Page 96
Story: Midnight Enemy
“This is Mahuika Stone,” Orson says.
“Most people call me Scarlett,” I tell her.
“For the fire goddess?” She gestures at my red dress and smiles, then comes forward. We hongi as we shake hands. “Wait.” She moves back and her eyebrows rise. “Stone? As in, Blake Stone’s daughter?”
I nod.
Her jaw drops, and she glances at Orson. “Are you two an item?”
“Yes,” he says, at the same time that I say, “No.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” Kingi says.
“We’re just… it’s a casual thing,” I say, flustered.
“Don’t listen to her,” Orson says, “we’re getting married next month.”
“Orson!”
“What?” He smirks. He’s only joking, I know, but my face still burns.
Marama glares at him. “Don’t tease the poor girl. Make yourself useful and go and get us a drink.”
“Champagne?” Orson asks me.
“Goodness.”
He just grins and walks off with Kingi to the bar.
“Men,” Marama says. “They’re all pains in the ass.”
“Absolutely,” I agree with feeling, and she laughs.
“You live over at Kahukura?” she asks curiously, leading me to an empty table by the side of the pool.
I nod, taking a seat opposite her. “I hold yoga and art classes there.”
“Oh!” Her face lights up. “I’m an artist, too!”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Have you exhibited anywhere?”
“No,” I say hastily, “I’m only an amateur. I use art as part of a holistic healing program for abused women and children.”
Her expression softens. “That sounds amazing. Art can be so therapeutic and cathartic, can’t it?”
“That’s what I think. I encourage the women to paint what they feel, and to journal and write poetry to help them express their anger and frustration. What about you? Are you professional?”
She nods. “I lived in Wellington for a few years and exhibited down there and did quite a few commissions.”
“You paint?”
“I work in lots of media, like clay and collage. My favorite was making stained glass Maori patterns. But I’ve been traveling across Europe, and it’s not been practical to carry too many supplies, so I’ve mainly been painting acrylics.”
The guys come back with our drinks and sit beside us, listening while we continue talking.
“I’ve never traveled,” I admit. “How amazing, to go across Europe.”
“Most people call me Scarlett,” I tell her.
“For the fire goddess?” She gestures at my red dress and smiles, then comes forward. We hongi as we shake hands. “Wait.” She moves back and her eyebrows rise. “Stone? As in, Blake Stone’s daughter?”
I nod.
Her jaw drops, and she glances at Orson. “Are you two an item?”
“Yes,” he says, at the same time that I say, “No.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” Kingi says.
“We’re just… it’s a casual thing,” I say, flustered.
“Don’t listen to her,” Orson says, “we’re getting married next month.”
“Orson!”
“What?” He smirks. He’s only joking, I know, but my face still burns.
Marama glares at him. “Don’t tease the poor girl. Make yourself useful and go and get us a drink.”
“Champagne?” Orson asks me.
“Goodness.”
He just grins and walks off with Kingi to the bar.
“Men,” Marama says. “They’re all pains in the ass.”
“Absolutely,” I agree with feeling, and she laughs.
“You live over at Kahukura?” she asks curiously, leading me to an empty table by the side of the pool.
I nod, taking a seat opposite her. “I hold yoga and art classes there.”
“Oh!” Her face lights up. “I’m an artist, too!”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Have you exhibited anywhere?”
“No,” I say hastily, “I’m only an amateur. I use art as part of a holistic healing program for abused women and children.”
Her expression softens. “That sounds amazing. Art can be so therapeutic and cathartic, can’t it?”
“That’s what I think. I encourage the women to paint what they feel, and to journal and write poetry to help them express their anger and frustration. What about you? Are you professional?”
She nods. “I lived in Wellington for a few years and exhibited down there and did quite a few commissions.”
“You paint?”
“I work in lots of media, like clay and collage. My favorite was making stained glass Maori patterns. But I’ve been traveling across Europe, and it’s not been practical to carry too many supplies, so I’ve mainly been painting acrylics.”
The guys come back with our drinks and sit beside us, listening while we continue talking.
“I’ve never traveled,” I admit. “How amazing, to go across Europe.”
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