“No…You can’ t do this!”
She was not herself anymore. His gentle model, his muse with that shy smile had burst in rage.
“How could you…it’ s your face, YOURS! After putting up with your model’s “accidental” touches behind me…and now THIS!”
He thought she would be happy. He thought she would finally see…
“You can’ t bring it there tomorrow!”
“But it’ s my central piece…” he started, hoping she would understand…
Her eyes, always so warm, were like ice picks, relentless.
“Curator of your exhibition – my husband! How for goodness sake will I explain THIS?!”