Chapter 8: The Story

“You really want to know my life?” Emilia asked while posing on the couch for Tommy to paint.

“I do,” Tommy said.

Emilia shifted her eyes just enough to see the artist, but she held her posture.

“I can listen while I paint,” he said.

Emilia gave a faint nod, her fingers tightening around the green silk shawl she held to her chest.

“Your maps call the land my ship washed up in Egypt,” Emilia said picking up her story where she left off the previous night. “I was the only survivor. I remember the night so clearly. It was too warm for the furs I was dressed in. There was a full moon overhead and no clouds. I’d spent almost my entire life in colder, snowy regions. I’d never seen so many stars before.”

Emilia paused, listening to the sound of Tommy’s brushstroke across the canvas.

From the sound, she could imagine what kind of strokes he was using – light, quick brush strokes.