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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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜That’s good. I was worried that two weeks’ notice might be too tight for any of the really good venues.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Excellent. So you’ll be