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She nodded. “I agree. Well, hopefully your dream comes true.”
I nodded. “Thank you. Mother has made it perfectly clear she prefers to use the money for what she considers being more important things, which does not make it easy.”
“O Mio Babbino Caro” by Maria Callas began to play.
“What is she singing about?” Grace asked as she listened intently. “She sounds tortured and heartbroken.”
I paused my sketch and gestured to the speakers. “Actually, she’s not. She’s conveying her profound love and compassion for the man she’s in love with, and begging her father to approve of him. If he doesn’t, she will throw herself in the river.”
Grace nodded. “Parental approval is important for some people, I guess. Good thing you don’t have to worry about that since your mother arranged a marriage for you.”
I blinked, not sure how to respond to that.
Grace winced. “I’m sorry—I probably shouldn’t have said that. I apologize if that was rude or insensitive.”
“No—it’s okay,” I said. “You merely spoke the truth.”
After I finished the rough sketch, I moved on to the watercolor paint, starting with her hair.
A few songs later, Grace broke the amiable silence. “I’m curious . . .”
I stopped painting and glanced in her direction. “About what?”
She shrugged. “What fate awaits your masterpiece? Are you going to sell it and donate the money to charity?”
“Ah, you’ve been chatting with Adriana, the gossip queen,” I teased.
Grace smirked. “Hey—she’s not a gossip queen. Girls talk. It’s called communication. And I think your whole ‘paint and donate’ thing is noble. No pun intended.”
“Well, thanks for keeping my secret, Grace. And as for your painting, I was thinking of giving it to you as a souvenir. A little piece of me to take back to America.”
“I would love that,” she said. “I have another question for you. How come you’ve never painted a woman before?”
That question caught me off guard.
I thought about it, deciding to tell the truth. “Well, my mother and Adriana turned me down, and besides them, I guess I never found a woman who intrigued me enough to want to paint her.” I shrugged.
Grace blinked twice. “Wait—I intrigue you?” She looked down bashfully, and her cheeks evidenced her embarrassment. “Why is that?”
Not wanting to get in too deep, I answered by saying, “Beat me at darts and I will confess all.”
“Are you serious?” Grace asked.
“I am,” I said, then frowned. “And you really need to stop moving around so much. You’re in a completely different position than when we started, and your hair is not the same. I should have taken a photo earlier.”
She glanced down at her body on the chaise lounge. “Sorry. Do you remember my position?”
“Luckily, I do,” I said, standing and walking over to her. “I can adjust you and get you back to where you were, if you don’t mind.”
Grace nodded. “Okay . . .”
I hesitated for a moment, then sat beside her on the chaise lounge.
Tentatively, I reached for one of her legs, the warmth of her soft skin beneath my fingertips sending a jolt through me. My touch lingered longer than necessary, but she didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, it was almost as if she were welcoming it.
“It’s okay, I don’t bite,” Grace said, and then ironically bit her bottom lip. “And you’re not going to hurt me. I’m limber.”
Why did she have to tell me that?
