Page 53 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Riley smiled tightly and nodded, murmured something polite and noncommittal, and edged her way into the dining room, where the long wooden table had already been partially cleared by enthusiastic toddlers wielding napkins and sticky hands.
She looked across the room and found her.
Elizabeth stood near the window, back straight, posture impeccable even in casual clothes. A slim, winter-white sweater hugged her shoulders. Her hair was pinned up, one stray curl falling along her cheek. She was laughing, politely, distantly, at something her cousin was saying, and she held her coffee mug with both hands, the picture of poised, icy calm.
She was breathtaking.
She was unreadable.
And she wasnotlooking at Riley.
Not once. Not even when the room quieted for a moment and Riley felt eyes skimming toward her, watching this supposed girlfriend play the part at the family breakfast.
Riley stared for a beat too long.
Her hand tightened on the mimosa glass. She took a sip she didn’t want, the fizz burning on the way down, and turned away before the ache in her chest could claw any higher.
She didn’t belong here.
Not in this house. Not in this charade. Not in this story where Elizabeth Hale got to brush past intimacy like it was a momentary mistake, something to be filed away in the cold archives of poor decisions.
It wasn’t just that Elizabeth was avoiding her. It was theprecisionof it. Every glance that didn’t land, every conversation she skirted, every carefully composed smile sent to anyone but Riley.
It was like Riley had been erased.
The memory of Elizabeth’s hand on her thigh beneath the blanket, the whisper of her mouth near Riley’s neck, the way her breath had caught, none of it had existed. At least not anymore. At least not here.
Riley suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“I’m just going to grab some more coffee,” she mumbled to no one in particular, abandoning the plate on a side table andslipping into the kitchen before anyone could ask her to join in a carol or recount how they’d met.
The kitchen was blissfully empty.
She stepped in and shut the door softly behind her, leaning against it, heart pounding.
The quiet hit her like a wave.
No chatter. No clinking glasses. No sound except the distant laughter muffled by walls and the low hum of the refrigerator. The Christmas lights strung along the windows twinkled faintly, casting golden reflections on the marble countertop.
Riley closed her eyes and inhaled.
And for the first time that morning, let herself feel it.
The ache. The embarrassment. The stupid, hopelesshopethat had been steadily building for days, burning bright in that bed, in those stolen glances, in the breathless moments that had felt like something real.
All of it, crushed by Elizabeth’s silence.
She opened her eyes again and crossed to the sink, staring out the frosted window. Snow was falling steadily now, blanketing the garden in clean white silence.
Riley pressed her fingertips to the cold glass.
She’d known this might happen.
She’d told herself not to fall. Not to get attached. That this was a job. A favor. A performance.
But last night…God,last night hadn’t felt like pretending.
And now she was here. Alone. In a kitchen filled with pine scent and sparkling lights, playing the part of the girlfriend to a woman who’d made it very clear: whatever happened between them in their bed late at night… it was nothing.
