Page 150 of Forced Vows

"Yes. "

She bites her lower lip. "But not really."

"Yes, really," I disagree. "Every centimeter of that woman is you. That wig doesn't matter. The make up…"

I let my voice trail off. But her eyes are wide, and I know she knows. She looks at me.

She looks back to the painting. "You left off the makeup. That's me. That's my face."

"I know, I painted it," I say sardonically.

"Don't be a jerk."

Even her fucking bluntness is intoxicating.

"I started it the day after I got back," I admit. "I couldn't get the face right until after we signed the contract."

She reaches as if she is going to touch, but she doesn't.

"It's still wet to the touch." It would be surface dry by now, but I keep coming back to it. Or I did, until I started the other painting on the last covered easel.

"What are you going to do with this?" She bites that sweet lip again. And looks up at me through her lashes.

"I was going to keep it here before I knew you are she and she is you." As a reminder of a night I will always treasure.

That's one piece of sentimental idiocy, I'm not about to tell her.

"Now, what are you going to do?"

"Hang it in our marital bedroom," I tease.

She looks properly horrified. "What if someone sees it? It's too explicit to hang on our bedroom wall. When the maid cleans, she'll see it."

She's starting to spiral, twisting the hem of the t-shirt until her thighs are exposed nearly to her pussy. Which I'm positive is not her intention.

"I'll keep it here. A secret for you and me to enjoy."

"To enjoy?" she squeaks.

"Oh yes, I think we both get pleasure from seeing you like that."

She doesn't deny it, but she does look away and points to the only easel with a covered painting on it still. "What about that one?"

I don't say anything. Róise takes my silence for permission and moves to uncover the last of my current projects. This time there is no sound at all from her.

She simply stares at the portrait in silence.

It's her. Of course. Her face surrounded by bouncy brown curls with hints of red and her shoulders. The background and edges around her are whorls and splashes of all the shades of pink that remind me of mi dolce fiore.

The dark, almost purple pink of her pussy when aroused. The soft pink of her lips. The darker raspberry shade of her nipples. The cotton candy pink of her birthday lip gloss.

Hot pink. Rose pink. So many pinks and all of them her.

"I look…it's…" her voice fades without her saying what it is.

"You," I finish for her. "And it will hang on the wall of our living room when it's done."

For everyone and my mother to see my obsession.

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