Unveiling the Bridesmaid (10 page)

‘If she isn't then just point out that rather than frolic in Prague she could have sorted it all out herself.'

Hope ignored him. ‘Wednesday is the hen do all day—that's a spa day, afternoon tea, Broadway show followed by dinner and cocktails and then Thursday is the actual wedding. Friday we recover while the happy couple love it up in the Waldorf Astoria and then it's the blessing and party on Saturday. So it's a good thing you don't need me. I don't have any time to pose this week. I've just about finished the archiving as well. Brenda has a designer and a copywriter ready to start working with you the second that contract is signed.'

Which meant they were done. He didn't need her to cross-reference any more photos or pose and the wedding was planned. So where did that leave them? Funny how they had been heading to this point for nearly two weeks and yet now they were here he felt totally unprepared.

Because he
was
unprepared. The wedding was the end date; they both knew it. He'd finish his paintings and prepare for his show, she'd go back to DL Media and complete her time here in New York before heading back to London. Yet he felt as if something wasn't finished. As if
they
weren't finished.

Gael swallowed. It had been a long time since he'd cared whether a relationship was over or not. And this wasn't even a relationship, was it?

It wasn't meant to be... His chest tightened. Of course, it most definitely wasn't. He didn't do relationships, remember? Because that way he didn't get hurt. Nobody got hurt. And he'd told her that right from the start.

So why was he feeling suddenly bereft?

Hope kicked off the mule, stretching out her leg. ‘Thank goodness that's over with. Do you know how uncomfortable it is holding your leg in that one position for hours at a time? So, may I see?' Hope nodded at the easel and gave Gael her most appealing smile. ‘I know nothing about art anyway, so you know my opinion isn't worth anything.'

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do you do that?'

‘Do what?'

‘Put yourself down. Your opinion is worth a lot more than most of those so-called critics who will make or break me in three weeks' time. Because it's genuine. Because somewhere hidden deep inside you have heart and passion and life if you'd just let yourself see that. But you never will, will you? Far easier to wallow and self-deprecate and hide than put yourself out there, risk falling or heartbreak again.'

He wanted to recall the words as soon as he'd said them as she physically recoiled, staring at him, her face stricken. ‘I put myself out there. Good God, in this last two weeks all I've done is try new things.'

He could apologise. He
should
apologise but he kept going, dimly aware he wasn't so much angry with Hope as he was with himself. Angry because at some point he'd broken his own rules and started caring—and he hadn't even noticed. Angry because yet another person was about to walk away out of his life and not look back—and he had no idea how to stop her. ‘You've let me lead you into new things. You followed. That's not quite the same thing.'

She straightened, her colour high and her eyes bright with anger. She looked magnificent. ‘Oh, excuse me for not walking in here and stripping off and begging you to paint me. Of course, where I come from that behaviour can get a girl arrested but why should that have stopped me?'

‘You never tell me that no, you don't want steak you want Thai, you never say no, I don't want red wine I'd like white even though I
know
you prefer white. You don't tell me what ice cream you prefer so I end up buying out the whole store. You don't tell me when your legs have cramps and the pose hurts. You don't tell your sister that organising a wedding in two weeks is impossible.'

‘Because those things don't matter to me. I wanted to help Faith. I genuinely don't care what wine I drink. Why are you saying this?'

Gael stood back from the easel, his eyes fixed on her, expression inscrutable. ‘Tell me this, Hope. Tell me what you want to happen next. Tell me what we do tomorrow when you no longer have to come here. What we say to your sister, to Hunter. Tell me how it ends.'

Tell me how it ends.
There was no point telling him anything because no matter what he said there was no real choice. It would end. Today, Sunday, when she went back to the UK—only the date was in doubt.

She had to focus on that because if she thought about everything else he had said she would collapse. Was that how he saw her? She always thought of herself as so strong, as doing what was needed no matter what the personal cost. But Gael didn't see a strong woman. He saw a coward.

I know you prefer white.

She did. Why hadn't she said so? Because she was so used to putting other people's needs, their feelings first at some point it had become second nature. Well, no more.

‘It has ended. It ended when you put that paintbrush down. We no longer have anything to offer each other.'

‘So that's what you want,' he said softly.

Yes! No! All she knew was that it wasn't a choice because if he could make her feel like this, this lost, this hurt, this needy, after less than two weeks then she had to walk away with her heart and pride intact. Or at least her pride because it felt as if something in her heart were cracking open right now. It shouldn't be possible. She knew who he was and what he was and she had kept her guard up the whole time and yet, without even trying, he had slipped through her shields.

Without even trying. How pathetic was she? He didn't need to do anything and she had just fallen in front of him, like her aunt's dog, begging for scraps. The only consolation was that he would never know.

‘You knew I preferred white and bought red anyway?'

The look he shot her was such a complicated mixture of affection, humour and contempt she couldn't even begin to unravel it. ‘All you had to do was say.'

Affecting a bravado she didn't feel, she walked forward until she was standing next to him then turned and looked at the painting.

It was at once so familiar and yet so foreign. The pose, the setting so similar to the painting she had now seen so many copies of she could probably reproduce it blindfolded—but this was magnified. No dog, no servant, no backdrop, the attention all zoomed in on Hope. Her eyes travelled along her torso, from the so casually positioned slipper along her legs. She winced as she took in the scars, each one traced in silvery detail, an all too public unveiling.

The actual nudity wasn't as bad as she'd feared, not compared to the scars. She was curvier, paler, sexier than she had expected; she looked like a woman, not like the girl she felt inside. Her breasts full and round, even the slight roundness of her stomach suggested a sensual ease.

But her face... Hope swallowed. ‘Do I really look that sad?'

Unlike Olympia she wasn't staring out at the viewer with poise and confidence. She wasn't in control of her sensuality. She looked wary, frightened, lost. She looked deeply sad.

Gael was watching her. ‘Most of the time, yes. I paint what I see, Hope. I tried to find something else, thought if you confronted some of your sadness I could reach a new emotion but that's all there was.'

All there was. She wasn't just a coward, she was a miserable one.

‘Between the scars and my emotions you have exposed everything, haven't you?' Hope whispered.

‘I didn't expose anything, Hope, it was all right there.'

But it wasn't, it hadn't been, she'd hidden it all under efficiency, under plans, under busyness, until even she had no idea how she felt any more. It had taken his eye to see it and strip her bare until she couldn't hide any more. ‘I hope you're satisfied, Gael. I hope this painting brings you fame and fortune. I hope it's worth it. But at the end of the day that's all you'll have. You tell me I'm a coward? I'm not the one recreating pictures of an idealised woman. I'm not the one cold-shouldering the family who love him, who care for him, who have done nothing but support him even when they no longer had any legal link. I'm too afraid to go for what I want? I'm not the only one. You'd rather photograph life, paint life than live it.'

Hope would have given anything to make a dramatic exit but unless she wanted to walk through the grand marble foyer, past Gael's doorman and out into the streets in a white robe that was never going to happen. She changed as quickly as she could, gathering all her belongings and stuffing them into a bag. It didn't take long. She'd practically lived here for the past eleven days, heading back to her own tiny apartment every couple of days to get a change of clothes, but she had left no residue of herself. Her bag didn't even look full and it was as if she had never stepped foot inside—apart from the painting, that was.

She walked back through the vast studio. At what point had the picture-covered brick walls, the cavernous empty space, the mezzanine bedroom begun to feel like home? Hope took one last look around; nothing would induce her to return.

Gael certainly wasn't going to make the effort. He was leaning by the window, a beer in one hand, looking out at the skyline. He barely turned as she walked by.

‘I guess I'll see you at the wedding,' Hope said finally, glad that her voice didn't wobble despite the treacherous tears threatening to break through the wall she was erecting brick by painful brick.

‘I guess.'

She pressed the lift button, praying it wouldn't take too long. ‘Bye, then.'

He looked up then. ‘Hope?'

Her namesake flared up then, bright and foolish. ‘Yes?'

‘You deserve more. You should go and find it. Believe it.'

She nodded slowly as the flare died down as if it had never been, leaving only a bitter taste of ashes in her mouth. ‘You're right, Gael. I do deserve better. See you around.'

CHAPTER TEN

‘D
O
I
LOOK
OKAY
?
'

Gael turned to see Hunter pull at his tie, trying to fix it so it was perfectly aligned, pulling at the knot with nervous fingers until it tightened into a small, crumpled heap. Otherwise he looked like a young man on the cusp of a life-changing moment, shoulders broad in the perfectly cut suit, eyes bright and excited and a new maturity in his boyish face.

‘Here,' Gael said gruffly, trying to hide the pride in his voice. ‘Let me.'

He had taught Hunter how to tie a tie in the first place, how to ride a bike, how to swim. He'd bought him his first beer and listened through his first infatuations. And now his little brother was moving on without him, going forward, past Gael into a whole new life. ‘There you go.' He stood back and surveyed him. ‘I don't know what Faith sees in you but you'll do.'

Hunter still looked pale but he managed a smile. ‘She's wonderful, isn't she? I don't know what I did to deserve her. I'm the luckiest man alive.'

He really believed it too; there was sincerity in every syllable. All credit to Misty for bringing up such a decent young man. Gael had known plenty of men with lesser looks, lesser pedigrees and lesser fortunes who prowled the earth believing themselves young gods. Hunter genuinely didn't believe his face, name or income made him any better than anyone else—it just made him work harder to prove he deserved his privilege. Gael had only met Faith once briefly, two days ago after her afternoon with her new mother-in-law, but had quickly decided that either she was the world's best actress or as genuinely besotted by Hunter as he was with her.

He had hoped to see Hope, to try and make some kind of amends so that the next few days wouldn't be too awkward, but Hope hadn't been with her sister. He hadn't seen her since she'd walked away without a backwards glance. Not since he'd allowed her to. It was better for them to be apart; they both knew it. So why that bitter twist of disappointment when Faith had announced that her sister had gone shopping—and why this even more twisty and unwelcome anticipation as he savoured the knowledge that in just an hour's time she would be by his side?

They were both adults. They had spent two enjoyable weeks together. She had inspired him to create one of the best paintings he had ever done, even if it wasn't exactly what he'd set out to paint; he was thinking of calling it Atlas—because she looked as if she were carrying all the cares in the world on her slim shoulders. They could meet to celebrate this wedding as friends, surely? But when he thought of her in that wedding dress, glowing, when he thought of her lying on the chaise, posed and perfect, when he thought of her in his bed, then ‘as friends' seemed a cold and meagre ambition.

But what was the alternative? Ask her out properly? They had said everything that needed to be said; he knew her more intimately than some men knew their wives of fifty years. How could he go from that to the kind of dating he did? The kind of dating he was capable of? Premieres, dinners in places to be seen, superficial and short-lived. He couldn't but he knew no other way.

He didn't
want
to know any other way. Because his way couldn't go wrong. It ended without tears, without acrimony, without devastation. It was safe. There was nothing safe about Hope and the way he was with her—harsh, unyielding, pushy. He wanted too much from her and she let him demand it. But, oh, how he liked it when he surprised her; her face when he had laid out all the different tubs of ice cream. Like a small child set loose in a toy store. She almost made him believe he could be the kind of man who lived a different way. Almost.

He pushed the thought away. Today wasn't about him and, despite his attempts to deny kinship, he was proud that Hunter had asked him to stand by his side. ‘You ready?'

Hunter nodded. ‘I was ready the first day,' he said simply. ‘I saw her walking towards me and I just knew.'

Gael's mind instantly flashed back to the moment he had first seen Hope. What had he known? Surprise that she wasn't the woman he was expecting, yes. Annoyance at the delay in his plans? Absolutely. Recognition? He would like to deny it but something had made him keep her there, manipulate the situation so she stayed with him. He didn't want to dwell too much on what his reasons might have been. He attempted humour instead. ‘Knew she was hot?'

‘Knew she was the one for me. I was prepared to learn Czech or German or French, whatever I had to do to talk to the girl with eyes like stars—you can imagine my relief when I discovered she was English! Not that it would have made any difference whatever nationality she was. We would have found a way to communicate.'

‘Hunter, you've known her what, two months? And it's not like your mom has had the best track record with the whole happy-ever-after thing. Are you sure you're not rushing into things?'

‘Man, I am totally rushing into marrying Faith. Full pelt. I just know that she's the one for me and I'm the one for her and I can't wait to get started on our adventures together. As for Mom? She'd be the first to say she never listened to her heart. She didn't trust it not to lead her astray so she married strategically, for fun, for friendship—and then ended up divorced anyway.'

When had Hunter got so wise? Gael straightened his own tie, unable to look the younger man in the eye. ‘I don't know what a good marriage is. What makes a relationship worth fighting for.' The confession felt wrought out of him and he turned slightly so that Hunter wouldn't be able to see his expression.

‘I think it's when you trust someone completely and their happiness means more to you than your own—and when you know that they feel exactly the same way. You balance each other out, make the other person safe.'

Balance. What had he said to Hope? That marriage was about power? Hunter was saying the same thing only he saw it as a positive thing. That allowing someone else the power just made you stronger. Gael was almost light-headed as he tried to work it out. But looking at Hunter, so happy and so c
onfident
, he couldn't help but wonder if he possessed a knowledge Gael just couldn't—or wouldn't—understand.

He didn't have much time to dwell on his stepbrother's words as the next hour was a flurry of activity, first meeting up with Hunter's father and the two friends the groom had invited to this small, intimate celebration, and then they had to make their way to Central Park and the little lakeside glade where Hunter and Faith would be making their vows. Hunter didn't seem at all nervous, laughing and joking with his friends and patiently listening to all his father's last-minute advice—and who knew? Maybe Hunter's father did know what he was talking about because not only had he stayed good friends with Misty but he had clocked up fifteen years with his current wife, a record amongst all the parental figures in Hunter's and Gael's lives.

In no time at all they were at the lake, which had been made ready according to Hope's detailed instructions; a few chairs had been arranged in a semicircle either side of the little rustic shelter under which Hunter and Faith would make their vows. White flowers were entwined in the shelter and yellow and white rose petals were scattered on the floor. All against Central Park's stringent regulations but the Carlyle name had persuaded the officials that an exception could be made.

Gael looked up at the cloudless sky and smiled; somehow Hope had even persuaded the weather to comply and the rain and wind which sometimes heralded the beginning of September had stayed away. Hunter's father and friends took their places while Gael stood beside his brother at the entrance to the pavilion, making polite conversation with the official who was conducting the short service. But what he said he hardly knew. In just a few minutes he would see her—and the spell her absence had cast would be broken. She'd walked away before he had decided it was time. That was all this sense something was amiss was. Nothing more.

He turned as he heard feminine voices, his heart giving a sudden lurch, but it wasn't Hope, merely a group of hot-looking women dressed in bright, formal clothes, fanning themselves and giggling as they took their seats. They were accompanied by one harried-looking elderly gentleman who breathed a sigh of relief as he took in the other men. Hope's uncle must have felt fairly overwhelmed by all the womenfolk he had spent the last three days escorting around the city.

He took a brief headcount as Misty wafted in, looking as elegant and cool as ever. The five men in Hunter's party, Misty, the bride's uncle and aunt and four young women who must be her two cousins and two friends. They were all here except for the bride herself—and her bridesmaid. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. It had been a brief fling, that was all. He bumped into old flames all the time and didn't usually turn a hair. There should be nothing different this time.

Shouldn't be and yet there was.

And then the string quartet, placed just out of sight around the curve in the path, struck up and the small congregation rose to their feet and turned as one. Every mouth smiled, every eye widened, many dampening as Faith floated towards them in the ethereal designer dress Hope had chosen for her beloved sister. Her hair was twisted into loose knots with curls falling onto her shoulders, she carried a small posy of yellow and white roses and her eyes were fixed adoringly on her groom. But Gael barely took any of it in, all his attention on the shorter woman by her side. Faith had asked her sister, the person who had raised her, to walk her down the aisle both today and for the blessing in two days' time.

Gael was the only person there who knew how much this gesture cost Hope. How touched she was but also how full of grief that their father wasn't there to do it—and that she would be symbolically relinquishing the last of her immediate family to someone else. That the moment she stepped back she truly would be alone.

His chest swelled with empathic grief because although her full mouth was curved in a proud smile and her carriage straight her eyes were full of tears and the hand holding a matching posy was shaking slightly.

Hope's hair was also tied up in a loose knot with a cream ribbon looped around, contrasting with the darkness of the silky tresses. She wore a knee-length twenties-style dress in a slightly darker shade than her sister's soft golden cream; she was utterly beautiful, utterly desirable. Damn. That wasn't the reaction he had been hoping for at all.

Hope looked up as if she could feel the weight of his gaze. Her lips quivered before her eyelashes fell again.
Look at me
, Gael urged her silently.
Let me work out what's happening here.
But his silent plea fell flat and although she smiled around at the gathered audience she didn't look at him directly again, not once.

* * *

The day was at once eternal and yet it passed in a flash. One moment Hope was kissing her sister's cheek, knowing that this was the last time she would be her next of kin, her first confidante, her rock, the next she was listening as Hunter promised to take care of Faith for ever.

She believed him. They were absurdly young but there was a determination and clearness amidst the starry-eyed infatuation that made her think that maybe they had a shot at making it work. Faith had grown up so much it was impossible to take in that the sisters had only been apart for three and a half months.

They moved seamlessly from ceremony to drinks, from drinks to the boat, which dreamily sailed around Manhattan in a gentle ripple of sparkling waters and blue skies before the cars took them to the now shut Met for a VIP tour followed by dinner. Now, at the end of the day, they were back at the speakeasy, reserved exclusively for the wedding party until midnight; there had been a last-minute panic when Hope realised that Faith's age meant she would be unable to enter the premises if it was open to the public. The bar didn't usually do private parties but a quiet word from Gael had ensured their cooperation; she wouldn't have been able to organise half of the day without him. He knew exactly who to speak to, how to get the kind of favours Hope McKenzie from Stoke Newington wouldn't have had a cat in hell's chance of landing. She should say thank you.

She should say
something
. They had been in the same small group of people for ten hours and somehow avoided exchanging even one word. She should tell him that he was wrong about her, that when it mattered she would always stand up for herself; she should tell him that, uncomfortable as his painting made her, she still recognised what a privilege it was to be immortalised that way. She should thank him for all his help with the wedding. She should tell him that two weeks with him had changed her life.

But she didn't know where to begin. She was just so aware of him. They could blindfold her and she would still reach unerringly for him. She knew how he tasted, she knew how his skin felt against hers. She knew what it felt like to have every iota of his concentration focussed on her. How did people do it? Carry this intimate knowledge of another human being around with them? She hadn't expected this bond, not without love.

Because of course she didn't love him. That would be foolish and Hope McKenzie didn't do foolishness. She wasn't like her sister; she couldn't just entrust her heart and happiness to somebody else. Especially somebody who didn't want either and wouldn't know what to do with them even if he did.

The sound of a spoon tapping on a glass recalled her thoughts to the here and now and, as the room hushed, she looked up to see Faith balancing precariously on a chair, her cheeks flushed.

‘Attention,' her sister called as the group clapped and whistled. ‘Bride speaking.'

Hope slid her glance over to Gael and, as she met his eyes, quickly looked away, her chest constricting with the burden of just that brief contact.