Page 23 of The Artist and the Muse

I wasn’t sure what application the story of a long-dead shepherd boy who eventually graduated to in-court musician could have on my life. Then again, maybe I would find inspiration there to revive my dormant Instagram page. Followers kept clamouring for exotic vacation pictures and behind the scenes snaps of my photoshoots, but lately I hadn’t had the energy to post anything. My agent told me that I ought to post more, but I’d kept brushing Claire off, not wanting to pretend everything was shiny and happy and rose-coloured when I felt anything but.

After walking from the subway station to the Steeles‘ apartment building, the doorman let me in and pushed the elevator button for me. I came to enough Steele family dinners and events at the penthouse that the same old doorman, who had been there since I was a child, recognized me.

“Have a lovely day, Miss Philips.” He smiled at me and I returned the favour, trying not to let the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach consume me. It had to be nerves, since I’d never come to one of these Bible studies before.

After the elevator reached the top floor, I entered the elegantly decorated foyer of the penthouse. I hung up my red, patent-leather trench coat just as I heard the peal of thunder outside. And I hadn’t even brought an umbrella. Great.

Hearing the sound of familiar voices and lured by the aroma of coffee, I entered the living room and plopped into an armchair. Abigail and her husband, Emani, were sitting on a loveseat directly acrossfrom me, while Katerina and Alexander sat on the couch to my right. Matty was lying on his back on a playpen, making the occasional unintelligible baby noise as he grabbed one of the toys hanging from the mobile above his head.

My family. Also a reminder that I was perpetually single. Even if I preferred it that way, it got lonely at times.

“Georgia!”Abigail bounced off the couch and flung her arms around me, squeezing my ribs with surprising force for a woman who was a head shorter than me. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, Abs.“I squeezed her back before letting go so I could examine her more closely. Aside from a fleck of mascara standing out on the pale skin under her left eye, she appeared put-together and content. “How have you been? We should have a girls’ night sometime.”

Katerina agreed from her seat on the couch. After we finished catching up, we started reading the Bible passage. Alexander suggested we each take turns reading one verse.

I went after Alex, and found myself reading the second verse. I almost never read out loud, and when I did find time to read, it was typically a fantasy or science fiction novel. Sometimes the Bible almost felt as foreign to me as those far-off literary worlds. When it was my turn again for the seventh verse, I read aloud, clearing my throat.

“But the Lord said to Samuel,‘Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’”

The rest of my cousins and their significant others continued reading, but I just stared down at that line of text on my phone in black and white. The prophet thought the chosen one would be one ofDavid’s brothers, someone tall and handsome and muscular, but was mistaken.

The section concluded with David the shepherd boy becoming King Saul’s servant and playing the lyre for him.

I was still fixated on that line. It shouldn’t have been some profound concept, but for me, when I was so used to being judged for my appearance and so used to judging myself for my appearance, it felt deeper.

The Lord looks not at appearances, but at the heart.

Had I cared about my appearance, not seeing my heart or caring about its condition? I’d certainly been blinded by others’ appearances. Sergio had turned out to be a handsome face hiding an ugly soul.

The notion of judging by the heart and not one’s physical appearance gnawed at me. It was still so alien to me that I couldn’t quite grasp it.

After all, even my own mother had—though not in so many words—told me that my worth and value were based on how I looked. She was the woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally in an all-encompassing way. Yet she had always emphasized my beauty over anything else when talking to me or about me. Had always encouraged me to go into career paths that would capitalize on my body and face, as if I had nothing else to offer.

The verse stuck with me all through the Bible study until the end.

“Georgia?”Katerina prompted. “Did anything stand out to you from the passage?”

I chewed on my lower lip. “Verse seven really stood out to me. When he said that God doesn’t judge others the way we see them. He sees the heart, not appearances.”

Everyone else shared what had made an impression on them from the chapter, and we continued on with the study, before ending in prayer.

I bowed my head, unsure of whether the God that my family spoke to was real—but I found part of myself wanting Him to be.

Chapter Twelve: George Devereaux

That Sunday, for what was probably the first time since my sister’s wedding, I stepped foot in a church.

My church attendance wasn’t completely out of the blue. Nor was my change of heart spurred by a sudden religious conversion. It was out of practicality: Pastor Tony had said he wanted to speak to me, and rather than making the man go out of his way again, I figured I would go to him.

Plus, since he had been so helpful in teaching me more about art history, I had figured that I had to show up to at least one service for us to be even.

That was how I justified it to myself as I adjusted my collar in the men’s bathroom, straightening my cobalt tie over my periwinkle shirt and dark wash jeans. Was there too much blue in my ensemble? It didn't matter; it was too late to change now.

Walking out of the bathroom, my eyes widened and I had the strangest urge to duck out of sight as I saw a familiar blonde standing with my sister, Alexander, Abigail, and the Steeles’ younger sister,Allie. Georgia. As far as I knew, she wasn’t a Christian, although Katerina had told me, in a surprised tone, that Georgia had come to Bible study the other week. When I’d met her in Italy, Georgia had never mentioned religion.

Neither had I, except to discuss the art we’d seen at the museums we wandered around.

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