Page 36 of Her Holiday Arrangement
In the guest bedroom, the fire crackled low, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon thick in the air. Riley sat cross-legged on the rug, one hand loosely clutching a mug of mulled wine, the other fanning at her face because, god, the fire was hot, and maybe she was tipsy. Just a little.
Elizabeth sat across from her, bourbon in hand, legs stretched out toward the hearth, her silk pajama shirt slightly rumpled. The flames cast golden light along her collarbones, her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. Her expression was relaxed in a way Riley had never seen before, unguarded. Almost soft.
It was disarming as hell.
“Okay,” Riley said, waving her mug like a baton, “your family’s scary, but the hot chocolate is genuinely the best I’ve ever had. Five stars. Michelin-level cocoa.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “I’ll pass that along to Maribel.”
Riley snorted. “She’s a culinary artist. And I’d kill for that cider recipe.”
“Good to know,” Elizabeth murmured. “I’ll have her put it in your severance package.”
Riley narrowed her eyes, then laughed too loudly. “Oh my god. That was a joke. You’re joking. Did you just flirt with me or threaten to fire me? Or both?”
Elizabeth took a slow sip of her bourbon. “If you can’t tell, I’m doing something right.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it did thicken, something heavy threading through the warmth of the fire and the hum of alcohol in Riley’s bloodstream.
She should’ve stood up. Said goodnight. Climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling until morning like she always did. Instead, she took another long gulp of her wine and stayed exactly where she was.
Elizabeth didn’t move either.
Their knees bumped. Neither of them adjusted.
The conversation drifted, as conversations do, from weather to movies to books Riley hadn’t finished and Elizabeth had read in Latin. Somehow, without warning, it got personal.
“I wasn’t supposed to be here,” Riley said suddenly, staring into her mug like it had answers. “I mean, not just this week. This whole thing. This life. I was supposed to still be waitressing at the diner in Rhode Island, or maybe selling handmade soaps on Etsy. Not pretending to be someone’s girlfriend at a Christmas palace.”
Elizabeth blinked at her, then slowly set down her bourbon. “And yet here you are.”
“Yeah. Here I am,” Riley said with a humorless laugh. “Living in a guest room that’s bigger than my first apartment. Wearing pajamas I couldn’t afford even if I sold my kidneys.”
“You’re not wearing pajamas. You’re wearing my robe.”
“Exactly.”
Elizabeth looked at her for a moment, long enough that Riley started to fidget.
“I don’t think it’s luck,” Elizabeth said at last, “That you’re here.”
Riley laughed again, more bitter this time. “It’s a little luck. And desperation. And good hair.”
“You’re sharp, and loyal, and smarter than half the people at my firm.”
“Okay, now Iknowyou’re drunk.”
Elizabeth didn’t smile. “I’m not drunk. And I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
That shut Riley up. Her heart skittered in her chest like it was trying to escape. She stared at the fire, but the warmth didn’t reach the ache in her ribs.
“Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll blink and this will all disappear,” she said after a while. “Like I’ll get replaced by someone newer,shinier. Someone who wears the right shoes and doesn’t say dumb shit in front of billionaires.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. Definitely hadn’t meant to say that to Elizabeth. But it was too late now, the wine had loosened something in her chest, and the words tumbled out too fast to catch.
Elizabeth didn’t answer right away. The fire popped. Outside, the wind howled faintly against the glass.
Then, softly, she said, “You’re not replaceable, Riley.”
