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Chapter 10
When Melanie and Corbin arrived at the cottage, Rhys and Zanifa were just wrapping up their labors for the day. The area they had earmarked for an herb garden was now crisscrossed with lengths of yellow packing twine wrapped around tall spikes, arranged into some design that only they two understood. But Melanie had to be enthusiastic and encouraging, trying to sort out in her head the ambitious plans Rhys and his nanny were executing.
Rhys and Zanifa were covered with dirt and sweat from their boots up, and her son looked as though he’d face-planted into the soil at least once. Zanifa, on the other hand, had somehow managed to keep her headscarf in place and pristine, still neatly pinned.
When Corbin began to unwrap the tarp that was protecting the statue’s modesty, Melanie thought, Oh, no, but Rhys and Zanifa were already there, curious to know what they’d brought home. It wasn’t long before Mr. Happy was disrobed and standing before them in all his salacious glory and immediately Melanie felt her face heating up again.
Not that she was embarrassed discussing sexual matters with her son; she’d already had several age-appropriate, sex-positive conversations with him. Melanie could only conclude that it was the highly amused presence of Corbin that tipped the scales for her. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her discomfort, and even to be egging the lascivious satyr on in an ‘I got you, bro,’ sort of way.
Men. Huh.
Zanifa could only cover her titters with one hand and pat her headscarf self-consciously in place with the other, murmuring, “Ah, bon Dieu,” under her breath. But as for Rhys, he laughed so hard he literally fell over.
Corbin gave her a happy grin. “I guess he’s going to become one of the house’s conversation pieces.”
“I’d rather they talked about my designs,” she retorted.
He shrugged. “So, where will the little man bide his time until you are ready to install him in his forever home?” Then he added mischievously, “Perhaps somewhere he won’t be able to survey the woods nearby for nymphs? You know, given his current state of desire, he may not be able to control himself, non?”
Melanie made a face at him. Trust him to take things even farther than they should go. The man was acting like a frat boy sharing a dirty joke… over and over. She nodded at the porch steps and answered in a stern voice, “He can cool his heels over there until I’m ready to deal with him.” If she had her way, she’d at least wrap him in a toga, but she didn’t want to expose herself to any more of Corbin’s teasing.
Corbin dragged the satyr up the steps and set him down with a heavy thud. “There you go, mon ami. Seems like madame would like you out of sight.” He lowered his voice even further, while still making sure that she could hear him. “Do you think it is because you are arousing thoughts in her head that she would rather not face? Young and beautiful as she is, perhaps you have, uh, stimulated unwelcome ideas?”
Melanie glared at him and stomped back to the truck to begin noisily and ostentatiously dragging out their other samples and purchases, tossing dirty looks Corbin’s way whenever their eyes met. Each time, he countered with a grin.
Who did he think he was, tormenting her with words like “arouse” and “stimulate”? It was almost as if the man could sense the dreadful sexual drought she’d endured ever since her marriage ended—and even long before.
Well, she had news for him: a horny alabaster statue was not going to stimulate any thoughts of arousal, thank you very much. She liked her men to be made of flesh and bone.
But thanks for asking.
Also, she decided, if he laughed at her one more time she was going feral on him for the second time since they’d met and damn the consequences.
The one thing she did underestimate, however, was the attention their little discovery would garner. By that evening, screen grabs from Queenie’s live feed were being snatched and reposted by hundreds of Minions. The hashtag #MrHappy was trending, aided and abetted by Queenie, who began soliciting suggestions from her loyal subjects as to what, apart from the presence of a willing forest nymph, Mr. Happy could be so happy about. Responses popping up in the comments included the promise of an extra-large stuffed-crust goat cheese pizza, to a day at the salon to polish his hooves and decorate his horns with sparkly nail polish.
By the afternoon of the next day, random cars began shooting up the driveway and Minions were leaping out, racing to the steps to pose with the satyr and take pictures, thumbs up or flashing shaka signs with extended little finger and thumb. Some even pleaded for Melanie to join them in the photos, which she figured she owed them. There were soon several photos floating around the internet of her standing ramrod straight, looking decidedly uncomfortable, as gleeful Minions mimed acts on the satyr that bordered on the indecent.
The following night, Steven Colbert did a bit on The Late Show about the unabashed sexuality of the French, while a sour-faced podcaster in Milwaukee started a petition to oblige the mayor of Villeneuve to force Melanie to get Mr. Happy some pants. “There are decent people watching these shows!” she opined. “What if a child were to walk by?”
The satyr was causing a feeding frenzy on both sides of the pond—until another photo emerged which in turn became the hot topic for discussion. The click Melanie had heard, which had sounded like a camera, really was one. And that person had captured the image of Melanie and Corbin standing inches from each other, mouths just a hair’s breadth apart. It looked exactly as if she and Corbin had been going in for a kiss.
Perish the thought.
But Melanie seemed to be the only person who wasn’t keen on speculation.
Queenie Abara@queenieabara 37 m
Did they or didn’t they? What do you think?
Within minutes a stormof opinions came raining down upon them, ranging from,
‘Course she kissed him: have you looked at him?
to
That was quite unprofessional. To kiss the hired help? Queenie should put a stop to it at once!
Melanie lookedon in anguish as her relationship with Corbin—if you wanted to call it that—was hotly debated. The overwhelming majority thought she would be insane not to throw herself at the handsome Frenchman, and soon there was wild speculation about the sex life of the lonely divorcee. Obviously, she had nobody special in her life, because how else would she be able to uproot herself and her son and tramp all the way over to the south of France?
