I find my thoughts drifting, and I dare to wonder, for the first time, if this experiment with Ben might not last only for the next two weeks. If there’s a way it could stretch out beyond the summer, stretch out interminably into some rosy vision of the future. The idea is as paper-thin and fragile as the wings of a butterfly, and as it flutters gently awake I hardly dare to hold it still in my mind. Could it be possible that Ben is thinking the same thing? I don’t know. Everything I knew about him before this trip told me that such a thing would never happen, but there’s something different now; I know there is. In Florence, I have seen him differently. With his guard down, without the smooth facade.

“I’m sorry that we had to leave Florence,” I say a little awkwardly. “I really loved it.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It was nice to be back.”

“Will you…” I hesitate, clearing my throat. “Will you go back there when you leave the villa?”

There’s a pause. “I don’t know,” Ben says slowly. “Hopefully I will have a new commission by then.”

“Oh,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the seat beside me. Of course. It’s the exhibition tomorrow. I can’t believe I’d forgotten.

As the train leaves the city further and further behind, it feels as though our new closeness is unravelling, as though we’re going to go back to how we were before. Perhaps I’m being a fool, trying to convince myself that I’m different, that I mean something more to him than a few stolen kisses. Perhaps it’s all in my own head.

No, I think. It has always been there between us – something electric and exciting, right from the start.

“I don’t want the experiment to end.”

The words are out of my mouth before I know I’m going to say them, but I’m not sorry. I sit up straight, my chin high. To stay quiet would be the easy thing. To let the possibility of happiness slip away without even trying to fight for it … that’s the coward’s way. And whatever else I am – stubborn, difficult, argumentative, perhaps – I am no coward.

“Bea.” His voice is quiet, and I try to look calm and collected as I meet his eyes. He leans forward, and I do too. He takes a deep breath; the silence between us is like a real tangible object, it’s so thick and heavy. “I—” he begins.

“AREZZO! AREZZO!” The call comes up the corridor and I jump in my seat, on edge and flustered.