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.
‘I told you hooker underwear had its uses,’ Daisy commented. Standing, she gave a contented sigh. ‘My job is done. You look sensational.’ She smiled. ‘But the big question is—how do you feel? Do you like it?’
Juno pivoted on her toes to take another quick look over her shoulder at the way the cut-out in the gown’s back plunged tantalisingly close to the upper slope of her buttocks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
She’d never worn anything so beautiful before in her life—or so revealing. This wasn’t just out-there, it was over the hill and far away.
She studied the full effect in the mirror again. The bouncy little bob Daisy’s hairdresser had fashioned out of her haphazard thatch of blonde curls that morning; the dash of lip gloss and mascara that made her fairly ordinary features look exotic; and her slim figure enhanced by the sleek bronze satin of the gown.
Daisy had made her look and feel sexy for the first time in her life. But did she have the guts to pull it off? When she’d decided to unlock her femininity she hadn’t had anything quite this liberating in mind.
‘I feel like a different person,’ she said truthfully.
‘Different good? Or different bad?’
Emotion clogged Juno’s throat as her eyes met Daisy’s in the mirror. ‘Different scared but excited.’
Daisy grinned. ‘Excited is good.’ She touched Juno’s arm. ‘And scared is to be expected. You’re going to knock them dead.’ She plucked a tissue out of her dressing gown and folded Juno’s fingers over it. ‘But remember, no upstaging of the bride is allowed. And you mustn’t cry, or your mascara will run and make you look like a raccoon.’
A giggle popped out of Juno’s mouth, the flutter of anticipation making her feel a little giddy. ‘Good to know.’
Had she ever felt so young or carefree before in her life?
Juno clutched the bridal bouquet as goosebumps rose on her bare arms and she tried to concentrate on the heavily accented voice of the minister. The fragrant scent of blooming orchids and calla lillies perfumed the air as Daisy held Connor’s hand and repeated her vows in a clear, steady voice. The elaborate beading on the bodice of Daisy’s wedding dress sparkled in the light from the stained-glass window and made Juno think of a fairy-tale princess.
She smoothed her palm over the bronze satin of her gown and smiled, letting the buoyant feeling intoxicate her. She’d stopped believing in happy-ever-afters so long ago, but being here in this beautiful place and watching Daisy declare her love for Connor made anything seem possible. She sniffed, trying to grab a dose of reality and keep her whimsy in check.
Make-up emergencies aside, she had to control herself. Daisy had worked hard for her happy-ever-after and had found the man of her dreams against all the odds. In her experience men like Connor were rarer than fifty-carat diamonds. She needed to remember that before she got all dewy-eyed. And anyway, getting back down the aisle without falling on her bum in the four-inch heels Daisy had insisted she wear was going to be tough enough. Dissolving into tears would only make it tougher.
She frowned as the minister’s musical voice was interrupted by a round of shuffles and coughs and hissed whispers. The hairs at her nape tingled and she had the peculiar sensation someone was watching her. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Most of the congregation were craning their necks to stare at something at the back of the small rural church.
She heard Daisy’s quick in-drawn breath at the same moment her eyes focused on the shadowy figure standing by the entrance door. And every last molecule of blood drained out of her head and slammed straight into her heart.
Him? It couldn’t be.
She blinked furiously, sure she had to be seeing things. But she wasn’t. The man who had been a star player in far too many of her dreams over the last two weeks appeared to be staring straight at her. His head dipped and she could have sworn she felt his gaze rake over her figure.
‘Connor, it’s Mac. He came.’ She heard the delight in Daisy’s hushed voice as a battalion of butterflies dive-bombed into her stomach.
‘Well, now.’ Connor sounded as shell-shocked as Juno felt.
The minister coughed deliberately, a pinched expression on his face at the interruption.
‘Excusez-moi, monsieur,’ Daisy addressed him in her atrocious French. ‘Une momento s’il vous plaÎt, un personne tres