Page 125 of My Italian Love Affair

Daphne and Mark.

My jaw tightens as I watch the fucker linger beside her, his stance just a little too close, his body angled toward hers in a way that makes my stomach churn.

His voice is low, his head tilting slightly as he speaks, like they’re sharing some private conversation - like he has any fucking right to be that close to her.

I know they have to work together, and I’ve hated the idea of it from the moment I realised what kind of man he is. The thought of it - of her being stuck in his orbit, having to tolerate his condescending bullshit day in and day out - is bad enough.

Butseeingit?

Seeing him stand there, right next to her, speaking to her like they’re anything close to equals?

Watching her glance away, her fingers nervously toying with her keys, her shoulders just the slightest bit tense?

No. That’s something else entirely.

That’s fuckingunbearable.

Deciding I’ve seen enough, I push away from the wall and make my way over, taking my time, making sure my steps are deliberate and unhurried.

Let him see me coming.

Let himfeel it.

Mark clocks me when I’m a few steps away, and his expression flickers with irritation before he schools it back into something more neutral.

Daphne, on the other hand, lets out a long sigh the second she notices me.

“Perfect,” she mutters under her breath.

I grin.

“Happy to see me again,giornalista?”

Mark shifts slightly, squaring his shoulders like he thinks he needs to make himself look bigger.

Which is funny, really, because he could stand on his fucking toes and I’d still be bigger than him.

“What do you want, Rossi?” he asks, his tone clipped.

I ignore him completely, turning my attention to Daphne instead.

“You heading out?” I ask.

She lifts her car keys as an answer.

Mark clears his throat, stepping closer.

“I was just about to walk her to her car.”

I smile.

Shake my head.

“No, you weren’t.”

Mark stiffens.

“Excuse me?”

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