Page 9 of Dissection of a Murder
“I don’t care about your age, you know that,” I tell him, placing my hand on his arm. “Besides, you’re the sexiest older man I know.”
He scoffs, “You may be biased. I still can’t believe you’re eleven years younger than me.” He takes a large gulp from his glass and slumps down into the sofa.
“It says a lot, then, that you’ve bagged such a hot, youthful wife.” I laugh.
“Well, if I achieve nothing else, at least I have that.” He smiles. “And on that note, a toast to your Legal 500 quote.”
I feel my face light up and I raise my glass of wine.
“Max did me a massive favor with that one,” he adds.
“Max?” I frown, confused.
“He put the quote in. Max Westwick. We went to Oxford together. He owed me a favor. I helped him out with a legal thing a few years back.”
Of course it wasn’t real. I knew it, deep down. How naive of me to think it might have been authentic. I always try to be very aware of what my face is doing—Julian taught me that a poker face is one of your greatest weapons—but sometimes, the mask drops.
“What?” he asks. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I just wondered if, you know, I might have earned that quote myself. I have been doing some great trials lately.”
He tilts his head and gazes at me in a way that makes me feel embarrassed and stupid.
“Do you know how hard it is to get into the Legal 500? Some silks don’t manage it. Took me twenty years. I’ve done you a massive favor.”
“Yes, of course. Obviously. I am grateful,” I gush, forcing a smile onto my wounded face. “I just worry that…”
“Not this again.” He sighs.
“What again?”
“Look,” he says. “You’re married to someone more senior. With that come perks. Embrace them. This profession is hard enough.”
“People already think I’m only getting the cases I am because I married you.”
“Is that true?” he shoots straight back at me, his eyebrows raised.
“No!”
“Prove it, then. Show them that’s not the case.”
“How am I supposed to do that when I’m getting all these perks? They hate me for it.”
“You’ll have to win this trial, then, won’t you?”
It’s a lighthearted comment, but the challenge is there. Julian and I are competitive at the best of times. Going against each other in this trial is going to get tough.
“Perhaps I will,” I say confidently. “I mean, if Jack Millman asked for me specifically, he obviously thinks I’m up to the job.”
“Bet he fancies you, that’s why!” Julian remarks, knocking back another large mouthful of wine.
“A bit reductive, Julian.” I sigh. “I’m not biting.”
“I can see you want to, though,” he says, smirking and poking his finger into my ribs.
“Stop winding me up!”
We both burst out laughing, which resets the mood. A twisted sense of humor is essential in this job—it’s the only way to stay sane. When the air falls silent between us, I catch him gazing at me.
