She stood up again, went to him and ran her fingers back through his hair, messing it up a little on the top. “There, it looks a little fuller. The heat flattens everything.”

Ross liked the feel of her fingers through his hair.

“So when you’re done what are you going to do with the painting?”

“Give it to you. Maybe. Then again I might just decide to keep it.”

He looked over to the other portraits. “To add to the stack.”

“No, I’ll frame this one.”

She stopped talking as she sketched. After another twenty minutes she set her pencil down.

“I think that’s enough for one night.”

“May I move?”

“Not yet. Let me take some pictures.” She brought out a disposable camera and snapped a few shots. “That’s so I can work on this while you’re not around. You can move now. Let me get the lights.”

Ross exhaled, yawned. He stretched, raising his arms above his head. “Modeling is tougher than it looks.”

Eliana turned on the lights. “In a college art class we were sketching a nude model when he passed out. Not enough circulation, our instructor said.”

“Should I be worried?”

“It’s okay, I know CPR.”

She put away her brushes; then she followed him down the stairs.

“I hope that wasn’t too boring.”

“Not at all.” Then he said, “It’s nice being with you.” Eliana was suddenly quiet. “You too,” she said softly. They stopped at the door.

“So when is the next sitting?”

“Is Saturday good for you?”

“Anytime Saturday is good.”

“Good. Then we’ll just play it by ear.”

For a moment they just looked at each other. Both of them were unsure of how to punctuate the evening. Finally Eliana said, “How about if we just hug?”

“That would be good.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. “Buona notte, Ross.”

“Buona notte.”

As he left her, her thoughts lingered pleasantly on their conversation. Then she thought again about the scar on his wrist. After an evening together she was left with more questions than answers. What had happened to this man?

CHAPTER 14

“La vita è un sogno.” Life is a dream.

—Italian Proverb

“I had a dream last night that has filled me with foreboding, like a harbinger to unknown events in which I must somehow play a part.”

—Ross Story’s diary

For a moment, in the blurred twilight between slumber and consciousness, Ross thought his dream real. Then his senses came to him and he groaned and rolled over off his pillow. He reached to the floor and dragged his fingers across the cool tile until he found his alarm clock and lifted it to view. It was only three a.m. He rolled to his back and thought of the dream as he fell back asleep.

He had dreamt that there was a woman standing next to his bed. The Vestal Virgin from Eliana’s portrait. She was young, but ancient, clothed in a pale linen tunic partially concealed by the dark scarlet robe that draped from one shoulder. In one hand she held an oil lamp, without flame. In the other hand she held a loaf of bread.