The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 5

From this point on, it appears that I have to wear the same dress I wore yesterday and have my hair styled the same way until Botticelli's done with my portrait.

As I sat there, looking at the vase in front of me, I couldn't help but realize that despite how bored I feel, people do not normally have enough things to do. Perhaps this is not the worst thing at all.

"Do you normally prefer painting people only when they're looking away?" I ask as he sketches.

"In a way, I guess you can say that."

Unable to resist it, I smiled a half. "Is it easier to paint half of everything?"

He was silent for a bit. When he looked up, I could sense the intensity of his seriousness from my bad-timing jest. "I know my work may seem a joke to you, but I'll have you know that every artist has a way of capturing things artistically."

Sensing that I may have gone a little overboard, I let myself look over at him with a regretful look before speaking. "Forgive me. Perhaps I'm not used to sitting around, posing, and doing nothing. Nor am I good at being around people altogether but I sincerely do not mean to belittle you or poke fun at your work."

For a day and a half, his eyes have been on me and yet the way that he studies my face now is not just on what he sees on the outside. He's trying to read me. "I understand. This is your first time posing for your portrait?" Nodding, his brow creases. "I'm surprised no other painters have asked you to pose for them."

Shrugging one shoulder, I responded. "I only arrived recently."

Crossing his arms across his chest, he nodded. "In Florence?"

"No, In Italy. I'm from England."

He took another chair and set it a few meters from me before his light brown orbs bored through mine. "That must have been a drastic change for you."

I pursed my lips and looked out the window to suppress the fluttering of my stomach. "A change I openly welcome. England suddenly became strange to me."

I can feel his eyes still fixed on me as he speaks. "Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The war of the roses has cost a lot of life in my family and I found myself alone. Remembering that I still have relatives here, I decided to move." It may not have been the war of the roses but I have truly lost a lot more in the war I have left 400 years from now.

"Apart from you, I only knew one Englishman. I find him quite odd probably because he asks so many questions almost about everything but he's an agreeable person."

When I bring back my gaze to him, his face lights up as he smiles at the memory. Just by looking at how he smiles in the memory of his friend, I'm certain they were close.

"Where is he now?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure where. He suddenly disappeared without a word. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's fine. After all, his inquisitiveness will soon show its uses." As I smiled, I did not notice a tear falling down my cheek until Botticelli reached up and wiped it off gently. Then he caresses my cheeks while my blood races up towards my face. Averting his eyes and clearing his throat, he got up and went back to where he was sketching and spoke. "Right, l-lets get back to it."

After catching myself, I once again face the unmoving vase in front of me and try to forget the way he softly caresses my cheek and how I reacted to his touch.

It's been hours since he left but I can't shake the memory of his hand on my cheek. What has gotten into me? Frustrated, I stood up and leaned on the window.