Heart Contract

Mia:

“What is this?" said a baritone deep voice from behind, grabbing my attention. I turned to notice a stranger standing there.

 "It's a painting," I responded, deciding to press on with my painting as I stared at his imposing, muscular form and beautiful emerald eyes. Mr. Knighton had entrusted me with this painting."

 I don't even know why I'm explaining myself to this strange man.

Is this what you call a painting? Splattering paint on a board and calling it art? I heard him say back to me.

W-what!, what did you just say, I stammered, dumbfounded by that rude response. He didn't even wait for me to finish talking before he walked out on me.

Flashback 48 hrs ago:

I stood there, heart pounding like a drum, staring at the fancy entrance of this mansion that looked like it belonged in a fairytale. Who would've thought Mia Turner, a struggling artist, would end up here? I fidgeted with my bag strap, clutching onto my paintings like they were life rats in an ocean of elegance.

I took a deep breath, well, several deep breaths, and finally stepped onto that marble pathway. I made an effort to behave as though I did this every day even though my sneakers looked out of place on the reflective surface. I was split internally between a sense of joy and anxiety, "What on earth am I doing here?"

The inside hall resembled something from a dream. Art hung on the walls like stars in a night sky, and people floated around in fancy dresses, all elegance and grace. And then there was me, awkwardly standing there with my not-so-fancy dress and a weird feeling like I had just walked into the wrong party.

My heart did a little leap when I spotted my paintings in the corner. They looked good. Even though I was aware of their quality, it was nevertheless strange to see them in this posh location. I couldn't help but crack a silly grin.

"Mia Turner, isn't it?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to find this older gentleman with a warm smile coming my way. 

Suddenly he extended his hand like a prince, and I shook it, hoping not to seem like a wet sponge.

 "Yeap, that's me," I replied, probably slightly too happily for the occasion.

"Lawrence Knighton," he said like I should know that name. "I'm thrilled to finally meet the brilliant artist behind these stunning pieces."

"Thank you," I whispered, somewhat uneasy. "I mean, thank you very much." "I'm simply... I'm delighted to be here, this is a nice Charity Art event you’ve thrown."

Lawrence chuckled like I had just cracked some inside joke. No need to be nervous, "Isabella." Your work is truly captivating. Your paintings communicate volumes to the viewer, "as art tends to do."

Okay, now,  "I'm blushing" - sorry, I appreciate that. I mean, really, thanks. "It's just... wow."

You know what, I would love for you to come to do a painting for me at my house, let's say in two days if that's okay with you?