The Girl in the Painting
Lily laughs, and Indy’s blue eyes brighten as if she’s amused by my candid admission.
She keeps looking at me like that, and I might just adopt a life of crime.
Our server stops by the table with the wine I ordered before their arrival, pours everyone a glass, and writes down our dinner orders, and I use that time to steal glances in my real-life muse’s direction while Lily dives back into her list of questions.
Who are my inspirations?
What influences my color palette?
Have I always been artistic?
They’re a lot of the same questions I’ve been asked a thousand times, but I’m surprised to find myself enjoying it.
Lily is likable and endearingly pushy, and Indy’s lack of understanding of everything her sister is talking about is fun.
No doubt, it’d be different if she were the slightest bit self-conscious, but thanks to our smiles and the wine, Indy has embraced it completely.
In fact, since the initial awkwardness, there’s been an impressive amount of eye contact.
And fuck, if those beautiful blue eyes of hers don’t give me a rush. They speed up my heart and put a fire inside my belly. I could paint those eyes of hers over and over, stare into them for the rest of my life, and I don’t think it’d be enough.
I’ve never had a woman affect me like this. But fuck, I’m affected.
“Not gonna lie.” Lily pulls me from my overpowering thoughts. “I’m a little surprised you’re this amenable. You have a reputation for being…”
“A dick?” I offer, and a burst of hilarity leaves her lips. Indy actually snorts.
“You said it, not me.”
“You’re not much for social interaction,” Indy says, repeating my words from the first time we met at Aquavella. A thrill runs down my spine.
“Exactly.”
A mischievous smile kisses her lips, and she nudges her sister. “Lily loves attention. I bet she would love being a celebrity.”
“No doubt about that.” Her sister damn near cackles. “If I could change my name to Kily and join the Kardashian clan, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Pretty sure Kily would be a PR nightmare.” Indy snorts again, and good God, why is this woman the most adorable creature I’ve ever encountered?
The Davis sisters are both classically beautiful, but there’s a reason Indy is my muse.
The way she moves. The way she fidgets her fingers when she’s nervous or uncertain. The way she worries her teeth against her bottom lip when she’s trying to find the right words. And when she smiles, really fucking smiles, it steals my goddamn breath.
I feel as if I’ve known her all my life, yet I’ve been in her presence all of two times.
“Do you mind if I ask a question?” Indy requests, and I’ve never been more excited for a fucking question in my life.
“Of course.”
“Occasionally, you use models for your paintings, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Have you ever been on the other side of things?”
I furrow my brow as I try to understand her question. “Are you asking if I’ve ever been the subject?”
She nods and, for a brief moment, I admire the way her long lashes sweep across her pretty face.
“Well…” I pause and search my mind. “Actually, no. I don’t think I have.”
“That seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” she questions, her voice teasing. “I mean, in order to really understand your subjects, don’t you think you should try being on the other side of the canvas?”
“You know,” I say and run my fingers over my chin, “I’ve never really thought about it like that before. But I guess, yeah, I probably should, huh?”
Indy grins. “You should.”
Before I can add to it, our server steps up to our table and begins to set our meals in front of us. Steak for me, grilled chicken for Lily, and chicken fingers and fries for Indy.
The mere idea of chicken fingers and fries makes me laugh, and Indy looks up from her plate to meet my eyes. “What?” she asks. “What are you looking at?”
“I didn’t realize Bistro had a kids menu,” I say, and I’m rewarded with another ridiculous snort.
“Mind your own business, pal,” she orders with a smile. “Chicken fingers and fries are delicious.”
It takes Lily interrupting our banter with another question to make me remember we’re not on a date.
“Have you sold any of your paintings from the exhibition?”
I finish chewing my bite of steak and take a sip of wine. “Not a single one.”
“That sounds like a lie,” she guffaws. “I happen to know there are a ton of people out there vying to get an Ansel Bray.”
“Yeah, but you asked me if I’d sold one of my paintings, not if there was interest in them.”
Lily raises a pointed eyebrow. “Those two things are normally directly linked. Are you not planning on selling any of them?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug and meet Indy’s curious eyes. “I’m not sure if I can part with any of them. Most of the people trying to buy them want them for the status, not for the art.”