But she was wrong. What crossed Raoul’s face was a flash of joy so profound she felt her eyes welling with emotion. With love.
‘Claire...’
‘Papa,’ she said, and then she could say no more.
She was gathered into his arms and held.
So in the end she had to delay having her toes painted with little storks, and she was sadly late for her meeting with the Chief Justice.
‘There’s no use being royal if I can’t issue a royal decree,’ Raoul declared. ‘And this morning I decree that my wife will lie in my arms until she’s listened to every reason why she’s cherished. Are there any objections?’
‘No, Your Highness,’ she whispered as he folded her into him. ‘I can’t think of a single one.’
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from UNVEILING THE BRIDESMAID by Jessica Gilmore.
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Unveiling the Bridesmaid
by Jessica Gilmore
CHAPTER ONE
BEEP, BEEP, BEEEEEP.
Hope McKenzie muttered and rolled over, reaching out blindly to mute her alarm, her hand scrabbling to find the ‘off’ button, the ‘pause’ button, the ‘Please make it stop right now’ button. Only... Hang on a second... She didn’t have an alarm clock here in New York; she used her phone on the rare occasions when the sun, traffic and humidity didn’t wake her first. So what was that noise? And why wouldn’t it stop?
Beeeeeep.
Whatever it was, it was getting more and more insistent, and louder by the second. Hope pushed herself up, every drowsy limb fighting back as she swung her legs over the metal frame of the narrow daybed and staggered to her feet, glancing at the watch on her wrist. Five-thirty a.m. She blinked, the small room swimming into dim focus, still grey with predawn stillness, the gloom broken only by the glow of the street light, a full floor below her sole window.
Beeeeeep.
It wasn’t a fire alarm or a smoke alarm. There were no footsteps pounding down the stairs of the apartment building, no sirens screeching outside, just the high insistent beep coming from the small round table in the window bay. No, coming from her still-open laptop on the small round table in the window bay.
‘What the...?’ Hope stumbled the few short steps to the table and turned the laptop around to face her. The screen blared into life, bright colour dazzling her still-half-closed eyes, letters jumbling together as she blinked again, rubbing her eyes with one sleepy hand until the words swam into focus.
Faith calling. Accept?
Faith? At this time? Was she in trouble? Hurt? Wait, where was she? Had she left Europe yet? Maybe she’d been framed for drug smuggling? Maybe she had been robbed and lost all her money? Why had Hope left her to travel alone? Why had she swanned off to New York for six months while her baby sister was out there by herself alone and vulnerable? With a trembling hand Hope pressed the enter key to accept the call, pushing her hair out of her eyes, scanning the screen anxiously and pulling up the low neckline of the old, once-white vest top she slept in.
‘Faith?’ Hope took a deep breath, relief replacing the blind panic of the last few seconds as her sister’s tanned, happy face filled the screen. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything is fab! Oh, did I wake you? Hang on, did I get the time wrong? I thought it would be evening in New York.’
‘No, it’s morning, we’re behind not ahead. But don’t worry about that,’ she added as her sister’s face fell. ‘It’s lovely to hear from you, to see you. Where are you?’ Still in Europe somewhere, she thought, doing a quick date calculation. Despite Faith’s promises to call and write often, contact with her little sister had been limited since Faith had boarded the Eurostar, just over three months ago, to start her grand tour. She was spending the summer Interrailing around Europe before flying to Australia to begin the global part of her adventures but, unlike her big sister, Faith preferred to go with the flow rather than follow a meticulously thought-out plan. Which meant she could be anywhere.
Hope grinned at her sister, the early hour forgotten. It was okay that Faith had been a little quiet; she was busy exploring and having fun. The last thing she wanted to do was call her fusspot of a big sister who would only nag her about budgets and eating well.
‘I’m in Prague.’ Faith pulled back from the screen a little to show the room—and view—behind her. She was in some kind of loft, sitting in front of French windows, which led out to a stone balcony. Hope could just make out what must be dazzling views of the river and castle behind. Wow, youth hostels were a lot fancier than she had imagined.
‘I thought you arrived in Prague six weeks ago?’ Faith hadn’t intended spending more than a few days in any one place and Hope was pretty sure her sister had texted her from Prague at the beginning of July.
‘I did. I never left. Oh, Hope, it’s like a fairy tale here. You would love it.’
‘I’m sure I would.’ Not that she had been to Prague—or to Paris or to Barcelona or Copenhagen or Rome or any of the other European cities so tantalisingly in reach of London. Their parents had been fans of the great British seaside holiday, rain and all—and since their deaths there had been little money for any kind of holiday. ‘But why did you stay in Prague? I thought you wanted to see everything, go everywhere!’
‘I did but...well...oh, Hope. I met someone. Someone wonderful and...’ Hope peered at the computer screen. Was Faith blushing? Her sister’s eyes were soft and her skin glowing in a way that owed nothing to the laptop’s HD screen. ‘I want you to be happy for me, okay? Because I am. Blissfully. Hope, I’m getting married!’
‘Married?’ She couldn’t be hearing correctly. Her little sister was only nineteen. She hadn’t been to university yet, hadn’t finished travelling. Heck, she’d barely started travelling! More to the point Faith still couldn’t handle her own bills, change a fuse or cook anything more complicated than pasta and pesto—and she burnt that two times out of three. How could such a child be getting married? She could only think of one question. ‘Who to?’
Her sister didn’t answer, turning her head as Hope heard a door bang off-screen. ‘Hunter! I got the times wrong. It’s still early morning in New York.’
‘I know it is, honey. It’s
not even dawn yet. Did you wake your sister?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t mind. Come and say hi to her. Hope, this is Hunter, my fiancé.’ The pride in Faith’s voice, the sweetness in her eyes as she raised them to the tall figure who came to stand next to her, made Hope’s throat swell. Her sister had been deprived of a real family at such a young age. No wonder she wanted to strike out and find one of her own. Hope had done her best but she was all too aware what a poor substitute she had been, younger than Faith was now when she took over the reins. Maybe this boy could offer the stability and opportunities she had tried so hard to provide.
And if he couldn’t she would be there, making sure he stepped up. She forced a smile, hoping her fierce thoughts weren’t showing on her face. ‘Hi, Hunter.’
‘Hi, it’s great to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.’ She summed him up quickly. American. Blond, blue-eyed, clean-cut with an engaging smile. Young. Not quite as young as Faith but barely into his twenties.
‘So, how did you two meet?’ Hope forced back the words she wanted to say. Married? You barely know each other! You’re just children! She had promised herself nine years ago she would do whatever it took to make sure Faith was happy—and she had never seen her sister look happier.
‘Hunter’s an artist.’ Pride laced every one of Faith’s words. ‘He was doing portraits on the Charles Bridge and when I walked past he offered to draw me for free.’
‘You had the most beautiful face I’d ever seen,’ Hunter said. ‘How could I charge you when all I wanted to do was look at you?’
‘So I insisted on buying him a drink as a thank you and that was that.’ Faith’s dark eyes were dreamy, a soft smile playing on her lips. ‘Within an hour I knew. We’ve been inseparable ever since.’
A street artist. Hope’s heart sank. However talented he was, that didn’t sound too promising as far as setting up a home was concerned and Faith had no career or any idea what she wanted to do after this year was up. She forced another smile. ‘How romantic. I can’t wait to see the portrait—and meet Hunter in person rather than through a screen.’
‘You will! In just over two weeks. That’s when we’re getting married! In New York and...’ Faith adopted a pleading expression Hope knew only too well. ‘I was really hoping you’d take care of some of the details for me.’
Hope froze. She knew what ‘taking care of some of the details’ meant in Faith speak. It meant do everything. And usually she did, happily. Only this was her first time away from her responsibilities in nine years. It was meant to be Hope Getting A Life Time.
Admittedly she hadn’t actually got very far yet. Oh, she’d rushed out her first week here in New York and splashed out on a new wardrobe full of bright and striking clothes, had her hair cut and styled. But she couldn’t rid herself of feeling like the same old boring Hope. Still, there were three months of her job swap left. She still had every opportunity to do something new and exciting. She just needed to get started.
‘Details?’ she said cautiously.
‘Hunter and I want a small, intimate wedding in New York—just close family and a few friends. His mother will host a big reception party a couple of days later and Hunter says she’ll go all out so I think the wedding day should be very simple. Just the ceremony, dinner and maybe some entertainment? You can handle that, can’t you? I won’t be there until a couple of days before the wedding. Hunter hasn’t finished his course and I don’t want to leave him alone. Besides, you are so good at organising you’ll do a much better job than I ever could. You make everything special.’
Hope’s heart softened at the last sentence; she’d worked so hard to give Faith a perfect childhood. ‘Faith, honey, I’m more than happy to help but why so very soon? Why not have it later on and plan it yourself? Travel first, like you arranged.’ Give yourself more time to get to know each other, she added silently.
‘Because we love each other and want to be together as soon as possible. I’m still going travelling—only with Hunter on our honeymoon. Australia and Bali and New Zealand and Thailand. It’s going to be the longest and most romantic honeymoon ever. Thank you, Hope, I knew I could rely on you. I’m going to send you some ideas, okay? My measurements for dresses, flowers, colours, you know the kind of thing. But you know my taste. I know whatever you pick will be perfect.’
‘Great. That will be really good.’ Hope tried to keep her voice enthusiastic but inside she was panicking. How on earth could she work the twelve-hour days her whole office took for granted and plan a wedding in just two weeks? ‘Thing is I do have to work, you know, sweetie. My time is limited and I still don’t know New York all that well. Are you sure I’m the best person for the job?’ She knew the route between her apartment and the office. She knew a nice walk around Central Park. She knew her favourite bookstore and where to buy the perfect coffee. She wasn’t sure any of that would be much use in this situation.
Faith didn’t seem to notice any of her sister’s subtext, ploughing on in breathless excitement. ‘There’s no budget, Hope, whatever you think is most suitable. Don’t worry how much it costs.’
Hope swallowed. ‘No budget?’ Although she and Faith had never been poor exactly, money had been tight for years. Her parents had been reasonably well insured and the mortgage on their Victorian terrace in north London had been paid off after they died, but after that tax had swallowed up most of their inheritance. She had had to raise Faith on her wages—and at eighteen with little work experience those wages had been pretty meagre. ‘Faith, I know that you have your nest egg from Mum and Dad but I don’t think it’ll stretch to an extravagant wedding.’ Was Faith expecting Hope to contribute? She would love to buy her sister her wedding dress, but the words ‘no budget’ sent chills down her spine.
‘Oh, Faith doesn’t need to touch her money—I’m taking care of everything,’ Hunter said, reappearing behind Faith. ‘I’ve arranged for a credit card to be sent to you.’ Hope’s eyes flew open at this casual sentence. ‘For expenses and deposits and things. Anything you need.’
‘For anything I need?’ Hope repeated unable to take the words in. ‘But...’
‘Only the best,’ Hunter continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Anyone gives you any trouble just mention my name—or my mother’s, Misty Carlyle. They should fall into line pretty quickly.’
‘Mention your name. Okay.’ She seemed incapable of doing anything other than parroting his words but the whole situation had just jumped from bizarre to surreal. How did a street artist in Prague have the power to send credit cards for a budget-free wedding shopping spree across the ocean without batting an eyelid? Just who was Faith marrying? A Kennedy?
‘Actually, the best person to speak to will be my stepbrother Gael. Gael O’Connor. He only lives a few blocks away from you and he knows everyone. Here, I’ll email you the address and his number and let him know to expect you.’ He beamed as if it was all sorted. For Faith and him it was, she supposed. They could carry on being in love in their gorgeous attic room staring out at the medieval castle while Hope battled New York humidity to organise them the perfect wedding.
Well, she would, with the help of Hunter’s unexpected largesse. She would make it perfect for her sister if it killed her. Only she wasn’t going to do it alone. She was all for equality and there was nothing to say wedding planning had to be the sole preserve of the bride’s family after all. As soon as it was a respectable hour she would visit Mr Gael O’Connor and enlist his help. Or press-gang him. She really didn’t mind which it was, as long as Faith ended up with the wedding of her dreams.
* * *
Gael O’Connor glanced at his watch and tried not to sigh. Sighing hadn’t helped last time he checked, nor had pacing, nor had swearing. But when you hired a professional you expected professional behaviour. Not tardiness. Not an entire twenty minutes’ worth of tardiness.
He swivelled r
ound to stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one whole side of his studio. Usually looking out over Manhattan soothed him or inspired him, whatever he needed. Reminded him that he had earned this view, this space. Reminded him that he mattered. But today all it told him was that he was taking a huge gamble with his career and his reputation.
Twenty-five minutes late. He had to keep busy, not waste another second. Turning, he assessed once again the way the summer morning light fell on the red velvet chaise longue so carefully positioned in the middle of the room, the only piece of furniture in the large studio. His bed and clothes were up on the mezzanine, the kitchen and bathroom were tucked away behind a discreet door at the end of the apartment. He liked to keep this main space clutter-free. He needed to be able to concentrate.
Only right now there was nothing to concentrate on except the seconds ticking away.
Gael resumed pacing. Five minutes, he would give her five more minutes and if she hadn’t arrived by then he would make sure she never worked in this city again. Hang on. Was that the buzzer? It had never been more welcome. He crossed the room swiftly. ‘Yes?’
‘There’s a young lady to see you, sir. Name of...’
‘Send her up.’ At last. Gael walked back over to the windows and breathed in the view: the skyscrapers dominating the iconic skyline, the new, glittering towers shooting up around him as New York indulged in a frenzied orgy of building, the reassuring permanence of the old, traditional Upper East Side blocks maintaining their dignified stance on the other side of his tree-lined street. He shifted from foot to foot. He needed to use this restless energy while it coursed through him—not waste it in frustration.
The creak of the elevator alerted him to his visitor’s imminent arrival. No lobby, not when you had the penthouse; the elevator opened right into the studio.
And he did have the penthouse. Not as a gift, not as a family heirloom but because he had worked for it and bought it. Not one of his friends would ever understand the freedom that gave him.
Stepping into the Prince's World Page 19