Portrait of a Tycoon

Isabella's studio had since become a whirlwind of creativity and imagination's since she meticulously spent more and more time working on the Sinclair project. Every brushstrokes she took, every detail she added was a labor of love and a seeming underlying connection with the enigmatic billionaire.

Weeks turned into months and as the portrait slowly seemed to near completion, she had still enough to work on before she completes the portrait. Isabella could feel a sense of pride and accomplishment slowly growing in her. She had poured her heart and soul into the project, and it was a testament that she was really talented and dedicated the her work, her mother once told her when she came to take a look at the painting.

"Hey sweetheart, how is it going?" Isabella's mom Jamie asked poking her head into the room.

"Well am good, just wracking my brians out." Isabella said with a smile as her mom walked into the room. 

Jamie walked in with a big smile. "You seem to be doing a great work here, it would be finished in a while though." 

"Come on mom, this isn't gonna be done in a few days. I have at least a month work to before am done with it."

"Well I came to tell you dinners ready, I made your favorite." Jamie said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"My favorite?" Isabella asked, a confused frown spreading across her face. She had been deeply engrossed in her work that she had forgotten what her favorite dish was. 

Jamie who understood what was happening could help but surpress the laugh threatening to burst out.

"Oh come on mom, tell me already; stop teasing me." Isabella said laughing out, while dropping her brushes and running around the studio table to meet her mother.

But Jamie though older was agile and lithe, a fast move, she passed under Isabella's outstretched hand meant to grab her and made out of the studio with Isabella quite on her heels.

Jamie made it into the garden before Isabella made a dive at her as they both rolled on the lush garden floor. Their laughter ringing out and echoing around the surrounding woods.

They rolled to a halt as they crashed into something sturdy. Jamie winced in pain as Isabella sprang the her feet, she froze; her mother paused too in confusion. A distinct familiar smell caught her nostrils, with a squeal she leaped forward grabbing open a covered dish as the sweet aroma wafted into her nose enveloping her.

She smiled happily with flushed face as she saw her favorite food specially made for her sitting her. Chicken burritos with french bread and cheese,with a fermented wine and juice.

Soon her little girl came in from the front gate, squealing as flew her homemade kite; she had been to their next door neighbors place. The whole family sat down to dinner 

******************

After the early dinner, Isabella returned back to the studio. She stood watching her work contentedly. The portrait has taken a great shape and with it was the growing complexities of her nurturing relationship with Mr Alexander. Their connection had deepened through their few shared moments in the studio whenever he came visiting, bit it also brought about another issue. 

The growing tension— a tension which was born out if unspoken desires and the awareness of the barriers that stood between them.

Soon her phone rang out, shrilling loudly in the rather silent evening; broken only by the distinct shrilling of her daughter's laughter as she played in the garden.

She picked up the call, raising the cellphone to her ear. "Hello Mr Sinclair, good evening to you."

"Evening Isabella." He Began. "Would you mind me coming over to the studio to take a look at the work?"

"Sure if you really want to." She said barely surpressing her anticipation at his coming.

"Okay then, will be their in forty minutes." He said ending the call as Isabella released a held up breath, easing her tension.

In less than forty minutes, Isabella heard a horn at the gate. She knew who it was so she walked out to usher him into the house.

"Hi there beautiful, how'd you do cutie?" She asked lifting Isabella's little girl and throwing her up catching her again as she came down. 

Isabella stood looking at the man playing with her daughter, to her he had a soft center irrespective of how hard he appeared to be on the outside.

"I am fine sir." Isabella's daughter answered in a shrill voice.

"So what's your name and how old are you." 

"My name is Melissa, but my friends call me Mel and I am 7 years old." The little girl answered with a grin. It was obvious she was having a good time.

"Okay, you seem pretty smart. You know what Melissa?" Alexander asked with a smile, as Melissa made a face and waved her head to indicate a no.

"Why don't you go play, while I have a little talk with momma? How'bout that?"

"Okay, but momma promised to take me to the beach today?" She agreed but quickly chips in.

"Sure, she will. Just a little time okay." Alexander reassured her.

"Okay then," with that she ran off and out into the garden with Alexander looking at her receding figure.

"You know, you have a pretty smart girl there?" He said and without hoping for an answer, he turned and threw another question at her jerking her out of her reverie.

"Would you mind showing me your work?" 

Isabella jolted as his words brought her back to reality.

"Yes.. errmm...Sure... Why not..." She stuttered as she lead the way.

Isabella walked into the studio holding the door open as Alexander walked in behind her but suddenly stops on his tracks.

"Isabella," he began, his voice lower than usual. "This portrait— is more than just a painting of me."

"Why do you say so?" Isabella asked with an inquisitive underlying tone.

"It is a reflection of the connection of the connection we've formed."

Isabella nodded, her heart racing like it was going to break out of it's cage. "I feel it too, Alexander. But we must be careful." 

Their eyes locked in a moment of understanding. They were just two souls drawn together by fate and art, but their worlds were greatly vastly different from each other's. Alexander's position as a billionaire and Isabella's struggle's as an artist had created a deep breach that they couldn't ignore easily.

That evening as isabella out the finishing touches to the final sketch of the portrait before the coloring, Alexander stood beside her, their bodies inches apart as the air was thick with spoken words and unfulfilled desires.

"Isabella?" He called out in a whisper, his voice husky, "I can't help but be drawn to you. Your talent, your passion— it's intoxicating."

Isabella paused, the hairs on her neck prickling; her pounding. "Alexander, you know I feel the same way as you. But we're from different worlds, and there are expectations and responsibilities...."

There breath mingled, intoxicating the air as their lips came inches away from a kiss. But just before their lips could meet, they both pulled back; catching hold of themselves while breathing heavily.

He cupped her face in his hands, oblivious of anything else around them except her. "I know that very well, Isabella. But I can't seem to ignore what we share."

Their eyes locked as in that charged moment, they both understood the depth of their feelings for each other. They knew they were standing on the edge of a love that would defile all odds, but the world around them has weaved a web of expectations and obligation which was expected of them. Of him in particular.

Alexander sighed again, his hands slowly touching his forehead. "I know we can't deny what we feel. but we must tread carefully, my world is filled up with things expected of me and I don't want to drag you into it."

Isabella nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "I understand, Alexander. But I want you to know that this portrait—it's not just a painting. It's a reflection of our connection, a testament to the feelings we share, even if it can't be fully realized."

They stood there in the dimly lit studio, their hearts heavy with the weight of unfulfilled desires. The portrait of Alexander Sinclair was not just a representation of his image; it was a symbol of the love that had blossomed between them, a love that was as beautiful and complex as the art they had created together.

As Alexander left the studio that evening, Isabella couldn't help but wonder about the future—a future filled with uncertainties and challenges. But one thing was certain—their love would forever be etched in the brushstrokes of the portrait, a love that defied expectations and transcended the boundaries of their worlds.