Page 65 of Her Holiday Arrangement
And somehow, that silence hurt worse than anything Marianne or her brother could have said.
Riley’s throat tightened. She wanted to say something, anything sharp enough to cut through the smugness, but the setting pinned her down. This was their arena, not hers. If she snapped back, she’d only become the proof they wanted: the outsider, the stray who didn’t belong.
So she smiled instead, stretching it thin, and let the conversation roll on without her. Voices rose and fell around the table, punctuated by polite laughter and the soft clinking of cutlery. But to Riley, it all blurred into a muffled hum, like she’d slipped underwater.
She pushed the food around her plate, appetite gone. Across from her, Marianne had launched into a story about last summer in Vienna, weaving in the names of designers and minor royals as though they were old friends. Riley nodded at the right moments, feigned interest when people looked her way, but her mind wasn’t there.
It was back in the library last night, when Elizabeth’s eyes had softened and the air between them had been warm, private, almost real. Back in that quiet where Riley had let herself believe, just for a second, that maybe she wasn’t entirely pretending.
She wondered if Elizabeth even remembered that feeling now, or if she’d already folded it away, as easily as she folded napkins into perfect triangles.
Riley’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure what was worse: that the family disrespected her or that Elizabeth didn’t stop them.
And as laughter rose again around the table, Riley pasted her smile back on, her pulse thudding dully in her ears, and told herself to survive the night.
Because that was all this was. Survival.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the house settling into sleep. Riley’s shoulders were tight as coiled wire, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She could still feel the echo of the dining room, the weight of Marianne’s gaze, theoffhand cruelty, the way Sophia’s name had landed like a slap across the table.
But more than any of that, she felt Elizabeth’s silence.
Elizabeth moved across the room with her usual precision, each motion deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood before she slipped them off. She set her pearl earrings down on the dresser with neat care, as though order could hold the world together. The sight only sharpened the anger buzzing beneath Riley’s skin.
The necklace clasp clicked open. Riley couldn’t hold it anymore.
“Was this always fake for you?” she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Elizabeth’s hands stilled just a fraction, then continued. “What?”
Riley took a step forward, heat creeping up her throat. “Do you even see me when they talk to me like that? Or do you just… sit there, tuning it out, while they dissect me like I’m?—”
“I didn’t ask for that conversation to happen,” Elizabeth interrupted, her tone clipped.
“No,” Riley shot back, sharper now, “but you let it happen.”
Elizabeth turned then, her profile sharp in the lamplight. “And what exactly did you want me to do? Cause a scene? Throw a glass of wine in Marianne’s lap? You know what that would accomplish.”
“I wanted you to have my back,” Riley said, her voice trembling despite her best effort. “Even just a look, Elizabeth. Something to tell me I wasn’t alone in that room. Because right now? It feels like you left me twisting out there.”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. “Engaging would have only made it worse. They thrive on spectacle. I wasn’t going to give them ammunition.”
Riley laughed once, bitter and small. “You think your silence didn’t give them exactly what they wanted? They saw me sitting there, heard Sophia’s name, and watched you saynothing. That silence told them everything.”
The words hung heavy between them. Elizabeth didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Her stillness made Riley’s stomach knot even tighter.
“I thought…” Riley hesitated, her voice dipping low, vulnerable despite the anger burning beneath. “I thought we were becoming something real.”
For a split second, something unguarded flickered across Elizabeth’s face, pain, maybe, or fear. Riley wanted to grab hold of it, to demand the truth. But then Elizabeth straightened, folding her arms like armor.
“You knew what this was,” she said flatly.
The words landed like a blade, clean and merciless.
Riley stared at her, her chest tight. “Right. A performance.” She tried to keep her tone even, but it came out rough.
Elizabeth’s eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
Riley wanted to scream. To shake her. To demand that Elizabeth admit she’d meant the gifts, the kiss, the smile no one else had seen. The sex. But the silence stretched, suffocating, until Riley couldn’t breathe.
