Page 61 of My Italian Love Affair

"But - I thought you wanted me to stay shadowing you for a bit longer?"

He shrugs.

"Change of plan."

Just like that.

No warning.

No discussion.

I clench my jaw, inhaling slowly through my nose.

I should be excited. After all, this is a step up, another opportunity to continue prove myself.

But I can’t ignore the nagging suspicion that Mark’s doing this to test me, to see if I’ll crack under the pressure.

Still, if this is a test, I’m going to pass it with flying colours.

I always do.

So, I school my features into something neutral and nod.

"Okay. When do I start?"

"Today," he says, already turning away like the conversation is over. "Luca Moretti. Should be an easy one - he’s smart. A good talker. I’ll meet you at the stadium, and the crew will set you up after training."

And just like that, my fate is sealed.

*

The irony isn’t lost on me.

I’ve spent the entire morning preparing for this interview, and yet, somehow - despite my hours of research - I find myself staring at Matteo Rossi.

Who is very muchnotthe player I was supposed to be interviewing.

My eyes widen as he strolls leisurely into the room we have set up.

He looks effortlessly sharp, even in something as simple as a team-issued hoodie and joggers. The soft fabric stretches over his broad shoulders, the light grey colour contrasting stunningly against his olive skin and dark hair.

I swear that his now clean-shaven jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, and when his deep brown eyes flick toward me, there’s an intensity there that makes my stomach tighten against my will.

Behind me, the small camera crew shifts slightly, waiting for direction.

I glance at my notes, at the name printed neatly at the top of the page.

Luca Moretti.

That’s who I was scheduled to interview today - one of the quieter, more thoughtful members of the squad. A dream for a journalist like me who actually enjoys getting full, considered answers instead of grunts and clichés.

Matteo, however, is not known for his introspection.

"Wrong room, Rossi?" I ask, arching a brow.

"Nope."

I glance toward the door, half-expecting Luca to follow in behind him.

---