Page 66 of My Italian Love Affair

I feel my face heat, and the worst part is -he’s right.

Fuck.

The thought only makes me angrier.

I snap my notepad shut and stand abruptly, forcing a tight smile as I move to stand.

"You know what? I think we actually got everything we need. Thanks, Matteo."

Matteo just grins up at me, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Anytime,cara mia."

I grit my teeth.

As I turn on my heel and storm out of the room, ready to tell the camera crew that we’re finished after all, one thought is glaringly, infuriatingly clear:

Idefinitelydo not have a crush on Matteo Rossi.

Chapter Twenty

Matteo

Iwait.

One… two… three…

I hear her footsteps begin to fade.

Four… five… six…

She’s fuming.

Seven… eight…

And I fucking love it.

Nine… ten.

Ready or not.

I push myself up from my seat and follow her out of the room, my strides long and measured.

The soft soles of my sneakers keep my footsteps light, allowing me to stay just out of sight.

Because I’m not done with her yet.

I have no real plan here - just an undeniable, insatiable need to push her. To press all her buttons until she snaps, untilshe gives mesomething.

Because Daphne Sinclair might act like she’s indifferent, like she barely tolerates me, but I see through every little crack in her facade.

The way her green eyes flash when I get under her skin. The way she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s fighting to keep her composure. The way her breath catches - just slightly, just for a second - whenever I get too close.

She wants to pretend she doesn’t feel this, but I know better.

And maybe it’s toxic - maybe it’s reckless - but I need to hear her say it. Need to make her react.

Becausehateis a reaction.

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