Say Yes (Nostalgic Summer Romance)

“I left a short article on Masaccio’s influence on each of your easels,” he said as soon as I sat back in my barstool, satisfied with the piece. “Please read it silently and we’ll discuss.”

There was a flutter of pages turning in the room as he made his way over to me. He paused on the other side of my easel, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Absent on Friday and late this morning,” he commented. “When I said not to focus so much on perfection, this wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“I apologize, Professor. I wasn’t feeling well Friday,” I lied, and I didn’t care to look over to see if Liam was in his seat or whether he’d heard me. “And I was up late last night working on my assignment.”

“The Birth of Venus?”

I nodded.

“And are you ready to turn it in?”

I blew out a breath. “Yes.”

He rounded my easel until he was standing behind me, and I studied the painting alongside him as the rest of the class read.

In the foreground of the painting, as to be expected, was Venus — goddess of love. Her curves were highlighted in gold, her glorious body naked and glowing. But instead of shying away and attempting to cover herself, she stood proud, shoulders back, head held high, a wicked gleam in her eyes. A crown of thorns tipped with blood sat in her golden hair, and while one hand rested on her hip, the other curled over her plump breast, fingertips just barely brushing her pierced nipple. Her smile was soft but expressive, a come and get me smirk that bordered on crude.

Gone was the serene background of a calm sea, replaced instead with stormy waters ablaze with fire. Instead of standing in the shell of a clam, she hovered over the charred earth beneath her. She was no longer flanked by Zephyr, Aura, and the Hora of Spring, but rather surrounded by angry men with pitchforks and swords, their faces irate, mouths wide with silent screams. Behind them was a smaller crowd of women, cowering but coming closer, their eyes alight with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Venus stood proud and unashamed, ready to fight, ready to devour. She looked at the viewer without a single worry, as if to laugh with them, as if to say, “Ha, do you see these fools? Like they could ever stop me.”

I shifted on my stool so I could see the professor’s face, finding him cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger as his eyes roamed the canvas. His pupils would dart this way and that, as if he was trying to see every little detail, before his eyes would glaze over and still altogether, like he was purposefully losing focus to see the piece as a whole.

“Can you tell me, briefly, about your work, Miss Chambers?” he asked after a while, his voice soft and low, eyes still glued to the canvas.

I looked back at the painting, smiling at the Venus I’d created who seemed to be speaking for me. “Venus is the goddess of love, of desire, of beauty, of sex,” I said, enunciating every word. “Her birth is depicted as pure and welcomed, but this world we live in doesn’t embrace beauty or love, and it certainly doesn’t embrace sex. It showers it with shame. It seeks to end it, to snuff it out before it can spread too far.”

I looked at the professor again to find his brows furrowed as he studied the painting even closer.

“Men are afraid of love, of deeper connection, of vulnerability. They want to hide from it or destroy it before it can ever truly live.”

I looked directly across the room, then, and just as I suspected, I found Liam staring back at me.

“Because it’s powerful,” I continued, my eyes locked on his. “Because it has the ability to impact change. And because it takes being vulnerable and honest with ourselves to truly embrace it.”

Liam’s expression was unreadable, but I held his gaze for a long moment before looking back up at the professor.

“And what of love, then? Where does she fall in all of this?” he asked.

“She doesn’t fall at all,” I answered quickly. “She stands. Strong. Confident. Eluding the cowards too weak to wreck her, and waiting patiently for those brave enough to receive her.”

Silence fell over the room, and when I glanced around, I found every pair of eyes zeroed in on me and the painting most of them couldn’t see. I swallowed, turning my attention to Professor Beneventi again, who stood still and quiet for an eternity.

Finally, he shook his head, a distant smile spreading on his lips. “It’s splendid,” he whispered, his eyes falling to me. “Well done.”

It was like the entire class took my next breath with me, and suddenly, someone started clapping. It was soft at first, just one person clapping three times in a slow rhythm, but then everyone else joined in, and those closest to me reached out to squeeze my arms or shoulders in congratulations.