Page 78 of My Italian Love Affair

Like the time I asked him about what it is that keeps him motivated, and he responded with - and I quote:

"I wake up and I remember… I’m Matteo Rossi. That’s usually enough motivation."

Or when I asked about his pre-match rituals and he had the audacity to say -

"I wink at myself in the mirror. Works every time."

Or - my personal favourite - when I tried to have a serious discussion about leadership in the squad, and he just grinned and said:

"I’m more of a ‘lead by example’ guy. And since I’m incredible, everyone just follows my lead."

Andsomehow, the internet thinks this is charming.

I, however, am suffering.

Which is why when Mark swings by my desk and casually drops yet another bombshell, I barely have the energy to react.

“Oh, by the way,” he says, leaning against my desk. “The charity gala this weekend? We’re going.”

I blink at him.

“We?”

“Yes.We.It’s good exposure. You’ll get a chance to network, maybe grab some interview material.”

A sinking feeling forms in my stomach.

“Willallof the players be there?”

“Obviously.”

“Right. And…” I exhale slowly, “will I be expected to -?”

Mark shoots me a knowing look.

“You’re the one with the magic touch, Sinclair.”

Once I’m sure he’s left, I let out a long, tired groan, dropping my head onto my desk.

A charity gala. Surrounded by footballers.

Even worse: surrounded by MatteobloodyRossi.

I amsoscrewed.

*

I swipe through the racks of dresses with increasing frustration.

Everything seems either too much or not enough.

Too formal, too casual; too sparkly, too expensive.

The charity gala is this weekend, and I still have no idea what I’m going to wear.

The invitation from the team had been clear: “Dress to impress.”

Considering the kind of people who will be there, it feels like an impossible expectation to live up to.

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