Page 91 of Under Southern Stars
“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.”
Madison is already exploring her connecting room, exclaiming over the heated bathroom floors and rainforest shower. “This is amazing! Can I FaceTime Chloe and show her?”
“After we get settled,” Sophia calls back. “Let’s figure out what we’re doing today first.”
I move to the windows, gesturing for Sophia to join me. “That’s Cecil Peak,” I say, pointing to the mountain dominating the view. “And down there is Queenstown Gardens. We can walk through there to get to town.”
She leans against me, warm and solid. “It’s beautiful, Jack. Thank you for bringing us here.”
The sincerity in her voice twists like a knife. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Thank you for coming.”
???
The afternoon unfolds in a blur of perfect moments.
