Page 50 of The Artist and the Muse

“We can’t do both?” I rested an elbow on the table, leaning my chin on my palm.

“Let’s talk about yours first. You promised me your second-favourite painting, remember? But which one is that?”

“You were willing to accept my second-favourite painting for winning a bet, but you don’t know which one that is? What if it was truly horrendous?”

“Nothing you paint could be horrendous. I loved watching you paint.”

During our brief time together, I’d invited her to come spend time with me while I painted. Something I’d never done with another woman.

“Thank you. My second-favourite painting isA Maiden by the Pond.ButI’m thinking of starting a new series inspired by what I’ve seen on this trip. Perhaps I’ll paint some famous monuments in Italy, or depict nature and the ocean.“ Safe things. Nothing that required people’s faces.

Nothing that required her face.

“I thought you preferred painting human beings.”

It was true. I barely had any landscapes or anything besides portraits and human-focused paintings in my portfolio after meeting her. My artwork mostly depicted people with pastoral scenes in the background. But I hadn’t told her that it was because after I’d seen her face, nothing in nature could compare as my muse.

“I haven’t found any inspiration for people lately. Maybe I’ll have better luck with nature.”

The waiter arrived with our food before I could tell her anything else. I paused before digging into my food to say grace, something I’d only done with Pastor Tony before.

Lord in heaven, thank you for this food. May you please bless it to our bodies and bless our conversation. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.

“I didn’t think you were religious,” Georgia said when I opened my eyes and looked back up at her. She cocked her head to one side, examining me. Her tone wasn’t judgmental—I knew her too well to think she would judge me for something like that, especially when she’d just gone to church with her family the other week—but she did sound curious. “In fact, when we met, I thought you disdained the idea of stepping into a church except to be inspired by the artwork inside it.”

“Perhaps I’ve realized the church’s artwork that inspired me was also inspired by something greater,” I said, taking a bite of a meatball. It was delicious, a mixture of pork and veal; the marinara sauce was the perfect complement. “Do you want some?”

“Sure.” Georgia took a meatball, her gaze faraway as it rested on the view outside. “It’s gorgeous here.”

The sun was setting over Rome, casting a soft, golden glow on the ancient buildings. The sun limning the domes of cathedrals in gold and peach, and the glint of the sunlight reflecting off the water in the nearby fountains made me smile.

“It is gorgeous here.” My gaze rested on her though, as tired as she looked. The beauty she wore wasn’t one of merely physical features arranged in perfect symmetry. It was a radiant glow that came from how she carried herself, how she loved her family, and how she embraced life with such joie de vivre. She looked more vivacious than she had in New York. “Do you remember that motorcycle ride we took to the fountain?”

“The turtle fountain?” A soft smile quirked one side of her mouth upwards. “Of course I do. How could I forget my first time on a motorcycle?”

“I’m glad I could be the one to kickstart your motorcycling hobby.” I’d loved being able to give her that experience. After she’d gotten off the bike and taken off her helmet, blonde hair coming undone, the flush in her cheeks had made her look irresistible.

“You are the reason I have my own bike now.” I’d seen her Kawasaki Ninja; it was sleek and sporty, the perfect bike for her, wrapped in electric blue that matched her eyes. “Thank you for that. For our time in Italy. I’ll always cherish those memories, even if…”

I filled in the blanks for her.Even if they never happen again. Even if nothing came of them except what we are now.

I couldn’t say the same. “I’m glad you found it a memorable time.”

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d left with you,” she said. “If we’d run away together to Los Angeles.”

We’d been on opposite coasts, with me in California and her in New York. Yet we had never met again until that fateful day when Katerina and Alexander had tracked me down so I could attend their wedding.

“Maybe it was God’s will for us to end up here all along.”

“Was it God’s will for that restaurant to serve bad calamari?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Now that I can’t say,” I said with a chuckle before raising my glass. “To bad calamari.”

“To bad calamari,” she echoed. “But seriously, though. I can’t believe you’d be thinking of painting… the ocean or whatever. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with the ocean, but it’s not your style. I love your paintings. I followed your career even after I left Italy. I have prints of yourMedieval Knightseries hanging on my wall.”

Her admission struck me like a cement truck. “You… you do?”

“Of course. I never found a place to hang up the painting you gave me, but I bought the prints for your other ones and… Why are you looking at me like that?”

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