again the house was filled with the most delicious aroma.

I followed Rosalia into the kitchen, where her main focus was the pot on the stove. I was caught between the lure of the smell and finding out where Marcello was.

As if reading my mind, Rosalia pointed up. ‘Di sopra.’

‘Upstairs?’

‘Si, la trappola mortale.’

I laughed. ‘Roof terrace, huh?’

Rosalia nodded, retrieving the spoon from the pot, blowing it before holding it out to me, ‘Gusta,’ she said.

‘Oh, okay.’ I leaned down, slurping the tomato sauce from the spoon. An explosion of flavours burst in my mouth, causing my eyes to widen as I looked at her.

‘Good?’ she asked.

I said the only word that really fit the feeling, ‘Bellissimo!’ and gave her a thumbs up. A satisfied smirk lined her weathered face as she looked at me as if I were a little mad. Still, I saw that smile for what it was.

Another little victory.

Braving the lone ride in the ‘death trap’, I made my way up to the roof terrace, pushing through the heavy door. I kind of expected to see Marcello at work, painting one of the thousands of shades of light; instead, he was walking towards me, having heard me come through the door. Seeing his face was enough of a welcome, but seeing the terrace lit with dozens of tea light candles was something else.

‘What’s all this?’

‘You can’t come to Rome and not have a dinner on a terrace.’

‘I won’t argue with that,’ I said, moving towards a table set for two, covered in white linen. I picked up the single rose that was set on my folded napkin and smelt its perfume, watching as Marcello uncorked some wine.

‘I had such a great day,’ I said.

‘Me too,’ he said, glancing up from pouring my glass.

As I picked up my wine and admired the view, my heart swelled so big I had no words to fill the space, nothing would fit. I couldn’t express my feelings in Italian or English—it was all too much. I glanced down at the table setting, my brows pinching together.

‘Marcello, how is Rosalia going to—’

‘Ah,’ he cut me off, ‘I knew you would ask me that.’ He took a sip from his glass, then placed it back down before moving to the opposite side of the terrace. I watched, intrigued, as he lifted a hutch to reveal a small alcove inside. ‘A mini death trap for food,’ he said, reaching over to pick up the rose, holding it up to me, asking if I minded.

‘Go ahead.’

He placed the rose inside, closing the hutch and pushing the button, sending it downstairs.

‘You didn’t think I would make her carry it up the stairs, did you?’

I laughed. ‘No, but I know she would; she’d do anything for you—even clean up your mess at the front door,’ I said, looking at him pointedly, sipping on my big glass of red.

He winced, knowing exactly what I was talking about. ‘Si, old habits die hard.’

He motioned for me to sit, pulling the chair out for me before taking the seat opposite.

Straightening my cutlery, I was just about to ask Marcello how the rooftop class went when I noticed him flicking over the screen of his phone, looking lost.

‘What is it?’

‘Maria left a message, said she would call in the morning.’

‘Do you think she’s found my passport?’

‘I dare say that’s why she is calling. If it was anything bad, she would have called back tonight.’

‘Maybe, but she might not have found out anything yet. She may just have been calling for an update.’

‘Well, if I know Maria she will get to the bottom of it soon, I wouldn’t worry,’ he said, switching off his phone and pocketing it, giving me his full attention. ‘Now, how was your day?’

I broke into a winning smile. ‘That’s what I was going to say.’