Unveiling The Bridesmaid. Jessica Gilmore
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what blackmail? Your boss wants my archive and I need help organising it. Seems like a fair trade to me.’ But Gael couldn’t stop the smile playing around his lips. ‘You should thank me. I’m much less of a clock watcher than Brenda. You might even get some wedding organising done while you’re here. In fact you can have today to get started. Consider it my wedding gift to the happy couple.’
‘Is there even an archive or is this just some kind of ruse to keep me here?’
Gael stilled. He was so used to people knowing who he was, what he was, that the scorn in her all too candid eyes took him back. Back to the days before Expose. The days when he was nothing. ‘I see. You think this is a ploy to get you to pose? Get real, princess. I may have asked you to sit for me but I don’t beg and I certainly don’t coerce. Every one of those women over there...’ He nodded over at the canvases. ‘They came to me freely.’
Her forehead creased. ‘So why did you ask Brenda if I could work for you?’
‘Because I was planning on saying yes to Brenda’s offer anyway and this saves me the hassle of finding an assistant. Because I won’t mind how you organise your time as long as the archiving work gets done so this way you can pop out to look at venues or cakes or whatever else you need to do. Not to force you into anything. Nobody is keeping you here against your will, Rapunzel, there’s no escape ladder needed. You can leave at any time.’
Hope looked over at the chaise, a frown still creasing her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought...you said you wouldn’t help me with the wedding and then this all happened so fast.’
‘I’m not helping you. I’m giving you time but that’s all you’ll get out of me. I have a model to find and paint, an exhibition to put on and an archive to explain to you and oversee. The wedding’s your problem, not mine. Unless you change your mind about the picture, in which case I’ll keep my end of the bargain and help you but, like I said, your decision. It’s not part of your duties here. I have no interest in a reluctant subject.’
She took a visible deep breath, her eyes clouded, her forehead still wrinkled with thought. She was close to a decision but whether that decision was changing her mind and posing or walking out and telling him to go to hell he had no idea.
It was intriguing, this unpredictability.
‘If I said yes...’ She stopped, her eyes wary again.
He should be feeling triumphant. He almost had her, he could tell. But Hope McKenzie wasn’t like his usual subjects. They were all eager for him to tell their stories with his paintbrush—she was all secrets and disguises. ‘Before we go any further, I need you to know exactly what you’re getting into.’
‘I lie there and you paint me. Right?’ The words were belligerent but her eyes dark with fear.
‘It’s not easy being a life model. It’s a skill. You have to keep the same pose for hours. No complaining about being cold, or achy or hungry.’
‘Okay.’
‘I asked each model to wear some jewellery that meant something to them. Something very personal.’ He pointed over at one canvas. ‘That girl there, Anna? She’s wearing pins in her hair she wore on her wedding day. This lady, Ameena, she’s wearing gold necklaces and bangles gifted to her by her parents when she emigrated to the US.’
‘And they have to be naked. I mean, I would have to be. Totally. I couldn’t, instead of jewellery have a scarf or something. It’s just...’
‘Sorry.’ And he was. It wasn’t easy for even the most seasoned model to lie there so exposed to him and even though his other models had been enthusiastic about the project they had still found posing difficult, embarrassment covered in a multitude of ways, by jokes, by attempted seduction, by detachment.
‘That’s okay.’
It didn’t seem okay; her hands were twisting together in an attempt to hide a slight shake.
‘The last thing is probably the most important. If you model then I need you to think about sex. What it means to you, good and bad. I need you to think about that the whole time I paint you. I know that’s an odd request but it’s the theme of the paintings and it needs to show in your eyes, on your face. If it helps I can play any music you want, audiobooks, relaxation tapes—whatever makes you comfortable.’
It was odd, he’d had this conversation many times before and he had never felt so like some kind of libertine before. Every other model had known exactly why she was there, had volunteered for this. It was business, not personal.
But this time it felt horribly personal and he had no idea why.
‘Think 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?’
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