Unveiling The Bridesmaid. Jessica Gilmore

was predictably busy at the top of the Empire State Building, the sun and the wind combining to make the walkway uncomfortable in the early afternoon heat, but none of the tourists seemed to be complaining, too busy taking selfies and pointing out landmarks to notice the conditions.

      And they would all be tourists. No self-respecting New Yorker would be up here at this time, during the height of the sightseeing buzz. In fact Gael couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot up here. It had probably been for a photo shoot—that was why he visited most tourist locations.

      Which was a shame because, even hardened local that he was, he had to admit the view was pretty spectacular, the blue of the ocean merging with the blue of the sky and the city rising from the ocean’s depths like some mythological Atlantis.

      Gael walked around three sides of the viewing platform before he spotted Hope, bright in the same red dress she’d been wearing earlier. She was standing half turned away from him, leaning on the railing staring out over the city, the dark strands of her hair whipping in the wind. It was odd, he’d only met her this morning but her image was indelibly printed on him—probably because most women didn’t gatecrash his studio, demand he help them with a wedding and then blurt out their sexual history—or lack of—before nine a.m.

      A smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t seen that one coming and at this stage in the game he could have sworn he’d seen it all. Dammit, he had to admit he was intrigued. How old was Hope? He looked at her assessingly. Somewhere in her mid to late twenties, he’d guess. Which meant she had to be either holding out for true love or had a considerable amount of baggage and neither of those things appealed to him. Not that he was interested in Hope in that way. He just needed a model.

      She shifted and her full profile came into view. Nice straight nose and a really good mouth—full bottom lip and a lovely shape to the top one. Almost biteable. Almost... ‘So, is this it? The perfect spot?’

      She jumped as he joined her at the barrier, her cheeks flushing as she threw a stilted smile his way. ‘I don’t know. It looks a bit busy for a wedding.’

      ‘Which is a good thing because it turns out you can only get married up here on Valentine’s Day and only then if you win a competition. I checked...’ he added as she raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘They could marry elsewhere and then come up here for photos but to be honest with you Hunter isn’t that keen on heights.’

      ‘He isn’t?’

      ‘Turns green on the Brooklyn Bridge,’ Gael confirmed.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before I arranged to meet you here?’ She turned and glared, hands on her slim hips in what was clearly meant to be an admonishing way. She looked more like a cute pixie.

      ‘And ruin your Deborah Kerr moment? Or are you Meg Ryan? Isn’t it every girl’s dream to arrange a meeting on the top of the Empire State Building?’

      ‘I already told you, your role is the wisecracking best friend, not the hero.’

      ‘What about your role, Hope? Who are you?’ No woman he knew was content to play the supporting role in their own lives.

      ‘Me? I’m the wedding planner.’ She stared out over Manhattan, her face softening. ‘Isn’t it breathtaking? I can’t believe I haven’t been up here yet.’

      ‘Seriously? I thought this was the first destination on every tourist’s wish list.’

      ‘I’m not exactly a tourist. I live here. Well, for three more months I do. I mean to do the tourist trail at some point but I haven’t had a chance yet.’ Her voice was wistful.

      Not the heroine of her own story, neither a tourist nor a native. If he didn’t have a pose in mind he’d paint Hope as something insubstantial, some kind of wandering spirit. ‘Why are you here, Hope?’

      She turned, blinking in surprise. ‘To meet you and make a start on the wedding, why?’

      ‘No, why are you in New York at all? Here you are in the greatest city on earth but you’re barely living in it, not experiencing it.’

      ‘‘I’m planning to.’ But her words lacked any real commitment and she looked away. ‘But I want a real career, to make something of my life that’s about me. All this...’ She waved her hand over Manhattan. ‘This can wait. It will still be here in ten years’ time. I’m here because for the first time in nine years I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I can put my career and my choices first.’

      ‘Is that what this is? Putting yourself first? Because from where I’m standing you’ve agreed to all kinds of things you don’t want to do for other people. For Brenda, your sister...’

      ‘Brenda’s my boss, of course I’m going to do what she asks me to do. As for Faith, it’s complicated. Our parents died when I was eighteen and Faith was only ten. I’ve raised her. I can’t turn my back on her now, not when she needs me, wants me. Besides, she’s marrying Hunter in two weeks. She won’t be my responsibility any more. This is the last thing I can do for her and I want it to be perfect.’ Her mouth wobbled and she swallowed. ‘It will be perfect.’

      She’d raised her sister? That explained a lot. ‘Of course it will. I’ve agreed to help. Besides, as soon as you mention the Carlyle name any door in the city you want opening will swing open.’

      ‘There’s no budget for the wedding at all. Hunter’s sending a card. But seriously, what does that even mean? Everyone has some kind of budget.’

      Gael couldn’t help his grin. It was so long since he’d spoken to someone who didn’t live in the rarefied Upper East Side bubble. ‘No, not the Carlyles. You’ve heard people say money’s no object?’ She nodded, dark eyes fixed on him. ‘The Carlyles take that to a whole new level. I have no idea how rich they are but filthy doesn’t even begin to cover it.’

      ‘Wow.’ She looked slightly stunned. ‘And I was worrying that Faith was marrying a street artist with no prospects. I think I was worrying about all the wrong things. I don’t think Faith and I are going to fit in with people like that. We’re very ordinary.’ She hesitated and then turned to him, laying her hand on his forearm. ‘Will she be okay? They won’t look down on her, will they?’

      He might be standing on a platform hundreds of feet up in the air but the air had suddenly got very close. All Gael could feel was that area of skin where Hope’s hand lay, all he could smell was the citrus notes of her perfume. He tried to drag his concentration back to the conversation. ‘Misty doesn’t think like that. She’s the least snobby person I’ve ever met and, believe me, living where I live and doing what I do I have met a lot of snobs.’ A thought struck him. ‘She’ll be delighted I’m helping with the wedding. In her head Hunter and I will always be brothers even though he was an annoying three-year-old brat when I moved into their house and we’ve never hung out in the same circles.’ Truth was Hunter had always idolised him. He’d even decided to follow in his footsteps and study art rather than the business degree Misty Carlyle had picked out for her only son.