Page 56 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Riley was curled on one end of the couch, the tartan blanket tucked tight around her legs, glass of wine balanced precariously on the armrest. She’d stopped paying real attention to the plot half an hour ago. Every so often she glanced toward the window, where the snow still fell in thick sheets, settling over the estate like a second, quieter world. Somewhere upstairs, the rest of thehouse was going still. Laughter and chatter from the evening had thinned, footsteps had faded, doors had closed.
One by one, the stragglers in the den had drifted off too, first Elizabeth’s cousin, then her aunt, then the uncle who’d been dozing since the opening credits. Riley found herself alone with the movie, her thoughts, and the uncomfortable tightness in her chest she’d been trying to drink away.
She didn’t hear Elizabeth at first. She justfelther, the way the air shifted in the doorway. Riley looked up, and there she was, leaning against the frame, long and poised even at this hour.
Riley almost didn’t say anything, but the silence felt heavier than the words. She rolled her eyes, partly at the ridiculousness of the moment, partly to hide the way her pulse had quickened.
“Well,” she drawled, gesturing toward the couch with her free hand, “you’re already here. Might as well join me.”
Elizabeth hesitated, because of course she did, but after a beat she crossed the room with that measured grace of hers and lowered herself onto the other end of the couch. She didn’t sit close, but Riley still felt the nearness of her, the subtle heat radiating across the space between them.
For a while, they just watched. Or at least, they both kept their eyes on the screen. Riley could hear Elizabeth breathing, slow and deliberate, as if she were willing her own body to behave. Riley found herself cataloging every little sound, the faint rustle when Elizabeth shifted her legs, the quiet exhale when she settled deeper into the cushions.
On screen, the movie reached its inevitable climax: a snow-covered, small-town square, twinkle lights in the background, and two leads about to make a grand romantic gesture. The male lead, wearing an atrociously oversized scarf, blurted out his love in a monologue so saccharine Riley almost laughed.
Instead, she muttered, “At least he had the guts to say it.”
Elizabeth’s head turned fractionally toward her. Riley didn’t look back, she kept her gaze on the TV, but she couldfeelthe shift, the way Elizabeth’s attention sharpened like a spotlight. There was a pause, and then Elizabeth’s weight shifted beside her.
“You think that’s brave?” Her voice was quiet, almost neutral, but the question landed like a stone between them.
Riley took a sip of wine, stalling. “I think it’s honest. Which is harder.” She kept her tone casual, but her chest felt tight. “Better than pretending you don’t feel anything.”
Elizabeth’s jaw flexed. “Not everyone has the luxury of blurting things out,” she said softly, her voice edged with something that wasn’t quite anger, more like self-defense.
Riley finally turned to look at her. “Luxury? Is that what you think it is?”
The fire popped behind them, filling the silence that stretched between their words. Elizabeth’s gaze was fixed on the TV, but her eyes were unfocused. Riley saw her fingers curl slightly against the blanket pooled in her lap, the only outward sign of tension.
“You don’t get it,” Elizabeth said, still not looking at her. “Saying it doesn’t… make things easier. It makes them harder. Messier.”
Riley swallowed, heart pounding now. “And what if messy is the truth? What if you’re just using ‘easier’ as an excuse to keep hiding?”
Elizabeth finally looked at her then, eyes sharp but unreadable. Riley thought she saw a flicker, just a flicker, of something raw beneath the steel. It was gone almost instantly.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Elizabeth murmured.
“No,” Riley said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m asking you to stop acting like what happened between us was some… blip. Like it didn’t matter.”She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “It mattered to me.”
Elizabeth’s gaze lingered for one long, unbearable second. Then she looked away again, her posture straightening, her walls slamming back into place. “It’s late,” she said, as though that answered anything. “We should get some rest.”
Riley almost called after her, almost reached for her arm before she stood. But Elizabeth was already up, already retreating toward the doorway with that infuriating calm. She paused only once, just enough for Riley to catch the faintest tremor in her voice when she said, “Goodnight.”
And then she was gone, leaving Riley in the flickering light of the TV, the echoes of her own heartbeat loud in her ears, and the ridiculous, lovesick couple on screen kissing under fake snow.
Riley stayed there long after the credits rolled, wine forgotten on the armrest, blanket tight around her, staring at nothing in particular, tracing the edges of the glowing embers with her eyes, letting the silence wrap around her.
Elizabeth’s heels clicked softly against the floor, then stopped. Riley’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected Elizabeth to come back so soon, or maybe she hadn’t expected her to come back at all.
“Still here,” Elizabeth said, voice low, neutral, but carrying that faint edge that made Riley’s stomach twist. She perched at the end of the sofa, spine straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Every movement was precise, deliberate, controlled.
Riley shifted slightly, trying to make herself smaller, less visible. “I, uh, yeah,” she said. Her voice sounded too loud in the quiet, like it had to fill the emptiness around them.
Elizabeth’s gaze didn’t leave the fire. “Thought you might have fallen asleep.”
“I couldn’t,” Riley admitted, keeping her eyes fixed on the embers. “Too… awake.”
Elizabeth’s profile was sharp in the dim light, the gentle hollow beneath her cheekbone, the slope of her nose, the faint curve of her jaw. The flames made her eyes glow gold and amber, warmer than Riley had any right to imagine after the past two days. Riley’s chest ached at the sight of her, at the way she looked so composed and untouchable and impossibly real all at once.
