Pierre’s eyes drift from the canvas and his oils to your body laying across the couch. He captures every detail about you—every dip, every curve.

“Are you cold?” he asks, glancing at the crackling fire. Then he resumes his work. He paints you as a goddess, Venus. You can tell how much he worships you from the way the room is filled with more paintings of you.

Even if you won’t show him the same love, he doesn’t care. His life is complete if he can trace your face for as long as he lives.