Page 74 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Elizabeth stayed frozen in bed, the card clenched in her hand. None of it mattered. Not the champagne flutes on the nightstand, not the perfectly tied ribbon on the gifts stacked at the foot of her bed, not the expensive silk pajamas her mother had insisted she wear.
What mattered had already walked away.
And she had let her.
The corridors of the estate were quiet when Elizabeth finally rose. She pulled a sweater over her head, tugged on her slippers, and padded through the endless, gleaming halls. The portraits of Hale ancestors stared down at her as she moved—cold, watchful, judgmental. She had lived her whole life under those eyes, never faltering, never rebelling.
Until Riley.
Elizabeth stopped outside her father’s study. Her hand hovered over the doorknob before she pushed it open. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old leather, just as it always had.
Her father looked up from behind his massive desk, spectacles perched on his nose, a ledger open in front of him even on Christmas morning. “Elizabeth,” he said with a mild smile, “you’re missing the presents.”
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her voice was steady, but her heart raced. “We need to talk.”
His brow furrowed. “Can it not wait until after the holiday?”
“No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “It can’t.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Her father set his pen down, folding his hands atop the ledger. “Very well. What is it?”
Elizabeth crossed the room until she stood directly before him. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Last night you told me Riley would ruin my name. My career. My image.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “Because it’s the truth. You’ve worked too hard to throw it away on?—”
“Stop.” Her voice cut sharper than she expected, her chest rising and falling with the force of it. “Don’t you see? I’m the one ruining myself. Not Riley.”
Her father blinked at her, taken aback.
“All these years,” Elizabeth continued, her throat tight, “I’ve done exactly what you asked. I’ve been the perfect daughter, the perfect Hale. Polished, contained, cold. I’ve played the part so well that I almost convinced myself that’s who I was.” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping. “But it’s not. It never was.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Elizabeth?—”
“No,” she said again, firmer this time. “I’m done performing for you. For anyone.”
Her voice broke, but she didn’t care.
Her father didn’t respond. He only stared at her, his expression unreadable, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t wait for his approval. She turned and walked out, leaving him in silence.
The estate’s halls stretched before her like a museum of someone else’s life. She passed glittering chandeliers, gilt-framed paintings, marble floors polished to a shine. Opulence that meant nothing.
But in every corner, her mind conjured Riley. Riley making cocoa in the kitchen, laughing as she spilled marshmallows on the counter. Riley dancing in fuzzy socks on the polished wood floor. Riley teasing the staff and getting them to laugh, a real laugh, the kind Elizabeth had never heard from them before.
That was what had made this house feel alive.
That was what had made it feel like Christmas.
Not the gifts. Not the parties. Not the legacy.
Riley.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, her chest aching. She pressed a hand against the banister, steadying herself as the truth crashed through her. She loved her.
Not the way she loved control, or appearances, or winning. She loved Riley with the messy, terrifying, impossible kind of love she had sworn she’d never allow herself to feel.
And if she didn’t act now, it would be too late.
Elizabeth spun on her heel, her decision made. She hurried upstairs to her room, yanked her coat from the wardrobe, and shoved her arms into the sleeves. She didn’t care about her hair, or her clothes, or the fact that her family would whisper when she stormed out in the middle of Christmas morning.
