Good Girl. Christy McKellen

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      Juno.

      My heart sank.

      ‘This one’s suggesting you’re having a relationship with the youngest Darlington-Hume girl,’ my father said, flashing me a questioning look.

      My whole world started to tumble past my ears. She was one of Maxim’s daughters. I hadn’t realised. She’d looked so different from her sisters and she certainly hadn’t acted like a Darlington-Hume—a family my father holds in very high regard indeed. In his estimation, they’re the fucking essence of English high society.

      And I’d basically told her to take a running jump when she’d asked me for help.

      ‘I wouldn’t call it a relationship,’ I replied carefully. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this so I was treading carefully. I really didn’t want to be banished to Italy for long. I have important plans here in England and I need to be around to put them in motion. Plus, this is where all my friends live now. Italy will be a social desert.

      ‘You could do a lot worse than having a Darlington-Hume in your bed. The family has an excellent if mercenary reputation, but you can’t get more inner-circle than Maxim.’ He nodded, seeming to make up his mind about something, and my gut knotted as I predicted what he was about to demand of me.

      ‘Take her to Florence. Stay in Maria’s apartment. She’s going to be in Sweden for the next few weeks, and she’s worried it might be broken into again, so it would be good to have you there looking after the place. Let the press know you’re there and make sure you’re seen out and about in the right places. Get your reputation publicly back on even ground. Then you can come back.’

      ‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go to Florence with me.’

      ‘I don’t give a shit what she wants. Just make it happen. Prove to me, for once, that you’re worthy of the Ricci family name, like your brothers.’

      There was no point in arguing with him. I knew from experience that, when my father demands something, there’s no way of getting out of it. He’s hard-hearted enough to cut me out of the family if I don’t play ball, and won’t hesitate to stop me from seeing my nephews and my mother. That’s the last thing I want. It would devastate her. I’ve disappointed her enough for a lifetime.

      So a trip to Florence it was.

      With Juno Darlington-Hume.

      Assuming I could convince her I’ve changed my mind about helping her out after the contemptuous rejection I threw down at her feet the night before. I suspected it was going to take a monumental amount of charm and a shit-ton of good fucking grace to talk her round. Luckily, those are qualities I have in abundance.

      So when I got home I swallowed my pride, sourced her number from a friend of a friend and called her, leaving a message on her voicemail, inviting her out for a drink.

      * * *

      ‘So in your message you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about,’ Juno says warily, once we’re seated in a booth in a chi-chi little cocktail bar in a backstreet of Soho that I’d chosen for its seclusion from the bustle of central London, and hopefully prying eyes. I don’t want word going round about us until Juno’s agreed to the proposal I’m about to lay out for her.

      She’s pointedly ordered a virgin cocktail and I’ve had to bite my lip so as not to make a joke about the car-crash conversation we had last night in case it upsets her.

      This whole situation needs to be handled very carefully.

      I give her my secret-weapon smile and lean forward, spreading my hands on the table and locking my gaze with hers. ‘I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you last night. Your request took me by surprise and I didn’t handle it well.’

      She stares back at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and I panic for a second that I’ve slipped into Italian.

      Seeming to snap out of her trance, she shakes her head. ‘You really don’t need to apologise. I’m the one that should be apologising. I don’t know what I was thinking, demanding...what I did...like that.’ She looks down at the table as if she can’t bear to maintain eye contact with me. ‘You were right. I was drunk and totally out of line.’

      Her shame-faced confession sends a wave of relief through me and I sit back against the red velvet banquette, feeling a little more in control of things now. I can’t help but forgive her. It’s pretty clear the Juno of last night wasn’t the real her. It was just a glitch. A drunken mistake.

      ‘How old are you, Juno?’ I ask her gently, hoping to draw her out of her shell and gain her trust. Her shoulders are rigid and her chin dipped as if she’s pulled herself inward for protection. It makes me want to smooth my fingers down her spine to help her relax. She doesn’t seem to be able to look at me. Instead she’s playing with the cocktail menu, lining it up with the edge of the table.

      ‘Twenty-two.’

      ‘Why are you so eager to lose your virginity? Twenty-two isn’t old to still be a virgin.’

      She takes a stuttering breath and finally looks up at me. ‘Because it seems to me that in order to be sexy you need to have had sex. At least, all the women I know that attract men’s attention are the ones that are really comfortable in their own skin. They ooze sex appeal. And none of them are virgins.’

      ‘How can you be sure?’ I ask, picking up the whisky sour I’ve ordered and taking a sip.

      ‘I’ve asked them.’

      The drink gets caught in the back of my throat, making me cough.

      ‘Wow. So, what, you’ve just gone up to them and asked the question?’

      ‘Yes. For research purposes.’ She shrugs. ‘I like to investigate my subject thoroughly. It’s important to have all the information to be able to make an informed hypothesis.’

      I frown, then flip it into a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t think you have to have had sex to be sexy. At least, not in my experience.’

      ‘Yes, well, unfortunately not everyone shares your viewpoint.’ She looks down at the table again.

      ‘Ah. So there’s another guy involved in this?’ I hazard a guess.

      She visibly bristles. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s any of your business.’ Her cheeks are bright pink and the expression in her eyes is defensive.

      I hold up my hand. ‘Wait—you want me to take your virginity but you won’t tell me why?’

      Her throat moves as she swallows. ‘That’s correct.’

      I shake my head and frown, concerned about what I might be stepping into the middle of here.

      ‘I’m really not comfortable with saying yes to this unless I know why you want it. We need to be able to be open and honest with each other. It’s important we trust each other if we’re going to get that close and intimate,’ I say slowly, trying to sound as if I’m looking out for both our interests here.

      She stares at me for a moment, then nods, and I can tell from the pained СКАЧАТЬ