Chapter Fifty-Four
Daphne
T he first thing I register when I wake up is the warmth of Matteo’s body pressed against mine.
The second thing is the complete, disorienting darkness.
My eyes blink open, but the room remains pitch-black. For a moment, panic grips me. I sit up abruptly, heart racing, and grope around for some sense of orientation.
"Relax, bella ," Matteo’s sleepy voice murmurs from beside me.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back down.
"It's just the blinds."
"The blinds?" I ask, breathless.
"Black-out blinds," he explains, voice thick with sleep. "Helps me sleep in after late games." He nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. "No idea what time it is."
I grope for my phone on the nightstand, squinting as the screen lights up.
"Oh my God," I say, sitting up again. "It's nearly ten a.m."
Matteo groans and tightens his hold around my waist, effectively anchoring me to the bed .
"Exactly. Too early to get up."
"Too early? It's practically lunchtime!"
"You needed the rest after last night's workout," he says with a teasing grin.
I swat lightly at his bare chest. "I hate you."
"No, you don’t," Matteo murmurs, voice low and gravelly.
He rolls me beneath him in one fluid motion and presses a lazy kiss to my lips. His hair is a mess, and the rough stubble on his jaw scratches deliciously against my skin.
And, of course, the arrogant bastard is right.
I don't hate him at all.
"Come on," he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Let’s go have breakfast. Then maybe a swim."
I stretch beneath him, already feeling the pull of sore muscles from the night before.
"You mean another workout?"
He laughs as he moves to stand, stretching his arms over his head. The sheet slips down his body, and my eyes can’t help but follow the line of his torso.
The sharp cut of his abs, the V of muscle that disappears into his boxers…
Yeah, okay; maybe I'm not so opposed to another workout after all.
"You're staring," Matteo says, not even bothering to hide his smirk.
I yank the pillow from behind me and throw it at him.
"I was thinking about how unbearable you are. "
"Uh-huh." He catches the pillow mid-air and tosses it back onto the bed. "Shower, breakfast, swim. In that order, mi amore . Let's go."
*
After a quick shower, I wander downstairs to find Matteo already in the kitchen.
The room is massive, with sleek marble countertops and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden. The morning sunlight streams through the glass, and outside, the shimmering turquoise pool glistens beneath the bright blue sky.
Matteo stands barefoot at the counter, clad in gray sweatpants and nothing else. He’s fiddling with an espresso machine that looks more complicated than the entire kitchen setup in my London flat.
"That thing looks like it belongs in a spaceship," I comment, crossing to lean against the island.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes lighting up at the sight of me.
"Don’t insult La Signora . She's delicate."
" La Signora ?" I echo. "You named your coffee machine?"
He shrugs, turning back to the machine with exaggerated focus.
" Certo. She takes good care of me. Best espressos in Rome."
I laugh softly as I watch him work. The domesticity of the moment hits me unexpectedly - this international football star, standing here in his kitchen, making me coffee while the morning sun streams in.
This doesn't feel like something fleeting. It feels natural.
Easy .
"Okay," Matteo says after a moment, turning toward me with a cappuccino in one hand and a small pastry in the other. "For you, bella . Freshly made, no sugar. Just the way you like it."
I blink at him, surprised.
"How did you know?"
He smirks.
"I pay attention."
Warmth spreads through me as I accept the cup.
The coffee is perfect - rich and strong, with just the right amount of creamy foam. I sip it slowly while Matteo makes his own, then we move to the terrace and settle into the cushioned chairs.
The view takes my breath away.
The city stretches out below us, the rooftops of Rome glowing under the morning sun. The dome of St. Peter's Basilica peeks out in the distance, and far beyond that, the faint silhouette of mountains form a hazy blue backdrop.
"Wow," I breathe. "I don't think I'd ever leave if I lived here."
"That’s the trick," Matteo says, watching me over the rim of his cup. "You don’t ever have to leave."
The words linger between us, heavier than they should be.
I take another sip of coffee to distract myself from the implications.
"Okay," he says after a moment, breaking the silence. "You ready for a swim?"
"Mmhm," I nod. "Good thing I packed my bikini."
Matteo’s smile turns wolfish.
"A bikini, eh?"
"Yes," I reply, narrowing my eyes. "And no , it’s not for your benefit."
"Of course not." He stands, stretching again. "Though I'll enjoy it all the same."
Upstairs, I change into the emerald green bikini I'd shoved into my bag at the last minute. The colour makes my skin look even more tanned than it actually is, and when I tie my hair into a messy bun and swipe sunscreen onto my arms and legs, I actually feel confident .
Or, at the very least, not like an imposter pretending to live the life of a footballer's girlfriend for the weekend.
Fucking hell - what am I even thinking ?!
Matteo is already in the pool, swimming slow laps across the wide expanse of water. His powerful strokes cut through the surface effortlessly, sending ripples across the pool's glassy surface.
The sight of him like this - strong, focused and so perfectly at ease - makes my chest tighten.
"You're just going to stand there and admire me, or are you going to join?" he calls, his voice carrying across the water.
I roll my eyes.
"I was just taking a moment to feel sorry for your poor coach. You must be an absolute nightmare to manage."
"Terrible," Matteo agrees, grinning as he treads water. "Can't follow instructions to save my life. Now get in here."
I step to the edge of the pool and dip a toe into the water.
"Oh - it’s warm," I say, surprised.
"Heated," he confirms. "I’m a little fragile when it comes to cold water."
With a laugh, I jump right in.
The water closes around me, deliciously warm and silky against my skin. I resurface with a gasp and slick the stray strands of hair back from my face.
Matteo laughs as he swims towards me before he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest. His skin is slick and cool against mine as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.
"See?" he murmurs. "Perfect."
"Yeah," I agree softly. "It really is."
We float together in the water for what feels like hours, alternating between lazy laps, more playful splashes, and even moments where Matteo traps me against the pool's edge just to kiss me senseless.
At one point, he pulls out his phone from where it sits on the pool deck and snaps a few photos of us together.
"For your private collection?" I tease.
"For my future collection," Matteo corrects, holding the phone out to capture us both. He kisses my temple before snapping the picture. "These are just the first of many."
I don't know what to say back to that - my throat feeling tight -so I don't say anything at all. Instead, I swallow down the feeling and smile warmly at him before indulging in another lap of his pool.
*
A little while later - after we've dried off and changed into casual clothes - Matteo suggests we go shopping and get some lunch while we’re out .
"Shopping?" I ask, frowning as I rinse out my coffee cup in the sink. "What for?"
"Clothes. Shoes. Whatever you want."
He leans against the counter, watching me with that familiar lazy grin as I dry the cup and place it on the rack.
"Matteo... I don't need you buying me things," I tell him.
He steps closer, cupping my chin so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
"You're overthinking again."
"I'm just not used to... this ," I admit, gesturing vaguely toward the villa around us. "It feels like too much."
His thumb brushes along my jaw.
" La vita è adesso, bella."
I blink.
"What does that mean?"
"Life is now," Matteo says softly. "Stop worrying about what feels like too much. Enjoy what we have. Right here. Right now."
My heart clenches, and I let out a quick breath through my nostrils.
"Okay," I tell him.
"Good girl," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Now go get dressed. Rome has great shops, but you’ve never experienced shopping with me ."
I smile despite myself.
"God help me."
Matteo laughs and swats my ass as he steers me towards the stairs.
And for once, I don’t overthink it.
I just go with it.
*
By the time Matteo and I return, my feet are sore, my stomach is full, and his huge bedroom is overflowing with shopping bags.
I stand in the doorway, staring at the sheer volume of them.
Sleek white Chanel carriers, glossy Prada paper bags with black rope handles, delicate cream-colored envelopes from Gucci, Valentino and Fendi. The soft crinkle of tissue paper peeks out from the tops of most, and the air is faintly scented with the leather of the handbag Matteo insisted I needed for my apparent work essentials.
Essentials . As if I’ve ever considered a five-figure handbag essential before.
"It looks like Rome exploded in here," I breathe, taking it all in.
Matteo sets down the last of the bags beside the wardrobe and stretches his arms above his head.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
"It's excessive."
"It's fun ," he counters. "And you look too good in everything we bought to have left any of it behind."
I shake my head, still overwhelmed. I've never had more than a few designer pieces - an investment blazer here, a timeless pair of heels there.
But now, in one afternoon, I have a collection most women dream of .
I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a picture of the sea of bags before I type out a quick message to Priya.
Look at this insanity. He actually bought all of this. What is my life right now???
Her reply comes through immediately.
OMG. You’re living every girl's dream.
Also… if you don’t send me pictures of what’s inside those bags ASAP, we’re no longer best friends.
I snort and tuck my phone away.
Matteo is watching me from the other side of the room, his hands casually placed into the pockets of his jeans. His dark hair is brushed back from his forehead, and the sun has left a faint bronze glow on his skin.
"You're freaking out," he says.
"I'm not freaking out," I protest, though the tension in my shoulders probably gives me away. "I'm just… processing."
"Processing what ?" He steps closer. "It's just stuff , mi amore. Nothing that should stress you out."
"Yeah, but it's not just stuff, and you know it. It’s designer stuff," I gesture to the pile. "You spent more today than I probably make in three months."
"Exactly." He shrugs. "What's the point of working hard if I can’t spoil you a little?"
I open my mouth to respond, but the sincerity in his gaze stops me short.
He isn't flaunting his wealth to impress me. It seems like he genuinely enjoys being generous and sharing what he’s worked for with the people he cares about.
"I've never been spoiled before," I admit softly .
Matteo’s lips quirk into a smile.
"Well, get used to it, bella . I plan on making a habit of it."
I roll my eyes to cover the way my heart stutters.
"You're too much, sometimes."
"And here you are," he says, stepping into my space.
His hands settle on my hips, pulling me closer until my chest brushes against his.
"Still here."
"Yeah," I murmur, my hands coming to rest on his forearms. "Still here."
His lips find mine in a slow, lingering kiss that makes me forget the bags, the unfamiliar extravagance and the faint ache in my legs from wandering round Rome’s luxury quarter all afternoon.
Eventually, Matteo pulls back, resting his forehead against mine.
"Hungry?"
"God, no," I say with a groan. "That pasta at lunch nearly killed me."
He laughs.
"I told you not to finish it."
"And leave handmade ravioli on the plate? Are you insane ?"
The memory of the late lunch makes me smile. We'd stayed there for ages - in the tiny, family-run trattoria - talking, laughing, and letting the afternoon drift past as we sipped our drinks and listened to the distant chatter of locals.
Matteo had been dressed discreetly, a baseball cap pulled low and glasses perched on his nose, doing just enough to keep him under the radar. It helped that he knew exactly where to go - the quieter spots, the places where people were less likely to recognise him, where he could just be for a while.
And now, here we are.
It all feels surreal. My life is absolutely ridiculous right now.
I step away from Matteo and sit on the edge of the bed, running my fingers along the rim of a Valentino bag.
"So," I say, glancing up at him, "next week is going to be crazy, huh?"
He groans and rakes a hand through his hair.
"Don’t remind me."
"Final game of the season. League title on the line. The entire country watching." I grin. "No pressure."
Matteo narrows his eyes.
"You are a menace."
"I’m a journalist . I'm supposed to ask the tough questions."
He collapses onto the bed beside me, staring up at the ceiling.
"Yeah, it’s going to be intense. The whole team's been laser-focused. The fans are… let’s say, passionate ."
"Passionate is an understatement," I say, thinking of the flare-lit scenes outside the stadium after Roma’s last home win. "And if you win?"
" When we win," Matteo corrects. "The city will go insane."
I smile at his confidence.
"I'm not supposed to say this out loud, but… I really hope you win."
He turns his head to look at me.
"Not supposed to say that?"
"Well, you know - professional impartiality and all that."
Matteo laughs and props himself up on one elbow.
"Daphne Sinclair, my giornalista , impartial? Never ."
"Rude."
"True," he says, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. "But I appreciate the support."
I chew my bottom lip.
"Seriously, though. Next week… it’s huge."
"It is." He sobers slightly. "But it's just football. We'll go, we’ll play, we’ll win." He shrugs. "Then we’ll celebrate."
"And you'll get your big moment lifting the trophy?"
"Exactly." His eyes glint with mischief. "And you'll be there to witness it. Front row."
"I’ll be there," I promise.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us.
"Come on," he says suddenly, gesturing towards the array of bags. "Let's open some of these up so that you can show your friend."
I hesitate for a moment, but for the first time in a long time, I push away the anxious thoughts about work and the uncertainty of the future.
For now, I'm here. With him.
Living in the moment , and all that jazz.