Setting her coffee cup to one side, she scrambled onto her knees and pulled up her internet browser. ‘Who exactly are you, Gael O’Connor?’ With a guilty look around, as if the starling on the rail above could see her snooping, Hope pressed Enter and waited. She wasn’t sure what to expect but it wasn’t the lines and lines of links that immediately filled her screen. Headlines, photos, articles—and a comprehensive Wikipedia entry.
Gael O’Connor. Photographer. Blogger. Society darling. It looked as if he didn’t just know the New York scene—he dictated it, moving through it, camera at the ready, creating instant stars.
Nowhere would say no to him. Nowhere would tell him that two weeks was impossible. No one would suggest that Gael O’Connor tried City Hall...
Damn.
Her choice was stark. Either she compromised on the wedding or she agreed to Gael’s demands and posed for him. If he still wanted her, that was, after her moment of hysterical oversharing. Hope groaned, slumping back again against the sun-hot railing. It was going to be bad enough facing him the next day in a working capacity, how on earth could she bring up the whole naked posing thing? Maybe she should run away instead. Somewhere no one would ever find her—she’d bet Alaska was nice and anonymous and a nice bracing contrast to this never-ending humidity.
At that moment her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number and answered it cautiously. After this morning’s ‘blurting out secret personal information to a stranger’ debacle she’d probably tell the telemarketer about the time she wet herself in playgroup or when she shoplifted a chocolate bar when she was five—and how her mother made her take it back with a note of apology. ‘Hope speaking.’
‘How’s the wedding planning coming along?’ A gravelly voice, like the darkest chocolate mixed with espresso.
Hope glared at her laptop. How had Gael known she was thinking of contacting him? Maybe he had sold his soul to the devil and just thinking about him summoned him? ‘Great!’ Just a little lie.
‘That’s good. I was worried that two weeks’ notice might be too tight for any of the really good venues.’
‘How sweet of you to worry but actually I have it all under control.’ Another little lie. Any moment her nose was going to start growing.
‘Excellent. So you’ll be here nice and early tomorrow to start work?’
‘I can’t wait.’ Yes, she’d better hope that long noses were going to be fashionable this year because the way she was going hers was going to be longer than her outstretched arm.
‘All you need is your laptop and a lot of patience. I do hope you like cataloguing.’
‘I love it. I’d hate to get in your way though, while you’re painting. I could work from the office or from mine if that’s more convenient.’ Please let it be more convenient.
‘There’s nothing to get in the way of. I haven’t found a model yet.’ The mockery slipped from Gael’s voice, his frustration clear.
‘Oh.’
It was a sign. A big neon sign. He still needed a model and she, like it or not, needed his help. Hope took a deep breath. ‘Look, Gael. I hate to deprive you of the joy of wedding planning and it looks like we’re going to be spending some time together anyway so...’ It was even harder to say the words than she’d anticipated.
‘So?’
He knew, she could tell, but was no doubt taking some unholy satisfaction from making her spell it out.
‘So I can pose. For your picture. If you still want me after, well, if you still want me...’ She wasn’t going to own up to her virgin status again. She still couldn’t believe she had mentioned it at all, said it out loud. To a complete stranger. A state of affairs she had barely acknowledged over the last few years, pushing the thought away as soon as it occurred. Her own secret shame. Hope McKenzie, old before her time, withered, sexless.
‘An intriguing offer.’
She tried not to grind her teeth. ‘Not really,’ she said as breezily as she could. ‘I didn’t exactly give you an answer, if you remember.’ No, she had backed away, muttered something about needing to get things sorted, said, ‘Thank you for the offer to take today to start planning and see you tomorrow, thank you very much...’ and scarpered as fast as her feet could carry her, out of the studio and back to the safety of her own apartment.
‘I thought your mad dash out of the studio was answer enough. Why the sudden change of heart?’
Hope never admitted to needing anyone; she didn’t intend to start now. ‘You need someone to start straight away and spend the next two weeks at your beck and call. Well, whether I like it or not I am already at your beck and call. It makes sense.’
‘How very giving of you. So you’re offering because it’s convenient?’
Her fingers curled into a fist. He’d asked her—why on earth was she the one working to convince him? ‘And although I am more than capable of sorting this wedding alone it would be foolish of me not to use all the resources available. I barely know the city but you live here, your input could save me a lot of wasted effort—and this is the only way you’ll help. I’m big enough to admit that if I want Faith to have the best wedding possible then I need to involve you.’
‘Another altruistic motive.’ Hope’s cheeks heated at the sardonic note in Gael’s voice. ‘And very laudable but you’ve seen the other portraits. Sacrificial victim isn’t the look I’m going for. It’s not enough for you to agree to pose. I need you to want it. Tell me, Hope. Do you want it?’ His voice had lowered to a decadent pitch, intimately dark. Hope swallowed.
Did she want to pose for him? Lie on that chaise, his eyes on every exposed inch of skin?
Hope stared out through the black iron railings. She knew the view by heart. The buildings opposite, the tops of the trees. This was where she hung out with a coffee and a book or her laptop, too scared to venture out of the comfort zone she’d carved for herself. She didn’t mean to speak but somehow the words came spilling out. Another sad confession. ‘I meant to shake things up when I moved here. New York was my chance to reinvent myself. I started, I bought new clothes and chopped off some of my hair and thought that would be enough. But I’m still the same. I don’t know how to talk to people any more, not when it doesn’t involve work or superficial stuff. I don’t...’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know how to make friends, how to have fun. Maybe this will help me loosen up. It’ll be a talking point if nothing else.’
‘You want me to help you loosen up?’ Her pulse quickened at the velvet in his voice.
‘Yes. No! Not you exactly. What I mean is that I need to try something different, to be different. Posing for you will be new, unexpected.’
‘Okay. Let’s try this.’
She hadn’t known how tightly she was wound waiting for his answer, how the world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, sharing an intimate space even though they were half a mile apart, until he agreed.
‘Great.’ She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘So what now? Do you want me to come over and...?’ Her voice trailed off. How was she going to do it if she couldn’t even say it?
The laughter in his voice confirmed he was probably thinking the same thing. ‘Not today. I think we need to warm up a little first. You, Hope McKenzie, have just admitted you need me to help you discover new things.’
That wasn’t what she had said. Was it? Certainly not in the way she thought he was implying. ‘And you think you can do that for me, do you?’
‘Maybe.’
She didn’t have to see him to know that he was smiling. Anger rose, sharp, hot and a welcome antidote to the sudden intimacy—but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was more angry with Gael for his presumption or herself for laying herself open like that. ‘How very altruistic of you, and what’s in it for you? A better painting or the virtuous glow of helping poor, virginal Hope McKenzie? Sprinkle a little of your privileged, gl
amorous Upper East Side fairy dust on me and watch me transform? Well, Professor Higgins, this little flower girl doesn’t need your patronage, thank you very much.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Before she could respond Gael continued smoothly. ‘In that case why don’t we get started on planning this whirlwind wedding? Any venues you want to see?’
Hope glared at the laptop as if it were to blame for her lack of possibilities. There was no way she wanted to admit she didn’t have one idea as yet. ‘Yes. Meet me...meet me on top of the Empire State Building in an hour and a half.’ Did they do weddings? It almost didn’t matter. It was iconic and it was a start.
‘On top of the Empire State Building? How romantic. What a shame it isn’t Valentine’s Day. Am I Cary Grant or Tom Hanks in this scenario?’
‘Neither, you’re not the hero. You’re the wisecracking friend who ends up handcuffed to a stripper on the stag night.’
‘I must have missed that scene. Oh, well, there are worse things to be handcuffed to.’ And he hung up leaving Hope with a disturbing image involving Gael O’Connor, handcuffs and the red chaise longue. What was more disturbing was the swirl of excitement in her stomach at the very thought...
* * *
It was predictably busy at the top of the Empire State Building, the sun and the wind combining to make the walkway uncomfortable in the early afternoon heat, but none of the tourists seemed to be complaining, too busy taking selfies and pointing out landmarks to notice the conditions.
And they would all be tourists. No self-respecting New Yorker would be up here at this time, during the height of the sightseeing buzz. In fact Gael couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot up here. It had probably been for a photo shoot—that was why he visited most tourist locations.
Which was a shame because, even hardened local that he was, he had to admit the view was pretty spectacular, the blue of the ocean merging with the blue of the sky and the city rising from the ocean’s depths like some mythological Atlantis.
Gael walked around three sides of the viewing platform before he spotted Hope, bright in the same red dress she’d been wearing earlier. She was standing half turned away from him, leaning on the railing staring out over the city, the dark strands of her hair whipping in the wind. It was odd, he’d only met her this morning but her image was indelibly printed on him—probably because most women didn’t gatecrash his studio, demand he help them with a wedding and then blurt out their sexual history—or lack of—before nine a.m.
A smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t seen that one coming and at this stage in the game he could have sworn he’d seen it all. Dammit, he had to admit he was intrigued. How old was Hope? He looked at her assessingly. Somewhere in her mid to late twenties, he’d guess. Which meant she had to be either holding out for true love or had a considerable amount of baggage and neither of those things appealed to him. Not that he was interested in Hope in that way. He just needed a model.
She shifted and her full profile came into view. Nice straight nose and a really good mouth—full bottom lip and a lovely shape to the top one. Almost biteable. Almost... ‘So, is this it? The perfect spot?’
She jumped as he joined her at the barrier, her cheeks flushing as she threw a stilted smile his way. ‘I don’t know. It looks a bit busy for a wedding.’
‘Which is a good thing because it turns out you can only get married up here on Valentine’s Day and only then if you win a competition. I checked...’ he added as she raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘They could marry elsewhere and then come up here for photos but to be honest with you Hunter isn’t that keen on heights.’
‘He isn’t?’
‘Turns green on the Brooklyn Bridge,’ Gael confirmed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before I arranged to meet you here?’ She turned and glared, hands on her slim hips in what was clearly meant to be an admonishing way. She looked more like a cute pixie.
‘And ruin your Deborah Kerr moment? Or are you Meg Ryan? Isn’t it every girl’s dream to arrange a meeting on the top of the Empire State Building?’
‘I already told you, your role is the wisecracking best friend, not the hero.’
‘What about your role, Hope? Who are you?’ No woman he knew was content to play the supporting role in their own lives.
‘Me? I’m the wedding planner.’ She stared out over Manhattan, her face softening. ‘Isn’t it breathtaking? I can’t believe I haven’t been up here yet.’
‘Seriously? I thought this was the first destination on every tourist’s wish list.’
‘I’m not exactly a tourist. I live here. Well, for three more months I do. I mean to do the tourist trail at some point but I haven’t had a chance yet.’ Her voice was wistful.
Not the heroine of her own story, neither a tourist nor a native. If he didn’t have a pose in mind he’d paint Hope as something insubstantial, some kind of wandering spirit. ‘Why are you here, Hope?’
She turned, blinking in surprise. ‘To meet you and make a start on the wedding, why?’
‘No, why are you in New York at all? Here you are in the greatest city on earth but you’re barely living in it, not experiencing it.’
‘‘I’m planning to.’ But her words lacked any real commitment and she looked away. ‘But I want a real career, to make something of my life that’s about me. All this...’ She waved her hand over Manhattan. ‘This can wait. It will still be here in ten years’ time. I’m here because for the first time in nine years I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I can put my career and my choices first.’
‘Is that what this is? Putting yourself first? Because from where I’m standing you’ve agreed to all kinds of things you don’t want to do for other people. For Brenda, your sister...’
‘Brenda’s my boss, of course I’m going to do what she asks me to do. As for Faith, it’s complicated. Our parents died when I was eighteen and Faith was only ten. I’ve raised her. I can’t turn my back on her now, not when she needs me, wants me. Besides, she’s marrying Hunter in two weeks. She won’t be my responsibility any more. This is the last thing I can do for her and I want it to be perfect.’ Her mouth wobbled and she swallowed. ‘It will be perfect.’
She’d raised her sister? That explained a lot. ‘Of course it will. I’ve agreed to help. Besides, as soon as you mention the Carlyle name any door in the city you want opening will swing open.’
‘There’s no budget for the wedding at all. Hunter’s sending a card. But seriously, what does that even mean? Everyone has some kind of budget.’
Gael couldn’t help his grin. It was so long since he’d spoken to someone who didn’t live in the rarefied Upper East Side bubble. ‘No, not the Carlyles. You’ve heard people say money’s no object?’ She nodded, dark eyes fixed on him. ‘The Carlyles take that to a whole new level. I have no idea how rich they are but filthy doesn’t even begin to cover it.’
‘Wow.’ She looked slightly stunned. ‘And I was worrying that Faith was marrying a street artist with no prospects. I think I was worrying about all the wrong things. I don’t think Faith and I are going to fit in with people like that. We’re very ordinary.’ She hesitated and then turned to him, laying her hand on his forearm. ‘Will she be okay? They won’t look down on her, will they?’
He might be standing on a platform hundreds of feet up in the air but the air had suddenly got very close. All Gael could feel was that area of skin where Hope’s hand lay, all he could smell was the citrus notes of her perfume. He tried to drag his concentration back to the conversation. ‘Misty doesn’t think like that. She’s the least snobby person I’ve ever met and, believe me, living where I live and doing what I do I have met a lot of snobs.’ A thought struck him. ‘She’ll be delighted I’m helping with the wedding. In her head Hunter and I will always be brothers even though he was an annoying three-year-old b
rat when I moved into their house and we’ve never hung out in the same circles.’ Truth was Hunter had always idolised him. He’d even decided to follow in his footsteps and study art rather than the business degree Misty Carlyle had picked out for her only son.
‘She sounds nice, Misty. If she was such a good stepmother then maybe she’ll be good for Faith.’ Hope’s mouth trembled into a poor attempt at a smile. ‘Poor Faith has only had me for so long, she deserves a real mother.’
Gael suspected that Misty would be delighted to have a young and pliable daughter-in-law. She still introduced herself as his mother even though she’d divorced his dad ten years ago. Still, that was more than his own mother did. ‘She is nice,’ he conceded. ‘By far the best of my parents.’
Hope blinked. ‘How many do you have?’
‘Are we counting discarded steps? Misty is my father’s second ex-wife. My mother was his first. His current wife is number four. We all try and forget about number three.’
Her eyes widened. ‘That’s a lot of wives.’
‘Misty’s just divorced husband number five and my mother is on her third marriage.’ He shrugged. ‘No one in my family takes the whole “as long as you both shall live” part very seriously.’
‘My parents met at university, married as soon as they graduated and that was that. I used to think they were really boring. Old before their time, you know? Now I envy them that. That certainty.’
‘Oh, my parents are certain every time. I’m not sure if it’s more endearing or infuriating, that eternal optimism. They were dancers, Broadway chorus dancers, when they met.’
‘No way.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said wryly. ‘It was very Forty-Second Street. Right up to the minute my twenty-year-old dad knocked up my nineteen-year-old mom and carried her back to Long Harbor to the family bar.’ His poor young mother, a streetwise Hispanic girl with stars in her eyes, wasn’t content with a life serving drinks to the moneyed masses who flocked to the Long Island resort in the summer. ‘I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember a lot of yelling. She’s Cuban and my dad’s Irish so when they fought crockery flew. Literally. Just before my fifth birthday she packed her bags and walked out. Never came back.’
Unveiling the Bridesmaid Page 4