Page 18 of My Italian Love Affair

I already know exactly who Matteo Rossi is, and Iimmediatelydislike him.

It’s at that moment that Mark reappears at my side, following my gaze.

“Matteo Rossi,” he says, like I don’t already know. “Excellent player. Bit of a nightmare, though.”

“I can tell.”

“You’ll probably end up interviewing him at some point. I have a good relationship with his manager. Just be prepared. He’s… how do I put this?” He pauses. “Not going to be your biggest fan.”

“What? Why?" I frown, slightly taken aback by that. "He doesn’t even know me.”

“Well,” Mark sighs, “he doesn’t think women belong in football journalism.”

Ah.

So he’s one ofthose.

“Charming,” I bite out.

“Very.”

Before I can comment further, Matteo moves towards our section of the room, shaking hands like a politician working a campaign.

It’s ridiculous, really - none of the other players have behaved like this. They’ve just gone and sat themselves down at the table without any pomp or fuss.

When he reaches Mark, they exchange brief pleasantries.

Mark gets a polite nod, a firm handshake, a “buongiorno, come stai?”

And then Matteo’s gaze turns to me.

His dark eyes sweep over me quickly - calculating, assessing and dismissing all in the span of a second.

He doesn’t bother with a handshake.

Instead, he smirks and speaks in heavily accented English.

“You must be lost.”

I arch a brow.

“Excuse me?”

His grin widens, like he enjoys my reaction.

“You are not usually here. Are you lost?”

“This is Daphne Sinclair,” Mark explains. “She’s working with us for the next few months.”

Matteo nods slowly, gaze still locked on me.

“Ah. A new journalist.”

“Something like that,” I say coolly.

He tilts his head.

“Do you like football?”

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