Page 9 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. “I observe the people I work with.”
“Creepy, but appreciated.”
“You’re welcome.”
Riley held the mug between both hands, letting the warmth soak in. The daze was starting to lift, but only just. Her head was spinning with visions of flannel sheets, crackling fireplaces,and Elizabeth’s cold fingers brushing hers in front of a roaring hearth.
She was in so far over her head, she couldn’t even see the surface anymore.
Elizabeth’s phone chimed.
“That will be Camille,” she said, tapping to answer. “Your personal shopper. She’ll need your sizes. Be specific.”
“Great,” Riley muttered. “Nothing like telling a stranger over the phone how wide my hips are.”
Elizabeth offered her the phone like it was a contract.
Riley took it with a sigh. “Hi, Camille. Yes, it’s me. I’m the fake girlfriend. Let’s make magic happen.”
Elizabeth, for the first time since this whole charade began, let out a quiet breath of something that might have been amusement. Riley didn’t catch it, too busy describing her shoe size and admitting that she hadn’t worn a proper bra in six months, but the soft sound hung in the air like a rare birdcall.
Fifteen minutes later, measurements sent and instructions followed, Riley ended the call and slumped again.
“I think she’s sending me a velvet jumpsuit,” she said faintly. “I’ve peaked.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll have my driver pick you up tomorrow morning at nine. We’ll fly into Burlington, then drive the rest of the way.”
“Do I need a passport to enter upper-class New England?”
“Just don’t call it a cottage. My mother will have a fit.”
Riley stood, gathering her bag with trembling fingers. She was doing this. It was happening. She was officially going to pretend to be Elizabeth Coventry’s girlfriend, survive ten days with her aristocratic family, and wear matching pajamas while trying not to spontaneously combust from sexual tension.
As she reached the private elevator, she turned back. Elizabeth was already at her laptop again, typing somethingwith cool precision, like she hadn’t just turned Riley’s entire life upside down.
Riley hesitated.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Thanks for… I mean… for trusting me with this. I know it’s not easy.”
Elizabeth didn’t look up. “You’re welcome. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a whisper.
Outside, the wind whipped at Riley’s coat as she stumbled into the city, blinking against the cold. Her phone buzzed.
A text from her landlord.
RENT OVERDUE. FINAL NOTICE.
Riley stared at it. Then up at the cloudy sky.
She tucked her phone away, pulled her scarf tighter, and muttered to herself, “Right. I’m doing this.”
And she walked off down the street, confused, terrified, and very possibly about to fake-date her way into disaster.
3
December 15th - Elizabeth
