Page 61 of The Cost of Love

It’s like something has uncoiled in me that has been wound tight my entire life. The light inside of me that fights to stay lit has finally been given something to feed it. It brightens enough that I glow like the painted version of me.

“It would be even better if you sat for it.” Somehow, he looks both proud and insecure, looking between me and the work.

My eyes go back to it, entranced by the better version of me this displays. I don’t know how me being here in person would add anything more to it, but the idea still sounds nice.

“I would love to.”

“Now?” he asks, perking up a little.

Before I can even respond, he is swapping out one canvas for another, placing a blank one on the stand.

“I look like crap.” My hair is barely contained, makeup from yesterday smeared, and I am pretty sure this shirt is fighting for its life to stay on my body.

“You look gorgeous.”

I arch one eyebrow, causing him to laugh.

“Chanice, you’re a natural beauty, but if you want, I can take some liberties to enhance it.” He points to the green velvet couch behind me, and I concede.

I’m not sure how he wants me, so I just flop into it and wait. Instead of directing me, he turns the easel and starts sketching.

“Wait, shouldn’t I be doing something?”

“Just sit however you feel comfortable and hold that pose. When it is time for the face, we can talk about what look you want to give.”

At first, I sit forward, hands resting on my knees. Then I imagine all the rolls this pose is creating and think better of it. Moving so that my back is against the cushion, I bring my short legs up and cross them. My knees already ache from last night, and I remember that I can’t hold this position for long. I try lying down, resting my head on my hand, but that seems too close to the one he has already done, so I change my mind again. After trying out three more positions, I sigh.

“Please just tell me what to do.”

Laughing, he comes over and pulls me up. Planting a kiss on my lips, he guides me until I am sitting in front of the couch. Pulling one leg up, he rests my arm across the knee. The other he places on my leg, still lying down. It looks casual and unplanned, like I’m just relaxing at home. Satisfied, I give him a nod of approval, freeing him to go back to what he is doing.

At first, I just watch him, in awe of his concentration. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth puckered a little, with lines drawn across his forehead. Every once in a while, he stops and brings the pencil up to his lips, tapping it across the bottom one. He doesn’t stop, just moving with ease through the process. When he seems to have flushed out the design, he grabs some paint.

“Can I talk while you do that?” I rest my head against the couch, relaxing into this position.

“Yes,” he says, looking down, as if realizing he is still in just his underwear. Putting on a smock, he sort of rectifies the situation enough that he won’t get paint on his bare skin.

“You’re really good at this. I think that painting you did is some of the most detailed artwork I have ever seen.” Not that I’m an expert or anything, but to me it’s even better than the stuff he has in his home.

Yet none of his own work is hung up. Even in this room, there are canvases full of his talent pressed against the wall, and each other.

He shrugs, showing me why that is.

“If you come from money, and I don’t know, have enough to just give away, why don’t you do this full-time?” On our first date, he said he didn’t think of himself as an artist. Maybe this is why? I’m asking to see if there is something deeper that keeps him from his passion.

“I can’t just be an artist. I had to take over my family’s company. An entire legacy rests on my shoulders, and I don’t know if I am capable of walking away from that. Not that there was ever really a choice. In order to receive certain things, like my trust or college funds, my decisions had to align with that obligation.” His voice lacks emotion, like this is all just a fact he has come to terms with.

I wish I could see his eyes to know if they tell a different story.

“So you don’t have a choice?”

“Taking over the business is the reason I was conceived. They needed a son to continue the name.”

I couldn’t imagine my entire existence being for one purpose. As much as I have going on in my life, most of it is my choice. I opened myself up to this responsibility, and I choose every day how to support that. No one told me that I had to do these things. The way he is talking, it sounds like every step of his life was made to lead him in one direction. Whether he wanted to go there or not.

“Are you at least close with your family? Is there a part of you that is doing this out of love?”

Coming from behind the easel, he just looks at me for a moment before shaking his head. “My parents loved me for what I would do for them one day, not for who I am. If it weren’t for my sister and grandfather, I wouldn’t even know what love feels like.”