Page 5 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“I won’t,” she says, although she will, of course. That will have done irrevocable damage, unless she can find a guy who’s willing to take the time to show her how wrong he was. Is Fraser that man? I guess that remains to be seen. I can’t imagine him taking the initiative somehow. She’s going to have to seize the bull by the horns or the two of them will still be sitting here this time next year talking about the weather.

“So you like the dress?” she asks.

“I do. Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing it? Joel will probably spill red wine all over it or something, you know what he’s like.”

“I doubt I’ll wear it again. Go and stun them all, Zo. You’ll be the sexiest girl there.”

“I don’t know about that,” I mumble, getting to my feet. “But the dress does make me feel… I don’t know… as if it has a mind of its own. I think it wants to be naughty.”

She giggles. “Yeah, that’s not you at all.”

Grinning, I go back to my bedroom and take it off. I slot it on the hanger and hook it up. I wonder what Joel will make of it? And what it will make of Joel?

Chapter Two

Joel

At just after nine, the Uber draws up out the front of Zoe’s parents’ house. I’ll call another when we’re ready to leave, so I say thanks to the driver, walk up the path, and knock on the door.

I haven’t been here before and haven’t met her parents. To my surprise, I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? This is a business trip. We work together, or at least we work in the same area. There’s nothing romantic about it. I’m hardly about to ask her father for her hand in marriage.

My lips curve up as I imagine what she’d say if I did. I’m half tempted, just to see the look on her face.

The door opens to reveal a teenager, around fourteen years old. She has the same dark hair as Zoe, although hers is longer and needs a brush, and her eyes are brown whereas Zoe’s are a bright green. She’s pretty, like Zoe, and dressed completely in black—black jeans, black tee, black eyeliner.

She blushes, then holds out her hand. “Hello. I’m Olivia. I’m Zoe’s sister.”

Hiding a smile at the blush and her formal introduction, I shake her hand. “Hello, Olivia, nice to meet you. Is Zoe there?”

She hesitates and glances over her shoulder. “She said to tell you to wait out here. They’re arguing.” She winces at the sound of raised voices.

I frown. It sounds as if they’re coming from the kitchen, but I can’t see into the room from the doorway. I hear Zoe say, “You can’t do that,” and then a man’s voice replies with, “It’s not the end of the world. Stop overreacting.”

I look at Olivia, who’s fiddling with the catch on the door. “What are they arguing about?”

“Mum and Dad are getting a divorce.” She doesn’t look at me.

“Oh shit.” That earns me a wry look. “Is Zoe upset?”

“Yeah.” She scratches at a mark below the catch. “Mum wants to move to live with Grandma in Australia. She wants to take me and Rory.”

I know that Zoe has four brothers and sisters. Zoe’s the oldest. I’ve met Hannah, who’s twenty-one and at Victoria University here in Wellington. George has also just started university, although he’s in Auckland. So I’m guessing those two will stay here with their father. But it doesn’t surprise me that their mum wants to take Olivia and Rory, who’s the youngest, with her.

On cue, a young boy of around eight or nine pokes his head around the wall, then comes forward to stand beside Olivia. She glances at him and puts her arm around him, which touches me.

“Are you Joel?” he asks.

“Yes. You must be Rory.” He also has dark hair, although he has big green eyes that look up at me sorrowfully, a bit like Puss in Boots’.

He nods. Then the two of them look over their shoulders as someone—maybe their mum—yells, “This is hard enough without you laying on the guilt!”

Rory looks back at his sister, and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t want to go to Australia.”

Olivia squeezes his shoulders. “We’ll be okay. It’ll be fun.”

“I like my school here,” he protests. “I don’t want to go to a new one.”

“You’ll soon make new friends.” She sends me a pleading glance. “Won’t he?”

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