Page 59 of Her Holiday Arrangement
And Elizabeth watched her.
Not in the distant, clinical way she sometimes did, like she was cataloging data points, but with something closer tocuriosity. The frost in her gaze seemed thinner here, as if the laughter around them seeped in despite her best efforts.
The moment that broke through entirely came courtesy of a small boy with a lisp and an oversized sweater. He stood in front of Riley, clutching a stuffed penguin in one hand and staring up at her with solemn brown eyes.
“Are you and Lizzie in love?” he asked, blunt as a hammer. “You look like you’re in love.”
Riley’s mouth opened and closed. “I, uh…” She glanced toward Elizabeth like a student begging the teacher for rescue.
Elizabeth stepped forward, smooth as glass. “We’re figuring it out,” she said, her voice low but carrying enough warmth to wrap around the boy like a blanket.
It wasn’t a line meant for the press. It wasn’t for appearances. It sounded, dangerously, like she meant it.
The boy nodded once, satisfied, and scampered off toward the cocoa. Riley was still rooted to the spot, pulse ticking faster than she wanted to admit.
She turned back to the tables, grateful for something to do, and that’s when she saw it, a small, square tag tied to the handle of a bright red gift bag. In childish block letters, it read:For the kid who always feels left out.
Her fingers brushed the paper, the words burning into her chest. She could see, clear as glass, her own eight-year-old self at the end of a cafeteria table, watching the other kids trade glittering boxes, knowing there was nothing for her.
She swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes.
“Riley?”
Elizabeth’s voice was softer than usual, missing that precise edge she carried like armor. When Riley looked up, she saw the other woman watching her with the kind of focus that could cut through anything else in the room.
“Just…” Riley gestured vaguely toward the tag, unable to form a proper explanation.
Elizabeth’s gaze didn’t waver. “I fund this charity every year because I need to believe I can do something good. Something real.” Her voice hitched ever so slightly on the last word, like it cost her to say it.
That cracked something in Riley, more than she wanted to admit. She reached out, almost without thinking, and brushed the back of her fingers against Elizabeth’s hand where it rested against her side.
Elizabeth didn’t pull away.
They stayed there for a moment, silent, close, a breath away from something they’d both been dodging. The warmth of Elizabeth’s skin under Riley’s fingertips felt almost illicit, more dangerous than any staged kiss for the cameras.
From across the room came a burst of children’s laughter, loud and bright, breaking the spell. Elizabeth eased back first, her expression smoothing over like a lake freezing solid.
“Come on,” she said, quieter now, but not cold. “We’ve got more gifts to give away.”
Riley let her hand fall, but the heat of that moment clung to her as they stepped back into the glittering chaos.
The fire in the bedroom crackled low, sending shadows crawling up the stone hearth. The rest of the house hummed faintly with post-event noise, footsteps in the halls, the muffled clink of glasses in the kitchen preparing for the evening’s meal, but here, the world felt quieter. Quieter than she liked. Quieter than was safe.
Elizabeth sat on the sofa by the fire, the wool throw wrapped neatly around her shoulders. She had changed out of the outfit from the toy drive into a soft charcoal sweater and silk trousers, clothes appropriate for the casual dinner the family would have tonight but that still managed to feel like armor.
Riley sat cross-legged in the armchair across from her, half-swallowed by another blanket, hair a little tousled from the day. The flickering firelight caught the curve of her cheek, the faint furrow between her brows as she stared into the flames. She’d been quiet since they returned from the ballroom. Not withdrawn exactly, but softer, slower in her movements.
Elizabeth knew she should keep the conversation light, compliment her charm with the volunteers, remark on the efficiency of the event, but instead she found herself asking, “Did you enjoy it?”
Riley’s gaze lifted to hers. “The toy drive? Yeah.” She paused, drawing in a breath. “It’s… a good thing. You’re doing a good thing.”
Elizabeth looked down at her cocoa. “I told you earlier. I don’t fund it just for PR.” The words slipped out before she could measure them. “I… need to believe I can do something that matters. Something real.”
Riley didn’t answer right away, but her eyes softened in a way Elizabeth had no defense for. She shifted in her seat, curling the blanket tighter. “You did, today. Those kids…” She stopped, as if weighing whether to go on. Then, with a small shrug, she continued. “I grew up with nothing. At Christmas, especially, that felt… obvious. Like you could see it in the way other kids got the big gifts, the ones you circled in catalogs. I hated December. I still kind of do.”
Elizabeth kept her expression controlled, but inside, something twisted. She knew the performance she put on every December—pristine parties, glittering decorations, giftswrapped like art installations—had nothing to do with love. “My Christmases were…” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Perfect. Or at least that’s how they looked. The right presents, the right dinner, the right guests. All of it curated within an inch of its life. But there wasn’t anything under it.” She glanced back at the fire. “Hollow. Like if you opened the gift, you’d find nothing inside.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint hiss and pop of the fire. Elizabeth wasn’t sure when Riley had stood, but suddenly she was beside her, dropping into the empty space on the sofa. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her waist, and Elizabeth felt the shift of heat where their arms brushed.
