Things don’t always run smoothly in the game of love…

Former hot shot city girl Pippa Pattinson loves her new life of rustic simplicity, running a quaint teashop on a sleepy Greek island with her hot fiancé, Niko. But it’s been a quick change to slow living – and you can’t blame a girl for wondering, ‘how did I get here?’

As her Christmas wedding approaches, a trip back to snowy England for her ex’s engagement party makes her wonder if those are wedding bells she’s hearing in her mind, or warning bells. She longs for the excitement of her old London life – the glamour, the regular pedicures. Can she really give that all up to be…a fishwife?

There’s nothing for it but to throw herself into bringing a little Christmas magic to the struggling village in the form of a Christmas fair. Somewhere in amidst the sparkly bauble cakes and stollen scones, she’s hoping she’ll come to the right decision about where she belongs…fingers crossed in time for the wedding…

Perfect for fans of Lindsey Kelk and Debbie Johnson, you won’t want to miss the Christmas Wedding of the year!

Also by Samantha Tonge

Doubting Abbey

From Paris with Love

Mistletoe Mansion

Game of Scones

My Big Fat Christmas Wedding

Samantha Tonge

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © Samantha Tonge 2015

Samantha Tonge asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474035910

Version date: 2018-06-20

SAMANTHA TONGE

lives in Cheshire with her lovely family and a cat who thinks it’s a dog. Along with writing, her days are spent cycling, willing cakes to rise and avoiding housework. A love of fiction developed as a child, when she was known for reading Enid Blyton books in the bath. A desire to write bubbled away in the background whilst she pursued other careers, including a fun stint working at Disneyland Paris. Formally trained as a linguist, Samantha now likes nothing more than holing herself up in the spare room, in front of the keyboard. Writing romantic comedy novels is her passion.

http://samanthatonge.co.uk/

http://pinkinkladies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/SamTongeWriter

https://www.facebook.com/SamanthaTongeAuthor

Firstly, I’d like to mention my wonderful editors, Victoria Oundjian and Lucy Gilmour – thanks a million for your hard work and humour. Appreciation also to the whole CarinaUK team – I LOVE my book covers!

Thanks to Martin, Immy and Jay for always offering a listening ear when I’m going through some (usually unnecessary) writerly crisis. I couldn’t do this job without you. The continued encouragement means everything. And keep those chocolate bars coming!

Huge hugs to my fellow Carina authors. You guys are the very best.

Frank de Jong, thanks for your support and continuing to inspire the character of Henrik.

Sending warm wishes to all my Facebook and Twitter friends, and to the amazing bloggers who have helped me promote my books. As a digital-first author, you are my lifeline.

I also appreciate those readers who take the time to contact me and say how much they’ve enjoyed my work. That brightens my day more than you can ever imagine and gives me faith on the days when doubt creeps in.

Here’s to our twenty years together, Martin, starting with the mouldy wedding cake and honeymoon mosquito wars. Like in fiction, the best real-life love stories have flaws…

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Prologue

As if trying to rock us to sleep, the ocean lapped against the fishing boat’s sides. However, Niko and I couldn’t have been more awake as we lay lips pressed together, on its wooden bottom. A kaleidoscope of magical fairy dust danced before my closed eyes. Despite the midnight breeze, heat surged through my limbs. Almost two months I’d been in Taxos and the passion of my fisherman friend still left me with wobbly Greek semolina pudding for knees.

Okay. Bear with me. I know this sounded like an extract from one of my favourite romance novels. But a starlit Greek night, during the last humidity of summer, spent with the sexiest man in the Aegean, stirred every soppy cell of my being.

I opened my eyes, pulled away and grinned. Niko leant up on one elbow and an inquiring smile crossed those silken lips. In the moonlight (okay, with the help of our lamp) I drank in that caramel skin, those mocha eyes and the taut outline of a man who did physical work for a living. Then my gaze turned to Kos island’s shoreline. Glowing amber lights illuminated the village. The wind dropped and along with the familiar chirp of cicadas, string music drifted across the waves from the beach, where locals cleared up after a community barbecue. We’d all celebrated building work starting on the much-needed, income-boosting Marine Museum. Thank goodness for the faith of some foreign investors.

‘Pippa? You have a joke to share?’

‘It’s nothing,’ I said and chuckled.

He leant forward and with his free hand tickled just above the corner of my hip. His fingers crept up to under my arm and I laughed even harder. Then gently he bent further forward, so that our noses touched. He batted his lush eyelashes against mine – butterfly kisses, his speciality to make me giggle, when we were kids. They still did – but these days made me also tingle in places I never used to know existed.

‘Okay, okay,’ I said and backed away, longing to once again kiss his firm mouth. ‘It’s just that in my mind I called you my fisherman friend. A Fisherman’s Friend is a decades-old famous cough-sweet in England, made from liquorice and menthol – people either love or hate it.’

One eyebrow raised, Niko sat up on the blanket and took both my hands. ‘And you, my little juicy fig,’ he said, huskily, ‘are a huge fan of this particular fisherman friend, no?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I said airily. ‘I might need to have another taste.’

Niko smiled and then stared for a moment. He cleared his throat and pulled me up, so that I was sitting too. Cue a more vigorous rocking of the boat. Water splashed onto my arm, like a sudden shot of aircon. This was the perfect night for skinny-dipping, me minus my polka-dot undies, Niko revealing his lower abdominal V muscle, acquired from honest labour, not some clinical gym.

‘You see me as much more than a friend though, no?’ said Niko, cheeks tingeing red. ‘And you like living here?’

‘Huh? Of course. Nikolaos Sotiropoulos. How can you even ask?’

Since my return to Taxos, the holiday destination of my early years, earnest, gorgeous islander, Niko, had become the centre of my world. This was quite an admission for a mathematician who, only a matter of weeks ago, commuted daily for work in a major London bank. If you’d told me back then that in September I’d be running a teashop in Kos, I’d have sooner believed I was going to relocate to Mars. Okay so it would be nice to visit my favourite restaurant in Soho now and again, plus shop in Oxford Street, but London couldn’t compete with the island’s freshly caught fish and coastal views.

‘I adore you and love living here,’ I said. ‘Watching the teashop take off has given me such an adrenaline rush – as has me making plans to branch out to make regular scone deliveries to the Creami-Kos café chain. And the summer weeks here have been idyllic. Diving into the refreshing Taxos sea after a hard day’s work, certainly beats catching a stuffy train home to take a shower. As for the raven-black night skies, untainted by the glow of city lights, and villagers shaking my hand every day… I’d never once spoken to some of my close neighbours in London.’

Niko ran a hand through his curly black hair. Through his tight T-shirt his chest rose and dipped more quickly than usual.

‘You speak more poetically since living here,’ he whispered. ‘Where has that practical banker gone?’

I poked him in the ribs. ‘You’ve ruined her. It’s your fault.’

‘I can be a poet too,’ he said, in a seductive treacle-like tone. ‘It’s as if you’re the antidote to my personal poisons. You extinguish my self-doubt and evaporate my paranoia.’ He took a deep breath and glanced away for a second. ‘But now, dear Pippa, I have something very important to say.’ He looked back at me, all the twinkle gone from his eyes. ‘Can’t put it off any longer. It’s been building up.’

‘Is something the matter?’ My heart thumped. Perhaps our time together had been too intense, and he wanted to step back. What if Niko had brought me onto the ocean to let me down gently; say it wasn’t working out, me living in his family’s taverna, baking and selling my scones in the half of the building they’d closed down; poetry aside, that we were too different, with me thinking in numbers, him thinking in shoals; that all those years we’d played together as children, during summer holidays, didn’t mean we were destined to spend our lives together as adults?

I swallowed. ‘What is it?’

‘Yesterday. I spoke to your father.’

‘Did he ring?’ I sat bolt upright. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Is everything okay?’ My mind raced. Was something wrong at home? Or was Niko worried I’d have no job if we split up and I decided to return to England? Perhaps he was trying to line me up a position with my dad – not that I’d need anyone’s help. I was an independent, modern woman who…aarghh, who melted like chocolate in the sun, when Niko touched me or spoke with his sexy Greek accent that made my skin flush and palms moisten.

‘We…I…your father agreed that…’

‘Niko! Just spit it out!’

‘Huh?’ His brow furrowed and he stuck out his tongue. ‘See, I am not eating anything.’

‘No! In English that means hurry up and tell me. What’s this all about?’

‘Us. The future.’ He pulled a small red box out of his back pocket.

I gasped. Gosh. Really? But…’ My eyes pricked.

‘Your father gives us his blessing,’ Niko prised open the lid and looked up at me shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me seeking your father’s permission first but…’ He shrugged those strong shoulders and I nodded, knowing how important some traditions were to him, especially when it came to family. ‘Pippa, you are sweeter than the most honey-filled baklava in Athens. Your first smile of the day is my sunrise. Marry me. Make me the happiest man in the whole of Greece.’

A lump rose in my throat. What an exceptionally pretty silver ring, bearing a sparkling blue sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. It reminded me of the blue and white houses across the island.

‘This belonged to my great aunt Alexis. She had no children and considered me her own grandson. When I was a little boy, she gave this to Mama and told me to one day give it to the woman who captured my heart.’ A smile crossed his face. ‘Of course, at the time I was more interested in capturing carp.’ He squeezed my fingers and his face kind of scrunched up. ‘I…I know it’s not long after Henrik’s proposal. And Greece…the economy… So if you need time to think – I would understand if you don’t see your future in Kos.’

My heart pounded and I wanted to stand upright and sing! Niko and me married? A tear trickled down my cheek. I couldn’t have felt more different to when my practical, down-to-earth ex-boyfriend had proposed in the summer – which was odd. Up until my trip here, I’d agreed with Henrik that slushy declarations of love were for teenagers or the pastel-covered beach reads that I ironically liked to read. But there was something about Niko’s seductive words that always softened my logical, pragmatic part. And as for the country’s difficulties, I felt nothing but compassion for the Greek people.

‘No.’

His shoulders dropped.

‘No, no, I don’t need time to think!’

His eyes sparked and he pulled me towards him, his warm mouth once again owning mine. I breathed in his natural aroma, a kind of musky, leather masculine scent. My desire for him became more urgent, as our bodies pressed together. Gently, he pushed me away, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed. He took the ring out of the box and hesitated for a moment. Of course – over here wedding rings didn’t go on the left-hand finger, but the right.

More tears flowing, I laughed and offered him my right hand.

‘We’re going to have to compromise,’ I said. ‘Won’t I have to convert to your religion? And then there is the reception venue to choose. Above all else, I don’t want an over-the-top wedding.’

Niko’s infectious chuckles filled the balmy evening air. ‘Good luck with telling Mama and Grandma. We’d better set an early date, if you don’t want arrangements to snowball.’

Snowball. Great word. Like so many of the locals, Niko spoke good English, despite sometimes still misunderstanding the basics. Whereas Greek, to me, might as well have been like learning cat or dog, and don’t even get me started on its written alphabet.

I clapped my hands. ‘Then talking of snow, what about a Christmas wedding? It would cheer up those quiet winter months you talk of.’

In response, Niko – my husband-to-be – gave me a kiss hot enough to turn the sturdiest of snowmen into a puddle.

Chapter One

Imagine this – like a Disney princess, I’ll actually wear a crown at my wedding. Not that I aspire to be swept off my feet by some prince on a white steed. No. I’m a twenty-first century woman who has the tools to write her own happy ending. That’s what I’d been brought up to believe, anyway. But still – I couldn’t help but feel excited about my very own fairy tale ceremony, set on a Greek island, with a lean, lush, loyal fisherman hero fiancé. Mmm, talk about my very own Mr Incredible.

‘Ya sou, Pippitsa! Day-dreaming again?’ Sophia’s heart-shaped face broke into a smile as she entered the gleaming silver kitchen. She ran a hand over her greying hair, scraped back in a bun. ‘My Niko is the same. You two honey puffs are like love-struck teenagers this morning.’

With a wink, Sophia proceeded to tidy the cutlery drawer, whistling along to the Christmas CD. Traditional Greek carols played by cheerful recorders and glockenspiels rang out. Sophia loved the festive season and had been counting down to today, the first of December, so that she could claim a tenuous legitimacy for starting the celebrations.

Gently my fingertips rubbed butter into flour. ‘I can’t help it. Our wedding month is finally here! We have lots to think about with only four weeks to the ceremony.’ I gave a wry smile. ‘Almost as much as you and Grandma.’

Sophia chuckled. ‘Do not begrudge us. A wedding is one of the greatest occasions for any family. Grandma has loved organising the flowers and together with Georgios, I think we have created the perfect menu for the reception.’

My chest glowed. Yes, Niko’s dad had been practising recipes for weeks. With his perspiring bald head and knitted-together bushy eyebrows, he’d slaved over cheese and honey pies, moussaka and special sourdough breads with coins hidden inside. And Grandma had cleverly designed inexpensive decorations for the church and reception that would take place here at Taxos Taverna, incorporating her namesake bloom, Iris. What’s more…ah. Forgive me. Temporarily I’d forgotten my good resolutions not to become a wedding bore.

Whilst I added feta cheese, sundried tomatoes and oregano to my dough mix, a herby fragrance rose up from the bowl. My mouth salivated at the prospect of butter melting over halves of warm savoury scones. I gazed at Sophia and took in the pronounced circles under her eyes; how her once curvy stomach looked flatter.

‘Just remember what we agreed with my mum and dad…if the catering bills are steeper than expected then we’ll need to inform them and—’

Sophia’s body stiffened. ‘Dear Pippa. All is fine,’ she replied, in a bright voice. ‘Across the island, our family has pulled together. Your wedding feast will be one to remember.’

But her face dropped slightly as she poured herself a coffee before walking left, back into the family’s taverna. Turn right, and you entered Pippa’s Pantry, the afternoon teashop. I know. Me fulfilling a childhood dream by managing a quaint café. How lucky was I?

Kneading the dough could wait a few minutes. I headed into the taverna and sat down opposite my mother-in-law to be. I surveyed the ochre walls, which had been newly re-painted, and the mahogany beams. Thank goodness Georgios’ makeover, in time for the wedding, hadn’t included straightening the adorable wonky shelves bearing plant pots, plates and various string instruments.

I cleared my throat. A big celebration was something the Sotiropoulos family – that any Greek family – could ill afford, in these economically difficult times. Yet Sophia and Georgios had insisted on splitting all the bills with me and my parents. It made no sense. We could have easily paid for everything, had it not been for that stubborn, Greek pride.

I sighed. Yes, the pride that nevertheless made me love my extended family to bits.

‘How is the dress?’ asked Sophia, as I put my elbows on the table. ‘What luck that our local baker is also an excellent seamstress.’

Dear, talented Pandora, the most fashionable woman in this little village, with her Italian-cut trousers and stylish short hair – and my matron of honour. As children, Niko and I would often visit her cake shop where she’d give us a glass of milk and egg biscuits or moist slices of fresh baklava.

‘Pandora’s lace work is exquisite.’

‘And what does your mother think to its design?’ Sophie sipped her coffee, a twinkle in her tired eyes

We both grinned. My parents had spent many summers, on a break from their executive lifestyles, holidaying in their Taxos villa, and were good friends with Georgios and Sophia.

‘As you know, Mum and Dad got married in a registry office.’ I chuckled. ‘She tries hard, but is always bemused by the fuss for traditional English weddings, let alone a floral, dance-filled Greek affair.’

In a way this was a relief as Mum not being here meant one less opinion to consider. She was the opposite to Niko’s extended family, who had visited for our engagement party, sharing extravagant ideas about dresses, food and hair styles.

‘I wonder what my parents will think to the cake,’ I said, pleased to see Sophia’s eyes light up further. After Grandma’s recent illness, I hadn’t the heart to reject her unusual idea of a three-tiered blue and white wedding sponge, in the shape of a domed Greek church, with green and black olive marzipan branches draped around the bottom.

‘And that’s as far as Sophia and I got discussing the wedding,’ I said to Niko, several hours later. ‘The cleaning agency rang and needed her quick-smart at the airport.’ We sat cuddled together on the beach, in our coats, watching the moon disappear behind a cloud. I’d mulled over the family’s state of finances all afternoon and come up with an idea. ‘Sophia looked shattered as it was, without having to go into Kos Town.’ I glanced sideways at Niko, his curly hair shimmying in the breezy air. He leant forward and brushed my lips with his. Heart thumping, I closed my eyes, waiting for more, but he pulled away.

‘I worry too. And Papa works hard, taking on extra bar work. Hopefully this is the last winter Taxos will be as dead as Achilles. Once the Marine Museum is set up and the villagers have established their new businesses, surely our summer profits should rise enough to see us through the cold months?’

This was the plan – that next year, tourists still chose Greece as a holiday destination. Yet the huge rise in VAT and its effect on restaurant bills meant bad news for tourists and the village’s taverna owners, including Niko’s parents.

‘At least the museum will attract school excursions all year round.’

Niko nodded. ‘And we can but hope the flood of Syrian refugees arriving in Kos becomes a trickle.’.’

‘Stavros certainly hopes so.’ I’d bumped into the town mayor last week and all he could talk of was clean-up operations. But we both agreed - you can’t blame people for running to save their lives.’

‘True. Even though the crossing to here from Turkey is so treacherous.’

‘Their plight puts our financial problems with the wedding into perspective,’ I muttered. ‘Talking of which…would your parents consider…you see, Mum and Dad have just sold some shares.’

Cheeks hot, I gazed out at the waves, a dark denim colour through the moonlight. The Santa beard froth of breakers momentarily crawled up the beach, only to be dragged backwards.

Niko squeezed my arm before picking up a pebble which he tossed across the sand. I squinted through the darkness. It slid next to a large whelk shell.

‘We okay, Pippa. No worry about money. I didn’t like to say anything, as you’re so modest, but the villagers are helping out as well – because of everything you did, last summer.’

‘But it was nothing. Taxos is turning its own future around because of the community spirit.’

‘Pippa!’ He stood up and pulled me to my feet. My stomach flipped as his hands closed firmly around my hips. An enticing patch of chest became visible behind his open coat and shirt buttons.

‘Nothing? Let me see… You conquered your ex-boyfriend’s soulless development plans to turn this village into just another tourist resort; you inspired the villagers to set up their own businesses instead, offering services such as cycle tours and baking classes; you helped close the deal of a big Marine Museum being built in Taxos, to secure a degree of trade all year round. And you say nothing?’ He shook his head. ‘If you believe that then you live in cloud canary land.’

‘Cuckoo,’ I mumbled, cheeks hotter than ever.

‘Huh?’

‘It’s cloud cuckoo land.’

Niko’s eyes danced. ‘Don’t change the subject, my little fig. Face it. You are still the villagers’ hero. So, the Dellises are making special cheese for the wedding. Demetrios fires special bowls in his kiln, for the wedding breakfast…’ Niko listed further examples of the villagers’ generosity, his thumbs gently massaging the curve of my lower back, now and then sliding under the waistband of my jeans.

He took my hand and we strolled along the beach, heading south towards our favourite fig tree. It stood by a disused shed, just in front of Caretta Cove where its namesake, the Loggerhead turtle, used to nest.

‘All is good. Wedding under control. My cousins bring food. Plus Uncle Christos has saved up several bottles of his homemade ouzo. Everything is in foot.’

Chest aglow, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was “in hand”.

But still. Sophia and Georgios struggled. Plus I’d noticed lately how all the villagers felt the strain – including Niko. Over recent weeks I’d sensed his intense frustration at us having to live with his parents. Since he’d put that ring on my finger, he spoke non-stop of our future – a home of our own; having kids.

‘At one time fishermen were kings in Kos,’ he once said. ‘And now they scrabble for change to pay their bills.’

Something needed doing to bring in extra income. We sat down under the tree which gave us little shelter without its large summer fragrant leaves and fleshy fruit. I shivered and looked out onto the coal-coloured horizon.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

I turned to him. ‘What?’

‘I always know when you have something to say. You suck your lips inwards and a look of concentration comes over your face.’

Immediately I relaxed my mouth and returned his grin. He shuffled to face me directly, like a child waiting for the start of a nativity play.

‘Okay. I’ve been thinking of how to bring more money into everyone’s pockets over the coming month. The Christmas fasting period is from the thirteenth to the twenty-fifth of December, right?’

Niko nodded.

‘And our wedding is on Friday the twenty-ninth. I suggest from the Tuesday the twenty-sixth, directly after Christmas Day, up to our wedding, we hold…a Christmas market!’

Nothing.

‘Niko! You could look more enthusiastic.’

His face broke into a half-hearted smile. ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘But Kos Town holds a festive market every year.’

‘I know – remember that time I came over here in December, with Mum and Dad? It was our first Christmas without Granddad and Mum wanted to get away…’

Niko shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘I can still picture the schoolchildren dancing in Santa outfits, the band and stalls filled with pottery items, festive food and baubles.’ It was also why I understood the Greeks’ different Christmas traditions, like exchanging gifts on the first of January instead of the twenty-fifth of December.

‘But why would shoppers come all the way to little Taxos, when they have everything they need in the island’s capital?’

‘For a start, they don’t have an afternoon teashop. Just think of the Christmas scones I could make, flavoured with cloves and zingy orange – or savoury sage and onion stuffing, to give my part of the market an English flavour. Also, let’s set up a traditional English Santa’s grotto, in Pippa’s Pantry.’

Niko sat more upright.

‘We could put up a tent and decorate the inside with fake snow and logs. Cosmo could dress up as St Nicholas and hand out presents to children.’

Niko chuckled. ‘Perfect. He is great with little ones who go to his bicycle shop with flat tyres.’

‘Demetrios could take a cut of the profit if he provided cheap pottery items to put into the gift bags.’ As ideas spilled out of my mouth, Niko’s smile became lopsided.

‘It’s great, my inventive Pippa. A unique twist on the usual Christmas market, no? But whether it is enough to make a difference…’ He stared out to sea. ‘I no recognise my country any more. Yes, the sea swells. The sun shines. But people’s hearts no longer sing. Their eyes dull.’

I tried to imagine this country’s turmoil happening back in England, and my chest squeezed.

‘Why don’t we hold a meeting in the taverna tomorrow evening and see what the villagers think?’ I said gently.

He turned and stared deep into my eyes for a moment. ‘You right. And we need to work out the number of stalls, where to pitch them, how to cost products, promote our local theme, what to do if it rains…’

I hugged him. It was great to brainstorm a project, just like I used to, on a daily basis, back in London. Don’t get me wrong, I loved running the teashop and expanding the business, but my mathematical mind kind of flexed occasionally, as if asking for more challenging equations to solve. Whereas my ex, Henrik, and I would talk late into the night about stockmarket price fluctuations and sell-offs, Niko was often too tired for much chat after a day out at sea, although…my stomach fluttered…he often found renewed energy once we slipped between the sheets, his kisses as light as snowflakes falling on every centimetre of my—

‘We must circulate flyers to attract the tourists in Kos Town,’ I suggested. Best to keep some memories about Niko to myself!

‘Flyers? Strange word, dear Pippa,’ said a deep voice. Georgios’ bald head appeared from the distance. With his generous eyebrows and moustache he took on an almost werewolf appearance in the dim light. He yawned and tightened his scarf – hand-knitted by Grandma of course. Ooh, she could knit a range of winter wear for the market and… I took a deep breath. Okay. With only three weeks to go, my plans had to stay realistic.

‘Papa? Everything okay?’ said Niko and brushed sand off the back of his trousers.

Georgios pulled down his woollen hat. ‘Very. Your mother so happy that the Marine Museum building work is finally showing real signs of progressing, with the foundations finished today. Now she in one of her ouzo moods.’

We laughed. Sophia didn’t drink much and it only took a couple of those liquorice drinks to bring out her creative side – in other words some sharp dance moves.

‘I’ve come to call you in,’ he said and rubbed his hands together. ‘It is unusually cold this evening, no?’

‘We are in our twenties – not twelve!’ Playfully Niko lifted his arms into the air. ‘You don’t need to fetch us home.’

Despite the chilly air, warmth surged through my limbs as the men clapped each other’s shoulders. Family values meant everything in this village and made up for the lack of fashion stores, cinemas and gyms and…okay. I admit it – after four months now on the island, just sometimes I missed my old life. In the summer, Taxos hadn’t seemed so utterly different to busy London, due to chatting villagers out in the sun, along with the soundtrack of mopeds, braying donkeys and cicadas, plus shop owners and fishermen shouting to one another. But in the quiet winter, and despite the more dynamic atmosphere of nearby Kos Town, my thoughts occasionally focused on what I’d left behind. A sigh escaped my lips – like the eclectic London architecture, the adrenaline-fuelled pace of city life, with its tube trains, black taxis and red buses. I also missed spontaneous spending, Niko was loath to accept help from my savings. I’d longed to travel just to Athens last month, for a famous harvest festival, but could tell Niko was worried about the expense with Christmas and our wedding looming. He knew better than to try to tell me what to do – and vice versa. I’d still bought that new winter jacket last month and he’d ignored me last week when I said the sea was too rough for him to go out. Yet lately I’d sensed an undercurrent of…of something deeper dividing us.

I inhaled. Honestly, talk about wedding nerves. Everything would be fine! I linked arms with both men and we trudged across the sand. An owl hooted. Mmm. Nothing beat the smell of those briny waves, laced with wood smoke lingering from the barbecue. How could I be so silly, to miss the musty smell of the underground and exhaust-fume fragranced London pavements?

‘The market sounds like a good idea,’ said Georgios. ‘Perhaps everything look up a little, now. Word is, ThinkBig Development pushes for the Marine Museum project to be finished as quickly as possible.’ He turned to me. ‘In fact, tonight Stavros said he’d just received a text message from your old friend Henrik.’

For some reason my pulse rate increased.

‘Henrik flies over tomorrow, to make a report for ThinkBig on the next stage of development. He and Stavros will meet for lunch, to catch up.’

‘Great,’ I said, voice shrill at this unexpected mention of my ex.

The six-foot-four height, oat-coloured hair, those crinkly slate eyes – at one time all those things would have put a silly grin on my face.

Georgios turned up his collar with his free hand. ‘He is only here for two days, so I doubt we will see him.’ He chuckled. ‘And I was looking forward to getting him happy, happy on retsina again.’

My Greek family-to-be amazed me – how little propensity they had to hold a grudge. After all, only a few months ago, Henrik had arrived here all set on turning Taxos into some character-less, concrete holiday location. At least he’d finally seen the sense to back down – and accept me and Niko as a couple.

Gosh. Henrik here? I’d only seen him once since our break-up. I pulled Niko closer, as if to protect myself from any…any inappropriate feelings that might still linger. Goodness knows why, I mean honestly… I had no particular desire to see my ex again. None whatsoever.

However as Georgios and Niko laughed amiably about Sophia again, why did I suddenly experience a fizzing sensation in my chest? More likely it was because my brain twitched and a zillion questions jumped into my head that I would ask him about mutual friends, plus our favourite city spots at Christmas, his job, the latest stockmarket figures…everything that, back in London, used to turn me on.

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