Page 135 of My Italian Love Affair

I watch as he leans against the glass, looking at the field below with a distant expression.

“You know, I’ve been playing here for a long time now, butthis place always feels different after a win.”

“How so?”

He turns his head slightly, catching my eye.

For once, there’s no smug smirk, no cocky retort.

It’s as though the layers of bravado have fallen away, and he’s showing me something else.

Something new.

“It feels like everything is right in the world,” he says, the words almost hesitant, like he's not used to admitting something so vulnerable. "My father used to say that about every game I played, but especially the big ones. That feeling of pride, of happiness, it’s… indescribable."

My heart does something strange, a soft twist I can't quite explain.

"Your father," I say.

His gaze softens, and for the briefest moment, I swear I see something fragile flicker in his eyes.

He stands up straighter, but it’s not the usual posture of someone putting on a show. It's more like he’s remembering something important.

"Yeah. He was the first person I saw in the stands when I made my debut for the first team ten years ago. I was just eighteen years old. You should have seen the way his face lit up. He was so proud."

I nod, though I can’t relate. I swallow against the unexpected lump in my throat.

“That must have been... a big moment for you. For him.”

Matteo’s gaze returns to the field.

“It was. More than I could ever put into words. Footballmeans everything to me. It’s not just the wins or the goals or the glory. It’s about moments like that. The people you’re playing for. It’s family, tradition... all of it.”

I watch him carefully, feeling as though I’m seeing him for what he is for the very first time.

A real person.

“I still enjoy making you squirm during our interviews, though,” he smirks. “It keeps things interesting."

I roll my eyes, but I can't fight the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what your fans are most proud of.”

“They’ll forgive me for the flirting,” he says, his eyes glinting mischievously. “When you're this good at it, they don’t mind.”

“Good at it,huh?" I raise an eyebrow. “Someone thinks very highly of themselves.”

“Well, I have you laughing, don’t I? That’s half the battle won.”

“You're insufferable,” I sigh.

He winks.

“And you like it.”

I shake my head, but there's a warmth blooming inside me I can't ignore.

"I think you’re just full of yourself, Rossi."

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