Unveiling The Bridesmaid. Jessica Gilmore

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 round 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.

      The doors opened with an audible swish and heels tapped tentatively onto the wooden floor. ‘Er...hello?’ English. He hadn’t expected that. Not that he cared what she sounded like; he wasn’t interested in having a conversation with her.

      ‘You’re late.’ Gael didn’t bother turning round. Usually he made time to greet the women, put them at their ease before they got started but he was too impatient for the niceties today. ‘There’s a robe on the chaise. You can change in the bathroom.’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘The bathroom.’ He nodded to the end of the room. ‘There’s a hanger for your clothes. Go and strip. You can keep the robe on until I’ve positioned you properly if you prefer.’ Some did, others were quite happy to wander nude from the bathroom across the floor to the chaise. He didn’t mind either way.

      ‘My clothes? You want me to take them off?’

      ‘Well, yes. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

      He moved around to face her at the exact same moment she let out a scandalised-sounding, ‘No! Of course not. Why would you think that?’

      Who on earth was this? Dark-haired, dark-eyed, petite with a look of outraged horror. She was pretty enough, beautiful even—if you liked the ‘big dark eyes in a pale face’ look. But he was expecting an Amazonian redhead with a knowing smile and whatever and whoever this girl was she certainly wasn’t that.

      ‘Because I was expecting someone who was supposed to be doing exactly that,’ Gael said drily. ‘But you are not what I ordered. Too short for a start, although you do have an interesting mouth.’

      ‘Ordered?’ Her cheeks reddened as the outrage visibly ratcheted up several notches. ‘I’m sorry that I’m not your takeout from Call Girls Are Us but I think you should check before you start asking complete strangers to strip.’

      ‘I’m not the one who has gatecrashed their way past the doorman. Who are you? Did Sonia send you?’

      ‘Sonia? I don’t know any Sonia. There’s clearly been some kind of mix-up. You are Gael O’Connor, aren’t you?’ She sounded doubtful, taking a cautious step back as if he might pounce any second.

      He ignored her question. ‘If you don’t know Sonia then why are you here?’

      She