Page 203 of My Italian Love Affair

Fuck that.

I turn off the shower and step out, wrapping myself in a towel and standing in front of the fogged-up mirror. My reflection stares back at me, eyes shadowed with exhaustion but sharpened with new resolve.

I’ve worked too hard for this. I didn’t move to Rome and uproot my entire life for three fucking months just to be intimidated by a bitter, small-minded man.

Mark is nothing but a bully.

And I won’t back down.

I dry my hair before I throw on a pair of light trousers and a sleeveless black tee that I tuck firmly down into them. I begin to pace my living room as I map out my next steps, mimicking Matteo’s movements from yesterday evening.

Hiding isn’t an option. But facing Mark directly rightnow?

Probably not wise.

Which leaves me with only one sensible option.

Richard.

He’s my editor, and the one who’s been hearing Mark's lies. He’s also the one who’s been unknowingly giving Mark credit for my work all this time. If I want this situation fixed, I need to go straight to the person who signs off on every article.

Go to Richard. Lay it out for him. Get the truth on the record.

Decision made, I reach for my make-up bag and get to work.

Once I look every inch the professional woman that I am, I head out of my apartment to treat myself to a quick coffee and a pastry from the cafe over the road before I return and open up my work laptop.

We’re one hour ahead of UK time here, and I sit and wait for the clock to tick to nine-thirty a.m before I find Richard’s name and presscall.

This is it.

It's time to fight back.

*

I end the video call with Richard and set my laptop down on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh.

The conversation had gone...okay. As okay as it possibly could when dealing with Richard’s unique blend of casual sexism and corporate detachment.

He'd listened, at least, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when I'd laid out the full timeline. The condescension, the lies, the way Mark had claimed he’d been helping me with myarticles while doing absolutely nothing of the sort…

Richard had hummed and nodded, muttering something about how Mark was along-time company manand how he'd need to look into things further.

But when I asked for specifics on what that actually meant, he'd immediately deflected.

So, no, it wasn’t exactly a resounding success. But it was a start.

Small steps,I tell myself.

My phone vibrates against the glass table, breaking me from my thoughts. Matteo’s name - along with that blasted winking emoji - flashes across the screen.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips despite the weight of the morning, and I swipe to answer.

"Hey," I say.

"Ciao,bella," comes the low, familiar drawl from the other end. "How did it go with Richard?"

"Not terrible, but not amazing either. He said he'd look into it, but you know how corporate guys are."

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