Page 64 of My Italian Love Affair

"Maybe," he says, his smirk deepening. "Depends if I like it."

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to channel every ounce of professionalism I have left.

"Alright. Then let’s talk about your own performance this season. You’ve been in incredible form - arguably some of the best of your career so far. What do you think has contributed to that?"

"Well," he says, voice smooth as he leans forward in his chair. "I wake up every morning. I go to training. I do my job. And then…" he pauses for dramatic effect, "I go home."

I stare at him.

"You go home."

He nods.

I close my eyes for half a second, summoning patience from the depths of my soul.

"Matteo, with all due respect, you’re not giving me much towork with here."

"I thought you were supposed to be a good journalist," he muses, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk.

I grit my teeth.

"Iam."

"Then work with it," he says simply, leaning back again, looking so smug that I genuinely consider throwing my notepad at his perfect, irritating face.

"Fine," I bite out, plastering on a saccharine smile. "Let’s talk tactics. The team’s attack has been particularly aggressive in the last few matches -"

Matteo grins.

"That’s what happens when you try to score goals."

Oh myfucking -

"Right. And what about your chemistry with your teammates?” I press on. “How have you been working on strengthening that?"

"Mostly by passing the ball to each other."

I huff out a quick breath through my nostrils and close my eyes for a second before turning to face the small crew.

“I think that’s enough for now,” I say. “Should we take a breather for a few minutes and then re-group?”

“Sure thing, Daphne,” the camera man says, shooting me a sympathetic smile.

The moment the camera stops rolling, I let out a long breath, rubbing at my temples like it might somehow erase the last ten minutes of my life.

The crew shuffles out of the room, some of them murmuring something about grabbing a coffee.

I nod absently, too busy mentally replaying every obnoxious, infuriating answer Matteo Rossi has just given me.

The door clicks shut behind them, and then it’s just the two of us.

I exhale slowly, turning back to face him.

"Okay. What thehellis your problem?"

Matteo blinks at me, all faux innocence.

"Problem? Me?” he says, those big brown eyes wider than ever. “No problem."

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