I draw in a sharp breath at the realization that all the words seem to have been stolen right from Tess’ mouth with my appearance here.
This woman knows precisely who I am…
Tess
IT IS UNUSUAL FOR something to look even more stunning up close than it does when it is far away…But here she is, lingering in the middle of my den, pretty forest green eyes gazing back at mine and a face framed by the most luscious blonde waves and looking more like one of Michelangelo’s faultless marble sculptures.
Does she know who I am?
I won’t ask the question. It would be inappropriate. Everything about this entire arrangement feels inappropriate.
More importantly does she know I watch her, wait for her, dream about her?
Something flares in the middle of my chest—call it discomfort…
This morning I struggled to slip out of bed and then after I managed to make it to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of tea, I sat at the same table which is only a few feet away from me and I waited and waited and waited and found myself more disappointed than I should have been because I didn’t get to see her walking along that street outside. It was unusual. I wondered if I had the wrong time but most of all I worried that something might’ve happened to her.
But now she is here…
What has Evi done to me?
Most of all what has Evi done to her?
Annoyance skitters its way across my features and my stomach roils just a bit.
What is she doing here?
Instinctively, I fold my arms across my chest, unable to hide my distress. And then I quickly unfold them, relax and offer Mila my hand again before clearing my throat of nothing. “I’m Tess.”
Taking my hand and shaking it, Mila smiles.
The contact is warm and inviting even though it shouldn’t be.
We’ve never touched before after all…never been in each other’s presence before…never peered into each other’s eyes before this up close. Yet everything about this woman seems familiar.
Mila’s laugh is soft. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.”
I smile too and with a nervous hand tuck a loose tendril of my hair wanting to hide behind it just a little behind my ear and away from my face.
Mila is young, as I had already thought, but something about her feels experienced.
Could this woman possibly know more about life than I do?
Peering into her face and finding her soft eyes, I see just a girl—a wild one who likely hasn’t been looked at or seen ever before for either accepted for who she truly is. I see just a bit of grief there too in those eyes of hers and I’m curious as to the reason why it’s there…Age might separate us. But I don’t believe that anything else does. Frankly, I am afraid of her…Terrified, in fact. Petrified even.
Shouldn’t I be?
After breaking the handshake, I shove my hands in my pockets, forcing them to cool.
Eye bright and wide she cranes her neck this way and that while looking around. “This is a very interesting home.” She makes a face and then her eyes are fixed back on mine, narrowed and inquisitive. “There are so many windows, my goodness.” She chuckles.
Stepping forward, I stand next to her and peer out of my favorite window in this home. “Yes, I love the windows. It was the single reason why I loved this house so much and that my husband had decided to purchase it for us back then.”
Mila nods and then takes another step forward and places her hand on the stool I usually sit on each morning while sipping my tea. It is mortuary silent as she moves near the table and places her hand on the wood then allows her palm to move over the smoothness of it as if she’s adoring it.
I watch her intently and find the angles of her interesting…her profile…her curves…the lazy way her long thick hair falls around her shoulders…her ivory skin.
An agonizing breath exits me.
So many questions rush around in my mind and leave havoc in their wake.
What has Evi done?
Mila is perfection…just as I’ve always known.
Guilt grabs me by the heart and squeezes out more beats.
I look away quickly and stare at the floor for a moment and when I look up, Mila is standing completely still and watching me.
“Are you okay?” She regards me strangely.
I laugh a little. “Yes, of course, I’m just fine.” I shift where I stand. “I suppose I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never done this before.” I press my lips together and try my best not to let the self-doubt taint my spirit today that isn’t for the first time in a long time wilting because whenever I look at this woman I cannot deny that I think about so many things I shouldn’t. But most of all, when I look at her, I feel nothing but inspired. The vision of her satisfies something inside of me. Maybe a hunger?
Tipping her head forward, her thin tawny brows arch. “Nervous?”
“Yesssss.” I smile.
She lets out a loud laugh which morphs into a cackle. “If anyone should be nervous today, Tess, it is me.” She grabs the hem of her skirt. “After all I’m the one who has to take off all my clothes!” Mila’s laughter is infectious and when I agree that she is right, I find myself laughing too…only it’s on the inside where no one can see it.
My shoulders rise and fall with the immense breath I take. “Why have you decided to do this?”
Mila shrugs. “Why not?” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “The idea of having someone paint me in my likeness is appealing.” She grins. “I can’t think of anything more flattering to be honest. It is the equivalent of someone dedicating a book to you or even being the inspiration behind the writer writing that book altogether. It could all encourage a person’s head to swell quite a lot.” A grunt follows her words.
Her response only leaves me confused…
I can’t think of many women who would take this job unless it was for money.
With narrowed eyes, I continue to observe the young woman who is striding around my house with interest.
Pointing her index finger to the sky, Mila glances over her shoulder. “Oh, and the wage offered to take this job was quite appealing too.”
Ah, there it is.
I nod.
“Do you know anything about art?” I grin. “I never told Evi this, but I did want whoever she found to fill this position to know a little bit about art.”
“Why?” Bright green eyes peer into mine, unblinking.
I lick my lips before I respond. “Because I want to know that the person hired for the job truly respects what it is that I do and what it is that we are trying to achieve. We are partners in this artistic arrangement. I paint. You pose. It is a union of sorts.” I make a face. “It’s maybe a strange union but it is a union. Both the artist and the subject need to function almost as one if you might understand.”
“I do.” She drags her index finger over a frame which holds a picture of me from when I was a little girl.
With a brow arched high, I take a step forward unable to force down my curiosity. “So, what do you know about art?” Lips pressed tightly together I wait for Mila’s reply.
The smile she offers me back is bright and white. “I know that the Mona Lisa has her own mailbox in the Louvre because of all the love letters she receives from admirers.”