Chapter Seven
Sofia stood back from her work and eyed it critically. The usual self-doubt was virulent today and she almost splashed black paint across the whole thing and told Desiree she quit. But she couldn’t do it. She had decided on translating the small invite sketch into a huge canvas of the completed gallery to and in the middle of her space, flanked by portraits of both Desiree and Ivo.
It was Ivo’s painting she was completing now, and the one she had worked longest on. It had to be perfect or it wouldn’t be worthy of him. Ivo. Her lover.
When she thought of him, wrapped around her at night, either making love or just talking, it made her whole body warm.
She looked up at the outline she had done. His eyes were the most important for her, the expression of tenderness in them,
