AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Then I promise if you paint my portrait I’ll ensure everyone knows whoyouare. So far those you’ve painted have been...inconsequential.’
Portraiture had never been about accolades, but about preserving memories. The minutiae, the nuance of a person. Sure, she was paid well for what she did, but it wasneverabout simply being paid. It was about ensuring people weren’t forgotten.
She looked at the portrait of the older woman currently on her easel. A believer in justice, lover of barley sugar and Yorkshire tea. ‘I wouldn’t say a judge isnobody.The law’s important, as is doing the right thing. But I mostly like painting pictures of people the world overlooks. They deserve their moment to be seen, to be remembered. You’re seen all the time.’
Alessio shrugged. That movement seemed out of place on a man who appeared only to move when absolutely necessary. ‘Is anyone truly seen? The press often tries to paint pictures of me and they’re rarely right.’
‘What picture do they try to paint?’ The cool command? The lack of emotion? She could imagine they’d claim he was more automaton than real and relish finding the tiniest chink in his gleaming armour to take him down.
Alessio raised an eyebrow. ‘You haven’t looked me up on the internet? I thought you were renowned for knowing your subjects.’
‘You’re not my subject so I haven’t needed to know you.’
‘The judge.’ He inspected the painting, eyes narrowing as he stared at the woman on the canvas. ‘That portrait tells stories. I want you to tell mine. You’re the best. No one could see me like you could.’
Part of her wanted to mine the essence of him, because people fascinated her. But doing so had a cost and she wasn’t sure she was prepared to pay it when Alessio reminded her of everything she’d lost.
‘“The best” is subjective. I have terms for everyone I paint. My agent tells me you refused mine.’
Sue had been clear. You didn’t saynoto a prince. Hannah had to keep her options open...She knew what those ominous words meant. Once her uncle’s duplicity had been discovered, this meeting with the Prince had become necessary. Resented, but necessary none the less.
‘I’m here now,’ Alessio said. The hard, uncompromising set of his jaw told her he might register what she said but he wasn’t really listening.
She turned her back on him and walked to a paint-splattered desk on which her palette and scattered half-used tubes of oil paint were strewn in the haphazard way of this whole room. She opened a drawer and pulled out a few papers, then walked back to where he stood and thrust them in his direction. He took them from her paint-ingrained fingers. Flicked through.
‘Am I a cat or dog person?’ His eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘What is this?’
She took time with her subjects. The questionnaire was one small part. There were personal sittings, the live sketching. She’d been comfortable with each person she’d painted so far. Had liked them and their quirks in their own way. But Alessio Arcuri? She wasn’t sure she could. A person’s eccentricities, no matter how small, gave them personality. How could she do justice to this man, who didn’t seem to have a quirk about him? He dazzled like a flawless gemstone.
‘Those questions are the reason I’m so good at what I do. I get to know my subjects. Intimately.’
At the last word his eyes widened a fraction. Surely he wouldn’t think... Heat rushed to her cheeks. The corner of his mouth kicked up a minute fraction. The moment counted in milliseconds and then it was gone, before his attention returned to the paper in his hands. But even those seconds had her heart racing in an attempted getaway.
‘“What is your best childhood memory?” “Your worst?”’A frown marred his forehead. He thrust the pages back at her.‘No. If the press got hold of this—’
‘They won’t.’ She ignored his outstretched arm. ‘I read it, then destroy it. I also sign non-disclosure agreements for those who want them. No information haseverreached any press outlet from me. You could take some time and fill out my questions right here.’
He seemed to stand even taller now, imposing like the prince he was. She could even imagine the gleaming crown on his head.
‘All these people you paint. The press has no interest in them. Me? I’m royalty. You know how tabloids clamour for stories. I give them none. But this?’ He waved his hands over the offending document as if he were trying to bat away some pestilential bug set on biting him. ‘I don’t answer twenty questions, for anyone.’
‘There are eighteen questions. But the number isn’t important. You cantellme the answers.’
He dropped the papers on the table next to him. ‘You’re a stranger.’
And that was the way it would stay for ever, even though there was something about this tussle Hannah began to enjoy. A tiny thrill that his interest still held, no matter how she pushed. It told her hereallywanted her to paint him, stroking an ego she didn’t realise needed attention. What would her sixteen-year-old self think now?
That young girl would think all her dreams had come true.
‘Here’s the thing. Doing this allows me to paint at my best. The type of picture you seem to desire, seeing as you’re still standing in my studio. You want me to paint your portrait, then...double my fee and answer my questions.’ She rose up, stiffening her spine to match him. If he was playing the prince card then she’d pull a queen on him, because this studio washerdomain and she ruled here exclusively.‘You can take it or leave it.’
Alessio hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but he’d expected something more polite than this. Certainly, she’d curtseyed as expected. A seemingly respectful bow of the head when he was sure none was meant, because her eyes had flashed a kind of warning, the whole of her bristling like some disapproving hedgehog. Cute, but all spike and prickle. Right now, she stood framed by the light from the windows behind her. Dark hair mussed in an unruly topknot. Dressed in a blue and white striped men’s shirt with a frayed collar, cuffs pushed back on her forearms, smeared and smudged with paint. Loose, ripped jeans. Trainers as paint-spattered as the rest of her.
Dishevelled and all the more enticing for it.
‘I tend not to accede to ultimatums,’ he said. Though he admired hers more than he’d admit. She’d hold her own with some of the best of his courtiers, this woman.
She glared at him, no respect meant there at all, and their eyes truly met. Hers were green, perhaps. Arresting. Their depth and swirls of colour transfixed him. She carried the world in that luminous gaze and something drove him to discover what lay behind it, when discovering anything about her other than whether she was prepared to paint his portrait was impossible. He pushed the interest aside.
