Portrait of Madame Reynouard

Madame Reynouard - Amedeo Modigliani

<<So, how's life?>> asked Barbara. The question hung briefly in mid-air, then vanished, since Amedeo's mind was somewhere else and his eyes were focusing on her beauty. Isaac Albéniz's hands were playing Granada and the notes began to fill Modigliani's studio.
She was wearing a black dress - her favourite one -and Amedeo could see a part of the pale and cherry skin he used to kiss many times when they were together. 
Modì...it's ticklish here...
He was absorbed in thinking about how beautifully Barbara was smiling to him. Modigliani really wanted to stop time and catch and transfer everything in a canvas if only he had it in his hands. They were in his studio, though, but he felt like he could lose the brainstorm if he turned his eyes away from her. Amedeo knew very well that smile and he doubted Mr. Reynouard could see it. 
 <<Kinda good. Jeanne is giving birth to another kid and I'm talking with an old lover>> he said sarcastically. <<Aren't you cold, anyway?>>
<<Not lover anymore, I warn you.>> she didn't answer the question. <<Friends. In the same way we've always been. Let's not be awkward. I know every single thing about you, so do you with me.>> 


<<Don't move and keep smiling that way.>> 
<<What do you say?>> she said with a sneer.
<<Per favore...>> Amedeo muttered <<Please...>>
Barbara laughed and after an "ok" she put/leaned her right arm on the table, crossed her legs always keeping smiling the way Modì wanted and tilted her head slightly to the left. Her hands were caressing each other.
After a while Barbara thought aloud:<<I miss old times.>>
<<Um?>> 
<<Nothing. Just...this reminds me of when I used to pose for your portraits. And once again, Amedeo Modigliani married man and a daughter, pretends to seduce me, who is getting married to a rich man. What will the others think of this portrait? I think, Modì, that you will become so famous that you will be remembered through the centuries. I swear, sweet-heart.>>
Modì noticed a slight blush on her cheeks and added it to the portrait. He did it as the same colour as the cherry of her lips.
<<Don't you think I've always been good at staying still?>>
<<Barbara, you're deconcentrating me.>>
<<Am I? Sorry!>> Amedeo couldn't tell if Barbara was looking at his eyes or at him. So he drew two different eyes. Her voice talked again: <<Sorry again, could you make me more beautiful?>>
<<You already are,>> replied Amedeo. He was right. Barbara was very beautiful and his paintings always ruined the beauty concept but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was drawing her reassuring smile and keeping it forever in this portrait.