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I finally released Grace and shook my head in amusement at Dante’s reaction. “That’s the second time he’s walked in on us like that.”
She straightened her dress. “Careful, or he’s going to think there’s something going on between us.”
“Imagine that,” I said, trying not to imagine that. “Anyway, we should get started.” I asked Grace to sit in the chaise lounge near the window where the light was best. “Now, I just need a little something to set the mood. I like to listen to music while I paint. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Grace said, taking a seat on the chaise lounge. “How about the ‘Macarena’?”
“Not on your life,” I said, then grabbed my phone and selected the playlist with my favorite painting music: Opera Classics.
I queued up “Nessun Dorma” by Luciano Pavarotti.
Soon, the emotional crescendos of that iconic love song filled the studio. I closed my eyes for a few moments and swayed back and forth, taking in the heartfelt emotion of Pavarotti’s voice. There was nothing like it in the world, and, as always, it instantly put me in the mood to paint.
Opening my eyes, I noticed Grace studying me intently.
“What’s on your mind over there?” I asked lightly.
“Nothing,” she said, fidgeting with her hands.
“You don’t like the song?” I asked.
“Actually, I do—it’s beautiful,” Grace said. “I guess I’m just surprised that you like opera, that’s all.”
“I’m full of surprises,” I said.
She nodded. “That’s an understatement.”
I was tempted to ask what she meant by that, but let it go. As Pavarotti’s soaring vocals continued, I prepared my easel, eager to capture Grace’s beauty on canvas.
Fidgeting on the chaise lounge, she kept brushing her hair back repetitively and crossing her arms in jerky motions. Her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything except me.
Why was she acting so strange?
And here I thought my trick had worked to relax her.
It hadn’t worked even a little bit, apparently.
“I’ve never been a subject for a painting before,” Grace said out of nowhere.
“Nor have I,” I confessed, hoping to lighten the mood.
A genuine smile finally graced Grace’s face.
“Now, a serious question, Mister Prince,” she said. “How should I sit?”
I shrugged, attempting to put her at ease. “I want you to be comfortable, in a natural state. How would you sit in that chair if you were at home?”
After a moment of contemplation, Grace leaned back and casually crossed her legs. The hem of her dress hitched up slightly, revealing more skin.
That definitely got my attention.
An audible gulp escaped me.
I found it difficult to look away.
“Okay, then, that should work,” I said.
“What?” Grace inquired, glancing down at her lower extremities. “Is there something wrong with my legs?”
