Page 47 of Raising the Sun

No matter how relaxing they promised to be.

Ducking under his arm, I ignored his pout, taking stock of my stall to be sure everything was there before the firstround began. It would be a bit tough titty, if it wasn’t. The shop was four hours away, but I supposed a powerful demon was at my disposal, if push came to shove. I’d never dream of cheating or giving myself an unfair advantage, even if Ash would revel in that kind of mischief. I wanted to get through this as independently as possible, but if I discovered I’d left my favourite shears in my back room, well, needs must.

The ruffle of a tent flap secured my attention, and one by one the judges wandered in to take their seats behind the podium. There were show officials filtering in and out, checking and double checking to make sure everything was ready, ensuring rules and regulations were being followed. A camera crew came next, weaving through the mob to set up tripods while others spread out amongst the contestants, being sure to catch every single angle imaginable.

Spectators were last. Flocking into every available space, chattering among themselves, and ramping up the heavy atmosphere tenfold.

My heart picked up speed.

My throat tightened.

It’s starting.

The grounding warmth of Ash’s solid body settled against my back, the ghost of his breath fanning over my ear. “Calm yourself, petal,” he whispered. “Everything will be fine. I know you can do it.”

I believed it. Or at least it felt more achievable than it had before. If only the situation didn’thave me so on edge.

“What if I lose?” I said.

“You won’t.”

“How can you be certain?”

He spun me to face him, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Because I know what you’re capable of, and everyone here pales in comparison.” Soft hands bracketed my cheeks, thumbs sweeping as if brushing my freckles. “I can’t promise you’ll win, but Icanpromise you’ll do your best and be recognised for it. How could you not be?”

The sincerity in his eyes made the rising worry ease a little, my chest and shoulders feeling looser and lighter already. “Don’t tell Wayne, but I think you’ve taken his place as my number one supporter.”

Huffing a laugh, he smiled and rested his forehead against mine. “You’d be wise to remember it, my darling.”

I released a steadying breath, nodding once before retreating.

He was right. I could do this. I’d made it to this stage, into this tent, because I was at least as good as everyone else.

I just had to prove it.

“Welcome, all, to the thirtieth annual Sunday Show, the country’s most anticipated floral competition, where our bestand brightest will battle it out for the title of Florist of the Year!” The contest official stood on the platform at the front of the tent, addressing the cameras and the masses alike, microphone in hand. He performed mostly for the TV show, exaggerating his speech and looking every bit the eccentric presenter I’d expected him to be.

From his feather boa to his tri-coloured waistcoat, he blended in well.

I’d even caught Ash giving an appreciative nod at his attire.

“We’ll get to the part you’re all here for in just a moment,” the host added with a sunny smile on his maroon-painted lips. “But first, let me run you through the slight adjustments to this year’s rules and agenda…”

The contestants had already been briefed on how the day would pan out. The first two arrangements would be Judges’ Choice. We had ninety minutes to make a Christmas wreath for round one, and sixty minutes for a wedding centrepiece for the second. At the end of each round, the judges would pick who was to proceed to the next based on execution, technique, punctuality, and imagination—the unique twist we incorporated into our pieces. There would be a small break to allow those who were unsuccessful to vacate the tent, and then we’d have two hours to create our showpieces for the final.

Easy enough.

In theory.

“Is that all clear?” The host waited for the crowd’s agreement, laughing at the sheer volume of impatientyesesthrown his way. “Very well then, I think it’s about time we get this show on the road, don’t you?” He paused again for the roaring applause, and my stomach dropped to my arse.

The weight of hundreds of eyes tracking my movements as I shifted nervously behind my stall had me wringing my hands to release the tension.

Fuuuuck.

“Contestants, are you ready?”

No.

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