Page 253 of My Italian Love Affair

"Flattery won't stop that food from burning, Rossi."

"Merda!"

He spins back to the stove, grabbing a wooden spoon and stirring the sauce with exaggerated concentration.

"Go change,bella. Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

"Yes, chef," I call as I make my way upstairs.

I peel off my work clothes as I step into the room and toss them into the laundry hamper before reaching for a pair of soft shorts and an old T-shirt from Matteo's side of the wardrobe.

His shirts have long since become my unofficial loungewear, and once I’m changed, I feel as though I can breathe a little easier.

As I pull the shirt over my head, my phone buzzes from where I’d placed it on the bedside table.

I grab it and glance at the screen.

1 new email: From Harper & Miller Publishing

My pulse stutters.

I unlock the phone with trembling fingers and open the email.

Dear Ms. Lane,

My pen name - Ella Lane; a nod to my grandmother’s maiden name.

Thank you for submitting your manuscript,The Dagger andthe Dove. We were thoroughly impressed with the strength of your storytelling and the compelling nature of your world-building.

We would love to set up a virtual meeting to discuss potential next steps for publication.

Please let us know your availability in the coming weeks.

I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the squeal that escapes me.

I stare at the email again, rereading the words three times just to make sure I haven’t imagined it.

After months of writing late into the night after long days of work -

Afteryearsof daydreaming about becoming a published author -

After finishing the draft this summer while Matteo lay beside me reading tactical reports on his iPad -

This is actually happening.

They want to talk to me.

I take a deep breath, then sprint downstairs.

*

Matteo is plating up two bowls of pasta when I skid into the kitchen, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Careful,amore," he drawls, glancing up with a smile. "If you break an ankle running in here, I’ll have to carry you around for weeks."

"Matteo," I breathe, clutching my phone like it's a winning lottery ticket. "I just… I just got an email from Harper & Miller Publishing."

He sets the bowl down and straightens, eyes sharpening.

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