“A little farther. Yeah. Relax your left arm along the armrest. No, not like you’re falling over. That’s good. Now grip the other armrest with your right hand like you’re propping yourself up. Yeah, like that. No, don’t cross your legs. Point your toes toward the door,” he instructs, his artist eye following each move.
Javier’s Rule Number One is to leave enough vagueness for the viewer to find his own message. And this pose fits that philosophy like a glove. I can’t wait to ask him about its meaning but he won’t tell me with Aiden here. Javier’s Rule Number Two is to never disclose his own interpretation of his art. I am the only exception to that rule.
Javier fidgets until he has me where he wants me. I peek at Aiden. But it looks like he has exchanged places with the dragon again. His eyes are trained unblinking on my feet pointing to the door. The rest of his posture emanates tension waves like scaly wings.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he spits out and strides out of the room before I can say…anything. And, thankfully, before Javier could notice the furious eyes. Benson follows him at his customary, three-feet distance.
Why was he angry? Which interpretation did he see in the pose? Whatever he saw, was it the one he wanted? I draw a deep breath. Well, tonight, I’ll do my best to convince him that, if I could, I would not be sitting in this chair but rather lying on the chaise, for as long as he would have me.
Javier continues to roam about, setting up the easel, deciding on perspective, but he does not speak.
“So, that was very nice of him to pay you as well as Feign?” I start.
“Yes, very nice.” Javier sounds a little off.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he measures the height of my chair.
He pauses and looks up at me. “Are you?”
I smile. “Yes. It’s been a good day for a change.”
He watches me for a moment and then takes a deep breath. “Be careful, please. He seems kind of intense. I don’t know—something’s off.”
“Like what?” My voice is both defensive and curious.
Javier’s forehead crumples, and he squints his eyes like he is looking at an image. “Like he is too desperate for this or something.” He shakes his head as though the image eludes him.
Desperate? Aren’t we all desperate for our fantasies?
“Anyway, just keep your distance. It’s going to be bad enough without all this.” He waves his hand around the room.
I shiver and clutch my sheet tighter. He is right, as always. But today is demon-free. “I’ll be careful,” I say quickly. “Now tell me, what’s the plan for this?”
He shakes his head again but lets it go. “Well, you want to stay here so you’ll be seated and relaxed, rather than standing. But we know you have to leave, so your feet will point toward the door to illustrate the conflict and uncertainty. He can see what he wants in the image.”
Brilliant. Javier is giving me a choice in art when I don’t have it in real life.
“With that message, I’m guessing you don’t want me to grin like a madwoman or look morose?”
Javier smiles. “You’re guessing right. I want you to be you. Think only of today, only of this room, and only of what you’re feeling right now.” He ruffles my hair and pads over to his easel.
His eyes focus on me. I start to close mine before remembering that this time, I need them open. The sound of his sketching takes over. Soon, I’m daydreaming.
I wonder where Aiden is in this palace. Can he see us? Instantly, I shiver. The idea of his eyes on me—now primal, now soft—sets my skin ablaze. What will we do when we’re alone? Will he still be furious and pin me against a wall, tear off my sheet and growl in my ear you’re staying? Or will the tender Aiden who buys every single flower to guess my favorite be waiting? I don’t know which one I want more. Is there a way to merge them? Kiss them, bite them. My thighs flex and I shift in my chair.
Javier looks up.
“What’s up with you? You look all red.”
“Do I? Must be the heat from the lights,” I mumble.
“Do you need a break or something?”
“No, no! Keep going.”
A break is all I need right now. I want this to end as soon as possible, because now, in this shirt that smells like Aiden, my achy thighs are not the only problem. The bigger problem is that I’m pretty sure this is what people mean by “really wet”. And the silky knickers will probably show it. Hydrogen, 1.008. Helium, 4.003. Lithium, 6.94… Oh, blast, it’s not working. Right. 173 times 432 is—umm—74,736.
“That’s it. I’m calling a break,” Javier says with finality, shaking his head. Good thing, too, because Mrs. Davis comes in, bringing snacks and drinks. I attack the ice with the desperation of an Eskimo in the Sahara Desert. After bread, salami and cheese, Javier puts me back to work.