Page 41 of My Italian Love Affair

Our gazes lock, and I swear the air between uschanges- tightens, like the elastic pull of a rubber band.

I will myself to stay calm, collected and unbothered.

I repeat it like a mantra in my head, even as my pulse betrays me, hammering hard against my ribs.

His smirk deepens, slow and knowing, like he sees something Idon’twant him to see.

“Ah - la giornalista nuova,” he says smoothly.The new journalist.

The words roll off his tongue like a challenge.

Like he’s testing the weight of them.

Testingme.

“You like stating the obvious, don’t you?”

Oh mygod.

I didn’t mean to say that. I only meant to think it.

I hear a muffled laugh from one of the nearby journalists, butMatteo just tilts his head.

His expression is unreadable, as if he’s deciding whether to be amused or irritated by me.

Mark clears his throat, cutting through the tension and intervening before I can dig myself any deeper - although not without throwing a furious glance in my direction first.

“Right, well, let’s keep this professional,” he says. “Matteo: that was one hell of a performance tonight. Walk us through that second goal.”

Matteo’s attention lingers on me for half a second longer before he finally looks away, seeming to shift into autopilot mode.

“What can I say about it? The team did most of the work,” he answers smoothly. “I was just in the right place.”

I exhale quietly, forcing myself to focus.

This is just another interview.

Just another arrogant footballer.

Just another night on the job.

So why the hell does it feel like something else entirely?

One of the other journalists jumps in.

“You say that, but that finish was pure instinct. Do you even think before you take a shot, or is it all automatic at this point?”

“Sometimes you think,” Matteo says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sometimes you just…feelit.”

I scrawl notes as the questions keep coming - his thoughts on the title race, his relationship with the manager and the expectations from the fans. He answers all of them with practiced ease, charming and composed.

Then Mark speaks up again, his voice carrying just a hint of something smug.

“And what about the pressure, Matteo? You’re one of the biggest names in the league. The face of the team. How do you handle that?”

“Pressure is normal,” Matteo says, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “You play for a big club, you expect it. I just focus on the game.”

Mark nods approvingly, then - without any word of warning - turns towards me.

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