Page 205 of My Italian Love Affair

"Yes,Dad," I tease.

He chuckles.

"Careful. I’ll come back there just to punish you for that later."

Heat prickles up my spine at the memory of exactly how Matteopunishesme.

"I’m hanging up now,” I tell him.

"Yeah, yeah. Text me later,bella."

I hang up and sit there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand.

Let me handle this.

The idea of handing control over to someone else makes me squirm.

But I mean it: I do trust Matteo. If anyone can stop Mark from taking advantage of me and my work, it’s him.

The thought brings me more relief than I want to admit.

*

After a morning spent finishing my articles, I grab my bag and head out into the city for lunch. The mid-afternoon sun is warm and bright, the sky a vivid blue overhead as I make my way down cobblestone streets toward my favorite café near Piazza Navona.

The air is thick with the smell of freshly baked pastries and flavoured gelato as I settle at an outdoor table. The waiter brings me a sparkling water and a menu, and I order a simple caprese panini and a glass of chilled white wine.

After all, why not indulge myself?

As I wait for my food, I let my gaze drift across the piazza. Tourists gather in clusters around the Fountain of the Four Rivers, their phones raised to capture the sculptures. A street musician plays a soft melody on his violin, the sound drifting gently through the air.

It’s then that it hits me: I’ve been here for two months.

Rome. The Eternal City.

And in all that time, I’ve barely stopped.

Sure, I’ve wandered the streets, visited the Colosseum, sipped aperitivos in sunlit piazzas. But I’ve been so wrapped up in work, in clumsily navigating the testosterone-laden world of football journalism that I haven't really let myself absorb how lucky I am to be here.

The architecture, the food, the people. The undeniable magic that lingers in the air.

My gaze shifts toward the fountain, where a young couple pose for a picture. The man wraps his arm around the woman’s waist and kisses her temple, and she beams withhappiness.

The sight makes something ache deep in my chest.

Because when I think about Rome now, I don’t just think about the city. I think abouthim.

Matteo.

The way he teases me relentlessly.

The way he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world.

The way he holds me when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

The waiter arrives with my drinks, and I smile in thanks before I reach immediately for my wine. I sip it slowly, the cool liquid crisp against my tongue as my thoughts swirl.

This thing with him - it can’t last. I know that. I’m only here for another month.

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