Page 193 of My Italian Love Affair

We stay like that for several long minutes. His hand strokes my back and one of his cheeks presses softly against the top of my head.

Eventually, my sobs subside and his own breathing slows, the tension in his muscles slowly beginning to dissipate.

"For the record," he murmurs against my hair, "I have never - notonce- said that women don’t belong in football journalism."

I stiffen slightly.

"You haven't?" I ask, my voice small.

"Of course not." Matteo pulls back enough to look me in the eye, though his hands remain on my upper arms. "Some of the best analysts I know are women. I said one time, years ago, that some of the pundits on TV didn't understand the tactical side of football - but I never mentioned gender. And actually, I was talking about ex-players."

My stomach churns.

"Mark twisted it," I whisper.

"Of course he did," Matteo says darkly. "He wanted you isolated and on edge. Wanted you to doubt yourself, and not be able to trust anyone."

My brain slowly but surely comes back up to full speed as I process everything that’s been going on since the moment I landed in Rome.

All of the anger I directed at Matteo in those early interviews, the disdain I'd felt...

It had all been based on a lie.

I sag against his strong chest, overwhelmed by the realisation.

"God," I just about choke out. "I've been such anidiot."

"No," Matteo says fiercely. "You trusted someone who was supposed to support you. That's not stupid. That'snormal."

I don't believe him. Not entirely.

Because how could I have been so naive, so gullible?

How could I have let Mark manipulate me so easily?

"We're going to fix this," he promises, voice low anddetermined. "I swear to you, Daphne. We're going to make this right."

For a moment, neither of us moves. His breathing is uneven all over again, and I can feel the tension thrumming through his body like a live wire.

But when his palm moves to cup my jaw and his thumb brushes over my damp, tear-stained cheek - his movements all tender and slow and soft as he caresses my skin - I lift my head up to meet his gaze, and something shifts.

His dark eyes drop to my mouth, and the air thickens between us.

I part my lips slightly, and Matteo doesn't hesitate.

He bends his head and kisses me - not with his usual teasing arrogance, but with slow, deliberate intensity.

My hands move on pure instinct as they slide up to his broad shoulders, gripping tightly as his lips move over mine.

I swear that his kiss is a promise of its own, a declaration of how deeply he's feeling everything right now. It's protective and passionate and grounding all at once, and he tilts my head back with a gentle grip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as he deepens the kiss.

I respond instinctively, pressing closer until there’s no space left between us.

When he breaks away, his forehead comes to rest against mine.

"Let me take care of you," he whispers.

I nod.

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