Page 82 of Painting Celia

“Really, pretending?” León glanced over, curious.

Celia stepped back to see the full painting better. “The eyes are sure of themselves,” she said, “but everything else is weak. She’s pretending to be scared while you’re standing over her, but secretly she could mess you up.”

He chuckled. “That’s almost what I was going for. I was thinking she’s challenging you but is fearful underneath, docile. See, her body gives her away.”

“I see the opposite,” Celia declared. “She’s hiding strength, not fear.”

León looked at his painting. “Huh.”

•••

León was not a late sleeper, she found. He woke her each morning far too early, with far too much energy. Celia had thought she was a morning person until he began sharing her bed. He liked to gently poke at her until she opened her eyes, and then the talking started.

She awoke to a tickle on her neck. A glimpse toward the ceiling confirmed weak morning light. Was the sun even up yet?

“Someone wants attention,” she murmured.

“Me,” his voice said next to her. “I do.”

She rolled over to face him, seeing dark eyes peeking at her over the white comforter.

“Celia,” he asked as she covered a yawn, “have you ever been in a fistfight?”

She was getting used to his constant questions, though how he came up with his random topics was a mystery. Who asked about fights before the sun was up?

Deep down, though, the attention warmed her.

“I have been in a fight, yes. And I won’t tell you about it.” Before he could protest, she went on the offensive. He liked when she asked questions back, she’d discovered. “Have you ever been arrested?”

“Nope,” he said, his eyes almost regretful. She twitched as fingers suddenly ran up her side under the covers, and crinkles at his temples gave away a hidden grin. “Did you like bad boys when you were growing up?”

“Yes, but I never talked to any,” she replied. “I stuck to the nice, polite ones.”

That spirited smile emerged as he pulled down the comforter and scooted closer. It wasn’t fair of him to be charming this early.

What else could she ask?

“Did you like bad girls?”

“All boys like bad girls.” He slid one arm over her, snuggling in close, the comforter a cocoon around their shoulders. Could he look more smug? “Would you pretend to be bad for me, mi cielo?”

Celia threaded an arm under his to stroke his bare back. “Who says I’d have to pretend? I’ve been in fights, remember.”

He gave her a slow sweet kiss, his loose hair tickling her cheek. His smile as he moved to hover over her was even sweeter. “You’re a nice, polite girl, I can tell.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, her smile cryptic. “If you say so. Would you pretend to be a bad boy?”

“Celia, if you asked for it, I’d get arrested.”

•••

With two weeks to go until the exhibition, León started on a lush painting in celadon green. In this, she simply stood, her head serenely turned away in profile, cradling an armful of fern fronds from outside. His sweet muse deserved a break from the complicated poses.

“If I’m posing as Mother Nature,” she asked, “why do I just stand up straight? I could do more.”

“You’re a garden, the goddess in it, the pillar in the middle. Provider, mother, all that.”

“It’s hardly work. You’re sure it’s enough?”

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