I was greeted by a sign in joyous cursive, saying, ‘Welcome Bellisimo Tour’, accompanied by a picture of a sun and a flower. I wanted to knock the sign off the easel with my fist. The sign should have read ‘Welcome to Hell’, illustrated with a cockroach and a pubic hair on a piece of soap. I guess I wasn’t in the party mood, but as I walked into the back courtyard area it seemed that I was the only one who wasn’t. A series of heads turned, revealing smiling, flushed faces. As they registered my entry, they paused their conversations to burst into cheers. I stilled in my tracks, caught between confusion and surprise.

A tall, blond male yelled out, cupping his hands at either side of his mouth, ‘Last one at the meet-and-greet has to do a nudey run around the courtyard,’ eliciting uproarious laughter and hoots from his audience.

This couldn’t be the group; surely this wasn’t my destiny.

With little time to react, the sound of Maria’s heels closed in, followed by a quick whack to my upper chest that had me reeling back on my heels.

‘Ow!’ I clutched my chest, stunned at her random violence, and rather surprised at the petite woman’s strength. I felt a strip of paper under my hand—a rectangular sticker bearing my name and a smiley face adhered crookedly to my top.

‘Come, meet everybody, Sammi.’ Maria dragged me towards the long table. ‘Everyone, this is Sammi from Australia; Sammi completes the puzzle of our little family, please make her feel welcome.’

‘You’re late, Sammi,’ said a raven-haired girl, her teeth gnashing on the straw of her drink, looking me over. Even though she smiled, her eyes said something else altogether. My attention dipped to her name badge. I had known girls like ‘Jodie’ before; she was the residential mean girl. I hoped I was wrong.

She, like the tall, blond boy, had an Australian accent, and it seemed that it would have been just like any given night at the local pub back home, until the boy Jodie was partially draped over—‘Johnny’, according to his badge—leant forward and offered me his hand.

‘Better late than never,’ he said with an unmistakable American drawl and kind blue eyes. I smiled, comforted by them, until I saw Jodie’s ‘Back off, bitch’ look.

‘Okaaaaaay.’ I turned promptly toward Big Mouth Blondy, who shook my hand with a wink. ‘Ciao, bella.’

‘Speak much Italian, do you …’ My eyes searched for a badge.

‘Nate, and I speak enough to get by.’

Nate was tall, athletic with short-cropped hair and a devilish twinkle in his eyes. He was cute, but definitely the kind your mother warned you about. No doubt I would find out his story, and everyone else’s for that matter.

Aside from two other Aussies—best friends from the Gold Coast, Harper and Kylie—there was Gary from the UK, who seemed reluctant to pull his attention out of his book for long enough to shake my hand.

‘We call him Bookworm Gary,’ Nate murmured out the side of his mouth in an effort to be discreet, but failing. Despite the less-than-warm welcome, I felt for the Brit; he was probably like me, wishing to be anywhere but here. Nate was firing through the group quickly, going onto the table behind.

‘Gwendal and Marina from France, Em from Ireland …’

I began to zone out, until Nate pointed a finger down to the very end of the table.

‘And this bloke who, like me, is far too cool to wear a name, is actually a local; isn’t that right, mate?’

My eyes followed the direction of his finger and stilled. The local may not have had a name but he had a very familiar face. I would have recognised him anywhere; the mysterious Gino Bond who had seen me at my sweaty, messy worst was here, except this time there was no humour in his visage. Instead, as his attention flicked from me to Nate, I saw an ill-disguised look of contempt that said, ‘I’m not your mate.’

Nate didn’t need a translator to get the drift, and he slowly sat back down.

‘Aaand I think that’s everyone,’ he said, clearing his throat.

I stood still at the head of the table, once again finding myself staring at the man from across the way, feeling that same strange sense that neither of us wanted to break away, like some kind of telepathic competition. Just as my brows pinched and his mouth creased just like before, I remembered the reason he had found me so damn amusing last time, feeling slightly annoyed and totally embarrassed.

Next to me, Maria laughed. ‘Do you two know each other?’ she asked in a lighthearted manner, like it couldn’t possibly be true.

‘N—’

‘Yes.’

Wait, what?

The man lazily took a sip from his wine glass before clarifying. ‘Me and Miss Shorten go way back.’

He knew my name?

No doubt I looked just as surprised as Maria, and had I been sitting, I would have been on the edge of my seat, eager for the next detail, because I had no idea what he was talking about.

‘We go all the way back to the hotel reception,’ he said, a new lightness sparkling in his eyes.

Maria seemed even more confused, but I wasn’t. Instead I smiled. ‘That’s right, we go waaaay back.’

The only real movement among the group was Nate chewing loudly on a piece of bread, and Jodie’s head snapping between the two of us as if she couldn’t believe we could possibly know each other.

‘Oh, Marcello, I can never tell if you are serious or not,’ scoffed Maria.

Marcello.

I looked at him again; for some strange reason, knowing his name completely transformed him. He wasn’t the dark, mysterious stranger from across the room, he was now very much a somebody. And that somebody was actually a part of this tour group? Now I was confused; why would a local need or want to do a Bellissimo trip? Maybe he had led a sheltered life, although this didn’t seem to be the case. He looked worldly, street smart, and held himself with confidence—basically the total opposite to me. If he wanted to see the sights, why on earth would he want to hang out with a motley crew like us, in a dive like this? It made no sense.

Jodie laughed. ‘Why don’t you take a picture? It will last longer.’

I snapped out of my trance. Oh, God, had I been staring? I had totally been staring. I blanched, quickly motioning for Nate to shift aside so I could move into the seat next to him and hopefully disappear.

Don’t look at him, Sammi, just focus on Maria.

Maria, who still stood at the end of the table holding court. ‘Now that you are all here, let’s raise a toast.’ She beamed, lifting her wine glass into the air; it took only a second for a glass of red wine to be passed to me, thanks to Johnny. He gave me a wink, as if to say ‘I have your back’.

‘Here’s to new friends!’ Maria toasted.

Holding up our glasses, we toasted with a multitude of clinks.

‘To new friends!’ And I don’t know why, but my eyes moved exactly to the direction I promised they wouldn’t: straight to Marcello. Again his dark brown eyes caught mine and held me in place, but this time Marcello broke the trance simply by smiling and lifting his drink at the same time as I did, a mischievous curve to his brow. I laughed, actually laughed, then tilted my head in acknowledgement and lifted my glass in his direction.

To new friends.