Page 248 of My Italian Love Affair

When I stop cringing.

I click back on my socials and scroll through the clips and images of us kissing on the pitch before Priya’s reply comes through just a few minutes later.

Cringing?! You bagged an Italian football god. You are LIVING THE DREAM.

I shake my head, amusement tugging at my lips.

The phone buzzes again, and I glance down, expecting another message from Priya.

But it’s not my best friend. It’s my mother.

Morning, darling! Just saw the news - your father nearly choked on his meal! We can’t believe our daughter is now an Italian celebrity. Well done, love. Dad says to remind you not to get too big-headed.

I snort.

Of course that would be my parents’ response.

Not concern about my professional reputation or surprise at my personal life being splashed across every Italian media outlet - just mild disbelief and a reminder to stay humble.

My dad, who routinely brags about my A-level results to anyone who'll listen, suddenly drawing the line at football fame.

Classic.

I quickly type out a reply.

Tell Dad not to worry. Matteo's ego is big enough for the both of us.

I click back to my socials, scrolling through the endless clips and images of us kissing on the pitch.

It’s still surreal - watching myself in a moment so intimate, yet now so public.

The comments continue to pour in, a mix of curiosity, adoration and the occasional snide remark that I quickly swipe past.

Matteo Rossi and Daphne Sinclair: Italy’s newest power couple.

Bloodyhell. How did I get here?

My gaze drifts to Richard’s messages again.

I expect The Tribune to get the exclusive.

The offer - the permanent position as Senior Sports Correspondent - feels heavier now. More real.

More inevitable.

I sit up slowly, untangling myself from Matteo’s grip and sliding out of bed. He murmurs something incoherent but doesn’t wake.

The suite's living area is dimly lit by the soft glow of the city skyline beyond the windows. I reach for a glass from the kitchenette and fill it with water before wandering to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Milan stretches out before me, a glittering maze of lights against the pale blush of the sky as dawn breaks. The streets below are quiet - a stark contrast to the chaos of last night.

I take a sip of water and let it all settle in.

Roma won.

Matteo scored a hat-trick in the league final.

The kiss that I'd worried would cause chaos has, in fact, made us the newest sports media darlings.

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