Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

She wasn’t sure quite what to make of that.

“You want to paint me?”

He nodded. “Sì.”

“Like one of your French girls?” It was a bad joke, and one he didn’t seem to get.

“I beg your pardon? What French girls?”

“You know, from the movie?”

Vito continued staring at her with a blank look.

“You have to know it. It was a huge blockbuster. In fact, there’s a famous Italian actor who stars in it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t watch too many movies.”

“Never mind.”

“So what do you say, cara? Are you ready to be my subject?”

Maya thought once more about how differently this day was playing out than anything she could have imagined. The man before her seemed to have entered her life only to throw one curveball at her after another. But, like it or not, she had to admit she’d found that part of his charm.

“What do you want me to do?”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Maya found herself perched atop a high stool in Vito’s back room.

Even though he stood several feet away and wasn’t so much as touching her, it had to be one of the most intimate experiences she’d ever had with a man. Maya may have been fully clothed, but the way Vito had tousled her hair, the way he’d arranged her flowing skirt to cover only halfway down her thighs and the way he’d pulled her blouse off her shoulder made her feel as if he’d stopped for some reason in the process of undressing his lover. And that’s how she felt. As if she were waiting for her lover.

Vito worked silently, the only sound in the room the steady ticking of the clock hanging on the opposite wall.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, just when she thought she couldn’t hold the pose a second longer, he set down his brush on the easel’s holding tray.

“We can stop for now. I think I have enough detail to continue on without you having to model.”

Maya sighed with relief and kneaded out the kinks in her various muscles. Who knew so many parts of the body could go stiff and tight all at once? When she felt some of the circulation returning to her limbs, she slowly stood and walked over to where Vito was still stroking a brush over the surface of the canvas.

“What do you think?” he asked her when she’d reached his side.

Maya did a double take when she saw what he’d created. She hardly recognized the woman on the canvas.

It took a moment to form the words. “I’m in awe, Vito. What you’ve created here...”

It was so much more nuanced than the initial sketch he’d drawn of her that first day. Layers of depth that captured her likeness in a way that made her want to become more like the woman he must view her as to be able to paint this portrait.

Maya wasn’t sure how to put what she was feeling into words. “This woman you’ve drawn, she seems so sure of herself. The way she holds her head, the upward tilt of her chin. The steadiness in her eyes. These are all qualities you see in me?”

“Yes,” Vito answered simply. “I think the better question is, how do you not see all that in yourself?”

* * *

Maya hadn’t answered his question. She hadn’t spoken much at all since she’d taken a look at his work. By contrast, whenever he’d created anything with Marina in mind, his wife had made all sorts of suggestions and comments. Marina had had no shortage of opinions on his work, whether she’d inspired the piece or not.

But Maya still wasn’t saying much. She simply stood staring at the easel, openmouthed. He had to acknowledge the potential blow to his artistic pride if she actually disliked the painting.

“Is something the matter, cara?”

Maya nodded slowly, still silent. In fact, her silence was about to drive him crazy.

“What is it, bella?”

“I have a confession to make.” She finally spoke, though in barely more than a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about the way you kissed me the night of the dinner cruise. And how much I’d like you to kiss me again.”

Vito couldn’t stop himself; he was human, after all. He pulled her toward him and indulged himself the way he’d so badly wanted to since he first laid eyes on her.