Chapter One

Lexie stood between the two girls, holding the big gold star above their heads—which was no mean feat, given Bella, at thirteen, was nearly as tall as her.

"I want to put the star on top of the tree!" Bree shouted at Bella.

"Well you can't reach, short-arse, so too bad."

Bree put her hands on her hips, over the green sparkly dress that was, apparently, her designated Christmas outfit. "I'm not short, I'm six."

Bella rolled her eyes and flipped her long blond hair behind her shoulder in a melodramatic fashion. "Your point?"

"OK!" Lexie clapped her hands together, trying to fix a bright smile on her face while wondering what on earth had possessed her to get a job as a nanny, even if it was only for the winter. "Why don't we finish putting the baubles on and then we can decide on the star?"

"I think we're done with the baubles," Bella said, a slight sniff in her voice, like Lexie should automatically have known that the other three full boxes of Christmas decorations on the glass coffee table behind them were completely redundant.

Bree gave Lexie a pleading look. "I really want to do the star," she said, her little lip pouting out.

"Fine," Bella said, throwing herself onto the sofa and crossing her arms. "This is stupid, anyway."

"How about I put the star on?" Lexie said, and reached on her tiptoes to do just that.

Both girls stared at her. Clearly this was a faux pas. Not having grown up with a sibling in the house herself, she wasn't sure of the ins and outs of sisterly arguments. God, perhaps she should have stuck with a job on the ski lift, like the last time she'd done a ski season a few years ago.

"Ah, shall we put up the rest of your snowflakes, Bree?"

Slowly, like she was coming to terms with the terrible thing Lexie had just done, Bree nodded, then gathered up the paper snowflakes they'd made earlier. Bella sighed and got out her phone, slumping on the sofa and pulling one of the fluffy white pillows toward her.

After sticking snowflakes on nearly every spare space of wall—as well as the wooden beams—Bree looked down at the remaining ones in her hands. Then she smiled up at Lexie, grudge over the star forgotten. "Let's decorate your room now," she announced.

"No, I'd rather we…"

But Lexie's protests were ignored as Bree marched through the chalet and opened the door to Lexie's room. It was the smallest room—a single bed, with a wardrobe and chest of drawers—but it was still beautifully done, and the big window held one of the best views of the whole place, looking down over snow-tipped fir trees along the wilder side of the mountain.

Bree started sticking snowflakes on Lexie's walls without invitation, while Lexie did a quick scan of the room. Some people might say it was depressingly bare—there were a few secondhand books piled on her bedside table and a couple of photos of her and her mum on top of the chest of drawers, but apart from that it was distinctly lacking in clutter. Lexie, however, was pretty proud of the fact that she could fit her entire life into two suitcases—it made it a lot easier to travel around, and she never liked to stay in one place for too long.

"What's that?" Bree pointed to the glass jar on Lexie's chest of drawers, next to the mirror. It was one of the only things she carted around with her from place to place—and even though she wasn't usually big on decorating whatever room she was in at the time for Christmas, this was the one thing she made sure she always had out in December, no matter what. Bree made to grab it but Lexie stepped up beside her, blocking her access.

Bree frowned up at her. "I want to see," she said, doing that pouty lip thing again.

Lexie looked at Bree for a moment. The fake tears were there, ready to accompany a wail, should Lexie refuse. For a second she weighed it up. Then she sighed, reaching behind her to pick up the jar and holding it up for Bree to inspect. It wasn't anything particularly special to look at—a clear glass jar, tall and slim, decorated with glitter and a snowflake on the front, with gold-and-silver handwriting on it. Lexie had made it when she was a little younger than Bree.

Bree read the words slowly, stumbling over Lexie's terrible handwriting. Handwriting that hadn't ever gotten much better, come to think of it. Lexie's wish jar.

There was a snort from the doorway of the room—from where Bella was now leaning—unable to stay away despite herself. "A wish jar? Seriously?"

"What's a wish jar?" Bree asked.

Lexie felt the back of her neck heating. Even with the girls, it was weird to be talking about it. It was a silly tradition, and she didn't want people—like Bella, apparently—scoffing at it. Her mum knew about it, but that was about it. "It's a Christmas thing," she said, her voice dismissive in the hope they would drop it.

"But what is it?" Bree pressed—and Lexie just knew she wouldn't leave off.

So Lexie caved. Because apparently, she was pathetic enough that her desire to avoid conflict even extended to avoiding an argument with a six-year-old. "I make a wish, every Christmas, and I write it on a little piece of paper, fold it up, and put it in the jar. See?" She indicated the pieces of paper sitting in the jar.

"And they come true?" Bree asked excitedly.

"Ah…"

"Course they don't," Bella scoffed from the doorway. "Things don't come true just because you wish for them."

Well, quite. And Lexie couldn't help thinking about the one big wish she'd made when she was seven, the one she'd put into the jar with such hope. The one that hadn't come true.

She'd started the wish jar when she was four—and it was one of her earliest memories. It had been her mum's idea—a Christmas activity—but Lexie had loved it and had made sure to get her jar out every Christmas, thinking carefully about what she should wish for. The first few had been silly, in hindsight, though they'd felt like a big deal at the time—a new bike, a pet hamster. And those first few had actually come true, and even though as she'd gotten older she'd known that magic couldn't really exist, she hadn't been able to stop thinking that maybe her wish jar did hold some Christmas magic, like her mum always told her it did. Until the year that illusion had come shattering down around her and she'd learned the hard way that wishing for something was futile.

It hadn't stopped her from continuing the tradition, though. There was something cathartic about writing a wish down and putting it in the jar—like she was letting the wish go, setting it free.

"You don't know that," Bree said, sounding hurt. Bella had the grace to look a bit guilty, shifting from foot to foot. Perhaps because she'd nearly let it slip about Santa earlier in the week and had gotten a look from her mum.

"I want to do it," Bree announced, already looking around for paper. "I want to put a wish in the wish jar. I think I'll wish for a puppy. Julie has one and he's SO cute."

Bella huffed. "You can't tell us what you'll wish for—then it won't come true."

"So you do believe in wishes, then," Bree said slyly.

Bella just rolled her eyes. It's an art form, isn't it? The eye roll. And Bella had it down.

"Where's the paper?" Bree asked.

Lexie felt a little flutter of panic. She knew it was stupid, but she didn't want someone else to put a wish in her jar—even little Bree. So she put it down and clapped her hands. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

Bree looked up at her out of those big blue eyes.

"How about we make you a wish jar?"

Bree was all for this, and although Bella refused to make her own, she did help Bree decorate the jam jar they found, and that activity was enough to keep them busy until Nicole and David got home.

Lexie was in her own room after saying good night to the girls when a message came through on her phone.

Lounge?

Mikkel. She smiled a little as she thought of leaving him in bed this morning. Of how easy it would be to go home with him again tonight—no strings for either of them.

She gave it half a thought, then quickly changed, grabbing a top that wasn't covered in glitter but not worrying too much about what she was wearing—a lot of people would have come straight from the slopes, so it wasn't like she had to dress up. She put on a subtle shade of lipstick, dashed on some mascara to try to make her brown eyes look less dull. After a moment's thought she put on a pair of star stud earrings as a nod to the festive season. Then she pulled a hand through her dark curls and considered herself ready. She tapped out a quick response to Mikkel.

Be there in ten.

—

Mikkel caught Lexie's eye as she stepped into the warmth of the bar, pulling her bobble hat off her head. He grinned and gestured her over to where a group of them were sitting on benches in one of the corners of the bar, up against the wooden walls, which were decorated with forest-green tinsel. Lexie wove her way through the crowd, past the huge Christmas tree that she had absolutely no idea how they'd gotten inside, breathing in the smell of pine laced with beer and sweat. Mikkel moved up to make room for her on the bench and pushed a full pint of beer over to her as she sat.

"Good day?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Lots of glitter with a side of sarcasm."

"You must make sure you get onto the slopes tomorrow."

"I will," she said firmly. "The girls are in ski school for the morning, so I have a few hours to myself."

"Good. I have a gap at eleven—we'll do a few runs together." He smiled and placed his hand on her knee under the table.

"What about you, Lexie?" Amelie, one of the regular seasonal workers, looked over and Lexie frowned as she took a sip of her beer, trying to catch up on the conversation. "Christmas next week, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I guess the family will expect me to be with them, won't they?"

"You should ask," Amelie said. "We're all going to do Christmas dinner at Mikkel's—a turkey, the whole lot. If you're free, you should come."

"Yes, you should definitely come," Mikkel said. He had great eyes, Mikkel—gray-blue to go with his light hair and pale complexion, a classic Scandi look. He was also the advert for a nomadic lifestyle, in Lexie's opinion. So confident and content, even though he never spent longer than six months in any one place, spending every winter as a ski instructor and every summer teaching surfing in a different location. Despite being in his early thirties, he showed no signs of being tired of all the moving—and Lexie wished she could hold him up with a Ha! to her friends at home, who often wondered when she was going to "get a proper job" and "settle down" like the rest of them.

Lexie shrugged out of her coat with some difficulty, sandwiched as she was on the end of the bench, and slipped her phone out of her pocket. One missed call. She bit her lip when she saw who it was from.

"Everything OK?" Mikkel asked.

"Yeah. It's just…" She glanced at her phone again. "I'll be right back, OK? I have to make a quick call."

"OK. Hurry back, we're doing shots."

Lexie laughed. " I'm not—I have to be up early with the girls."

Mikkel grinned. "One won't hurt."

She made a flapping gesture in his direction as she pulled her coat back on and headed out into the snow. She wouldn't usually worry so much, but she'd missed the last call from her mum a couple of days ago, and knew she was bound to start getting anxious if she didn't hear back from Lexie soon. Lexie moved to the quietest point she could find, the sound of Christmas music—which had been playing on repeat for weeks now—rising over her and into the mountains.

The phone didn't even get to two rings before there was an answer. "Hello, Lexie love." There was something oddly strained about her usually bright voice.

"Hi, Mum—all OK?"

"No, not really."

Lexie's heart lurched. "What is it?" The cold air misted out in front of her in a sharp burst. "What's wrong?"

"It's…it's your dad."

Her stomach settled into a leaden weight. "I don't want to know," she said shortly. Which her mum should know, perfectly well.

"Yes, you do," her mum said, her voice gentle in a way that should have been a warning sign. "He's…he's dead, Lexie."