Page 49 of Painting Celia

“I could have just posed, you know.”

“I think you have to now.”

She sat up straighter. “Have to?”

“Well,” he said, “if you want to see it finished.”

“No one’s asked if I do.”

“Will you, then? It’s going to be good. I can feel it.” He turned his head to stare at the sketched lines intently. “The water, you, so honest and unguarded, and that line—”

“Wait. I was out there trying to find my own inspiration.” The import finally struck her. “I was going to paint something about floating in water! You’re stealing it from me?”

He whipped his face back to hers, hair flying.

“Stealing!”

“You were teaching me, but now you’re going to use me as a subject? Do you have to take my idea for yourself?”

•••

León leapt to his feet at the accusation, wounded. “You don’t own the idea! If I don’t paint it—”

She stood as well, eyes flashing. He faltered, her uncontrolled glare unexpectedly distracting.

“You’re going to make a much better one than I can,” she cried. “Why should I even bother now?”

Her face was fierce, wet ringlets trembling, lips pale with cold. But she wasn’t hiding. She was unrestrained. He couldn’t resist.

“What emotion are you feeling right now?” Her eyes widened. “Right now!”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Anger!”

“No, that’s not it. Deeper.” He saw the struggle on her face, eyes lowering as she tried to feel inside. Then she looked back up, surprise on her face.

“It’s none of your fucking business!”

She stalked out, back to the house. He followed. He had to.

“Celia, wait!” She was already at the open door. “Please.” She turned to decline but stopped when she saw his face. This was serious.

“What.”

“I’m not using you,” he pleaded, “but I can’t not paint this. It’ll be in my head until I do. I won’t be able to do anything else until I get it out.”

She turned away, but he laid a hand on the door jamb, blocking her path. She had to listen! She settled for turning her face from him, chin lowered.

“León, I’m cold.”

“Please pose.”

“León.”

“Celia, what can I do? I can make this up to you somehow. I’ll work with you after, do more lessons. We’ll get you painting too. It’ll be different. Yours will be good.”

He was pulling out every excuse he could think of. She had to agree.

•••

---