And that’s how I ended up sitting in Trattoria Il Lupo, across from a man who looked like he walked out of a myth. Matteo Volpetti. Tall, brooding, with a jawline you could cut diamonds on and a voice like burnt sugar. I sip my wine, trying to stay cool. I have to pretend to be gay. Then pretend not to fall for this man. Mission first. Always.
But Matteo just smiles. “You’re not what I expected.”
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