Page 19 of A Winter Wish

“The other day this woman came in crying because her marriage was over and she didn’t know what to do, and I had to sit down and talk her through the legal options and I just felt evil. Evil, Lexie. I am one of those evil lawyers now—how did that happen?”

“You’re not evil. Besides, this is what you’ve been working for, for literal years.” Lexie could remember Fran declaring she’d be a lawyer when they were only sixteen, and she had been absolutely set on it since then, complete conviction all the way—until the last six months or so.

“What? Listening to couples arguing? Feeling powerless in the face of custody battles? Or listening to people cry at my desk as they wonder how things ended up like this and then telling them exactly how much worse it can get before I charge them for preventing that?”

Lexie’s stomach squirmed. Fran didn’t talk much about specific cases—client confidentiality or whatever—but occasionally she’d say something that made Lexie think of her parents’ divorce. And right now, she supposed, she was thinking of her parents more than usual. They must have gotten a lawyer to at least draw up the paperwork, but there had been no big court battles, no arguments over who got what. It was a good thing—Fran had told her that once, over wine, and Lexie knew it was—she wouldn’t have wanted her mum to go through what Fran’s clients did. But the fact that her dad had walked away without looking back sometimes made Lexie wonder how much he’d ever cared about any of it. How much he’d ever cared about her.

She took another sip of wine. “Why don’t you change specialty or whatever—can’t you do that?”

“What and go into property law or something equally boring? No thanks. I think when I imagined myself as a lawyer I had images of standing up in court fighting for justice, but I sort of got sidetracked. I blame American TV. That and a ton of university debt I now need to justify.”

Lexie laughed. She missed Fran. Yes, she had friends here, but it wasn’t the same as friends you knew in and out. “OK, so work’s shit.”

Fran snorted out a laugh too. “Yes. Work’s shit. But…”

“But what?”

“I may have met a guy…”

“Ooh, do tell.” Which was all Fran needed to start gushing about a man she’d met on a dating app. But the thing was, as much as Lexie hated to be skeptical, Fran did this quite a lot. It often baffled Lexie how much hope Fran routinely had about relationships, considering she was a divorce lawyer. She had a tendency to fall head over heels very quickly, then inevitably he would break it off and she was left brokenhearted. The fact that she was able to pick herself up and try again and again was something that both flummoxed and impressed Lexie.

“What about you?” Fran asked. “How’s your guy?”

“Mikkel? He’s not my guy.”

“No, of course not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Free and single is what I need right now,” Lexie said firmly.

“Right, as opposed to all those other times you’ve been in serious, bogged-down relationships.”

Lexie huffed out a breath. “It’s better this way round than overly clingy. Remember Ben?”

“I thought Ben was sweet.”

“Ben cried when I broke up with him,” Lexie said, deadpan. “After we’d only been on about six dates.”

“Well, maybe he just really liked you. Anyway, he wasn’t as bad as Toby. Remember Toby? He was the one who broke up with me because I wasn’t good enough at role-play—after about the sixth date.”

“And people ask me why I’m still single, what with all the catches out there.” Then she sighed, thinking about her phone bill. “I better go. Are you still going to try to come out here?”

“Yes, if I can ever get time off from all the ruining of marriages I’m doing.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “Bye, Fran.” She hung up, then padded to the living room, cocking her head down at Bella.

After checking they were at least trying to get to sleep, Lexie checked her emails. Ange had sent a plane ticket, hotel information, and instructions on how to get to Menton from Nice. According to this, Lexie was supposed to leave next Friday.

She drummed her fingers against the granite countertop in the kitchen as she finished her wine. Maybe Fran was right. Maybe she was overthinking it. So what if Ange had some grand plan here? She could still say no to whatever it was.

So she sent Ange a quick email back.

Thanks, Ange. I’ll be there.

Chapter Eight