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Don’t go Breaking my Horn

Page 26

by Hazel Jane North

“I’ll let you paint me,” I say.

She swivels her head around. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, Romy.”

Her entire face lights up, and I hold up a hand before she can get too excited. “But you’re not putting it in the exhibition.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want a room full of strangers staring at me.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to bug me about it?”

“What do you want me to say? It’s your portrait. If you don’t want anyone else to see it, they won’t.”

God, this woman… She’s the best thing that ever walked into my life. And when she asked me to stay yesterday, I knew my old life was over.

“When?” I ask.

She laughs. “You’re eager. When do you have time?”

“Now.”

“You mean that?” she asks with a small gasp.

I sit down on the couch and nod. For some strange reason, I’m nervous. Her painting me feels even more intimate than the first time we had sex. I feel like she’s about to see the real me. And no one has really seen me for years now. All they see are the horns and the fur.

But Romy has never looked at me the way I look at myself. Maybe that’s why I’m finally ready to let her paint me.

She grabs a fresh canvas from the stack against the wall and carries it over to her easel. I watch her remove the other painting and carefully lean it against the wall before replacing it with the empty canvas.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just sit back and relax.”

I do as I’m told while she drags her chair a little closer to the window. She steps back, studies me, and moves it again.

“Are you going to paint me or rearrange the entire room?” I ask.

“I need good light for this.”

“There’s light.”

“I know, but this is important, Otis. I need perfect light.”

Once she’s finally satisfied, she grabs her palette and starts squeezing out paint.

“What am I supposed to do with my hands?” I ask her.

“Whatever feels natural. Really, relax. This is supposed to be fun.”

I put them on my thighs and stare straight ahead, trying to look serious. Romy laughs.

“What’s wrong?”

“You look like you’re having your mugshot taken,” she says.