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‘Rubbish,’ Daisy said. ‘He’s the first man you’ve kissed since Tony. That means it’s not just something, it’s a megaginormous something.’
Juno flinched at the mention of Tony’s name. ‘This has nothing to do with Tony. I got over him years ago.’
‘I know you did.’ Daisy grasped Juno’s hands, her eyes warming with sympathy, making Juno flinch even more. ‘But what about what happened afterwards, Juno? And what about the fact that you’ve spent the last six years of your life paying penance for it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Juno tried to pull her hands free, but her friend held firm.
‘Yes, you do.’ Daisy gave a deep sigh. ‘When’s the last time you wore a dress?’
‘I don’t like dresses. They don’t suit me.’
‘When’s the last time you put on make-up, then? Or went out on the town? Or felt the thrill of flirting with an attractive man?’ Daisy paused, her grip tightening. ‘Why are you ashamed of kissing Mac Brody? The man is every woman’s wet dream. Why shouldn’t you want to kiss him?’
Daisy stopped talking abruptly, her head tilting to one side. A split second later Juno heard Ronan’s lusty wail through the baby monitor.
‘I better give him a quick slurp,’ Daisy said, pointing at Juno. ‘But don’t you dare go anywhere. As soon as I’ve got Ronan settled we’re going to have another little chat about your maid of honour gown.’ Daisy flashed her a quick grin. ‘When I finally meet Mac Brody I’m going to give him a great big hug—for making my best friend realise she’s a woman again.’
Juno blew out a breath as Daisy shot out of the room to tend to her son.
As if Mac Brody’s kiss hadn’t given her enough to panic about, Daisy’s heart-to-heart was making her feel like a basket case. Folding her arms on the breakfast bar, she laid her head on her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as she listened to Ronan’s cries from the monitor and tried to blank out all the conflicting emotions racing through her head.
Ronan’s angry wails turned to indignant sobbing and then cut off completely as Daisy’s soothing voice came over the intercom. Juno imagined Daisy sitting in the white rocker by the nursery’s terrace doors as she settled her son on her breast—and the strange pang she’d felt earlier tore into her chest.
She jerked upright, realising with horror she was ridiculously close to tears.
What on earth had got into her? Where had that fierce sense of longing come from? That empty feeling inside?
Glancing down at her jeans, she saw the tiny tear in the knee and rubbed her hand over it. She forced down the tears, but the uncomfortable whisper of envy refused to go away.
What if Daisy were right? She’d survived what had happened six years ago, but how could she claim to have triumphed over it when she’d been in hiding the whole time since?
No wonder kissing Mac Brody had been such a shock to her system. After six years of pretending she didn’t have a sex drive, he’d demonstrated in one fell swoop exactly what it was she’d been missing. And at the same time brought her face to face with what she’d let her life become. Not just cautious and well ordered, but mind-numbingly dull.
She stared out at the weeping-willow tree in the back garden, noticed the remnants of the breakfast Daisy and Connor had shared together that morning on the patio table. And the little spurt of envy got worse.
She’d sat on the sidelines in the last year and watched Daisy find her happy-ever-after and she’d never even admitted to herself that she wanted one of her own.
Maybe it was about time she took the next step and conceded that survival wasn’t enough any more. That dressing like a tomboy and making herself into a nun had outlived its usefulness. Would it really be so terrible to admit that she wanted more than that now?
Daisy hummed Ronan’s favourite lullaby over the baby monitor and Juno felt a little frisson of excitement and trepidation wash over her.
She didn’t have to go nuts; she could still be practical and sensible.
But why shouldn’t she let Daisy design her maid of honour gown? She’d resisted the suggestion up till now because she’d been scared of what Daisy might come up with. Given Daisy’s flamboyant dress sense and her eagerness to get Juno back into the dating game, her caution had seemed perfectly justified at the time.
But it didn’t feel justified now. She had to stop being such a coward and start easing her life out of the great big enormous rut she’d driven it into.
And, goodness, if she could snog a movie star in Heathrow Airport and live to tell the tale, surely she could let her best friend design a dress for her. Especially if she made it absolutely clear she didn’t want the dress to be too out-there.
Honestly, how bad could it be?
Chapter Three
‘DAISY, I…I don’t know what to say.’ Juno gaped at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, bronze satin shimmering over the curves she hadn’t known she had until about five seconds ago. ‘I might as well be stark naked. I can’t walk into the church wearing this. The minister will have a stroke.’
Daisy laughed. ‘The minister will not have a stroke.’ She cocked her head, considering, then crouched to straighten the hem. ‘But he may make a pass at you. He is French, after all.’
The shock had started to wear off, a little, but Juno still couldn’t muster the ability to laugh back. ‘I have a cleavage,’ she whispered in disbelief, astonished at the way the plump swell of her breasts strained against the gown’s daringly low neckline.
