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Chapter 11
For the next hour, Melanie immersed herself in the floor renovations, walking around looking down, evaluating the cross-hatched design that the workers were creating with their narrow strips of oak. Corbin had selected some skilled craftsmen, she could give him that. And it was growing increasingly clear that he was no handyman as she had assumed: rather, he was knowledgeable, precise and perfectionist, a man well respected by the men and women who worked for and with him. They seemed eager to please, and it was clear that as much as they were nice to her, and listened politely to her opinions, they took their orders from him. He was the man whose opinions really mattered.
It rankled a bit, but she swallowed her pride, because with Corbin on the job, it was clear that the pervasive aura of impending disaster that enveloped the cottage was beginning to fade.
Speaking of disasters, however, this evening’s gala was beginning to loom over her, larger and larger. As noon drew near, she grew more frantic. What would she wear? She had exactly one dress, and it was the kind of garment you wore to a PTA meeting when there was the promise of cheese sandwiches and tepid apple juice after. Certainly not something you wore to a soiree in Nice.
And what about her makeup? She had two lipsticks, one stick of mascara, and a half-depleted set of nude eyeshadow that she’d grabbed up from the rack near the cashier the last time she’d gone to a drug store. The threat of humiliation began to soak into her bones.
From time to time she glanced sideways at Corbin. How would he feel escorting her to the damn party? He was sure to have at least one half-decent suit up there in his beautifully designed house. She’d look like the country mouse being taken into the city for the first time!
“Hey.”
The voice behind her made her jump, and she spun around to see Corbin standing right behind her. There was a glint of wariness in his eyes, as if he remembered the virago she’d turned into on the day they’d met and was being cautious. She hated that. She hated the knowledge that whenever Wilder came into her mind she became something else. The man was driving her nutty and he wasn’t even there.
“Hey,” she said, and then wet her lips. “This place in Nice… have you had a chance to look at the location Queenie sent?”
“I have,” he said gravely. There seemed to be something weighing on his mind, but she couldn’t be sure what it was. “It’s a part of La Corniche: I know it well.”
“Is it… fancy?”
He assessed her for a few moments, and again she had the impression that there was something else going on that she couldn’t fathom. “The neighborhood is one of the most prestigious in Nice.”
“And the client… have you got a name?”
He shook his head slowly. “So far, I only have the street. Madame Queenie has promised to send further details when we are on our way.”
She groaned. Trust Queenie to make things harder than they should be. That was it. She’d have to go shopping for a dress and some shoes, at least. No way was she going to cruise among socialites looking like pre-makeover Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada. And she certainly didn’t have the sewing skills to make a ballgown out of curtains like Miss Scarlett.
She wondered if she dared ask him to drive her into town, after she’d been so mean to him earlier. But the last time she’d tried walking anywhere had ended in disaster, so she was going to have to suck it up and throw herself upon his mercy.
She wet her lips. “Corbin,” she began.
Before she could voice her request there was the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway, and both she and Corbin turned and walked outside. A white stretch limo purred like a snow leopard. The driver had already exited. He was wearing a three-piece tailored suit, and was talking to Zanifa, who turned and pointed in Melanie’s direction.
Confused, Melanie allowed her feet to drift her forward, all the while puzzling over this development. This car certainly couldn’t have come to take them to the party. First, it was too early, and second, Corbin had promised he would drive.
The gentleman approached her with a smile, and said in deeply accented English, “Madame Meyer, I arrive on the request of Madame Queenie Abara, who desires you to come with me.”
She stared behind him at the long shiny behemoth, and then her eyes went back to the driver’s. “Where are you taking me?”
“Je regrette,madame, but I have been asked only that you come with me.”
Get into a car half the size of an ocean liner with a strange man on his say-so? Her spirit rebelled at the idea. “No, I can’t.” She glanced back at the house where many of the workers had stopped to gape. “I have work to do.”
Corbin had stepped closer, and he and the driver were engaged in earnest conversation. They were both nodding and smiling, and after only a few moments, Corbin turned to her. “You should go, Melanie. You will be safe.”
“But the floor… I have to—”
He reached out and gently took her hand, his large one enveloping it in its warmth. The last time she’d held his hand, he was hauling her out of a mud pit, and this time, it felt like he was rescuing her again. It was so warm and reassuring that she wanted to hold onto it forever.
“You trust me? Yes?” His dark eyes were upon hers, drawing her in so deep she had to tear her eyes away.
Did she trust him? She discovered that she did. She couldn’t fathom why—after all, she barely knew him. But a man who pulled damsels out of bogs and let his dogs nap on his couch couldn’t be that bad, could he? So she nodded, slowly.
“Alors, I believe you should go with him. His name is Olivier, and he has many special surprises in store for you.” He winked. “You have worked hard. You deserve to take the afternoon off.”
By now, Rhys was here, circling the car as curiously as if it had seen a stranded whale. “You riding in this, Mom?” he enthused. “Awesome!”
