Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
"Fine,” he says, and my shoulders sag immediately. “For now. But don't think this is over, bella - it’s not."
I wipe at my cheeks and nod my head once to confirm my understanding.
Though I do appreciate the gesture, it’s not what I need right now.
Right now, I just need time to think. To plan. To strategise.
As though he can sense the war still going on in my mind, Matteo lets out a long, heavy breath before he steps closer towards me.
I stand stoic on the spot as his muscular arms wrap around me with protective force, and though I’ve well and truly embarrassed myself in front of him by crying, I bury my face in his chest and inhale, finding comfort in the lingering scent of soap and something inherently him.
"You're smart," he murmurs as his chin comes to rest on top of my head whilst his thumbs dance over the skin of my upper arms. "And talented. You work harder than anyone, and he knows that. That's why he's doing this. That’s why he’s trying to break you."
I’ve just about managed to compose myself, but his words touch a nerve, and my shoulders shake with silent tears all over again.
His hands tighten around me, and I feel his broad chest expand as he inhales a long breath.
I can tell that he’s agitated, that he’s eager to do something to fix this; but as I finally allow myself to lean into his hold, I can’t help but think how this feels like the best thing he can do for me right now.
"I'm not having this,” he says, though I’m not sure whether he’s talking to me or more to himself. “You're not going to be intimidated by anyone on my watch."
I tilt my head to look up at him.
His dark eyes - usually full of teasing warmth - are ice-cold.
"I'll make sure he goes away, and stays away."
"How?"
"However I have to," he says, his voice deadly calm. "I promise you, Daphne. I'm going to fix this."
It’s all too much, and hearing him address it so bluntly feels like the wind has been knocked right out of me.
My chest heaves with a sob, and Matteo pulls me back into his arms, cradling me against his chest as I cry into his shoulder.
We stay like that for several long minutes. His hand strokes my back and one of his cheeks presses softly against the top of my head.
Eventually, my sobs subside and his own breathing slows, the tension in his muscles slowly beginning to dissipate.
"For the record," he murmurs against my hair, "I have never - not once - said that women don’t belong in football journalism."
I stiffen slightly.
"You haven't?" I ask, my voice small.
"Of course not." Matteo pulls back enough to look me in the eye, though his hands remain on my upper arms. "Some of the best analysts I know are women. I said one time, years ago, that some of the pundits on TV didn't understand the tactical side of football - but I never mentioned gender. And actually, I was talking about ex-players."
My stomach churns.
"Mark twisted it," I whisper.
"Of course he did," Matteo says darkly. "He wanted you isolated and on edge. Wanted you to doubt yourself, and not be able to trust anyone."
My brain slowly but surely comes back up to full speed as I process everything that’s been going on since the moment I landed in Rome.
All of the anger I directed at Matteo in those early interviews, the disdain I'd felt...
It had all been based on a lie.
I sag against his strong chest, overwhelmed by the realisation.
"God," I just about choke out. "I've been such an idiot."
"No," Matteo says fiercely. "You trusted someone who was supposed to support you. That's not stupid. That's normal."
I don't believe him. Not entirely.
Because how could I have been so naive, so gullible?
How could I have let Mark manipulate me so easily?
"We're going to fix this," he promises, voice low and determined. "I swear to you, Daphne. We're going to make this right."
For a moment, neither of us moves. His breathing is uneven all over again, and I can feel the tension thrumming through his body like a live wire.
But when his palm moves to cup my jaw and his thumb brushes over my damp, tear-stained cheek - his movements all tender and slow and soft as he caresses my skin - I lift my head up to meet his gaze, and something shifts.
His dark eyes drop to my mouth, and the air thickens between us.
I part my lips slightly, and Matteo doesn't hesitate.
He bends his head and kisses me - not with his usual teasing arrogance, but with slow, deliberate intensity.
My hands move on pure instinct as they slide up to his broad shoulders, gripping tightly as his lips move over mine.