Page 20 of Her Holiday Arrangement
She glanced sideways at an actual million-dollar vase perched on a pedestal near the hallway. It had dragons on it.
The entryway alone was the size of her entire apartment. Three different staff members moved in perfectly timed choreography around her, fluffing wreaths and adjusting ribbons that were already perfect. A tray of champagne passed her elbow. She resisted the urge to grab one like a drowning woman.
Focus, Riley.
She straightened her back and mentally pulled up the script Elizabeth had drilled into her. It wasn’t that long, really, just a few ground rules. Smile. Hold hands occasionally. Don’t overshare. Don’t under-share. Don’t call her “boss” in front of the family.
And above all else: don’t screw this up.
This entire performance came with a generous paycheck, enough to keep her from panic-Googling side hustles at 3am. But the stakes weren’t just financial anymore. The whole family was here. The wholevery rich, very polished, very old-moneyfamily. And Elizabeth was somewhere, probably already five steps ahead, already in character. And Riley?
Riley felt like a knockoff ornament at a Tiffany’s sample sale.
She let out a breath, scanned the room for Elizabeth again, and their eyes met.
Just for a second. Across the room, through the crowd of muted cashmere and tasteful champagne, Elizabeth looked at her. And her expression, which had been all cool diplomacy a moment ago, shifted. Not dramatically. But enough.
Riley’s heart stuttered.
Because there, under the perfect lighting and behind the practiced poise, was a softness. Just for her. Something almost apologetic, almost proud. Something that saidI know this is hard. I see you trying.
Riley tried to steady herself, but her stomach flipped like a gymnast on Red Bull.
She glanced away, cheeks warming, and busied herself adjusting her shirt cuffs. A few people milled nearby, probably cousins or family friends who vacationed in Switzerland and could detect off-brand shoes by scent alone. She pasted on her brightest smile, the one that saidI’m fine, this is fine, I meant to walk into the wrong room that one time, laugh with me.It had gotten her through awkward holiday dinners, disastrous Tinder dates, and that one time she tripped into a fire hydrant trying to impress a girl.
Humor and deflection. That was her survival kit. That and lip balm.
A woman walked by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Riley grabbed one like it was a life preserver.
“Thanks,” she said to no one in particular. “Just what I needed to calm my existential class anxiety.”
No one laughed. But she sipped anyway.
The room smelled like pine and fireplace and something floral she couldn’t name. It was beautiful. Immaculate. And entirely foreign. Riley was an intruder here, no matter how charming her smile or how carefully she followed the script.
But then she caught Elizabeth’s eye again, this time closer, now making her way toward her with that purposeful stride, like she belonged here but didn’t mind breaking the rules.
And suddenly, Riley didn’t feel quite so alone.
Their eyes met.
And Riley forgot everything else.
It wasn’t a long look. Just a flicker across the polished expanse of the room. But in it, there was something that made Riley’s stomach drop like she’d missed a stair. Something soft. Something that didn’t feel like acting.
She blinked and looked away too quickly. God, she needed to pull it together.
Elizabeth Hale didn’t flinch at congressional hearings or corporate takeovers. She wasn’t going to survive this weekend if Riley couldn’t handle walking through a fancy doorway without self-combusting.
Riley forced her feet forward, nodding politely at a woman in a fur-trimmed coat and avoiding the thousand-dollar runners underfoot like they were lava. The Christmas music piped in from somewhere, probably live musicians, knowing this family, was tasteful and non-denominational. Of course.
A man in cashmere glanced at her shoes.
She adjusted her posture, flipped her hair, and tried to channel “understated elegance” instead of “messy assistant in off-the-rack shoes.” Humor was her best armor, and she wore it like a Kevlar vest. She could do this. She had to do this.
And then Elizabeth was there.
Up close, she was all angles and poise, dressed in a long coat the color of steel and eyes that gave away nothing. Not unless you knew her. Not unless you looked hard enough.
