The Best Man's Guarded Heart. Katrina Cudmore

the ivory-white Duchesse de Nemours. Both were as big and utterly beautiful as she had hoped, and on track to open to their full blowsy glory for Saturday.

      At last something was going right for her.

      For a moment she leaned down and inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, closing her eyes in pleasure. She might have to stay up all night to get the prep work done, but she would manage. The flowers had to be perfect for Sofia.

      She had the first box completed when Andreas brought the final boxes in. Unfairly, apart from a faint sheen of perspiration on his tanned skin, he didn’t appear the least bit ruffled by all the dragging and hauling.

      Hitting the timer on her smartphone, she twisted it around to show him the display. ‘Thirty-six minutes, fourteen seconds.’

      His mouth twitched for a few seconds before he flashed his watch at her and tapped one of the dials. ‘Nineteen minutes and forty-three seconds to carry in the flowers, which was all you specified. So I win.’

      ‘I didn’t know we were competing.’

      Those green eyes flashed with way too much smugness for her liking. ‘Why did you time me then?’

      ‘Oh, just curiosity.’ Keen to change the subject, she added, ‘I’m really grateful for your help—thank you.’

      He shrugged in response and turned his attention to the remaining stack of flower boxes, and then to the already trimmed peonies, sitting in their buckets of water. ‘Why so many roses?’

      ‘They’re not roses.’

      He contemplated the flowers dubiously.

      She twisted the stem she was working on and held it out towards him. ‘They’re peonies. I thought you would have known, being Greek, as apparently they are called after Paean, who healed Hades’s wounds. It’s thought that they have healing properties. It’s also believed that they represent a happy life...and a happy marriage.’

      To that he raised a sceptical eyebrow.

      With her floral shears, Grace snipped an inch diagonally off the end of the stem. ‘Let me guess...you’re not the type to buy flowers?’

      ‘On occasion I have.’ A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth in reaction to her quizzical glance. ‘Okay, I admit that I let my PA organise the details.’

      She tried to ignore how good it was to see those eyes sparkle with humour. ‘Now, that’s just cheating...I hope you at least specify what type of flowers you want to send?’

      He seemed baffled at the idea. ‘No—why should I?’

      ‘Because each flower represents something. When you send a flower you are sending a message with it.’

      He looked horrified at that prospect. ‘Like what?’

      Amused, she decided to make the most of him being on the back foot in this conversation. ‘Well, new beginnings are symbolised by daffodils...a secret love is represented by gardenias...’ She paused for effect before continuing, ‘True love is shown by forget-me-nots, and sensuality by jasmine.’

      Their eyes met and tension pulsed in the air. But then he broke his gaze away. ‘How about, Thanks for a good night, but this is nothing serious?’

      Her heart sank. ‘A yellow rose is used for friendship, if that’s what you’re trying to say. But maybe it would be better not to send anything on those occasions.’

      Unable to bear the way his gaze had fastened on her again, she bent her head and trimmed the foliage on the stem with quick cuts, a constant mantra sounding in her brain: Stay away from him; he’s a sure-fire path to heartbreak.

      He eventually spoke. ‘Perhaps. But I still don’t understand why so many flowers are needed for one wedding.’

      So often she had heard the same incredulous question from grooms-to-be, who struggled to understand the volume of flowers needed to create a visual impact and how important flowers were for setting the mood and tone of the wedding day. She was used to talking them through her plans, and always keen to make them comfortable and happy with her designs, but with Andreas she felt even more compelled to spell out the intricacies of wedding floral design and the attention to detail required. She wanted it to be clear to him that she was not playing with flowers. That her presence on his island was essential.

      ‘Eight hundred peonies. Two hundred lisianthus, to be precise. Along with the bridal party bouquets, and the flower displays that will be needed outside the chapel and on the terrace, each reception table will have a centrepiece of five vases with five peonies in each, so with twenty tables—’

      ‘That adds up to five hundred flowers.’

      ‘Exactly. Today I have to trim, cut and place all the stems in water. Tomorrow the stems will need to be cut again and placed in fresh water. On Friday fifty potted bay trees and storm lanterns will be delivered, to be placed along the walkway between the jetty and the chapel, and on the main terrace for the reception and the dancing.’

      He surveyed the boxes of flowers yet to be opened and then looked over to the large pile of other unopened boxes. His gaze narrowed. ‘What’s in the other boxes?’

      She had gone over her stock list so often she had no problem in recalling all the items she had ordered. ‘One hundred glass vases for the centrepieces, two hundred votive candles, fifty lantern candles and thirty pillar candles. Flower foam, more string, wire, ribbon... The list goes on. They all need to be unloaded today, ready to be prepped tomorrow. And I also have to finalise my designs.’

      He checked his watch and frowned. ‘I have to get back to my conference calls. Is there anyone else who can help you with all this?’

      ‘I’ll manage.’ Even if it meant she would be working late into the night. ‘Two more florists will be joining me tomorrow, but I need to get all the basic prep done today or I’ll run out of time.’

      His eyes drifted over the now crowded room. ‘I have to admit that I hadn’t realised the volume of work involved.’

      A smile tugged at her lips. ‘Perhaps now you understand why I need to be here and not touring the nightclubs of Athens.’

      He gave a gracious nod in response, his eyes softening in amusement. ‘Yes, but that’s not to say that I don’t think it’s all crazy.’

      With that he left the room, and Grace stood stock-still for the longest while, her heart colliding against her chest at being on the receiving end of his beautiful smile.

      * * *

      Six hours later Andreas made his way back down to the workshops. Eleni, although tied up in an argument with the catering team over the use of her beloved pots and pans, had whispered to him that Grace had not appeared for lunch, and gestured in appeal towards a tray of food.

      Never able to say no to his indomitable housekeeper, who had him wrapped around her little finger, Andreas approached the workshops now in frustration at yet another disruption to his day. But he had to admit to concern for Grace at the huge amount of work she had to tackle alone, and to a grudging respect for her determination and energy in doing so.

      Inside the first workshop the tiled floor was akin to a woodland scene, with green leaves and cuttings scattered everywhere. In the middle, armed with a sweeping brush, Grace was corralling the leaves into one giant pile, her face a cloud of tension.

      A quick glance about the room told him she was making slow progress. She needed help. And unfortunately he was the only person available.

      ‘Eleni’s concerned that you missed lunch.’

      She jerked around at his voice.

      He dropped the tray on the edge of a workbench.

      ‘That’s very kind of her.’ She paused as she grabbed a nearby dustpan and composting bag. ‘Please thank her for me but tell her not to worry—I can fend for myself.’

      The