His breath is warm against my ear and neck as he entwines our fingers gently. I close my eyes and imagine what he is telling me.
“She stood there and played for at least an hour, maybe more. That was the moment, right there. I knew I had to paint her with the violin. It was like an extension of her. What better way to do that than capture her naked as the day she was born with the object that brought her to life?”
As the question fades into the now-silent room, he releases my hands, and I turn to see him walking back to the painting he was working on. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling cold and alone.
“So why call itArmor? If the violin is part of her, why name it as though it’s a shield? That painting is so soft. I still don’t understand.”
Chantel seemed like such a strong individual. She was a woman with a handicap. A lot of people would let that hold them back, but she didn’t. If anything, she exceeded everyone’s expectations. She became an accomplished musician who moved to France and became the model for a now world-renowned artist. That did not seem like a woman who needed protection, yet in the end?—
“No, you’re looking at it wrong,” he tells me. “Armoras in the violinmakesher stronger. This painting represents a quiet inner strength.”
“Oh.”
“She was the strongest woman I have ever known.”
As I move to the door, about to leave, I ask, “When should I come back?” It’s clear he wants to be left alone.
“When you’re ready to pose. Tonight, we get to see how strong you can be. Or perhaps you think you need to arrive wearing the armor, hmm?”
Annoyed at his reference to my lack of trust and bravery, I say nothing as I turn, leaving him to his paints and his ghosts.
Handling Things ~
Phillipe convinced me to pose full profile nude today.
It took some persuasion on his behalf, and in the end, a compromise was reached.
“Here. How about you sit over here?” he asked me as he took my palm in his.
Laughing softly, I followed to where he led me. “So, tell me again—why must I remove all of my clothes to appear strong?”
I heard him move in close to me before his lips touched mine. “Because I like looking at the full picture, and Chantel, your body is a work of art.”
“You just like keeping me naked,” I told him as I felt him move away from me.
“Well, that too. Okay, so sit down here. Yeah, that’s perfect. Face the wall so I can capture you from the side. Now, place the bout of Diva on your crossed legs and cradle her curves, so the handle is resting between your breasts. There. That’s perfect.”
The cool surface of the violin’s handle fits nicely against my chest.
“Wow, the way your breasts and hips look from this angle is a thing of beauty.”
“I feel kind of ridiculous,” I told him, licking my bottom lip as my nipples hardened in the cool morning air. “Are you going to paint me true to life?”
“Of course,” he mumbled in the way he always did when he was concentrating on a piece.
“I mean, are you going to paint my nipples hard, like they are right now?”
The room went silent until he cleared his throat. “Stop trying to distract me.”
“Is that what I’m doing, Phillipe? Distracting you with my hard nipples?”
He chuckled. “If you behave for thirty minutes, I’ll let you take a break.”
It was funny, because when he first told me about this idea he had to paint me, it was one picture. Now it had turned into two, but if I knew Phillipe, it would end up being more like ten or eleven. Who knew? Maybe he’d never stop. He was always telling me he could look at me all day.
“Okay, I think I can manage that for thirty minutes.”
“Good, good,” he answered in that faraway voice again.
