Page 64 of Her Holiday Arrangement
But then Elizabeth looked away, raising her glass to toast another gift, the mask slipping back into place.
Riley did the same, plastering her smile, joining the chorus of polite laughter.
But her gloves were still warm on her hands. And her chest still ached from holding back the truth.
She’d never felt less like pretending.
The dining room was almost too perfect, like one of those glossy magazine spreads Riley used to flip through in waiting rooms. A long mahogany table gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, every glass catching the candlelight and scattering it in tiny constellations across the white linen. The silver was polished so bright it almost hurt to look at. Even the holly sprigs tucked along the centerpiece seemed choreographed, as though someone had dictated the exact number of berries per branch.
Riley smoothed her palms over her dress, the silk whispering against her skin, and tried to convince herself she belongedhere. She’d survived the gift exchange, survived the laughter and champagne-fueled games. She’d even smiled when Elizabeth had slipped her those gloves, her exact size, buttery leather that fit like they’d been waiting for her all along. That gift had felt like a crack in the facade, a glimpse that maybe Elizabeth really did see her. But now, in this room, surrounded by glittering crystal and sharp eyes, Riley wasn’t sure of anything.
Elizabeth sat to her right, composed and immaculate, posture straight as a ruler. Her hair, pinned back earlier, had loosened just enough for a single strand to brush her cheek, but otherwise she looked untouched by the long night. Riley glanced at her, hoping for some flicker of warmth, some acknowledgment of the passion they share when no one is looking. But Elizabeth was angled toward her mother at the far end of the table, nodding politely, her expression unreadable.
Riley picked at the edge of her napkin. Maybe she’d imagined it, that passion. Maybe it had only ever been one-sided.
They were halfway through the first course when the trouble began.
“So, Riley,” said a woman midway down the table, voice dipped in sugar, each syllable cut with precision. Aunt Marianne, Riley thought, Elizabeth’s mother’s sister who only arrived yesterday. “How did you and Elizabeth meet again? I don’t believe we heard the full story.”
The pause beforefull storywas deliberate, like a needle slipped under the skin. Riley gave her best practiced smile. “We met at a gala,” she said. “I was working the event.”
Marianne’s brows lifted as though Riley had announced she spent her weekends taming lions. “Working it? Not attending?”
“Yes,” Riley said evenly. “Event logistics. I do a lot of work in that space. And shortly after that, I began working for Elizabeth. Over time, we realized we had something more between us.”
“Oh, how interesting.” Marianne’s tone made it clear she didn’t mean interesting at all. “And your family? What are they like?”
The question might have sounded harmless to someone else, but Riley heard the undertone:What kind of people produced you?
“They’re good people,” she said, keeping her voice light. “My folks still live in Maine. My mom runs a small café, and my dad’s a contractor.”
“Ah.” Marianne’s nod was sharp, clipped. “Salt of the earth, then.”
A faint chuckle rippled down the table, like she’d just delivered a clever line. Riley couldn’t tell if she was supposed to feel flattered or pitied. She lifted her wine glass and took a careful sip, letting the red coat her tongue.
But Marianne wasn’t finished. “And what’s it like,” she asked, leaning forward slightly, “being… well, not from our world?”
The words dropped like stones in Riley’s stomach. She set her glass down carefully, making sure it didn’t clink against the plate. “I suppose it’s like being from any world,” she said, managing a small smile. “You just learn the customs as you go.”
Beside her, Elizabeth shifted, her voice smooth but edged. “Marianne. Riley’s more than capable of handling herself. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Oh, I’m just curious,” Marianne interrupted, her pearls catching the light as she leaned back. “It must be quite an adjustment, coming into… all this.” She gestured with a sweep of her hand, taking in the chandeliers, the polished silver, the air that smelled faintly of wealth and rosemary.
Heat crept up Riley’s neck. She told herself it was just the wine, just the fire glowing from the hearth, but her pulse quickened. She didn’t dare glance at Elizabeth. She didn’t want to see pity, or worse, agreement.
And then, as if summoned, Elizabeth’s brother spoke up from further down the table. His smile was sharp, deliberate. “It’s certainly a change from Sophia, isn’t it?”
The name landed like a pin in Riley’s chest. She’d heard it before, dropped casually in conversation, always with the same undertone: Sophia, the golden ex. The one who’d ticked every box. Polished. Beautiful. The right family, the right pedigree. Seamless.
Riley’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, suddenly heavy. She could almost feel the comparison settling over her like a cloak, her messy hair she’d tamed too quickly in the mirror, the dress that belonged to Elizabeth’s stylist’s rack, her hands still a little calloused from years of work that didn’t involve boardrooms or wine cellars. She wasn’t Sophia. She’d never be Sophia.
“Well,” her brother went on, his tone smug, “Sophia always fit right in here. It was effortless. You two had so much in common.”
The words were meant to sting, and they did. Riley felt them like tiny cuts beneath the skin.
Elizabeth said nothing.
She didn’t defend Riley. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t even change the subject. She kept her gaze lowered to her plate, her grip tight around her fork as though the china pattern suddenly required intense study.
