Thirty Grains of Love

I could still feel Angel scrutinizing me from a distance. I knew he desired my body—possibly more—but whatever it was, I was never enough. And I had no intention of trying to read his thoughts again, the way I used to. Instead, I focused on the beige and pastel tones swirling around me and enjoyed the vibrant splashes of blue, crimson, and pale pink scattered throughout the garden. A magnificence that only Monet could have captured well. "You brought me to this place," Angel continued, "and at any moment, you may disappear. Always running away from me…" I tried to keep my anger in check and prevent an outburst of rage. What a distortion of reality! Where was the magic wand to make this man disappear? Like the twists of the Amazon River, he always eluded me. I was a mermaid standing on the Loreley Rock in a German saga, trying to call him with gentle songs—but he was deaf to them. I could never reach him, no matter how many other sailors drowned in the current before and after him. Angel's voice, low and warm, continued. "Even after all these years, your posture still radiates finesse and grace. You must have come from royalty. Only ladies of blue blood are entitled to such pale and exquisite beauty." "Please stop it," I interrupted, knowing this would only get worse. But he continued, ignoring my plea. "The colors in your eyes ignite a yearning I can't control. My heart races with awe. But you are a league above me and would disarm me if I dared seize this opportunity." "No idea what you're talking about." I already had enough trouble coping with my own emotions; I didn't need him spilling his over me. "I want to draw a picture of you." He stepped forward. I sighed, growing more frustrated by the moment. Here he goes again. I never understood his game. Angel had always evaded me. I didn't know whether he was a skilled hunter or whether I lacked the knowledge to flirt and keep him teetering on the brink of madness. So, he would lose interest once he reached the line of demarcation. Or maybe he didn't dare cross it? I will never know. Emotional amplitudes seem to be higher in men, but last longer in women. Our connection fizzled out each time, leaving me wondering about his true intentions. And he always recovered from our conversations faster than I did. "Please! One picture." His voice quivered as if he were onstage. Do women still fall for this? "When did you start saying the word please? You usually take whatever you want." "You're a goddess, so I must beg and pray." "How flattering!" I wavered but stayed defiant. "Still, I don't buy it." "I promise we won't go anywhere we haven't been before. But the moment is perfect, the setting unique—we must not miss it." He looked calm and composed again. "Your promises aren't worth five cents." "You underestimate me." "I know you." "Give me a chance to prove I can be someone else. Otherwise, it's not fair." Playing helpless again. What should I do with him? I need something in exchange. "Hmm…I'm not sure if I have what it takes to be a model. But why not try—if you give me the painting afterward. The setting is lovely indeed." "You're asking a lot." He gave me a serious look. "But frankly, without you, the picture would not exist. And we need to savor this place. I'm in—it's a deal." "A deal." I felt a sense of relief. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, after all. Angel didn't lose a minute. "Wait for me—stay exactly where you are. I'll gather what I need from the studio upstairs." He disappeared into the house's interior, his footsteps thumping on the wooden steps. My enthusiasm vanished with him. A great job, Isabella. Blame the wine? Standing alone in the middle of someone else's garden—even if it will soon be yours—within ten feet of the worst seducer you know. Here he comes again. Brushes and colors in hand, with a palette and tripod, leaning at the door. "And why are you still wearing that dress?" he asked in a leisurely tone. My blood froze. "The deal is only valid if you take it off. You didn't know? That's what an exemplary model does." I swallowed. Slowly. Then took a deep breath. He was speaking as if ordering pizza. Or an escort. "I can't be in your presence without clothes. I won't make it." "Make what?" I wanted to say, save my composure, but that would have only made things worse. This dilemma was terrible enough. I was looking for an escape. "Just try," Angel said quietly but firmly, with an insistent smile. That tone I could never resist. Now at least I withstood his gaze. "I don't know." Every hair on my skin stood on end. It was too much to ask, but the exciting idea pinned me in place. Then he spoke again. "I have an idea; it might help you. Give me the belt of your dress." What is he up to now? "Here." I handed it over to Angel, my eyes filled with doubt. "It's a soft fabric. I can blindfold you with it, and you won't see my eyes. That way it will be easier for you. No temptation, no fears." I wish it were that easy. Unfortunately, Angel knew precisely what I couldn't refuse. He sidled closer, like a tamer of a predatory animal who knows there was no room for a false move, then lifted the belt and put it around my head. "Great. It sits well. Now it's your turn." His voice was getting firmer. As if under a spell, I eased the straps of my dress off, and it slipped down to my ankles like a soft caress. I stepped out of it.