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He spun her around to face him, and she was so close to him that she had to tilt her head to look up. She had to fight against her urges not to lean forward so that her body could make contact with his. Instead, she forced irritation into her voice. “What?” she demanded.
“What, what?”
“What did you bring me here for?”
His lips curved. “I just wanted to tell you that you will be okay. People will talk, but that’s about it. They can’t harm you.” Then he twinkled at her. “Besides, a little mystery, a little mystique, would be good for your reputation, no?”
Before she could inform him that she definitely did not need that type of mystique in her life, there was the crashing of an elephant in the undergrowth, and Rhys appeared, grimy and out of breath as usual. He and Zanifa had been spending every day in the garden, and the results of their endeavors had begun to show. There would certainly soon be fresh herbs for their kitchen.
“Mom!” he yelled, and Melanie darted backward from Corbin, feeling and looking way more guilty than she should. “Is it true?” Rhys was waving the phone his father had given him, and his wide, curious eyes darted from her face to Corbin’s.
She needed no clarification: it was clear that her son had seen the tweet. And the many ribald comments that followed.
Rhys asked again, “Is it true?” and then in a whisper that could be heard from the other side of the lake, he added, “That you like Corbin?”
What bothered her even more than the directness of the question was the underlying implication. In the past few days, once Corbin had knocked off work for the day and sent the workmen home, he and Rhys had spent half an hour or so, chatting about the plants, trees, and animals in the area. He’d even turned up with a brand new, heavy book in English about the Camargue horses, which Rhys had voraciously devoured. There was no doubt that the two were getting along. It even seemed to Melanie that Corbin was way more relaxed with Rhys than he was with her. That stung a bit, but she reminded herself that this was a business relationship. She wasn’t there to make nice or to chat about horses.
But to discuss something like this in this man’s presence…. Melanie shot him a look which he immediately and accurately read. Without even bothering to make up some dumb, transparent excuse, he bowed smartly to each of them and backed away. Once she and her son were alone, she braced herself to answer.
“Rhys, Corbin and I are only working on the project together. We aren’t… you know, a thing.”
“But I saw the picture,” Rhys persisted. “You were kissing him, weren’t you?”
“No, we—”
“At least, you were gonna!” he insisted. “That’s what Queenie said!” He sent her a bashful, sidelong glance, before adding, “And if you were, I wouldn’t mind. If you like him, I mean.”
The hope on Rhys’s face was palpable and made Melanie’s heart ache. He’d gone so long without a male figure in his life. Even when Wilder was there, Rhys had received no fatherly encouragement or positivity. There’d been nothing but criticism for what Wilder had seen as failings, but which Melanie knew were instead a testament to Rhys’s gentle and thoughtful nature.
Corbin had seen that in him too, even from the very first day. And Rhys had been drawn to that like a cat to the sunshine. It hurt to burst his bubble. “Sorry, pal, but camera angles can do that. You know?” She enfolded him in a hug and immediately let him go when he seemed to struggle. Maybe her son was getting to the age where mommy-hugs were growing unwelcome. But she added, just to make sure her point went home, “There’s nothing between us but this project. Understand?”
He nodded morosely, seeming a little pale under his fresh tan, and turned and walked away.
She trudged back to the house, feeling defeated. Immediately, Corbin appeared at her side, just as she walked past Mr. Happy. She groaned inwardly. She really, really didn’t like that satyr. Him and his big, stupid horns and big, stupid grin and big, stupid—
“Well? Is everything okay? What did you tell him? What did he say?”
For some odd reason she found the man’s almost paternal concern irritating. After all, he’d known Rhys for what, a week? Why all the concern? “The conversation I had with my son was private, if you don’t mind,” she said testily, and watched guiltily as he recoiled.
Corbin considered her face soberly for a long time, all evidence of amusement over the kissing bounty erased. “Of course,” he said crisply, clearly offended. “Forgive me for overstepping. Pardon.”
Melanie was overcome by the feeling that she’d pushed too hard, been too short with him, but the question was soon moot, as her phone began to chime the ringtone for an incoming video call. Since very few people called her like this, she knew at once who it was.
“Queenie?”
“Princess!” Queenie’s face loomed into view, and from the looks of it she was getting her hair done, as a pair of hands flitted in and out of frame. “How are you, precious girl?”
Melanie tried to smile. “Great,” she said cheerily, even though there was no doubt in her mind that her benefactor had been closely following the morning’s interactions via web cam. She would surely know that ‘great’ was a bit of a stretch. But to say otherwise would be rude—and you just weren’t rude to the Queen of the talk show circuit.
“Wonderful!” Queenie enthused. “Because I have news for you. The owner of the cottage is having a gala affair at their home in Nice tonight. And you and Corbin are invited!”
Melanie’s mount dropped open. “We what?”
“Yes!” Queenie blithely went on. “They want to meet their delightful new designer and her right-hand man, and what better time to do that?”
“A party,” Melanie echoed. “In Nice. Tonight.”
“Right!” Queenie’s eyes danced with delight. “I hope you packed your dancing shoes!”
