Chapter Thirty-Four
Matteo
I lean against the side of the wall, watching as the last of the press and players filter out onto the street.
My focus, however, is locked on only two people.
Daphne and Mark.
My jaw tightens as I watch the fucker linger beside her, his stance just a little too close, his body angled toward hers in a way that makes my stomach churn.
His voice is low, his head tilting slightly as he speaks, like they’re sharing some private conversation - like he has any fucking right to be that close to her.
I know they have to work together, and I’ve hated the idea of it from the moment I realised what kind of man he is. The thought of it - of her being stuck in his orbit, having to tolerate his condescending bullshit day in and day out - is bad enough.
But seeing it?
Seeing him stand there, right next to her, speaking to her like they’re anything close to equals?
Watching her glance away, her fingers nervously toying with her keys, her shoulders just the slightest bit tense ?
No. That’s something else entirely.
That’s fucking unbearable .
Deciding I’ve seen enough, I push away from the wall and make my way over, taking my time, making sure my steps are deliberate and unhurried.
Let him see me coming.
Let him feel it.
Mark clocks me when I’m a few steps away, and his expression flickers with irritation before he schools it back into something more neutral.
Daphne, on the other hand, lets out a long sigh the second she notices me.
“ Perfect ,” she mutters under her breath.
I grin.
“Happy to see me again, giornalista ?”
Mark shifts slightly, squaring his shoulders like he thinks he needs to make himself look bigger.
Which is funny, really, because he could stand on his fucking toes and I’d still be bigger than him.
“What do you want, Rossi?” he asks, his tone clipped.
I ignore him completely, turning my attention to Daphne instead.
“You heading out?” I ask.
She lifts her car keys as an answer.
Mark clears his throat, stepping closer.
“I was just about to walk her to her car.”
I smile .
Shake my head.
“No, you weren’t.”
Mark stiffens.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The irritation on his face is delicious, and for a moment, I think he might actually say something.
Maybe argue.
Maybe insist that he’ll walk her.
I cock my brow, silently daring him to.
But then Daphne shifts beside him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and he catches the look on her face - the one that says she’s already made her choice.
And it isn’t him.
Mark exhales sharply through his nose before shaking his head like he’s the one being inconvenienced.
“Fine. Whatever,” he mutters, before turning on his heel and walking away. “See you tomorrow, Sinclair.”
I watch him go for a second before turning back to Daphne, smirking.
“That was satisfying.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“More like ridiculous .”
“Would you rather him walk with you?”
She says nothing.
Just turns toward her car, and I fall into step beside her.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says after a few moments of silence.
“Yes, I do.”
She glances up at me, brows pulling together slightly, as if trying to work me out.
“What is your deal?” she mutters. “Why do you care so much?”
Because you’re mine.
I don’t say it out loud. Not yet.
Instead, I just shrug.
“I don’t like him.”
“That much is obvious.”
I slide my hands into my pockets.
“He’s a dick.”
“You can say that again,” Daphne huffs, and I glance sideways at her.
She’s not arguing with me.
Interesting .
We walk in silence for a few more steps before I speak again.
“I was a dick, too,” I say.
She blinks up at me, clearly thrown off guard.
“What?”
“The other day,” I say. “I… shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
Daphne stops walking. It takes me a second to realise that she’s just - well, standing there, and so I stop, too .
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“What?”
“You just…” She shakes her head. “Matteo, did you just apologise ?”
“Don’t get used to it, giornalista ,” I smirk.
She huffs out a breath, shaking her head as we set off walking again.
“I must be dreaming.”
“Told you I wasn’t all bad.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me.
“Why were you like that, anyway?”
“I was pissed off, “ I sigh. “At the match, at myself, at the way it played out.”
I pause.
“And at you.”
Her brows furrow.
“At me ?”
“You didn’t believe in me,” I murmur. “Your predictions. You wrote us off before the game had even started.”
She falls silent, and I take a step closer, closing the distance between us.
Her back presses lightly against the door of her car, and I brace a hand against the roof, effectively boxing her in.
She inhales sharply, but she doesn’t shrink away.
She doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t tense up the way she had with Mark.
Instead, she shifts, her body language speaking volumes.
Her breath comes a little quicker, her fingers twitch slightly at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to reach for me. Her green eyes flicker up to mine, wide and bright, and I don’t miss the way her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips - like she’s preparing for something.
She’s not nervous. Not uncomfortable.
She likes this. She likes me like this.
And that’s all the confirmation I need.
She wants me. She still wants me.
Good .
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I murmur.
“Matteo…”
My free hand lifts to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Tell me you’ve been thinking about me too,” I say, my voice low now. “Tell me you want this, that you feel this just as much as I do.”
She swallows, shifting slightly.
“I - ”
“I’d kiss you right now if I could,” I cut her off, tilting my head down, my mouth just a whisper from hers. “But I wouldn’t stop there, Daphne. I couldn’t stop. And I don’t think you’d want me to.”
She makes a small, strangled noise at the back of her throat, and my smirk deepens.
I fucking love winding her up.
She straightens, squaring her shoulders like she’s trying to regain control, but I don’t let her move away .
“I hate you,” she whispers.
My grin is wicked.
“No, you don’t.”
Her breath shudders, and I can practically feel her resolve breaking.
But before I can push her any further, she does the one thing I don’t expect.
She lifts her chin, meets my gaze -
And smiles .
Not a real one, of course. A smug, knowing smirk.
“You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that , Rossi.”
And then, before I can react, she slips under my arm, unlocks her car, and slides inside.
She rolls the window down just as she starts the engine.
“Goodnight, Matteo.”
I smirk, watching as she pulls away, my pulse still hammering in my chest.
It’s decided.
The memory of her has haunted me for days, and there’s only one thing left to do.
Make her mine.