Page 153 of My Italian Love Affair

"It’s a book," I admit finally, my voice quieter than I mean for it to be. "A novel."

Matteo blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that answer.

"So you write fiction,” he nods. “Explains a lot."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" I glare.

"Journalism, gossip, making things up..?”

I roll my eyes at the sight of his stupid smirk, but before I can fire back, he suddenly moves, placing his hands on either side of my chair and leaning in again to re-open my laptop.

I barely have time to react before his voice turns smug.

"So, what’s it about? A journalist falling for a devastatingly handsome footballer?"

I snap the laptop shut again, harder this time.

"Don’t even think about it, Rossi."

"Why not?" he grins, completely undeterred. "Come on, let me read it."

I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Do youeverrespect personal space?"

"Not when I’m interested in something."

I shake my head, but I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.

"You’re hopeless."

Matteo’s smirk deepens, his gaze flicking to my lips for just a fraction of a second.

"And yet, you like me anyway."

I freeze.

He says it so easily, so confidently, and yet… there’s something almost expectant in the way he watches me.

Like he’s waiting for me to deny it. Waiting for me to fight him on it.

I don’t.

Because I don’t know how to.

Becauseliking himis the problem, isn’t it?

And neither of us has mentioned the fact that in just a few weeks, the season will end.

And I’ll be leaving.

We haven’t spoken about it, but we both know it’s coming.

Feeling awkward, I clear my throat and try to deter him all over again.

"It’s in English," I say, as if that will be the end of it.

"I’ll manage,” he shrugs.

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