Sophia's POV.
I couldn't help staring at everything in awe.
“Sophia, you've been staring long enough. Say something, anything,” he prompted me and I noticed how tense his posture was. He was actually anxious about what I would say.
“Is this it? Is this all of it? Am I supposed to be impressed or something?” I remarked, brushing imaginary dust off my shirt.
“You don't. . .you don't like it?” He was surprised and the only problem was that I did like the painting studio, maybe even too much.
The studio was the definition of perfection, my own heaven on earth. I was surrounded by artwork that dated back to before I was born. Just being in the presence of such genius was enough to prompt inspiration to paint.
The inner me was screaming and jumping with ecstatic joy but Alessandro cou
