Chapter 14
Mavis painted me again two years later.
This time I sat for it.
No hidden reference.
No copied sketch.
No Camellia.
She made me uncomfortable.
“Stop posing.”
“I’m sitting.”
“You’re performing sitting.”
Annoying.
Then she caught me looking away.
“That.”
“What?”
“That face.”
Apparently artists are thieves too.
She painted me tired.
Not intimidating.
Not Mafia.
Not heroic.
I hated it.
Which meant probably good.
When finished, she refused to sell it.
“It’s mine.”
I looked at her.
“You painted my face.”
“My canvas.”
Fair.
May you like
It stayed in her studio.
Good.
