Page 35 of My Italian Love Affair

I let out a slow breath and school my expression into something neutral.

“If you gentlemen are quite finished, I’d like to get back to actuallyworking.”

The blonde prick grins.

“Hey, don’t get all worked up, sweetheart. We’re just saying - know your strengths.”

I offer him the coldest smile I can muster.

“Oh, trust me - Ido.”

Mark shakes his head, apparently amused, before turning his attention back to the field as the players return to the pitch, ready for the beginning of the second half.

The conversation shifts around me - their focus already moving on - but the irritation lingers beneath my skin like an itch I can’t scratch.

I press my pen to my notepad, forcing my attention back to the game.

Because if I don’t, I might actually throw it at someone’s head.

*

As if he wants to hammer in the point that he’s the best player out there, Matteo scores again within the first eight minutes of the second half.

This time, it’s even more ridiculous.

He picks up the ball on the edge of the box, shifts it onto his right foot, and curls a shot past the goalkeeper like he’s just messing around in training.

It’s effortless. Almost too easy.

The resulting cheers around the stadium are deafening.

Matteo doesn’t celebrate wildly. Instead, he smirks as he approaches the stands, running a hand through his dark hair as he waves to the crowd. They continue to cheer - to scream and clap and chant for him - as he jogs back towards the centre circle, looking as though he’s truly soaking in the applause.

Ofcoursehe’s this good.

Of course he’s the star of the match, the one everyone can’t stop talking about.

By the time the final whistle blows, his team has won 3-0. A clean sheet along with a display of total domination.

And Matteo Rossi is the undisputed man of the match.

I exhale slowly, pressing my lips together as I look down at my notepad, now filled with scribbled observations about a man I don’t evenlike.

Because no matter how frustrating he is, I can’t deny it - he’sbrilliant.

Chapter Thirteen

Matteo

The roar of the crowd is still ringing in my ears as I jog towards the sideline, my pulse thrumming with the aftershocks of victory.

3-0.

We dominated them, and this wasexactlythe kind of statement win we needed.

My teammates swarm around me, clapping my back, ruffling my hair and shouting in rapid-fire Italian about how we dismantled them.

"Che partita,cazzo!"What a fucking game.

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