Page 70 of Her Holiday Arrangement
By evening, Elizabeth’s nerves were frayed raw.
Sophia was radiant at dinner, sliding effortlessly back into her family’s rhythm, trading stories with her brother, laughing at her father’s dry remarks. She even complimented Annette’s roast, which earned her a rare, genuine smile.
Riley was quieter than usual, though she played her part, smiling when expected, responding with warmth when directly addressed. But Elizabeth could see the difference. The spark had dulled, her edges drawn in.
And Elizabeth hated herself for letting it happen.
She wanted to reach for her under the table, to remind her she wasn’t alone in this viper pit. But the weight of so many eyes, the danger of one slip, it was suffocating. Instead, she drew herself tighter, retreating behind the frost that had always kept her safe.
If Riley noticed, she didn’t let it show. But Elizabeth saw the way she excused herself early, the faint stiffness in her shoulders as she left the dining room.
Elizabeth let her go.
Later, when the house had quieted and the fires had burned low, Elizabeth stood at the balcony doors of their room, theglass cool beneath her fingertips. Snow drifted in the darkness beyond, soft and soundless, covering everything in white.
Behind her, she heard the faint rustle of fabric as Riley slipped out of her dress and pulled on one of Elizabeth’s spare robes. The silence between them stretched, fragile as spun glass.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wanted to turn, to apologize again, to pull Riley into her arms and tell her she was more than enough, that Sophia was nothing but an echo. But the words tangled in her throat, caught in years of conditioning. Vulnerability was weakness. Weakness was dangerous.
So she stayed at the window, her reflection a pale silhouette in the glass.
“You’re quiet,” Riley said softly, not quite a question.
Elizabeth managed a small sound of agreement.
She heard Riley shift, the bed creaking faintly as she climbed in. After a moment: “I hate how they treat you when you’re around me.”
Elizabeth turned then, startled. Riley was propped against the pillows, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes steady. Not accusing, simply honest.
Elizabeth’s chest ached. She wanted to say,It isn’t you, it’s them. Wanted to say,You’re stronger than they’ll ever understand. Wanted to say,I care for you more than I’ve cared for anyone.
But all that came out was: “You’ll get used to it.”
The look on Riley’s face, hurt, quiet disbelief, nearly undid her. But she didn’t move. She didn’t take the words back.
Instead, Elizabeth turned off the lamp, letting the room sink into darkness. She lay down stiffly beside Riley, a gulf of unspoken words between them, the cold persona wrapped tight around her like armor.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to Riley’s steady breathing. She told herself she’d explain tomorrow, when the house wasn’twatching, when the ghosts of her family’s expectations weren’t pressing so hard against her ribs.
13
December 24th - Riley
The estate glowed with preparations for the Christmas Eve party. The house smelled of pine and mulled wine, every surface glittering with silver and candlelight. Riley had changed into one of the designer dresses the personal shopper had provided, the fabric rich and heavy against her skin. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror, polished hair, painted lips, no trace of the woman who usually lived in jeans and flannels.
She caught Elizabeth watching as she descended the staircase. That look, steady, unguarded for a heartbeat, made Riley’s stomach flip. It almost felt worth it. Almost.
But the fragile peace didn’t last.
The front doors opened with theatrical timing, and Sophia swept in like she’d been scripted. Tall, elegant, fur-lined coat sliding from her shoulders into a waiting footman’s arms, she was everything Riley wasn’t—effortless, assured, bred for rooms like this.
Sophia glided closer, a fresh glass of champagne in her hand, her smile gleaming like a knife polished for display. She didn’tbother to greet Riley. She just let her gaze skim over her, slow and deliberate, as though appraising a piece of furniture that didn’t quite belong in the room.
“My, my,” she said lightly, slipping her arm through Elizabeth’s. “You do keep her busy, don’t you? Fetching drinks, running errands, keeping you on schedule…” She tilted her head, lashes lowering in mock innocence. “And you even dressed her up so she can pretend she’s not just your assistant.”
A ripple of laughter stirred among the nearest guests, as though Sophia had made some clever little joke instead of drawing blood. Riley’s stomach turned, heat rising in her cheeks.
Elizabeth’s posture went rigid, the faintest tremor in the arm Sophia held. But when she spoke, her tone was cool, careful, perfectly neutral. “Sophia.”
