Page 47 of My Italian Love Affair

The other part burns with shame.

Shame that he saw me like that, that he heard Mark laying into me -

That he watched my so-called mentor cut me down like I’m nothing.

And despite everything I know about this man, my traitorous brain takes a second longer than it should to register just how unfairly good he looks.

But then he goes and raises a single brow, clearly waiting for a response, and I snap myself out of it.

“Enjoy the show?” I comment dryly.

Matteo’s mouth twitches like he’s amused. “I was enjoying the silence, actually. But your boyfriend seemed determined to ruin that.”

“He’snotmy boyfriend,” I scoff, crossing my arms and ignoring the way my chest tightens at his assumption.

Matteo hums like he’s unconvinced.

His sharp gaze flickers over me.

Assessing, I think.

Then, pushing off the wall, he takes a slow but purposeful step forward.

“No?” he muses. “He sure as hell talks to you like one of those insecure pricks who can’t stand their girl being smarter than them.”

His words land like a strike to my already bruised pride, but not in the way I expect.

Because for the first time, I don’t hear a hint of mockery in his voice. No teasing lilt, no smirk pulling at his lips like he’s enjoying some private joke at my expense.

Instead, he says it so casually - like it’s a fact. Like he’s just stating the obvious.

That thought - along with his admittedly delicious Italian accent - has something in my stomach tightening.

“I’m not smarter than him,” I say before I can stop myself, my voice hoarse and raw from biting back the emotions I refuse to show. “I just… I just wanted to do my job.”

Matteo stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint crease in his brow, the subtle shift in his usual cocky demeanor.

He’s stillhim- still looks like he was carved by the gods for the sole purpose of scoring goals and breaking hearts - but there’s something different now.

Something quieter.

“You did do your job,” he says simply. “That guy’s just pissed because you did it better than he expected you to.”

I let out a sharp breath, part disbelief, part exhaustion.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to,” Matteo shrugs unapologetically. “I knowhistype. And I know bullshit when I hear it.”

His words settle heavily between us, pressing against something tender in my chest.

I swallow and shake my head before I let out a bitter, humourless laugh.

“You don’t get it,” I murmur. “You don’t know how hard it is for someone like me to be taken seriously in this industry. If I slip up even once - if I doone thingwrong - it’s not just a mistake. It’s proof that I don’t belong here at all.”

Matteo doesn’t look away.

Instead, he watches me for a long, quiet moment before tilting his head slightly.

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