Page 8 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“Our grandmother lives there. Mum wants to take Olivia and Rory.”

“And Rory doesn’t want to go.”

She shakes her head and looks out of the window, resting her lips on her fingers. I think she’s near to tears.

I don’t say anything for a while, letting her gather herself as the Uber negotiates the heavy traffic. After a while, when she seems more composed, I say, “Are you upset because your mum would be breaking up the family? Or is it just that you wouldn’t see her and Olivia and Rory very often?”

She clears her throat. “A little of both.”

I glance at her. “You could go over there frequently though, couldn’t you?”

“It’s at least fifteen hundred dollars return, Joel, and that’s only if you book a long way in advance. Some of the flights are close to three grand. I don’t have that kind of money just sitting around.”

I look out of the side window. A distant relative of mine made a lot of money in the Gold Rush of the 1860s, and as a result my family is very wealthy. When I turned twenty-one, I inherited a significant fortune, most of which remains in my savings account as I live off my own earnings, but it does mean that when I travel I can do it in style and stay in high-end hotels without having to worry about how much I’m spending. I forget that most people have to budget and save up.

“I can’t believe she’s going to do it,” she says, the words bursting out of her the way buttons fly off if you pull two sides ofa shirt too hard. Why does this girl always make me think about taking off my clothes? “How can she even think about moving over there? I’m so angry with her.”

“I’m guessing she misses her mother.”

“Yes, but I think she just wants to punish Dad, and me.”

I frown at her. “I get your dad, but you? Why would she want to punish you?”

She looks away and doesn’t reply.

We don’t talk again until we get to the airport. The Uber drops us off by the domestic gate, we collect our cases from the boot, then head inside.

“This way,” I say, gesturing away from the check-in machines to one of the smaller gates.

She joins me, eyebrows rising. “Youhaven’t.”

“Booked a charter flight? Of course I have. I’m not flying cattle class with all the poor fuckers.”

Her lips curve up. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m joking.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” I smirk and lead her to the desk. We check in and deliver our cases to the flight attendant, then, carrying our flight bags, we follow the attendant out onto the tarmac and across to the plane.

It’s an eight-seater, with black leather chairs in twos facing each other across low polished wooden tables. Zoe and I take two window seats facing each other across a table, and the flight assistant gives us a short safety briefing. The pilot informs us we’ll be landing in Kerikeri in just over an hour, and a few minutes later we’re in the air, heading for the Bay of Islands.

I watch Zoe as she looks down at the rapidly disappearing shops and houses beneath us, to be replaced by the forested hills surrounding the city. She rests her forehead against the glass, and her expression is sad.

“I’m so sorry about your parents,” I say gently. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She turns her green gaze back to me. Wow, her eyes are stunning. She hesitates, bites her bottom lip, then shakes her head. “No. But thank you.”

“Would some good sex help?”

That makes her laugh. She leans back in her chair, her sadness disappearing. “Joel Bell. Honestly.”

“What? I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s what’s so shocking. You’re so brazen with it.”

I shrug. “Best to be open, I’ve always found.”

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