Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3) (24 page)

An aged husband helping his wife of sixty years take her pills, his hand barely steadier than hers, the love of a lifetime on his wrinkled face. A baby putting a starfish hand on her father’s cheek, and him turning his head to kiss that hand, however hard a man he might be otherwise, because she was his daughter and he loved her. And, after that, going out into his day that much softer, that much kinder, his heart that much more open.

A friend offering a shoulder to cry on, a willing ear, an entire evening spent sitting on a couch letting the tears fall without judgment when love went wrong. A teenager coming out of her preoccupation for a moment to let a young mother into line ahead of her at the grocery store because she had a toddler fussing in the cart. Or the group of four Maori girls I’d seen at the school bus stop this morning on my way to the café, bursting into song the same way I had on my way down the hill, their voices rising, strong and true, in the morning air. They’d been completely unselfconscious as they sang in their school uniforms, enjoying each other, the music, and the morning. Giving each other the gift of their joy, and giving it to me as well.

Joy. It was here, it was real, and it was mine. I was alive, and I was in love. In love with a man, a country, and two families that were about to become one. In love with my life.

I picked up the edge of my skirt in one hand and ran. I had to express my gratitude somehow, had to let that joy flow out through the fingers that stretched toward the sea, down through the soles of the bare feet that struck the sand, leaving footprints that would last only as long as the tide took to cover them up.

All things passed, the good and the bad, and so did everything on earth. Every bit of our lives was temporary, and that only made it more beautiful. All I had, all I knew for sure, was this moment. The past was gone, and the future was yet to be lived. I had now, and now was good. Now was enough.

I was still running, although slower—running wasn’t actually my best thing, but what did it matter? Who was here to judge?—when the touch on my shoulder made me whirl. I had a hand on my chest, was laughing when I said, “Sorry. Talk about making you go out of your way. I lost track of time.”

Matiu smiled down at me, his dark eyes lighting with his habitual amusement. “You were going along at a pretty good clip there.”

“Carried away.”

“Mm. Let’s walk to the end before we turn around. I could use having my head cleared.”

“Rough day?”

A pause before he answered. “A bit. Horror smash. Dad survived—the driver. Mum died, and one of the kids, too. On the table. Little fella. Those are the worst.”

“Oh, no.” I could feel his pain despite the matter-of-fact tone. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Can’t let it get to you, or you’d quit the first year. You get a bit hardened, maybe. Detached, you could say. We all go sooner or later. It’s my job to make it ‘later,’ but you can’t work miracles.”

I shivered, maybe with cold, but more like sympathy and horror. “I couldn’t do it.”

He laughed, the sound sudden and unexpected. “Nah, I don’t reckon you could. Too much soft side, haven’t you. But then, that’s your charm.”

Flirting again, and why did “soft side” always sound like “weak side”? And I knew Karen’s idea was ridiculous, but still.

He was silent for a few minutes until he finally said, “Hemi’s home tomorrow, eh. Visiting.”

“Yes. He is.”

“Taking Karen home with him, but not you.”

“That’s right. She’s due back at school. I’ll stay with Koro until his arm’s out of the cast, anyway. Not too much of a hardship. I love it here.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

I shot a look at him, and for once, he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was staring straight ahead, hard lines around the corners of his mouth that I hadn’t seen before.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“When people are sure,” he said, “they stay together. Especially if they have a baby on the way. And babies don’t make things easier. They make them harder. If you’re having problems now, they won’t get better once you add that complication.”

However soft he thought I was, I wasn’t feeling that way now. “My relationship with Hemi isn’t something I discuss.”

“Could be you need to.” He was looking at me now, I could tell, but I didn’t return the favor. “Could be it’d help. He’s a hard man, and everyone knows it. Too hard for you, I’d say. Too old for you as well. Too powerful. Too arrogant. I could add more. And ‘pregnant’ doesn’t have to mean ‘stuck.’ I know you don’t have family, but that doesn’t mean there’s nobody to step in and help.”

“I don’t need anyone to step in.” My heart was tripping along in an agitated rhythm. This was going nowhere good. “I love Hemi.”

“But does he love you? Does he love you enough?” His tone was gentle, but the words made me flinch. “Hemi doesn’t compromise, and I’m guessing that’s what you’re trying to make him do. Anyone who doesn’t toe his line is out of his life for good. We all saw him throw Anika under the bus this week. It would take a strong woman—a tough woman—to stand up to him.”

“That’s true.” I kept my tone even. Matiu was Hemi’s cousin, and that mattered. I wasn’t burning bridges or driving wedges into Hemi’s family. Not today, and not ever. “But you see, I
am
a strong woman. Stronger than you know. I’m strong enough to stand up to Hemi. I’m strong enough for anything. I know I am. I’ve had reason to know it.”

I risked a glance at him. His eyes searched my face, no trace of amusement in them anymore. “If that changes,” he said gently, “if you find you can’t do it after all, you’re not alone. You have somebody here for you. You have me.”

He took my hand, swallowing it up. I tried to pull it out of his grasp, but he held it tight, and he was too strong.

“You’re his cousin,” I said. “This isn’t all right.” I didn’t feel soft now. I was getting mad.

“It’d be rough,” he said, “but it’d be possible. Hemi doesn’t dwell on the past. He cuts his losses and moves on.”

“No.” This, I knew for sure. “He doesn’t. Hemi holds hard, and he holds forever. You don’t know him, and you don’t know me. I love him, I always will, and I’m marrying him. And because I know how important his whanau is to him, I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I know what you’re saying, and what you’re not saying. Don’t ever say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hope,” he said, “it doesn’t work that way. Some things, you can’t help.”

“Maybe you can’t help your feelings,” I said, finally freeing my hand. “You can help your words and your actions, though. You can keep them to yourself.”

My hands were shaking, I realized in disgust. I
was
strong. I knew it. But why did using my strength always have to take such a toll? Why did it have to feel so bad?

I didn’t hear a thing. Nothing but the sea, nothing but my own harsh breathing in my ears. Until he was there, stepping in front of us. As hard as rock. As grim as iron.

“Hope,” Hemi said. “Matiu.”

Hemi

I hadn’t been able to wait until Thursday night to leave New York.

Holiday weekends had always been an annoyance to me. All those days gone to waste, and you couldn’t even expect your executives to put in a few hours, because it was meant to be family time.

I’d said something like that last Christmas, and Tane had laughed hard, caught June’s eye, and they’d both laughed some more. Bloody annoying, I’d thought it.

“Cuz,” Tane had said, wiping his eyes and heaving in an unsteady breath, “it’s a good thing you’ve given up your New Zealand citizenship already, or they’d ask for it back. We’ve got a job to do to cut this tall poppy down, eh, Koro.”

“Quality of life,” June had added. “It’s a thought, eh.”

At the time, I’d thought,
That’s why Kiwis never get anywhere. Too busy putting the boat in the water.

And what had I done? I’d not only planned to take off Friday plus the entire three-day weekend, one short month before the show that would launch a line I was more excited by than anything I’d done since my first year—I hadn’t even been able to
wait
for Friday. By noon on Wednesday, I’d been ringing my pilot, and by Thursday morning, I’d been in the air. Which was why, nearly twenty-four hours and one international date line later, I was pulling into Koro’s driveway, bounding out of it with a hurry I never showed, and seeing a delighted smile bloom on the old man’s face.

He was outside with Karen, who’d been maneuvering a long-handled picker to get the first avocadoes from the tree under his supervision.

“Hemi,” he said. “You’re early. That’s good, my son. That’s good.”

I knew he wasn’t talking about the clock. He was talking about me losing my discipline, succumbing to impulsivity. The exact thing that scared me, even as I took his good hand, pressed my forehead gently to his, and said, “Eh, Koro. It’s good to see you.”

I gave Karen her own cuddle and kiss, and she said, “About time. Hope can stop going crazy now. I mean, love’s great and all, but she’s way over the line.”

I laughed out loud, so happy to be here. Happy to leave behind the baking heat of Manhattan sidewalks wafting the scent of too many people and too many bad habits into the stale air. Here, a cool, moist breeze brought the crisp scents of bush and sea and trees bursting to leave winter behind and yield again. The sights and smells of home, and all of them were good.

Koro looked at me, his eyes wise in his lined old face. “She’s not here,” he said. “Gone to work, then popping into Countdown afterwards, she said.”

“So I can cook for everybody,” Karen said with a sigh. “I have to say, the cooking thing isn’t nearly as much fun when you
have
to do it. Every single day.”

“Story of life,” I said, but without my full attention. “How’s she doing the shopping? Only got her learner’s permit, eh.”

“Matiu’s taking her,” Karen said. “Like always.”

Something in her tone had my gaze sharpening. “Oh?”

“Matiu or Tane,” Koro said calmly. “Lessons.”

“Right,” I said. “I’ll go see if I can find her, then.”

“You do that,” Koro said. “Give her a surprise.”

She
wasn’t
at the cafe. The middle-aged woman I recognized from that last visit said, “Gone to the pool, love,” then kept hauling a bag of rubbish out to the bin, sparing me a bright, curious glance along the way.

Hope wasn’t at the pool, and she wasn’t at Countdown, though I wandered every aisle searching for her.

I finally pulled the phone out of my pocket in defeat, then hesitated. I wanted that surprise. Home, then.

I’m not sure what made me look at the beach. Maybe just thinking about Hope dancing along by the water. Maybe wondering if she were as excited as I was about our being together again, and how she’d have to express that. How it may have had to spill over, because Hope had a hard time containing her joy.

Probably, though, it was just recognizing the sleek red Audi in the carpark. Not too many of those in Katikati. I was out of my own car again within seconds and over the berm.

I saw her instantly. Running, her skirt in her hand, wearing the yellow dress she’d worn for our second disastrous date, the one that made her look so pretty and sweet, you had to ache with it. And for some reason, she had Matiu running after her. She was barefoot, looking so happy even from a distance. Not running away, then. Running for joy, as I’d thought.

I took a minute to remove my own shoes and roll up my trouser legs. I was still in dress clothes, my usual dark trousers and white shirt, and now, I wondered why I hadn’t changed to jeans on the plane. Because I’d wanted to appear strong, polished, in control, like always? Hope didn’t care about that. She wanted to see me. She wanted me to hold her. That was why I hadn’t been able to wait. That was why I was here: because she needed me to hold her, and I needed to do it.

It didn’t even scare me. Instead, it gave me wings. I was running along the firm sand, careless of the occasional scallop of white-flecked water edging its way past its fellows and catching a bare foot. There was nothing to be careful of anymore.

That was why I was close enough to see it when Matiu took Hope’s hand.