Page 251 of My Italian Love Affair

Something heavier.

"I’ll have you for good,” he says. He opens his mouth again,hesitates, then exhales softly. “I love you, Daphne."

The words land like a spark to dry kindling.

Warm. Bright. Immediate.

My breath catches as his dark eyes search mine, vulnerable in a way I've never seen before.

Overwhelmed is an understatement, and tears sting the backs of my eyes as I press my forehead to his.

"I…” I start before clearing my throat and trying again. “I love you too, Matteo."

The moment stretches, heavy with the weight of what we've just admitted.

But then he kisses me - deep and unhurried, like he's committing every second of it to memory. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him with a certainty that makes my heart ache.

Because this is certain.

The sun climbs higher outside the window, the city below stirs to life, and here, wrapped in Matteo Rossi’s arms, I know with absolute certainty thatthisis home.

This is where I’m meant to be.

Chapter Sixty-One

Six Months Later

Daphne

The front door clicks softly behind me as I step into the cool, airy entrance of the villa, and my shoulders sag with relief.

The day has been long - three interviews, two press conferences and one hastily written analysis piece after Roma's narrow win against Napoli last night.

Now, with the season back in full swing, football news is relentless.

Transfer rumours, injury updates, tactical breakdowns... and somehow, it all lands on my desk.

I'm exhausted, but I love it.

I slip off my heels and walk barefoot across the polished marble floor towards the kitchen, following the delicious scent of garlic and rosemary.

I miss the lazy summer afternoons we spent together during the off-season - lounging by the pool, taking impromptu drives to the coast and sneaking into his bed for midday naps when the heat made everything else feel impossible - but being busy feels good too.

"Is that you,mi amore?" Matteo calls from the kitchen.

His voice, rich and familiar, warms me more than the lingering September sunshine outside.

"Yeah. You cooking?"

"Ovviamente."Obviously.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.

"Big day?"

"Non-stop," I say, stepping into his open arms.

I breathe him in - soap and something citrusy - and let the tension bleed from my body.

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