I laugh.
Evi’s brows dip down to her nose. “They’re different—like I said.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I exhale.
“I don’t think the woman is interesting because she’s an artist though.” Evi shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s why.” She grimaces. “She a nice person, don’t get me wrong, but she’s odd, you know. Like something about her is missing. It’s as if she’s a whole person but, with the exception of today, usually something about her is missing.” She turns her index finger on herself and makes circles. “And you can see it…there, you know.”
I nod once wondering just what could have been in that chicken noodle soup Evi had just swallowed down. “Uh huh.”
In a flash she sits forward, reaches out and tugs on the cap sleeve of my dress and yanks it right off my shoulder.
And then she smiles.
My eyes swing from my bare shoulder to Evi and then to my bare shoulder again.
Evi is still smiling.
This dining room is filled with chatter and laughter which surrounds us.
“Why did you do—”
“You didn’t rush to cover yourself up.”
Because I’m comfortable in my own skin…
“I thought you would, honestly, but you didn’t.” Evi smiles in a way which forces me to wonder if I did something wrong or if I did something very right.
With a groan, I shove down my annoyance and fix my dress, shifting a bit where I’m sitting almost snarling in this rude woman’s direction. I open my mouth to speak.
“How would you like to sit for an artist, Mila?”
My brows collide but…I’m listening. “Sit as in…”
“Sit for an artist, Mila, as in sit and allow them to paint you.” Her expression is bright with the statement.
I’m not entirely certain how to answer.
“I did that to a few women today.” Groaning, Evi’s face takes on a look of shame. “And in more than one circumstance it didn’t end well. But you were just so calm about it. You didn’t seem to mind having your skin exposed or even me…” She looks around. “Or anyone else staring at it.”
I press my lips together. “I—I—I love myself.”
Evi nearly crashes into the back of her chair at my words and then she grins.
Should I be ashamed of saying those words?
I have said them to myself since I was a girl.
And I have continued to say them to myself despite that Mother and Father had once told me that for what I am I fucking shouldn’t.
“I’ve never heard a woman say that, Mila, I don’t think ever in my entire life.” Her eyes well up with tears and then they quickly dry before she looks as if she drifts off somewhere. “This is why I tell her I like living here in this place because you get to meet so many different people.” Her voice is a low whisper.
Who is “her?”
“So, would you be willing to sit for an artist?” Eyes narrowed, Evi sits forward and practically puts her face in mine. “It would be a job, Mila, and you’d be paid handsomely for it.”
“Okay.”
“You’d be paid even more if you would be willing to…”
“What?” The question leaves me in a snappy sort of fashion.
“Well, if you’d be willing to take everything off.” Evi blinks rapidly. “If you’d be willing to be nude.”
Oh.
My brows collide severely, and my stomach roils just a bit.
“It’s a woman, Mila, not a man who will see you nude.” She attempts to be more convincing about this whole proposal. “And she’s odd but you’ll respect her work once you see it. She doesn’t ask for much of anything from the subject, but discretion is of utmost importance for the work she is looking to carry out if you would agree.”
Folding my arms across my chest and feeling oddly exposed, I slump into the back of my chair.
“The compensation that’s being offered is more than enough, Mila.”
Evi’s words seem to drift away with my thoughts…
Captured on canvas…
Memorialized.
Me, almost immortalized…
As if I’m some great and important being.
Everything in me tells me to refuse but something sharp and lingering urges me not to.
I will be wild.
I will be brave.
I will let my heart fly free.
I think of Fenna and the letter I had written to her just last night…
Love can be a twisted and vile thing. It hurts. It wounds. It leaves people changed for an eternity when it is gifted to them and then suddenly ripped away. Know that ours was only a half-love. It was not complete.
It is a letter I should not mail.
The clank of silverware urges me back into the present. “I’ll do it.” I say the words quickly to Evi not entirely sure of why.
Maybe something compels me to—something I don’t fully understand or want to admit.
“I’m glad, Mila, you won’t regret it.” The grin on her face is massive and looks as if it’s there to stay for the rest of the night. “The house isn’t far from here, Mila, actually.” Evi rattles on. “In fact, it’s on the same street where you often sell your oranges in the morning.”
The street…
The big window.
The woman with the starving soul who always seems to be trapped behind it.
The artist?
Instinctively, at Evi’s words my head lifts and I find myself looking directly into her eyes.
My brows crash together in the most spectacular way. “The street.”
Her laugh is gentle. “Yes, Mila, it’s the same street.” Forehead furrowed and only staring me down with concern, Evi doesn’t smile. “You most definitely know the street well. And where artist lives…
My thoughts drift…
I’ve walked that street before many times…I’ve gazed into the distance and looked up to find that usually large window. I’ve wondered always how they keep the exterior of that building such a blinding white.
Evi is still mumbling things to herself. “So, yes, Mila, you should be able to find the place tomorrow, which is when you will need to go there, just fine, because it’s the house with the…”
Inwardly, I gasp before I speak and am certain I can finish Evi’s sentence. “…pink door.”
Tess
ROLLING ONTO MY SIDE, I find my eyes tracing Adriaan’s outline where he’s lying with his back toward me and then they settle on the smattering of freckles there. His breaths are still heavy from all the exertion that had affected him which was only just-for-him. When is it ever for me? He clears his throat and shifts, making himself more comfortable. Clutching the sheet, I pull it toward my naked skin and exhale what I think is relief that that occasion just now hadn’t lasted as long as it usually does.
He must really be tired.
I should be more grateful…
But instead of feeling one way or another way about it all, I feel nothing.
Staring up at the skylight, my eyes fix on the twinkling stars which are scattered across the night sky. I expel a long breath and allow myself to really feel it leave me. Tonight, the light from the bright full moon outside shines in through the windows and sends silver rays across the wooden floors. It’s perfection in front of me and much like something worth painting, only I’m too tired.