about sex?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘It might be.’ Her colour was even higher, rivalling the red of the chaise. ‘You see, I haven’t actually...I don’t...I’m not...what I’m trying to say is...’ she swallowed ‘...I’m a virgin. So I don’t think I can lie there and think about something I know nothing about. Do you?’
‘THANK YOU. NO, I see. Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.’ Hope clicked her phone off and resisted the urge to throw it off the fire escape and let it smash into smithereens. Another hotel she could cross off her ‘possibles’ list. Three hours of calling and emailing and she still hadn’t made one appointment.
She scanned the list she’d made the second she’d arrived home. It had all seemed so simple then.
1. Find a dress
2. Sort out flowers
3. Ceremony—where????
4. Read through Brenda’s six zillion emails
5. Try and show Gael O’Connor that you’re competent and professional and not a complete basket case...
Hope resisted the urge to bang her head on the wrought-iron railing she was propped up against. She might have managed to steal one day of wedding planning from Gael O’Connor’s manipulative hands but where had it got her? Every venue she had phoned had either laughed at her incredulously or sounded vaguely scandalised. ‘A wedding? In two weeks? Ma’am, this isn’t Vegas. I suggest you try City Hall.’ And as for a dress...you would think she had asked them to spin straw into gold, not supply one white dress, US size four.
And yes, she could try City Hall. And she could pop into any one of a dozen shops and pull a dress off the racks and it would do. And she could book a table in a five-star restaurant and the food would be great. But it wouldn’t be special. It wouldn’t show Faith just how much Hope loved her. It wouldn’t make up for the fact that Faith would have no proud father walking her down the aisle, no mother in a preposterous hat wiping away tears and beaming proudly. Faith deserved the best and Hope had vowed nine years ago that she would have it. This wedding wasn’t going to beat her, no, not if it killed her. Her baby sister would have the finest and most romantic whirlwind wedding New York had ever seen. She just needed to work out how and where.
Hope took a sip of coffee and stared at her laptop, balancing precariously on her open window ledge, hoping it would give her some much-needed inspiration. Maybe if she had spent a little more time actually in the city itself and less time either in the office or here, sunning herself on the fire escape outside her apartment window, she might actually have some unique and doable ideas. Okay. She was in the greatest city in the world, how could her mind be so blank? ‘New York,’ she muttered. ‘New York.’
A ping from her laptop broke her half-hearted reverie and Hope looked across at it, sighing when she saw yet another email from Brenda flashing on her screen. What was going on? She had never seen her famously ice-cool boss this het up over anyone. Hunter had said that Gael knew everybody and what was it Brenda had whispered? He had the power to finish careers and destroy marriages? Remembering the mocking smile and the coldness in the blue-grey eyes, Hope didn’t doubt it.
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.
