Page 109 of My Italian Love Affair

“Is there a question coming, or are you just narrating the obvious?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.

His precious ego has been bruised a little.

Fine.

If he wants to be a dick, I can handle that.

“What do you think went wrong in the second half?”

“Everything.”

I wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his theatrics.

“Alright,” I say, making a conscious effort to keep my voice level. “Did the formation change at halftime have anything to do with the shift in momentum?”

He exhales sharply, clearly exasperated.

“It was a tactical decision. It didn’t work.”

JesusChrist.

I try again.

“Looking ahead -”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Matteo snaps, cutting me off entirely.

A muscle in my jaw ticks, and slowly, I lower my recorder.

“It’s kind of my job,” I say, tilting my head. “Although I didn’t realise thatsulkingwas included within your contract.”

His gaze lifts to mine for the first time, and his dark eyes flash with a fury that’s unfamiliar. The air around us turns thick, charged with something I can’t quite place.

His chest rises and falls with restrained breath, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.

It’s a standoff. A dangerous one.

Matteo exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, but he still doesn’t say anything. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back, and the silence stretches between us - a crackling, suffocating thing.

I should move on. I should wrap this up, take my losses, and walk away.

But I don’t.

Instead, I clear my throat, lift the recorder back up between our bodies and attempt to start this interview all over again.

“Matteo, it was a difficult match tonight,” I say, keeping my voice cool and measured.

The last thing I want to do right now is to show any sign of weakness.

“Do you think the team underestimated their opponents?”

His eyes flicker, but the muscle in his jaw doesn’t relax.

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