Page 23 of Her Holiday Arrangement
“You’re doing well,” she said quietly, only for her.
“Define well,” Riley whispered, not turning her head.
“You haven’t cursed once or insulted Margot. That’s already better than my last three dates combined.”
Riley dared a small grin. “Oh good. High bar.”
“I’m serious.”
Their eyes met. Elizabeth’s expression didn’t shift much, she never gave much away, but there was something steadying in her voice, like an anchor beneath the storm.
“Thanks,” Riley murmured.
More guests arrived. Annette led the charge to the next room for cocktails, and Riley moved with the current of tailored suitsand polite murmurs. A thousand microaggressions hung in the air, each wrapped in ribbons and dipped in champagne.
“So charming.”
“So unexpected.”
“So… grounded.”
Every word was a test. And every time, Riley met them with a joke, a compliment, a harmless deflection. Her insides were screaming, but her mouth didn’t falter.
And when Annette placed a perfectly manicured hand on her arm and said, “It’s sweet, really, that Elizabeth brought someone soapproachablehome this year.” Riley smiled and said, “I’m like a therapy dog with sarcasm.”
A few people chuckled. Annette didn’t.
Later, when they were finally seated near the fire and the crowd had thinned, Riley let out a slow breath and leaned closer to Elizabeth.
“If I break that dragon vase on the way out,” she murmured, “promise you’ll say it was an accident?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “Fine, three heirlooms.”
“Getting risky now,” Riley muttered, sipping her champagne with a wink.
Riley’s face hurt. Itactually hurt. Muscles she didn’t even know she had around her mouth were sore from hours of politely smiling, fake laughing, and performing “normal, charming girlfriend” for the entire Hale dynasty like she was auditioning for a holiday rom-com no one had asked her to star in.
As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, she dropped the act like it weighed fifty pounds.
“JesusChrist,” she muttered, kicking off her boots with a groan and immediately beginning to pace the carpet. “I think I just pulled a cheek muscle from pretending I wasn’t offended by your uncle’s ten-minute speech on inherited meritocracy.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t. She was already by the wardrobe, removing her earrings with the practiced grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, navigated impossible people, impossible expectations, and impossible silk gowns without so much as a single hair out of place.
Riley watched her for a second. Her back was to her, hair swept into a low twist, fingers moving efficiently. Calm. Composed.
This woman is a robot,Riley thought.A hot robot. But still.
She rubbed at her temples, still pacing. “Is it like… genetic?” she asked. “Is that why they all talk in that weird code where ‘how quaint’ means ‘you’re trash,’ and ‘what an interesting outfit’ means ‘did you steal that from a bin?’”
Elizabeth, now half-changed into a pair of navy silk pajama pants, didn’t flinch. “It’s a skill set. They think it’s polite.”
“Polite?” Riley snorted. “I got asked if I was a barista or a barmaidfive separate timestoday.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “You smiled.”
“Because if I stopped smiling, I would have launched myself into the punch bowl, Elizabeth.” Riley paused, hands on her hips. “I swear, if one more cousin called me ‘down to earth’ like it’s a compliment, I’m setting the crystal on fire.”
Elizabeth turned then, slipping into a matching pajama top, sleeves rolled neatly at her wrists. “I can’t stop them from being who they are.”
