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“Are those home design reality shows, you know, extreme home makeovers, flipping houses, that sort of thing.”
“And you think you have the kind of talent it takes to do a good job?”
Melanie hesitated. Should she try to sound modest, or should she let her light shine?
Rhys snatched the decision out of her hands. “My mom’s awesome! She can do anything!”
Awwww floated around the studio, the sound falling gently to the ground like scattered rose petals.
Melanie added lamely, “It was either interior design or cake decorating… and Lord knows I can’t afford all those cake calories!” She patted her tummy lightly, even though the rouching in the design of her dress disguised a multitude of sins.
Queeny looked stern. “Did I just hear you ill-speak yourself, my dear? Did you just make a nasty crack about your own body?”
Melanie froze, unable to say a word. All she could think about was the fact that between now and the time she was supposed to fly to France, she was going to embark on a juice fast. She’d already bought a juicer, the best she could afford right now, and several sacks of fruit and veggies. There was no way she was going to start her new life looking bloated and puffy. Between now and when she was supposed to leave, she was going to drop ten pounds at least, even if it left her ravenous enough to snarl over gnawed bones like Gollum in his cave.
Queenie went on. “Are you a mean person, Princess?” Her eyes nailed Melanie to the back of her luxurious seat.
“Me? No!” she protested.
“Are you a spiteful person? Are you a gossip?”
She looked confused, feeling her cheeks heat up. What had Queenie heard? What did she do wrong? Rhys was looking at Queenie wide-eyed, and Melanie could tell he was about to leap to his mom’s defense. Melanie shook her head mutely, warning him off.
“Then why are you being so mean to yourself? Why are you dragging yourself down? You wouldn’t talk that way about another woman, would you?”
“Of course not!”
Queenie reached out and patted her on the arm, making her body go rigid from the sheer energy of the contact. “Then don’t you dare speak that way about a Princess of mine! Never ever! You are beautiful, just the way you are!”
Cheers and stomps from the crowd, and they began to chant softly, “Beautiful Princess….”
Melanie wondered what the consequences would be if she tore her mic from her collar and darted offstage, so embarrassed was she by all the attention. But she grabbed her glass of water, took a deep drink, and nodded meekly. “Thank you, Queenie.”
Queenie sat back on her throne, satisfied. “Good girl! I want to tell you more about your assignment.” She waved her arm, and images began to flicker on the screen behind her. “Your client wishes to remain anonymous, but let’s just say they are a well-placed member of French society, who recently acquired a charming little cottage in Villeneuve du Lac, a dear little village just west of Nice, on the French Riviera.”
A roar of approval from the audience.
“As you can see, the Côte d’Azur boasts well-known locations such as Monaco, Antibes, Cannes, St. Tropez, and Toulon. It is the playground of the wealthy.”
Melanie watched, trying not to drool, as photos of sun-bathed coastal towns and recognizable monuments flashed behind Queenie, like something out of a movie. Or a dream.
Queenie looked beneficent as she continued. “You will be given eight weeks in which to refurbish and redecorate this cottage in a manner pleasing to your client. And they’ve also let me know that if you finish on time, to their satisfaction, not only will you receive your fee as designer, but a handsome bonus as well.”
When she mentioned the sum, Melanie gaped, completely forgetting her mouth was hanging open on national TV. It was as much as she would make waitressing in a year. That was her bonus, mind, not her decorator’s fee. She nodded, unable to speak, feeling Rhys clutch her hand in unspoken delight.
All Melanie could think of was what she could do with that money. Find a better apartment, a better school for Rhys. Maybe seriously start designing once she got back to the States. Open up a studio. She couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on her lips.
Queenie spotted the exchange between mother and son and turned her attention to Rhys. “Tell me, son. Are you nervous about uprooting yourself and travelling to another country with your mom?”
Rhys shrugged. “I’m not worried about moving. We’ve had to move around a lot before.”
Queenie pounced. “Had to? Why?”
Please don’t bring up your dad,Melanie telegraphed. Not in public. Again, she had that itchy feeling that Wilder was watching them.
To Rhys’s credit he said calmly, “Oh, we’re just rolling stones, Mom and I.”
Attaboy,Melanie thought. Noises from the audience made it clear he was already a crowd favorite.
