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)
And then I met Matteo Rossi.
Smug, arrogant, and so infuriatingly full of himself, Matteo is the very definition of a walking ego.
Unfortunately for me, he's also maddeningly gorgeous and the star player everyone's obsessed with.
I should've brushed off his irritating smirks and infuriating one-liners, but the media caught onto our on-camera tension, and suddenly, the world is obsessed with the so-called ‘banter' between us - apparently oblivious to the fact that we honest-to-god cannot stand each other.
Now, my boss wants me to work with Matteo more often to boost views, Matteo is loving every second of my discomfort, and I'm stuck spending way more time with a man who pushes all my buttons...for better or worse.
But the more I get to know him, the more I is Matteo really the insufferable asshole I pegged him as, or have I been too quick to judge?
The lines between rivalry and something far more dangerous are blurring fast.
And when it comes to Matteo Rossi...losing might just mean falling.
Set against the vibrant backdrop of Rome, My Italian Love Affair is a sizzling enemies-to-lovers sports romance that blends fiery banter with irresistible chemistry. Daphne and Matteo's story crackles with tension as they navigate their differences and find themselves in a forced proximity situation neither of them asked for.
Perfect for readers who love sharp wit, sizzling chemistry, and heartfelt emotional moments, this novel delivers detailed, steamy scenes alongside sweet and tender interactions. With laugh-out-loud humour, authentic sports journalism insights and the breathtaking charm of Italy as its backdrop, My Italian Love Affair is a must-read for fans of hate-to-love dynamics and unforgettable love stories
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Daphne
"Sinclair! Get your ass in my office. Now."
My heart lurches as I snap my head up to see Richard Maynard, my editor, standing in the doorway of his office, arms crossed and scowling over at me like I've personally offended him just by existing.
I've just been finishing off my latest article, the headline still screaming at me in bold lettering.
Did Noah Drayton Cheat on Fiancée Ruby - Again?
Did he? Probably.
Do I care? Absolutely not.
Unfortunately for me, the entire British public cares - well, if the traffic numbers on The Tribune's gossip website are anything to go by, at least.
Which is exactly why I'm still here, finishing this mind-numbing piece instead of being at home and working on my real writing.
I didn't even realise Richard was still here. He's usually the first to bolt, beelining straight to the nearest pub like it’s the promised land.
But apparently, he’s lingered - why, I have no idea.
He’s vanished back into his office, but his voice slices through the air like a villain in a low-budget horror movie.
“Sinclair,” he calls, dragging out my name in a menacing, sing-song tone.
Kill. Me.
I sigh, push back my chair, and stand, ignoring the amused glances from the few unfortunate souls still trapped in this corporate purgatory. With all the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows, I trudge into Richard’s office.
The place reeks of stale coffee, lukewarm beer, and the unmistakable musk of unchecked ego.
A truly cursed aroma - like if regret had a signature scent.
Richard's there, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s about to interrogate a suspect on a crime procedural.
“How long have you been here now?”
“Six months.”
He tuts, shaking his head like I’ve just confessed to living in a cave, foraging for berries, instead of - oh, I don’t know, showing up to this office every single day like a semi-functional adult.
“And you still look like a frightened rabbit every time I call you in here.”
That’s because every time he calls me in, I assume I’m about to be fired - or worse, promoted into some hellish position that requires a complete lack of sleep and the ability to smile through sheer terror.
The thing is, I always thought my twenties would be exciting.
Jetting off to new cities on spontaneous weekend trips, climbing the ranks in a career I actually cared about, making enough money to afford more for lunch than supermarket meal deals.
Most of all, I imagined finally publishing the fantasy novel I’d been working on since I was seventeen - the one that was supposed to be my big break into the world of bestseller lists, book tours, and seeing my name in gold lettering on a hardcover edition.
Instead, I’m stuck in an uninspiring London office at 8:47 PM, writing about a washed-up reality star’s latest cheating scandal.
“Was there something you needed?”
“I wouldn’t say something I needed, no. More like something you need.”
I arch a brow.
That could mean anything coming from Richard.
“I’ve got a career opportunity for you.”
Wait, what?
A career opportunity?
A promotion? A raise?
A golden ticket out of this hellhole?
“You… do?”
It’s difficult to be excited given that this was not the plan.
When I graduated last year with a degree in English Literature, I had big dreams. I was going to be a novelist - the kind that people lined up to meet at book signings; the kind who had a special dedication page thanking their family, friends, and professional team for believing in them from the start.
Instead, I’m writing about the romantic failures of D-list celebrities.
Which is ironic considering I’ve never been in love myself.
Richard nods, lips twitching like he’s enjoying the power trip of dragging this out.
“Three months in Rome.”
I stare at him.
“Rome?”
“Yes, Rome. As in Italy. Where the pizza is better than whatever scraps you’ve been having for lunch here.”
I ignore his sly dig, feeling a grin forming.
Rome.
This is huge.
I try my best to swallow down the excitement, not wanting him to see just how much I’m internally screaming with joy.
“Can I ask - why exactly would I be going to Rome?”
Richard straightens up, all business again.
“You’ll be covering football.”
Well. That's one way to bring me crashing back down.
“Football?”
“Yes,” he nods. “Football. This is a fantastic opportunity for you to branch out. We’ve been working in partnership with the Roma team, as part of a wider piece with Serie A. This is going to be huge. And honestly...”
He pauses, tapping his fingers on the desk like he’s about to drop a bomb.
“You’re the best we’ve got on short notice.”
I blink.
Of course. Why wouldn’t I be sent to Rome to cover football?
After all, who doesn’t love a sport that’s basically a bunch of grown men chasing a ball around for an hour and a half, pretending like they didn’t trip over their own feet?
“This benefits all of us,” Richard continues, with the confidence of a man who’s about to say something deeply stupid. “We really need a woman for this. It’s part of our agreement with the team - some sort of diversity… thing.”