Page 3 of My Italian Love Affair

Of course. Whywouldn’tI be sent to Rome to cover football?

After all, who doesn’t love a sport that’s basically a bunch of grown men chasing a ball around for an hour and a half, pretending like they didn’t trip over their own feet?

“This benefits all of us,” Richard continues, with the confidence of a man who’s about to say something deeply stupid. “We really need a woman for this. It’s part of our agreement with the team - some sort of diversity… thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s not just about football, it’s about how we cover it. Karen Atkinson was supposed to go, but, well - between us, she’s gone and gotten herself pregnant.”

Did he...

Did he really just say that?

“Karen’s pregnant?” I manage. “That’s… that’s a harsh reason to miss out on a job opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Yeah," he shrugs, utterly unbothered. "Don’t tell anyone, though - it’s a super high risk pregnancy, or something."

I open my mouth to respond, but the words just refuse to come.

My brain has officially crashed.

"Anyway, forget about that," he says, waving a dismissive hand like Karen’s uterus is a minor inconvenience to him. "You’re up now, Sinclair. Time to pack your bags. And remember: it’s a big deal.”

Great.

Pregnant senior colleague + company needing a token female voice = ground-breaking opportunity for me.

“Right," I force a smile, resisting the urge to scream. "Football. Diversity. And… all that.”

“Exactly. And you’ll be working closely with Mark Chapman,” he adds, his grin widening. “Big name in the industry. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

I nod slowly. Of course, I’ve heard of him. Everyone has. He’s a legend in sports journalism - and also old enough to be my father.

“Okay…” I drag the word out. “But…football?What exactly am I covering?”

“The matches. The players. The stuff that matters.”

“Right. But… am I writing about their kick numbers or something?”

Richard chuckles a bit too loudly.

“You’ll learn," he says, tone patronising as ever. "It’s a great opportunity for you, Sinclair.”

I let out a long breath through my nose.

Rome.

Football.

Three months.

“Okay,” I say, a little too brightly. “And when do I leave?”

“Three days,” he grins, like he’s personally changed my life. “Plenty of time to get yourself sorted. But most importantly of all - I cannot emphasise this enough -don’t screw this up.”

And just like that, my life has changed.

The possibility of turning my entire career around is so closeI can almost taste it.

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