Page 18 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Riley knelt to unzip her bag. “That feels like a trick statement in this room.”
Elizabeth turned away and focused on adjusting the thermostat. One degree lower than usual. Her palms were warm. She ignored it.
Behind her, Riley began lifting out neatly folded items. A sweater. Thick socks. A worn paperback. Elizabeth allowed herself one glance, just one, out of the corner of her eye. Riley looked absurdly soft in the firelight.
Elizabeth told herself it didn’t mean anything.
Then Riley reached into her bag and pulled out—oh.
It was one of the lingerie sets. Black lace. Delicate straps. Something that looked like sin itself had commissioned it.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Riley’s hand froze. Her eyes widened. Then she gasped and shoved it back into the bag like it had burned her.
“Oh my God. Sorry. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to… It got packed by the shopper person, not me, I didn’t even look, I swear.”
Elizabeth turned slowly, expression composed. Her voice was a blade wrapped in velvet.
“It’s fine.”
Riley was still flushing a dangerous shade of crimson. “I’m not, I mean, I wasn’t planning on… You said no intimacy, and I’m not, I wouldn’t?—”
“Riley.” Elizabeth’s tone cut through the panic.
Riley looked up, lips parted, breath shallow.
Elizabeth met her eyes, carefully neutral. Detached. She couldn’t afford to be anything else.
“You don’t have to explain yourself. We’re here to play a role, remember? Appearances. That’s all.”
Riley nodded too quickly. “Right. Appearances.”
But her fingers were still trembling as she zipped the bag closed and shoved it under the bench like it had personally betrayed her.
Elizabeth didn’t comment.
She walked to the window instead, pausing to stare out into the darkness beyond the frosted glass. Snow had started falling again, fat flakes drifting lazily under the moonlight, coating the lawn in silence. It was the kind of evening that made people fall in love in movies. The kind that made you want to believe in things like magic. Or timing.
She hated it.
Behind her, Riley moved around the room, unpacking a toothbrush, plugging in her phone. Elizabeth listened to every sound like it was a language she hadn’t studied but couldn’t stop trying to understand.
What was she doing?
Riley was her assistant. The most competent, unflappable employee she’d ever had. And now she was in Elizabeth’s bedroom, in Elizabeth’s family estate, her suitcase hiding seductive black lace that Elizabeth could not stop picturing against pale skin.
This wasn’t control. This wasn’t smart.
Elizabeth exhaled, slow and quiet.
She was doing this for appearances. For her mother. For the press. For stability.
Not because Riley’s presence steadied something in her. Not because Riley had laughed in the office last month with her headtilted back, eyes crinkled, hair messy from the wind. Not because Elizabeth had caught herself staring for too long, twice.
She turned away from the window.
Riley had finished changing into pajama pants and a hoodie, dark blue with a tiny, peeling logo over the heart. She looked younger like that. A little lost.
