Unveiling the Bridesmaid

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she reluctantly and finally moved back. ‘You absolutely didn’t have to...’

  ‘I wanted to. So did Hunter. It gives you three months to explore the US and South America before taking you to Australia, then New Zealand and from there to Japan and across Asia. You choose when and where—as long as you turn up in Sydney in three months’ time because that’s when we’ll be there and I hope you’ll join us for that leg.’

  ‘You can count on it.’ She knew this was the right thing for her to do, to start living some of the dreams she’d relinquished all those years ago. The world might seem larger, scarier—lonelier—than it had back then, but she was a big girl now. She’d cope. But as she glanced over at Gael’s profile a sense of something missing, something precious and lost shivered through her. She couldn’t leave without making sure things were mended between them. It wouldn’t be the same, not after the things they had said, but she wasn’t sure she would have had the courage to move on without him. He should know that. Because she knew he was broken too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT. A car was waiting outside to whisk Hunter and Faith back to the Waldorf Astoria where they had a luxury suite booked for two nights. Hope would see Faith in less than forty-eight hours at the blessing and party in Long Island but as she hugged her new brother-in-law and kissed her sister goodbye it was as if she was saying goodbye to a whole portion of her life.

  The bride and groom departed in a flurry of kisses and congratulations and the party began to disperse as the bar staff efficiently began to set the room back up ready to reopen to the public. Hope’s aunt and uncle were taking their daughters and Faith’s friends back to the apartment Hope had booked for them, a day of non-wedding-related sightseeing waiting for them the next day. Hope had excused herself from joining them with the excuse that she still had some arrangements to finish for the Saturday—but in reality all she wanted to do was lie in her apartment and work out the rest of her life. She fingered the envelope her sister had given her. She had a year’s hiatus at least.

  ‘Congratulations on the travel plans. It seems a little sudden though.’ She shivered as Gael came up beside her, not touching and yet so close she could feel every line of his body as if they were joined by an invisible thread. Her body ached for him; she wanted to step back and lean into him and let him absorb her. Typical, first time she tried for a light-hearted fling and she was having to go full cold turkey, knowing one touch would drag her back in.

  Okay, deep breath and light chit-chat. She could do this. ‘Sudden or really overdue. I was always going to go travelling after university. I had my route planned out. Lots and lots of ruins. Machu Picchu, the Bandelier national monument, Angkor Wat...’ Her voice trailed off as she imagined setting foot in the ancient places she had dreamed about studying.

  ‘What about Brenda, the job you wanted so much?’

  ‘I phoned her yesterday and handed in my notice. I know it seems that I’m just jumping into it but I’m not. It turns out there’s plenty of time to think at a spa day. I lay there on a massage table covered in God knows what, baking like a Christmas turkey, and your words echoed round and round.’

  He caught her wrist and pulled her round to face him. The nerves in her wrist jumped to attention, shooting excited signals up her arm.

  ‘I was out of line.’

  ‘You were right,’ she said flatly. ‘I let life happen to me—I only did the job swap because Kit told me to apply. If he hadn’t I would still be in Stoke Newington, missing Faith, wearing baggy tunics with my hair four inches too long because regular haircuts feel like an extravagance, getting the same bus to work, eating the same sandwich on the same bench every lunchtime and not even allowing myself to dream of anything better. Thinking I didn’t deserve anything better.’

  They moved aside with a muttered apology as a waiter pulled another table into place and a waitress pulled chairs across the floor, their legs screeching as they dragged on the wood. Gael winced. ‘Let’s get out of here. We’re going the same way, at least let’s share a cab.’

  A cab pulled up almost the second they hit the pavement and Gael opened the door. ‘Will you come back to mine?’ he asked as she climbed in. ‘I have a bottle of white in the fridge. I would really like to clear the air before the party. We’re almost related now, after all.’

  He’d bought a bottle of white wine. It was too little too late but it was something. ‘Okay.’ They did need to clear the air. The last thing she wanted was for Faith to know that they had been involved; it was all too messy.

  They didn’t speak again until they reached his studio. It was only three days since she had last walked through the lobby, greeted the night porter and taken the exclusive lift that led up to Gael’s penthouse studio but she felt as if she had been away for months, suddenly unsure of her place in this world.

  ‘Wine?’ Gael asked as they stepped into the studio and Hope nodded. He’d bought it for her after all, a peace offering, it would be rude to say no.

  She kicked off the pretty, vintage-style Mary Jane shoes, uttering a sigh of relief as her feet were freed from the straps and three-inch heels. She looked around, unsure where to sit. The chaise held too many memories, there was no way she was heading up the winding staircase to the small mezzanine, which contained a bed and very little else—and there was no other furniture in the place. Hope placed her shoes on the floor and followed Gael through to the kitchen instead, perching herself on one of the high stools as he poured wine from a bottle with an obscure—and expensive-looking—label.

  ‘To new adventures,’ she said, taking the glass he slid over to her and raising it in a toast. ‘My travels, your exhibition.’

  ‘When are you off? A month’s time?’

  Hope took a sip of the wine. Oh, yes. Definitely expensive. You wouldn’t get a bottle of this in a price promotion in her local corner shop. ‘No. Next week.’

  ‘Next week?’ He set his glass down with an audible clink. ‘Didn’t you have to work out your notice?’

  ‘No, thanks to you signing the contract I was so far in Brenda’s good books that she’s offered me a year’s sabbatical. I don’t know if I’ll take it. Who knows what I’ll want to do or where I’ll want to be in a year’s time but there is a job with DL Media if I need it, which is reassuring.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s not easy being spontaneous all at once. Baby steps.’

  ‘But next week! Don’t you have to plan and pack and sort out an itinerary?’

  Hope pulled the envelope Faith had given her out of her bag. ‘No, thanks to Faith. These people will sort it all out. I tell them where I want to go and they make sure I do. They’re already looking at converting my work visa here to a tourist one and sorting out everything I need for South America. I’ll spend a couple of days shipping some things home and sorting out what I need and then I’ll be ready to go. It’s working out really well actually. Maddison is coming to New York to clear the rest of her things out of the studio. If I leave she can cancel her rent. I don’t think she’s planning on coming back to the city.’

  It would be interesting to meet her life-swap partner, the woman who captured Kit Buchanan’s heart. Funny how a six-month change of locations could alter things irrevocably. Maddison was engaged, moving countries, her whole world changing. Hope might be more alone than ever but at least she was no longer staying still.

  ‘You have it all organised, as always.’ There was a bleak tone in Gael’s voice she didn’t recognise but when she glanced at him his expression was bland.

  ‘The plane ticket is first class as well. I can’t believe they did this.’

  ‘I can. Your sister loves you, Hope.’

  ‘For the first time in nine years I feel unburdened. Free. I’ll always miss my parents and I’ll always regret the person I was but I’m ready to forgive myself.’ She
forced herself to hold his steady, steely gaze. ‘Thanks to you, Gael. I’ll always be grateful.’

  ‘You won’t be here for the opening night of the exhibition.’

  ‘No.’ She blinked, surprised at the sudden change of subject. ‘I’m not sure I could have faced it anyway. People looking at me and then at the painting. It’d be a little like the nightmare when I’m walking down the street naked. Only it would be real.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I wanted you there.’ He paused while Hope gaped at him, floored by the unexpected words. He wanted her at his big night? As a model—or to support him? ‘Look. I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided not to show it, your painting.’

  Time seemed to stand still, the blood rushing to her ears as she tried to take in his words. ‘But, you need it. The centrepiece. It’s less than three weeks away.’

  ‘I have nineteen pictures I am proud of. Nobody else knows I planned a larger twentieth. I’m not sure that I’ll ever paint a better picture than the one I did of you but I don’t need to show it. I’d rather not, knowing it makes you so uncomfortable.’

  He was willing not to show the picture? After everything he had done to persuade her to pose? Even though he thought it was the best he had done? Hope had no idea how to respond, what to say. This graciousness and understanding was more than she had ever expected from anyone. She slid off the stool and walked to the door, pausing for a second as she took in the easel with the large canvas balanced perfectly on it dominating the empty space and then, with a fortifying breath, she went over to take a second look.

  It wasn’t such a shock this time. Her skin was as white, her body as nude, she still wished she’d done daily sit-ups so that her stomach was concave rather than curved but, she conceded, her breasts looked rather nice. Biting her lip until she tasted blood, Hope forced herself to step in and examine her scars, remembering the pain and the secrecy and the self-hatred that went into every one of the silvery lines.

  She pulled her gaze away from her torso and looked into her own eyes. Sad, wary, lonely. That was who she was; there was no getting away from it, no hiding. She shouldn’t blame Gael for painting what he saw. She could only blame herself. Well, no more.

  ‘Show it,’ she said. ‘I want you to. It’s real. Maybe one day you can paint me again and I’ll be a different person, a happier one.’

  ‘You can count on it.’ He was leaning against the door, watching her, hunger in his eyes. She recognised the hunger because she felt it too. Had felt it all day, this yearning to touch him, for him to touch her. For the world to fall away, to know nothing but him and the way he could make her feel; sexy, adored, powerful. Wanted.

  She was leaving in less than a week. What harm could it do, one last time?

  ‘On Saturday we’re the best man and the bridesmaid once more. We have busy, sensible roles to play.’

  The hunger in his eyes didn’t lessen; if anything it intensified. ‘I know.’

  ‘Sunday I’m helping Faith get ready to go off on her travels and then I need to spend a couple of days preparing for mine.’

  Gael pushed away from the door frame and stalked a couple of steps closer. ‘Hope, what are you saying?’

  Deep breath. She could do this. ‘I’m saying that this is the last time we can be ourselves, Hope and Gael. Painter and model. Carousel riders. Storytellers.’ She moistened her lips nervously. ‘Lovers.’

  ‘Last time?’

  She nodded.

  He smiled then, the wolfish smile that sent jolts of heat into every atom in her body, the smile that made her toes curl, her knees tremble and her whole body become one yearning mass. ‘Then we better make the most of it, hadn’t we?’

  * * *

  The morning sun streamed in through the huge windows, bathing the bed in a warm, rosy glow. Gael had barely slept and now he rolled over to watch Hope slumber, the dawn light tinging her skin a light pink, picking out auburn lights in her dark hair.

  He felt complete, that all was right in his world. Probably, he decided sleepily, because Hope and he had tidied up their brief relationship, ending it in a mutually agreeable and agreed manner. No more messy arguments or avoiding each other, no more hurt emotions or dramas. Instead a civilised discussion and one last night together before they went their separate ways. Neat, tidy and emotionless. Just how he liked it.

  It was a shame she wouldn’t be there for the opening night though; he would have liked to have seen her reaction when all the pictures were displayed together for the first time with her at the very heart of the show.

  He trailed his finger over her shoulder, enjoying the silky feeling of her skin. She was right. Tomorrow they had their roles to play and those roles didn’t involve making out on the dance floor. Probably for the best that they had agreed last night was to be the final time.

  But right now, in dawn’s early light, was in between times, neither last night nor today. They were out of time, which meant there were no rules if they didn’t want there to be. And that meant he could press his lips here, and here, and here...

  ‘Mmm...’ Hope rolled over, smiling the sleepy yet sated smile he had come to know and enjoy. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Early, very early, so there’s no need to think about getting up yet,’ he assured her, dropping a brief kiss onto her full mouth, shifting so his weight was over her. ‘Can you think of any way to spend the time as we’re awake?’

  Her eyes, languorous and sleepy, twinkled up at him, full of suggestion, but she put her hands onto his chest and firmly, if gently, pushed him off. ‘Plenty, but none suitable for people who are just friends.’

  ‘Ah.’ That wasn’t disappointment stabbing through his chest. He could walk away at any time, after all. ‘We’ve reached the cut-off point, then.’

  ‘I think it might be wise.’ She sat up, the sheet modestly wound around her. The message was clear—I’m no longer yours to look at or touch or kiss. ‘Besides, I could do with an early start. Your stepmother—ex-stepmother—has asked me to go to Long Harbor this evening and stay so that I’m there for the morning when the caterers and everyone arrives. I know this party is all her work but I think she’d appreciate some backup. You’ll be with us Saturday before three p.m., won’t you? That’s when my family arrives, with the blessing ceremony due to start at four.’

  They were back in wedding-planning mode, it seemed. Gael slumped back onto the pillows, curiously deflated. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Great. I’ll see you then.’ Hope slid off the bed, still wrapped in a sheet, and headed towards the stairs. She turned, curiously dignified despite her mussed-up hair, her bare feet, the sheet held up modestly, just her shoulders peeking out above its white folds. ‘Thank you, Gael. For waking me up, for challenging me, for making me challenge myself. I’m not saying I’m exactly relaxed about giving up my job—even with a sabbatical as a safety net—and if I think too hard about travelling by myself I get palpitations here.’ She pressed her hand to her stomach. ‘But I know it’s all really positive—and I don’t think I would have got here on my own. So thank you.’

  ‘You’d have got there,’ he said softly. ‘You just needed a push, that was all. You were ready to fly.’ He wanted to say more but what could he say? He didn’t have the words, didn’t have the feelings—didn’t allow himself to have the feelings—so he just lay there as she turned with one last smile and watched her walk down the stairs. And five minutes later, when he heard the elevator ping and knew that this time she really had walked out of his studio for the last time, he still hadn’t moved. All he knew was that the complete feeling seemed to have disappeared, leaving him hollow.

  Hollow, empty and with the sense that he might have just made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

  Five hours later the feelings had intensified. Nothing pulled him out of his stupor, not working on the painting—that just
made the feelings worse—not going over his speech for the next day, not proofing the catalogue for his show. The only thing that helped was keeping busy—but he couldn’t keep his mind on anything. Finally, exasperated with the situation, with himself, Gael flung himself out of the apartment, deciding if he couldn’t work off this strange mood he would have to run it off instead. He stuck his headphones on, selected the loudest, most guitar-filled music he could find and set off with no route in mind.

  Almost inevitably his run took him through Central Park, past the carousel and down towards the lake. Every step, every thud of his heart, every beat an insistent reminder that last time he was here, the time before that and the time before that he wasn’t alone.

  Funny, he had never minded being alone before. Preferred it. Today was the first day for a long time that he felt incomplete.

  It didn’t help that everywhere he looked the park was full of couples; holding hands, kissing, really kissing in a way that was pretty inappropriate in public, jogging, sunbathing—was that a proposal? Judging by the squeal and the cheering it was. Were there no other single people in the whole of Central Park? With a grunt of annoyance Gael took a path out of the park, preferring to pound the pavements than be a bystander to someone else’s love affair.

  He. Preferred. Being. Alone. He repeated the words over and over as his feet took him away from the park and into the residential streets of the Upper East Side. The midday sun was burning down and the humidity levels high but he welcomed the discomfort. If you were okay on your own then no one could ever hurt you. If he hadn’t loved his mother so much then her absence wouldn’t have poisoned every day of his childhood. If he hadn’t relied on his father so much then it wouldn’t have been such a body blow when his father left him behind with Misty. If he hadn’t fallen so hard for Tamara then her betrayal wouldn’t have been so soul-guttingly humiliating.