Page 17 of A Winter Wish

Lexie rolled her eyes as she unclipped her skies and put them over her shoulder, heading toward the pickup area for ski school. Mikkel hadn’t noticed her yet, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself by going up to him. She knew he flirted with other women, and it wasn’t like they were exclusive. But still, seeing it didn’t exactly feel good.

She waved to Bree and Bella as they shuffled toward her, fishing her phone out of her pocket when she felt it vibrating. Her heart gave an unpleasant little spasm when she saw who it was.

Rachel. It wasn’t the first time she’d called recently. She kept calling every couple of weeks, like it had become a habit. Lexie waited for it to ring out, then slipped her phone away again as the girls trudged up to her.

She should call Rachel back, she knew she should. Or she should answer, next time. She wasn’t a total bitch—she’d replied to a few of her text messages. But she didn’t know what to say to her. Rachel probably wanted to talk about Richard’s house—clear the air, or whatever. The problem was, Lexie didn’t want to talk about it. She was trying not to blame Rachel. She knew, logically, that it wasn’t her fault that she’d been the favorite daughter, the one her dad had bothered to get to know, the one he’d valued more highly in his will. And she didn’t want to blame her—but she worried she’d accidentally say the wrong thing, and she really didn’t want to end up in an argument. It was pitiful, she knew, that she didn’t know Rachel well enough to predict how the conversation might pan out, whether Rachel was likely to get defensive or not.

Next time, she told herself. She’d answer next time, when she could figure out what to say.

Chapter Seven

Lexie was stirring a tin of tomatoes into some browned mince when her phone rang. She made a grab for it, splattering Bolognese sauce on the stove as she did so. She swore under her breath, then glanced over at the living room to check the girls hadn’t heard. Neither of them were paying her the slightest bit of attention, Bree watching Encanto for the hundredth time and Bella on her iPad. It was nice, though, to have someone to cook for. Despite the worry that she’d do something wrong, she definitely preferred it when the girls were around. But they were only going to be here another five days, and then they were going back to London.

She looked down at her phone, stirring with one hand. It was an unknown number calling, but she recognized the Bath area code. It could be Theo. Her stomach squirmed unpleasantly. She didn’t want to answer if it was. So she let it ring out. He could email her if he needed to. But seconds after it stopped ringing, it started up again—the same number. She bit her lip. It might not be Theo. And surely it must have been something important for whoever it was to be this insistent.

“Hello, Lexie speaking.” She kept her voice formal, businesslike.

“Lexie, love, it’s Ange. I’m calling from your dad’s office. Your office, I should say,” she added pointedly.

“Ange!” Lexie almost dropped the wooden spoon in the sauce, picked it up again. “Hello! How are you?” Even as a warm rush of relief washed through her on hearing it wasn’t Theo, she felt heat around the base of her neck, knew her voice was too high, too enthusiastic. She should have called Ange before now—at least to say thank you. Ange had been kind to her, defended her—and she’d scarpered without a word.

“I’m fine, though we could do with some brighter weather here. I hear you’re in the Alps?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Well, good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. You’re not too far from France, then?”

Lexie frowned. This was really not where she’d thought this conversation would go. Wasn’t Ange just ringing to give her an update of some kind? Or even, potentially, to tell her she needed to come back and properly fulfill her side of the bargain? “Well no,” Lexie said slowly. “I’m not too far away, I suppose.”

“Excellent. The Fête du Citron starts at the end of this week. In Menton. Which is in France.”

“Um, that’s nice…” Lexie stuck a fork into the pasta—bows, because Bree only liked bows—to check if it was done. “That’s one of the holidays you organize, right?”

“We organize, you mean.”

“Right. Is there something going on with it? Something I should, er, know about?” Not that she had any idea what she should know about it. She had no idea what would constitute a “development” in all honesty—even if she had insisted Theo keep her up to date on those.

“It’s the holiday you said you’d pick, isn’t it?” Ange continued. “When Theo showed you around the office.”

“I…Well, yes, I suppose so.” Though she’d mainly said that to show she didn’t need to read through the brochures. Had Ange overheard—or had Theo told her?

“Good. I’ve bought you a plane ticket from Zurich to Nice. You can get to Zurich pretty easily, I’m sure?”

“I—”

“And then from Nice it’s around just over an hour bus journey. If you keep the receipt for the ticket the company can pay you back.”

“Ange.” Lexie tried to make her voice firm as she gave the Bolognese another stir. “What do you mean you’ve bought me a plane ticket? Why?”

“You said you wanted to go, didn’t you? And the company can pay for it. So, consider it a nice little holiday.”

Lexie let out an incredulous laugh; she could tell Ange was someone who could always get her way. “I can’t just go to France next week!” Although actually, she could. She didn’t have the girls, and the chalet would be fine left unattended if she wasn’t away for too long. But that wasn’t really the point.

“It’s only for a couple of days. I thought you might like to see what the company does, and who doesn’t like a free vacation? And Mike, the other director, will be there—he’s said he can show you around so you can get the VIP experience.”