Page 156 of My Italian Love Affair

“So am I,” he counters, completely unbothered. “Just finished, actually. Which meansnowis theperfect time to discuss our plans.”

I exhale sharply.

“We arenotdiscussing this here.”

He doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in further, his scent invading my senses.

“A date,” he repeats, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“You know what -no.That’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’tdate, Matteo,” I tell him. “That’s not what this is.”

His smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.

“Then whatisit?”

I open my mouth. Close it again.

Becausedamn him, I don’t have a good answer for that.

“It’s…” I fumble, crossing my arms. “Casual.”

His eyes gleam with something unreadable.

“So let’scasuallygo on a date.”

“Ugh.That’s not how this works, Rossi.”

“Sure it is,” he counters. “We spend time together, we eat good food, we talk. That’s a date. Acasualone.”

I hate how logical he’s making this sound.

“Come on,cara.” He says, his voice dipping even lower. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Plenty.So much, actually.

But something about the way he looks at me, with thatinfuriating blend of confidence and something softer - something just for me - makes me exhale in defeat.

I shake my head, already hating myself for the answer that begrudgingly falls from my lips.

“Fine.”

His grin is instant, cocky and victorious.

“But this doesn’t mean anything,” I warn.

Matteo hums, tilting his head.

“Whatever you say.”

I don’t like the way he says it - like he knows something I don’t.

Like maybe, just maybe… thisdoesmean something.

*

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