Page 243 of My Italian Love Affair

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against mine. His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, and the smile that curves his lips is equal parts exhaustion and triumph.

"Impressed?" he asks, voice low.

"Beyond," I say, brushing damp hair from his temple. "God, Matteo. You did it!"

"You doubted me?"

"Never," I whisper, grinning.

He kisses me again - slower this time, like he's savouring the moment.

It's only when I hear the faintwhirof a camera shutter that reality slams back into me.

Over Matteo's shoulder, the sideline reporter who'd been interviewing him now stands with his cameraman, both of them staring at us.

The red recording light on the camera blinks steadily, and I stiffen slightly.

Mark's voice echoes in my mind.

Tomorrow morning, the pictures will be everywhere.

For weeks, I've tried to keep this thing between Matteo and I low-key. I’ve tried to be as professional as possible despite the tension that’s thrummed between us, and I’ve done everything in my power to keep our developing relationship separate from my job.

But Mark said the photos were coming. He said the scandal would break anyway.

So why let him control the narrative?

Why not get ahead of it? Own it?

Monetise it forThe Tribunebefore anyone else can twist it into something ugly?

I lift my chin slightly and smile at the camera. Matteo notices the shift, his brow lifting, but when I give him the slightest nod, he grins and tightens his arm around my waist.

If the world’s going to find out, we may as well give them a show.

The camera zooms in, and the reporter hesitates before stepping forward, clearing his throat.

"Matteo - can we get a quick reaction after that performance?"

Matteo doesn’t let go of me as he turns toward him, his arm still anchored protectively around my waist.

"Sure," he says, his voice still rough from exertion. "It was a tough match. Milan made us fight for every inch."

"And that penalty?" the reporter asks. "How did you stay so composed?"

"Practice. And maybe a bit of stubbornness,” Matteo chuckles. “I told myself we weren’t leaving here without that trophy."

The cameraman zooms in slightly, and I stand beside Matteo, conscious of the heat of his palm resting at my hip.

"And," the reporter says, glancing between us with barely concealed curiosity, "this moment right now… is this an official confirmation?"

Matteo turns his head toward me slightly. The faintest smirk tugs at his lips.

"Vuoi rispondere tu, bella?" he murmurs.

Want to answer, beautiful?

My pulse flutters, and I meet the reporter’s gaze and offer a calm, professional smile.

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