Page 90 of Under Southern Stars
I force a smile. “Just excited to show you my favorite city.”
Her fingers trace my jawline, feather-light. “You’re nervous about us meeting your family, aren’t you?”
“A bit,” I admit. Half-truth, half-lie. The story of the past few months.
“We’ll be fine,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder. “Madison already loves you, and I…” She pauses, and my heart stutters. “I’m pretty fond of you too, McKenzie.”
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair to hide whatever emotions might be playing across my face. “Just pretty fond, then?”
She laughs softly against my chest. “Fishing for compliments before breakfast? Bold strategy.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. “Mom? Jack? Are you guys up? Our flight’s in like three hours and I’m starving!”
“We’re up, sweetie!” Sophia calls back. “Give us ten minutes.”
“I’m counting!” Madison’s footsteps retreat.
Sophia stretches and sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist. Morning sunlight catches in her dark hair, illuminating the curves of her body, and desire jolts through me despite the anxiety churning in my gut.
“Like what you see, Kiwi?” she teases, catching my gaze.
I reach for her, pulling her back down for a kiss that quickly deepens. “Always,” I murmur against her lips. “Every single time.”
She pulls back, studying my face. “You’re sure everything’s okay? You seem…I don’t know. Different this morning.”
“Just want to make sure you enjoy the South Island,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone. “It’s even more beautiful than Auckland. You’ll see.”
???
“I think I’m going to die,” Madison announces dramatically as our Air New Zealand 737 banks sharply. “Is this normal? Do pilots usually fly directly at mountains?”
“Perfectly normal,” I assure her, enjoying both her wide eyes and Sophia’s white-knuckled grip on the armrests. “Queenstown Airport has one of the more challenging approaches in the world. The Air Force doesn’t have fighter jetsanymore, so our commercial pilots like to pretend this approach is their Top Gun moment.”
“Not helping,” Sophia mutters, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
The 737 executes another steep turn, the mountains seeming close enough to touch through the windows. The larger aircraft makes the already dramatic descent feel even more intense, the wings tipping precariously as the pilot navigates between peaks.
“Look,” I say, pointing past Madison toward the window. “The Remarkables. One of the most aptly named mountain ranges in the world.”
Both of them lean toward the glass as the jagged peaks come into view, their snow-capped summits stark against the blue sky.
“Oh my God,” Madison breathes. “It’s like something from a movie.”
“And there’s Lake Wakatipu,” I continue, watching their expressions. “Third largest lake in New Zealand. According to Maori legend, it was formed from the bed impression of a sleeping giant.”
Sophia’s eyes are wide with wonder as she takes in the scenery. “It’s breathtaking,” she whispers.
“Wait till you see it up close,” I promise.
The plane descends rapidly, executing another sharp turn that has Madison clutching her armrests and Sophia closing her eyes briefly. We touch down with a slight bump, both of them exhaling audibly as we taxi toward the small but modern terminal.
“We survived!” Madison declares, unbuckling her seatbelt the second the sign turns off. “That wasterrifyingbut also kind of awesome?”
“Welcome to Queenstown,” I grin. “Adventure capital of New Zealand.”
As we disembark, I can’t help scanning the tarmac out of habit. Three private jets are parked at the far end of the runway—not unusual for Queenstown, especially during harvest season when wealthy vineyard owners often fly in from abroad. I guide Sophia and Madison quickly past the charter terminal, not wanting to run into any family acquaintances who might be arriving.
The terminal buzzes with the energy I remember—backpackers with oversized bags, wealthy tourists in cashmere, local guides holding signs for heli-skiing adventures. Queenstown exists in that unique space where extreme wealth and backpacker culture somehow coexist, united by the pursuit of adrenaline and natural beauty.
