Page 231 of My Italian Love Affair

"Wait.A job?” she repeats. “But you alreadyhavea job."

"Yeah, but this one’s permanent. As a full-time Senior Sports Correspondent."

Priya lets out a squeal so loud I have to hold the phone away.

"Daphne!That’s incredible!Senior? At your age? Babe, that’s unheard of!"

I smile, but it feels thin.

"I know. It just… feels weird."

Her brow furrows.

"Weird? Why the hell does it feel weird? You’ve been working your ass off and having to deal with that idiot! You deserve this!"

"I know, but -" I pause, struggling to find the right words. "It's just so sudden. I came here expecting to do a three-month stint and then go home. And now Richard’s flown all the way out here to offer me a permanent contract."

"And you're hesitatingwhy, exactly?" Priya sits back against a wicker chair, propping her sunglasses atop her head. "Daphne, come on. What’s tying you to London?"

"I mean... it’s home," I say lamely.

"Isit, though?" she challenges. "Really?"

I open my mouth to argue, but Priya barrels ahead.

"Your parents are never there. They’re always gallivanting around on another river cruise ordiscovering themselvesin Bali or whatever midlife-crisis nonsense they’re into this month."

I snort.

"The Caribbean, actually."

"Exactly. Your flat’s empty, it rains constantly, and you’ll goback to writing clickbait articles about WAGs and which reality star bought the most expensive car this month." She gestures wildly. "Meanwhile, there? InRome? You have sun. You have football. You haveMatteo Rossi. And you have an actual,properjob. Not just some glorified gossip column."

"I mean… when you put it like that -"

"Thatishow it is, babe. I'm not even exaggerating. London was fine for a while, but you outgrew that place years ago, same as me. Now you've got the chance to stay here, covering sport for a major publication. It’s the dream."

I exhale slowly.

She's right, though I’m hardly surprised - she usually is.

"And, I mean…" Priya leans closer to the camera, smirking. "It doesn't hurt that you’ll get to stay close to Mr.Hot Italian Footballer. Who, by the way, still hasn’t graced me with a FaceTime introduction."

"You act like I can just prop my phone up during dinner and say, 'Hey Matteo, wave at my best friend who's been stalking your Instagram for the past three weeks.'"

"Okay, I was doing research," she corrects. "I had to make sure he wasn't a fuckboy."

"Priya."

"What? He had all the classic signs! A mansion, fast cars, a smile that looks like it belongs on a Dolce & Gabbana billboard…"

"And?"

She sighs dramatically.

"And...fine.I admit it. He seems decent. And hot.Veryhot."

I laugh despite the knot still sitting low in my stomach.

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