Alexander stared at me for another moment, unsure what to do, but he eventually faced forward again and gave a loud sigh in defeat.

Melanie was in a beautiful white gown with flowers in her hair, looking more stunning than the French aristocrats who used to lounge on sofas with their tits hanging out. But she continued to fidget, as if this level of attention were uncomfortable.

Alexander pressed the wet brush against the canvas and began her cheek line, capturing the exact color of her complexion with such perfection that his title as a master was well deserved. But he hesitated, adding color, stopping, and then adding again, only to stop once more. “Madame, please stop moving.”

“Sorry…” She looked down at her hands to still them, but by moving her head, she changed the picture.

“Merde…” Alexander turned to me. “How am I supposed to work like this?”

“Calm the fuck down.” I rose to my feet and stared him down, making him immediately take a step backward. I maneuvered around the easel and approached Melanie where she sat on the stool.

Flustered, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

“Relax.” My hand moved to her neck, and I cradled her face, my thumb tracing the left side of her bottom lip.

“I’m just afraid the painting will come out bad.”

“If it does, it’s his fault—not yours.”

Her eyes were still elsewhere. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

My hand turned her face to mine, so she was forced to look at me, forced to let her worried eyes take comfort in the confidence of mine. I dipped my head and pressed a kiss to her lips, careful not to smear her lipstick. “You could never disappoint me.”

She closed her eyes, like my words were a breath of fresh air.

My hand moved back to her neck, and I pressed a kiss to her hairline. “Now, relax.” I moved back to my armchair behind Alexander and got comfortable for the show.

She straightened her back, adopted her poise, and held her position without moving.

Wordlessly, Alexander got to work.

And I just watched.

Light faded from the windows. The spring gave us longer days, so the fire didn’t start until deeper into the night. Spring was nearly summer now, and the heat was removing the necessity of the fire entirely.

My eyes watched the final rays of light disappear as the sun officially set and dunked the bedroom into evening. Then I looked at the woman beside me, still in her white gown that was wrinkled and soiled with sweat. With eyes lidded and heavy, she looked worn-out after the way I’d had her for the last hour.