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)
The screen is flooded with notifications, including several messages from Richard.
Strategic move, Sinclair. Now that’s what I call saving the grand finale for the end of the season.
The board's loving it. Rossi + Roma win + scandal-free romance = engagement gold.
I expect The Tribune to get the exclusive. Get me a draft by noon.
I exhale slowly.
I'd been bracing for Richard to chew me out for the public display with Matteo. Fraternising with a player doesn't exactly scream journalistic integrity - but instead of reprimanding me, he's thrilled.
Because, of course, he only really cares about clicks.
I open my social media, and sure enough, my notifications are a nightmare.
Matteo Rossi scores a hat-trick to win Roma the league… and celebrates with a kiss.
The attached video shows Matteo striding towards me, lifting me into his arms and kissing me like we were the only two people in the world.
The slow-motion edit someone’s applied doesn't help.
I scroll through the comments, heart pounding.
@footballfanatic84: Rossi wins the league AND gets the girl. What a legend.
@seriebabe: Okay, but who is she? I need a full biography immediately.
@matteoxdaphne4ever: YES! We’ve been waiting for this moment - we are living for this romance.
I snort softly.
An entire account has already been created in our name. Jesus.
The media outlets have picked it up, too.
Roma wins the league – and Rossi wins hearts with surprise sideline kiss.
Roma’s star striker Matteo Rossi leads the team to victory – and introduces his mystery girlfriend.
Rossi's hat-trick secures the title. But who is the British journalist who stole his heart?
Mark's promised exposé clearly never materialised. His so-called friend at an alternative publication must have bailed.
What a shame.
I smile to myself as my phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Priya, and her messages come through thick and fast.
BABE. I just saw the video.
I'm dead. You’re famous.
When are you signing autographs?!
I laugh and message her back.
When I stop cringing.
I click back on my socials and scroll through the clips and images of us kissing on the pitch before Priya’s reply comes through just a few minutes later.
Cringing?! You bagged an Italian football god. You are LIVING THE DREAM.
I shake my head, amusement tugging at my lips.
The phone buzzes again, and I glance down, expecting another message from Priya.
But it’s not my best friend. It’s my mother.
Morning, darling! Just saw the news - your father nearly choked on his meal! We can’t believe our daughter is now an Italian celebrity. Well done, love. Dad says to remind you not to get too big-headed.
I snort.
Of course that would be my parents’ response.
Not concern about my professional reputation or surprise at my personal life being splashed across every Italian media outlet - just mild disbelief and a reminder to stay humble.
My dad, who routinely brags about my A-level results to anyone who'll listen, suddenly drawing the line at football fame.
Classic.
I quickly type out a reply.
Tell Dad not to worry. Matteo's ego is big enough for the both of us.
I click back to my socials, scrolling through the endless clips and images of us kissing on the pitch.
It’s still surreal - watching myself in a moment so intimate, yet now so public.
The comments continue to pour in, a mix of curiosity, adoration and the occasional snide remark that I quickly swipe past.
Matteo Rossi and Daphne Sinclair: Italy’s newest power couple.
Bloody hell. How did I get here?
My gaze drifts to Richard’s messages again.
I expect The Tribune to get the exclusive.
The offer - the permanent position as Senior Sports Correspondent - feels heavier now. More real.
More inevitable.
I sit up slowly, untangling myself from Matteo’s grip and sliding out of bed. He murmurs something incoherent but doesn’t wake.
The suite's living area is dimly lit by the soft glow of the city skyline beyond the windows. I reach for a glass from the kitchenette and fill it with water before wandering to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Milan stretches out before me, a glittering maze of lights against the pale blush of the sky as dawn breaks. The streets below are quiet - a stark contrast to the chaos of last night.
I take a sip of water and let it all settle in.
Roma won.
Matteo scored a hat-trick in the league final.
The kiss that I'd worried would cause chaos has, in fact, made us the newest sports media darlings.
And I'm standing here, barefoot in a luxury hotel suite, while the man I’m rapidly falling for sleeps in the next room.
Rome had always been meant as a short-term assignment. Three months to cover football, write some tactical pieces, and then get back to my normal life in London.
Except London doesn't feel like home anymore.
Rome does.
With its chaotic charm, buzzing culture, warm sunshine -
And Matteo.
I set my water down on the windowsill and open my email app, knowing what I need to do. The cursor blinks at me expectantly as I draft my message.