Learn Italian with Roman Holiday (A2–B1) | Simplified Italian text with English Translation

Chapter 1 – The Tired Princess Rome. A beautiful city,

full of history, sun and the scent of coffee. But I don’t see any of this.

My name is Anna, I’m a princess. And everyone thinks my life is perfect, but no one

knows how hard it is to breathe when your every move is planned. Waking up at dawn, having breakfast

with ten people, meetings, gatherings, speeches. Everyone talks to me, but no one really listens to me.

Today we arrived in Rome for an official visit and the city is celebrating. Flowers everywhere,

photographers, greetings and bows. I smile, of course, it’s my job to smile, but in reality I feel

overwhelmed. I feel like I need help. After dinner, in my apartment in the palace,

the court doctor enters silently: “Princess, this injection

will help you relax,” he says in a calm voice. Shortly after, I feel my head become light.

It’s strange, but pleasant, as if everything around me were moving slower. I lie down on the sofa,

but inside me grows a strong desire to escape, to leave that golden prison.

So, without telling anyone, I put on a simple coat, without crowns, without titles,

and I leave the building through a side door. No one stops me, no one notices anything.

The streets of Rome are alive, noisy, real. I sit on a bench near the Tiber,

the air is fresh, the city shines under the lights. I feel free.

But suddenly, the world starts to spin, my legs can no

longer support me and my heart beats hard and fast. The injection was really starting to take effect.

The last thing I see is a man looking at me in surprise. Then everything goes dark.

Who is he? Where have I ended up? Chapter 2 – A Night of Freedom

When I open my eyes again, I see an unfamiliar ceiling. There are no golden chandeliers,

no silk curtains, just a simple, small room, with an open window and the

night air that comes in lightly. “Hey… are you okay?”

I turn slowly, a man is looking at me. He is young, maybe thirty,

with disheveled hair and an attentive gaze, he seems surprised, but not scared.

“I found you asleep on a bench. It was late, it was raining… you seemed a little out of place.”

I try to answer, but my mouth is dry. He offers me a glass of water,

which I drink in one gulp. “What’s your name?” he asks.

I pause for a second. Saying Princess Anna is not a good idea.

“…Anya,” I reply. It’s the first name that comes to mind.

He smiles. “I’m Joe Bradley, a journalist.” I try to get up but my legs are still shaking,

even though I feel a little better. “Sorry to bother you, I’m going now.”

Joe looks at me puzzled. “At this hour? You don’t even know where you are. Wait until tomorrow morning at least.

There’s a couch, you can sleep there, don’t worry.” He’s right. I sit down slowly. He offers me

a blanket and disappears into the kitchen. As I close my eyes, I hear the

sounds of the sleeping city. It’s a strange peace, a freedom I’ve never felt.

But deep down I know this man will come back to ask me questions. And that my little

lie — Anya — might not last long. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.

Chapter 3 – Meeting Joe I wake up to the smell of coffee,

the light comes in through the window and for a moment I forget everything: the protocol, the tight clothes,

the official speeches. Then I hear a voice:

“Good morning, princess.” I freeze. Has he discovered me?

I look up, Joe is standing with two cups in his hands and an

ironic smile. “I’m kidding. Good morning, Anya.” I breathe a sigh of relief, take the

cup and drink slowly. The coffee is strong, true. Not like the watered-down kind they give me at court.

Joe watches me as I drink. “So, where are you from?”

Pause. I can’t tell the truth, I can’t talk about my country,

my family, my duties. “From the north,” I say. “I’m on vacation alone.”

“Interesting.” Joe smiles slightly but his eyes are watching me too intently.

He is different from the men I know: he doesn't bow, he doesn't pretend, he is curious but calm and

self-confident. He makes me a little uncomfortable but at the same time intrigues me.

After breakfast, Joe puts on his jacket and picks up his hat. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

I light up. "Really?" "I'll show you Rome, like you've never seen it before."

I nod, enthusiastically. I can't say no! But as soon as I walk out the door, he stops for a moment.

moment. He takes out his wallet, looks at something, then quickly puts it away.

I don’t understand. In reality, he knows who I am now,

and that tour of Rome… for him it’s much more than a walk. But I didn’t know that…

Chapter 4 – A day in Rome Rome is wonderful. We walk through

narrow streets and huge squares, with the sun warming our skin and the sound of scooters

passing quickly. Joe shows me every corner as if it were his home and I feel light.

“This is Piazza di Spagna,” he says. “Here people sit, dream, fall in love.”

I sit on the steps, laugh, take off my shoes. I feel like I’m living for the first time.

No commitments, no photographers, no rules. Just me… and him.

But Joe is silent, every now and then he looks at his watch. And then,

when he thinks I don’t see him, he takes out a small notebook and writes something.

“What are you doing?” I ask, curious. “Nothing, I’m taking notes.”

“About me?” “Maybe.” he smiles,

but changes the subject. “Are you hungry?” We eat in a simple trattoria,

with wooden tables and checked tablecloths. He orders for me: pasta,

bread, light wine. Everything tastes new. Every now and then, in his voice, I hear something

strange. As if there were a second thought behind the words.

What I don’t know is that Joe, this morning, went to the editorial office. He saw my photo in the

paper: “Princess Anna disappears during visit to Rome.” And now he has a plan.

An exclusive article. A secret interview. A front-page story.

Me? I only see Rome. He, on the other hand… sees the coup of his career.

But something in his eyes changes and I still don’t know how much.

Chapter 5 – The Vespa and the Trevi Fountain “Have you ever ridden a Vespa?” Joe asks,

with his half-serious, half-ironic smile. I shake my head, but my eyes shine. “Never.”

“This is the right time.” He adjusts my helmet,

quickly explains the controls, then leaves me alone. “Go slow,” he says. “Rome isn’t running away.”

My hands are shaking a little, but I speed up. The Vespa jumps like a wild horse, and I scream with

joy. The wind in my hair, the noise of the city, the people laughing as they watch me go by.

Joe follows me, running, then jumps after me. “Okay, now I’ll drive!”

We tour all of Rome: the Colosseum, the market, the streets of the center. It seems like a dream.

Then we arrive in front of a huge, white fountain, full of statues. “It’s the Trevi Fountain

,” Joe says. “You toss a coin and make a wish.”

I take a coin, hold it tightly between my fingers and think of everything I’ve lost,

everything I can maybe still have. I close my eyes and let go of the coin.

I don’t say the wish out loud, but Joe looks at me and maybe he’s understood.

In the afternoon we stop in a park, under a tree,

Joe spreads out his jacket so I can sit down. We talk for hours about everything and nothing.

And for a moment I forget who I am. I’m just a girl on vacation in Rome.

But we are not alone. In the distance, a man with a camera takes a picture.

This is not only a perfect day, it is also the beginning of a truth that someone,

very soon, will have to face. Chapter 6 – The Secret Photographer

I don’t notice anything. I laugh, I run, I talk and Joe looks at me, he answers,

but sometimes he remains silent. As if he were listening to another voice inside himself.

“Who was that man with the hat?” I ask, while we drink a drink sitting

at a table. I saw him two or three times during the day, always nearby,

always with a camera. Joe pretends to be surprised. “Which man?”

“The one who was taking pictures. He didn’t look like a tourist.”

He laughs, but not too convinced. “Rome is full of curious people.”

I change the subject because I don’t want to ruin the moment. But something

inside me moves, a little shadow. The man with the hat is called Irving. He is

a photographer, Joe’s photographer. And everything I do — the Vespa, the ice cream, the

Trevi Fountain — ends up on his camera roll. But of course, that was another one of the things I didn't know.

Joe promised his boss an exclusive: a day with the mysteriously

missing princess. A journalistic bombshell, fame and money. Only now it's not that simple because every

word I say, every smile I make begins to touch him and he's no longer sure

what he really wants. “Tomorrow,” Joe says as

we walk toward the river, “you could tell me something about yourself. Really.”

I look at him. “Maybe.” The truth is close, too close. And between the

lights of the sunset and the sound of the water, I feel that this day will not end like the others.

Something is about to change between us. Or maybe inside me.

Chapter 7 – The Half-Truth The next day, Joe arrives

early. He finds me sitting on the bed, staring out the window.

“Are you ready for another round?” he asks. But this time his voice is less light.

I nod but inside I feel a weight. We walk through the Gianicolo gardens.

The view of Rome is breathtaking but Joe seems nervous. He adjusts his collar,

runs his hand through his hair. “Anya…” he begins.

“Yes?” “You’re not really a tourist, are you?”

I stop, my heart beating faster. I look at him. He looks at me.

“Who are you, really?” I want to answer and tell him everything. Tell him

my name is Anna, that I’m a princess, that I disobeyed every rule to live,

to breathe, but I’m scared. “I’m not who you think,” I

just say. “But I don’t want to lie to you.” Joe lowers his gaze. “Me neither.”

He says it softly, as if he’s afraid of his own words. Then he adds,

“I wanted to write an article about you, I knew who you were since yesterday morning.”

It’s like the air suddenly turns cold.

“Did you use me?” I ask. “No… at least not anymore.”

Silence. The wind blows through the trees. A leaf falls between us.

“So all of this?” “It was real. It still is.”

I want to believe him but inside I feel something break.

And at that moment, an elegant car stops near the fountain. A man in a

black jacket gets out. He’s one of mine and he’s looking for me. The time I stole is about to end.

Chapter 8 – The Return I don’t run, I don’t scream and

I don’t run away. I just watch that man in the dark jacket approaching. His gaze is firm,

stern, he knows who I am and where I have to go back. Joe remains still and says nothing,

perhaps because he understands that it is over. The man approaches me and speaks with

respect. “Your Highness, it is time to go back.” I nod, without protesting. I feel the tiredness

enter every part of my body. Joe lowers his gaze. “Anna…”

I turn to him. “You are not going to write that article,

are you?” I ask him, in a low voice. He gives a half smile, bitter. “No,

but Irving has the photos.” “Burn them.”

He nods slowly, but I don’t know if he will actually do it. I get in the car. The door closes. And with

that gesture, everything ends: my freedom, the lightheartedness,

the day stolen from a life I did not choose. Looking out the window, I see Joe remain alone

in the square. He doesn’t take a step, he doesn’t raise his hand, just his gaze, and in those eyes there is everything:

anger, regret… and something that resembles a goodbye.

I don’t cry, not now, but inside every memory burns.

As the car drives away, I feel the city moving away. Its streets,

the fountain, the Vespa… and him. I go back to being who I’ve always been

but I’ll never be the same again. Chapter 9 – The Interview

The next day, I put on my official dress again, perfect makeup,

family pin on my chest, steady hands. I am Her again, the princess.

But inside, something has gone off. The press conference is ready:

the lights, the microphones, the journalists in the front row. Everyone is waiting to hear the truth.

Where I’ve been and why. I go up on stage and my secretary

hands me the prepared speech. I take it, look at it and calmly fold it up, putting it away.

I speak off the cuff. “I apologize for the unannounced absence.

I had a… private moment and I think every human being, sometimes, needs it.”

Silence. No one says a word. “I thank the city of Rome and those who

helped me without knowing who I really was.” My eyes search the room. I see him, he’s there,

standing in the back. Joe. Light shirt, wrinkled jacket, his gaze fixed on me.

I know: he’s made up his mind, he won’t publish anything. The conference ends, the journalists

shout questions, but I quickly get out. I walk past Joe. For a second

we look at each other but neither smiles. There’s something in his eyes.

An “I understand you.” An “I’ll remember you.”

Then he turns and walks out. I return to the golden corridors of my life.

Away from him, away from me. Chapter 10 – A Last Goodbye

Only two days have passed, but they seem like years. Rome continues to live out there, loud and

bright, while I remain closed in my palace, between official meetings,

elegant lunches and speeches written by others. But today, for the first time, something is different.

They tell me that there is an American journalist visiting who is part of an

international delegation. They want me to receive him for a brief greeting.

I accept, even though I already know who it will be. The door opens. Joe enters.

He is dressed carefully, but he still has that look of a boy who never follows the rules all the way

through. We shake hands, a simple gesture, but full of things left unsaid.

We sit down opposite each other, under the watchful eyes of the diplomats.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness,” he says. “The honor is mine, Mr. Bradley.”

We smile only with our eyes. We talk about nothing: about time,

about monuments, about the international press. An empty conversation in front of others.

But then, as he gets up to leave, Joe makes a small gesture.

He hands me a sealed envelope that no one notices. “A memento of your time in Italy,” he says.

I take it and hold it tight, but I don’t open it right away.

Only when he’s gone, alone in my room, do I open it slowly. Inside is a photograph:

me on the Vespa, laughing, free. No title. No article. Just

that image. A fragment of

stolen happiness, a secret between us. And, perhaps, our true goodbye.