New Zealand Ever After

Escape to New Zealand once again with the new series from best-selling author Rosalind James. Hours of funny, heartwarming, heart-pounding, steam-inducing entertainment, starting with combat of both the military and the more metaphorical sort and ending with an escape from a religious cult, with plenty of stops along the way. 

You don’t find many too-pretty rich boys in the New Zealand Defense Force. Turns out there’s a reason for that. Fortunately, you can find your true self in the oddest places. Of course, you can lose yourself in those places, too - at least some pieces of you. Since I was back home with a new leg, some facial alterations, and time on my hands, I might as well help out my sister. Showing a buyer around New Zealand’s ecotourism sites, having a few adrenaline-fueled adventures? Fine. It wasn’t like I’d never been camping, unlike the walking tornado that was Miss Karen Sinclair.

State of my professional life: Brilliant, if counted in terms of sales of eight Poppy Cantwell children's books starring my often-confused blue hippo, Hazel; the very substantial proceeds from selling my Kiwi Adventures New Zealand glamping business; and any number of glossy magazine articles about my charmed existence. Of course, I couldn't seem to write or draw anymore, but that would pass. Surely.

People who say “love is trust” probably didn’t grow up in a cult. My name is Daisy Nabhitha Kittredge. I chose it myself. As an RN in the emergency department in one of New Zealand’s largest hospitals, there wasn’t much left in me of the 16-year-old girl, covered from neck to ankle and not allowed to make eye contact with a boy, who’d run away with five dollars in her pocket and terror in her heart.

Rescuing a woman dressed in a nightdress at a costume ball? That worked for me. And holding her up against the wall, to shield her from the cops, was pure enjoyment. Driving with her to a barbecue, a fruit salad in my lap, and her twins - her girl twins - in the back seat? Out of my comfort zone. And that was before she started asking me for dating lessons, and wondering how to explain that she couldn’t have sex before marriage. I had it under control, though. I was coping. Until four sisters of mine decided to go looking for their sperm donor.

When you walk out of a cult with a driving license and the clothes on your back, you can face some challenges. How does a cooker work, and what do you cook on it? And, finally, how do you sort out the good and the bad of the place you've left and the place you've found and make your own way? How do you start over when half your family wants to recreate Mount Zion right here in Dunedin, New Zealand, and the other half wants to forget it? I'd been named after the archangel Gabriel. I was meant to know the truth and announce it to the world. So far, I wasn't even coming close.