CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
SOPHIA
The morning sun streams through our hotel room windows, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. Jack has already slipped out for coffee, leaving a note on his pillow about grabbing “proper flat whites before our drive.” I stretch, surprisingly well-rested despite the lingering jet lag.
My phone buzzes with a text from Maria back at Metro General.
Maria: You won't believe this!!! Tasha stepped up BIG TIME. We have to talk soon! You are going to squeal!
I smile. The ER seems to be surviving without me, which is both reassuring and slightly deflating.
“Mom? You up?” Madison’s voice comes through the connecting door, followed by her head poking in. “Jack says we’re leaving in an hour.”
“I’m up.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Did you pack your overnight bag like I asked?”
“Almost done.” She flops onto the foot of my bed, scrolling through her phone. “Emma—Jack’s sister—texted me a bunch of pictures of the vineyard. It looks so cool! There are actual mountains behind it.”
“Let me see.” I lean over as she holds up her phone, displaying photos of stunning mountain vistas behind neatly organized rows of grapevines. “Wow. That is beautiful.”
“Jack says his other sister Lily has a collection of seashells from all over New Zealand that she wants to show me. And we might get to see kiwi birds!” Madison’s excitement is palpable, her legs bouncing against the mattress.
“Someone’s excited about meeting the family,” I tease, though my own stomach flutters with anticipation.
“Well, yeah.” Her tone suggests this is obvious. “They raised Jack, and he’s pretty cool, so they must be awesome too.”
The simple logic of teenagers. I hope she’s right.
“Plus,” she adds with studied casualness, “I told Chloe that if this trip goes well, we might be able to come back for Christmas or something. You know, since you and Jack are…whatever you are.”
“Whatever we are?” I raise an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes. “You know. Like, serious. He told you he loves you, Mom. I heard him say it last night when you guys came back from dinner.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Madison Grace—”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” she protests. “The walls are thin, and you guys were right outside my door. Besides, I think it’s nice.” Her expression softens. “He looks at you like you’re something special.”
Something in my chest loosens, a knot I hadn’t realized was there. “He is…special,” I admit quietly. “But we’re still figuring things out.”
“Well, figure faster,” she says, pushing herself off the bed. “Because Emma says their mom is already planning our Christmas visit, and I want to see what a Southern Hemisphere Christmas looks like.”
After she bounces back to her room, I sit for a moment, letting her words sink in. Jack told you he loves you. Not just in a heat-of-the-moment whisper, but openly enough that Madison had heard. And I’d said it back, sort of. I might be falling for you too.
It still terrifies me, that vulnerability. But for the first time in years, the fear feels like excitement rather than dread.
Jack appears in the doorway twenty minutes later, carrying a cardboard tray with three cups. “Morning, gorgeous. Brought flat whites for us adults, and that chocolate monstrosity Madison claims is coffee.”
I accept my cup with a kiss. “You’re a saint.”
“Practical, not saintly. The drive to Central Otago takes a bit, and I’d rather have you both properly caffeinated.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Nervous about us meeting your family?” I ask gently.
He pauses, then nods, gaze dropping to his coffee. “A bit. My mum can be…intense. And it’s been a while since I’ve brought anyone home.”
“Well, Madison’s already made Christmas plans with Emma, so I think we’re stuck with you,” I tease.
His head snaps up. “Christmas plans?”
“Apparently your sister and my daughter are already plotting a summer Christmas for us.” I sip my coffee, watching him carefully. “Too presumptuous?”
“No,” he says quickly. “No, that’s…brilliant, actually. I’d love that.” His smile warms, becoming more genuine. “The Southern Hemisphere Christmas is something to experience. Beach barbecues, swimming, sunburn. Not a snowflake in sight.”
“Sounds perfect.” I reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about today. We’re going to be fine.”
He squeezes back, but something flashes in his eyes—worry, guilt, I couldn’t quite place it. Before I can ask, Madison bounds in, grabbing for her chocolate drink.
“So when do we leave? I want to see everything!”
◆◆◆
The drive starts pleasantly enough, with Jack pointing out landmarks as we leave Queenstown behind.
The landscape transforms from the rugged peaks surrounding the lake to rolling hills that gradually flatten and open into vast valleys.
Madison, initially chatty, eventually dozes off in the backseat, her headphones still playing.
“This area is called the Gibbston Valley,” Jack explains as we drive through a particularly picturesque stretch. “Famous for Pinot Noir grapes. The schist soil and climate are perfect for them.”
“You really do know a lot about wine,” I observe.
His hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. “Grew up with it. Hard not to absorb some knowledge.”
“Your family’s vineyard—is it big?”
Jack clears his throat. “It’s…established. Been around for generations.”
Something about his tone makes me glance at him more carefully. His shoulders have tensed, and his eyes keep darting to the side mirrors as if checking whether we are being followed.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, not wanting to wake Madison.
“Fine,” he says, too quickly. “Just…been a while since I’ve been back.”
I study his profile as he drives, noting the tightness around his jaw, the way his knuckles have whitened on the steering wheel. This is more than just normal anxiety about introducing a girlfriend to family. Something else is going on.
The GPS announces we are approaching Cromwell, and Jack’s tension seems to increase with each kilometer. We round a bend, and I spot a sign by the roadside that makes my heart skip.
McKenzie Estate - Est. 1872
Award-Winning Central Otago Pinot Noir
Private Tours by Appointment Only
The sign is elegant, understated but unmistakably high-end, with a stylized ‘M’ logo that matches the label on the bottle of wine Jack had ordered that first night at Giuseppe’s.
The $300 bottle.
My mouth goes dry, my pulse thunders in my ears as the ground I thought I knew disappears entirely.
“Jack,” I say slowly, “is that your family’s—”
“Yes,” he cuts me off, his voice strained. “That’s…ours.”
Ours. The casual ownership of what is clearly a substantial operation hits me with unexpected force. I know his family owned a vineyard, but this is not some small family farm. This looks like a major commercial operation.
“I thought you said your family had a vineyard,” I say carefully. “This looks more like a…winery. A big one.”
His laugh is hollow. “It is. Both, actually.”
We turn onto a private road that twists through acres of meticulously maintained vines stretching in every direction. The scale is overwhelming—row after row, precision-planted along gentle slopes that catch the afternoon sun.
“How big is this place?” I ask, my mind struggling to process what I am seeing.
Jack swallows visibly. “The original estate is about 300 hectares. But there are other…properties now. Parcels added over generations.”
Properties. Parcels. The casual way he uses these words sends a chill through me. This is not just a vineyard; this is an empire.
We drive for several more minutes down the private road—still on McKenzie land, I realize with growing unease. Eventually, the main house comes into view, and my breath catches.
House is not the right word. It is a sprawling mansion of stone and glass, perched on a rise that commands views of the entire valley. Modern but timeless, with multiple wings and expansive terraces. Landscaped gardens surround it, and I can see a pool glittering in the distance.
Madison stirs in the backseat, pulling off her headphones. “Are we—” Her words cut off as she spots the house. “Holy shit .”
For once, I don’t correct her language.
Jack pulls up to a circular driveway where several luxury vehicles are parked. A group of people has assembled on the front steps—a welcoming committee. I recognize Jack’s sisters from the photos he’d shown me, along with an elegant older couple who have to be his parents.
“Jack,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What exactly did you not tell me?”
He turns to me, his blue eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite name—fear, maybe, or resignation.
“Everything,” he whispers back. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
Before I can respond, the front door opens, and his family starts moving toward our car.
It is too late for explanations. The moment of truth has arrived, and I am completely unprepared.