Page 52 of Her Holiday Arrangement
That didn’t help.
Her fingers trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself.
She hated this. The uncertainty. The silence. The powerlessness of waking up alone and trying to piece together what the hell last night hadmeant.
Because somethinghadhappened. Not just physically, but emotionally. Riley wasn’t naïve. She knew the difference between lust and connection. And there had been moments—god,so many moments, where Elizabeth had looked at her like shemattered.
But now?
Where was she? It was like a switch had flipped. Like Elizabeth had built a wall overnight and Riley was left out in the cold, pounding on it, begging for answers that would never come.
She got up and moved to the window, pulling the heavy curtains aside just a bit. The snow was thick now, swirling against the glass in slow, mesmerizing spirals. Somewhere below, the gardens were vanishing under a fresh layer of white.
She wondered where Elizabeth had gone. If she was already halfway through her morning meetings. If she was avoiding the bedroom, or just Riley herself.
Probably both.
Riley exhaled, fogging up the glass.
She wanted to storm downstairs and demand a conversation. She wanted to force Elizabeth to admit that last night had meantsomething.But what would that accomplish? Elizabeth had already made herself clear.“It was a lapse.”End of story.
No explanation. No apology. No hope.
Riley leaned her forehead against the cold pane, eyes fluttering shut.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, the silence pressed in.
The scent of cinnamon sugar hit Riley the moment she stepped off the staircase.
It was nearly overwhelming, sweet and nostalgic and warm, mixed with the tang of pine from the towering Christmas tree in the living room. A fire crackled somewhere off to the side, holiday music played faintly from a speaker tucked behind a garland-draped mantle, and the entire house pulsed with the chaotic rhythm of family togetherness.
Children darted between adults with sticky fingers and sugar-fueled giggles. Someone shouted from the hallway about missing gloves. A dog barked. Silver bells clinked. Someone had spilled orange juice on the heirloom rug, and Elizabeth’s uncle was trying to mop it up with a dish towel while muttering something about “inevitable Christmas carnage.”
It should have been comforting. Italmostwas.
But Riley felt like she was walking underwater, smiling too wide, blinking too slowly, her body moving on autopilot while her chest clenched with every step.
“Riley!”
Elizabeth’s Aunt Caroline descended upon her like a glittering whirlwind, still in silk pajamas and a Santa hat pinned slightly askew. She thrust a full plate into Riley’s hands, piled high with cinnamon buns, eggs, roasted potatoes, and two sad strawberries, and followed it up with a mimosa sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Youhaveto try the sticky buns. Lizzie’s favorite.” She winked, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Though I suspect she’s been happier aboutotherthings lately, hmm?”
Riley blinked.
“Oh?” she said, voice higher than intended, balancing the mimosa while her other hand gripped the heavy plate like a lifeline.
Caroline leaned closer. “I haven’t seen her this… light in years. It’s the smile, you know? That soft one she doesn’t even realize she’s doing.” She beamed. “That’s you, honey. Don’t let her scare you off.”
Riley’s throat closed for a second.
She managed a laugh, thin, brittle. “Scary? Elizabeth?”
Caroline raised a perfectly plucked brow. “Please. I love my niece, but she could scare the bark off a tree when she wants to.”
That part, at least, felt honest.
