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)
I miss the lazy summer afternoons we spent together during the off-season - lounging by the pool, taking impromptu drives to the coast and sneaking into his bed for midday naps when the heat made everything else feel impossible - but being busy feels good too.
"Is that you, mi amore?" Matteo calls from the kitchen.
His voice, rich and familiar, warms me more than the lingering September sunshine outside.
"Yeah. You cooking?"
"Ovviamente." Obviously.
He appears in the kitchen doorway, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.
"Big day?"
"Non-stop," I say, stepping into his open arms.
I breathe him in - soap and something citrusy - and let the tension bleed from my body.
"But at least I had an excellent interview with Costa."
"Did he tell you he only scored that goal because of my perfect assist?" Matteo teases, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"Actually, he said you didn’t shut up all morning about that assist."
"Infatti,” Matteo laughs softly, his chest vibrating against mine. Indeed. “It was a world-class pass."
I roll my eyes and tip my head back to look at him. His skin is slightly flushed, and the faint lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at me.
"You look tired," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Thanks," I deadpan.
"Bella," he corrects, his thumb brushing across my cheek. "The good kind of tired."
"It is," I admit. "I like it. But I wouldn't say no to another lazy pool day like the ones we had in July."
"Ah, si," he says with a fond smile. "Those days were good."
We stand like that for a moment, swaying gently in the middle of the kitchen. The pan on the stove crackles, sending a waft of garlicky goodness into the air.
"Everything okay?" I ask softly, sensing the slight tension in his posture.
He sighs and rests his forehead against mine.
"My agent called today."
My stomach dips.
"Oh?"
"He mentioned that a team in Spain has asked about a possible loan." Matteo's jaw tightens. "It's just talk. My agent says Roma don't want to let me go, but… it’s still there. Hanging over me."
"Do you want to go?" I ask carefully.
"No." His answer is immediate. His hands tighten at my waist. "This is my city. My team. I don’t want to go anywhere. And I hate waiting for decisions to be made about me when I have no control."
I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"That sounds... frustrating."
"Molto." Very.
"Well, let me know if I need to brush up on my Spanish," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
He huffs a soft laugh.
"You’d follow me to Spain?"
I shrug.
"I’ve already followed you around Italy’s stadiums for months. What’s another country?"
His dark eyes soften.
"I’d follow you anywhere, you know."
I smile and step out of his embrace.
"Flattery won't stop that food from burning, Rossi."
"Merda!"
He spins back to the stove, grabbing a wooden spoon and stirring the sauce with exaggerated concentration.
"Go change, bella. Dinner will be ready in five minutes."
"Yes, chef," I call as I make my way upstairs.
I peel off my work clothes as I step into the room and toss them into the laundry hamper before reaching for a pair of soft shorts and an old T-shirt from Matteo's side of the wardrobe.
His shirts have long since become my unofficial loungewear, and once I’m changed, I feel as though I can breathe a little easier.
As I pull the shirt over my head, my phone buzzes from where I’d placed it on the bedside table.
I grab it and glance at the screen.
1 new email: From Harper & Miller Publishing
My pulse stutters.
I unlock the phone with trembling fingers and open the email.
Dear Ms. Lane,
My pen name - Ella Lane; a nod to my grandmother’s maiden name.
Thank you for submitting your manuscript, The Dagger and the Dove. We were thoroughly impressed with the strength of your storytelling and the compelling nature of your world-building.
We would love to set up a virtual meeting to discuss potential next steps for publication.
Please let us know your availability in the coming weeks.
I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the squeal that escapes me.
I stare at the email again, rereading the words three times just to make sure I haven’t imagined it.
After months of writing late into the night after long days of work -
After years of daydreaming about becoming a published author -
After finishing the draft this summer while Matteo lay beside me reading tactical reports on his iPad -
This is actually happening.
They want to talk to me.
I take a deep breath, then sprint downstairs.
*
Matteo is plating up two bowls of pasta when I skid into the kitchen, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Careful, amore," he drawls, glancing up with a smile. "If you break an ankle running in here, I’ll have to carry you around for weeks."
"Matteo," I breathe, clutching my phone like it's a winning lottery ticket. "I just… I just got an email from Harper & Miller Publishing."