“Not exactly.” She glanced from Ross to the painting. “They had three requirements, each with serious consequences should they fail them. First, they were to commit themselves completely to the goddess Vesta. Second, they were to keep the flame of the temple burning at all times. The last promise was that they were to forswear love for themselves by taking sacred vows of chastity.”

She paused. “The last vow carried the most serious punishment if broken. It was horrible. Their lovers would be whipped to death before their eyes. Then they would be taken to the field of the damned, where they were placed in a small stone room beneath the ground. They would be given a loaf of bread and an oil lamp; then they would be buried alive.” As she gazed at the picture, she spoke with a faraway look, as if she had witnessed it herself. “Their own families weren’t even allowed to mourn them. They died alone, forsaken by everyone.”

Ross looked at the painting. “Why did you choose a fallen Vestal?”

“I don’t know. It just intrigued me that someone wanted, or needed, love so badly that they would risk everything, even their lives.”

“So it did happen—one of them was buried alive.”

“Eighteen of them.”

Ross was surprised. “Eighteen?”

She looked up at him, as if suddenly woken from the trance. “Though one of them was raped by the emperor and punished for it. Hardly fair.”

“No, I think not.”

“The world has always been full of double standards.”

Ross felt as if she were talking about something else.

She turned back. “Shall we start?”

Ross returned the portrait to the others then came over by a chair in front of the easel.

“You want me here?”

“Yes. Just sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll do my best to make you uncomfortable in just a moment.”

Ross sat back in the chair.

“Have you ever sat for a portrait?”

“No.”

“Like I said, it’s easy.” She was suddenly quiet as she stared at him. “Move a little forward. Okay, now put your hands here. No, like this.” She came around the canvas, took his hand, moved it to his thigh, but still didn’t like the pose. “Maybe you should be holding a closed book in your lap, just something to give the picture some balance. Let’s try this.” She handed him a book; its leather cover was dyed dark maroon, with the Florentine lily embossed on it. “Nice. That works. I was thinking of doing something a little more dramatic, so I want to try using a spotlight on you and dimming the lights.”

She moved the light until it surrounded him with a small halo. Then she stepped back to her easel and studied him. Ross sat quietly and his eyes darted around the studio. It was like peeking into her mind. Not just what she painted, but what she surrounded herself with while she painted.