CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
JACK
I wake to gray Auckland dawn light filtering through hotel curtains, Sophia’s warm form curled against my side. For several precious moments, I simply watch her sleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in a way I rarely get to see. The charge nurse armor completely shed, no worry lines, just…Sophia.
Madison has been texting her friends half the night from her connecting room, thrilled with the Business Premier experience and her newfound status as international traveler.
Her enthusiasm for everything—from the Auckland Sky Tower to meeting a real Black Fern at last night’s match—has been contagious.
Even Sophia, usually so carefully controlled, had shouted herself hoarse cheering for Thompson’s impossible try.
I brush a strand of dark hair from Sophia’s forehead, remembering how she’d looked in the stadium lights, face flushed with excitement, eyes bright with joy as she’d turned to me.
That impulsive kiss we’d shared in the middle of thousands of cheering fans has felt more significant than I can explain—as if some invisible barrier has finally fallen.
When Madison had corrected my slip of calling her “Madison McKenzie” and I’d whispered “for now,” Sophia’s expression had shifted in a way that makes my heart skip.
For one perfect moment, I’d let myself imagine a future where everything was simple: Sophia, Madison, me. A family.
Then reality comes crashing back.
We are heading to Queenstown today. To Central Otago tomorrow. To the estate. To the truth.
A knot forms in my stomach that has nothing to do with the flat white I haven’t yet consumed.
Queenstown is the last buffer before everything changes.
My last day of being just Jack, the paramedic with the accent, the man who brings Sophia coffee and teaches Madison to make pavlova.
Tomorrow, I’ll be Jackson Charles McKenzie, heir to McKenzie Estate Wines and all the complications that come with it.
Sophia stirs, her eyes fluttering open. “You’re thinking too loudly,” she murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
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 jets anymore, 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 Māori 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 was terrifying but 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.
“So many accents,” Madison observes, looking around with undisguised curiosity. “Is that German? And Chinese? And…Australian?”
“Queenstown draws people from everywhere,” I explain as we collect our bags. “It’s got world-class skiing in winter, hiking and adventure sports in summer, and—” I hesitate slightly “—wine tourism year-round.”
“Because of the vineyards?” Sophia asks, catching my momentary pause.
“Right. Central Otago produces some of the world’s best Pinot Noir,” I say, steering the conversation to safer ground. “We’ll definitely have to try some while we’re here.”
Outside the terminal, I guide them to the waiting car service I’d arranged—nothing too flashy, just a comfortable SUV that would blend in among the tourist vehicles.
“Kamana Lakehouse first?” the driver confirms, loading our bags.
“Yes, thanks, mate,” I reply, opening the door for Sophia and Madison.
Madison’s eyes widen at the handful of brochures she’d nabbed as we pull away from the airport. “Are those hang gliders? And is that a BUNGY JUMPING PLATFORM?”
“Shotover Canyon,” I confirm. “One of the original bungy sites.” Seeing her expression, I quickly add, “But there’s plenty of less terrifying ways to enjoy Queenstown too.”
“I want to do it,” she declares immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Sophia replies with equal speed. “Not happening.”
“Mooom,” Madison groans. “Jack, tell her it’s safe!”
I catch Sophia’s warning look. “It’s…professionally managed,” I offer diplomatically. “But maybe we start with something less extreme? The Skyline Gondola has amazing views, and there’s jet boating on the lake if you want an adrenaline rush without hurling yourself off a bridge.”
Madison considers this compromise. “Fine. Jet boating sounds cool.”
The drive to Kamana Lakehouse takes us along Lake Wakatipu, the water impossibly blue against the backdrop of mountains.
I’d chosen the boutique hotel carefully—luxurious enough to be special but not ostentatious enough to raise questions about my budget.
Certainly not the penthouse suite at Eichardt’s where my parents usually stayed, or the private villa outside town that Charlotte maintained for business trips.
As we drive, I point out the contrast that makes Queenstown unique—adventure outfitters nestled alongside high-end boutiques, backpackers with dreadlocks walking past women in designer ski wear, modest hostels sharing views with multi-million dollar alpine retreats.
“This place is like…if REI and Neiman Marcus had a baby,” Sophia observes, watching a helicopter land on a pad adjacent to a luxury hotel.
“That’s Queenstown,” I agree. “Everyone comes for the same mountains, just with different budgets.”
“This is where we’re staying?” Sophia asks as we pull up to the modern lodge perched on a hillside overlooking the lake.
“Wait till you see the view from your suite,” the driver smiles, retrieving our bags.
Inside, the check-in process is smooth and efficient, the staff professional without being obsequious.
I’d made the reservation under just “McKenzie” without any additional details, wanting to avoid any special treatment that might raise Sophia’s suspicions.
The suite I’d booked had a spacious living area, a bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, and a connecting room for Madison.
“Jack, this is gorgeous,” Sophia breathes as we enter. “You really didn’t have to—”
“Special occasion,” I interrupt, not wanting to have the money conversation yet. “First time showing you my home country.”