Page 76 of Her Holiday Arrangement
She would rather risk that door closing forever than live with the silence she had left behind in Vermont.
When she finally stepped off the plane, barely an hour later, the city air hit her like a different world. Sharp, dirty, alive. Snow here was gray at the curbs, slushy from traffic, not pristine like Vermont’s manicured drifts. It suited her better.
She hailed a cab. Paid double just to make the driver move faster through holiday traffic.
Block by block, closer to Riley.
Elizabeth stared out the window at the city lit with garish Christmas decorations, cheap strings of lights, inflatable Santas half-deflated on rooftops. Not her world. Not the estate. Not the penthouse. But it was Riley’s world. And it had begun to feel like hers, too, in those stolen glimpses Riley had let her see.
She wanted that world.
She wanted Riley.
The cab turned down the narrow street, brakes squealing. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched harder than any turbulence had.
This was it.
In minutes, she would be standing outside Riley’s apartment door. No staff to announce her. No curated estate to impress her. Just Elizabeth, raw, disheveled, terrified.
For the first time in her life, she prayed that would be enough.
By the time Elizabeth climbed the final flight of stairs to Riley’s apartment, her body was numb. Not just from the cold, but from the weight of what she was about to do.
Her entire life had been curated to avoid this exact moment: standing at a chipped door in a dingy hallway, trembling, uncertain, utterly exposed. No staff, no driver, no polished excuses. Just Elizabeth Hale, about to beg for something she had spent her whole life insisting she didn’t need.
Her knuckles hovered over the door. For a full thirty seconds, she couldn’t move. Then she forced herself to knock.
The door opened a crack. Riley stood there, in flannel pajama bottoms and an old sweatshirt, hair piled messily on her head. She looked tired, wary. Beautiful.
Elizabeth’s throat closed.
Riley didn’t smile. She didn’t even open the door all the way. “What are you doing here?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. Words. She needed words. The truth, not the polished phrases she’d spent years perfecting.
“You were right,” she said. Her voice was raw, rough from the cold. “I was pretending.”
Riley’s chin lifted. Her arms crossed her chest. “Of course you were.”
Elizabeth shook her head, desperate. “Not about the sex. Not about the touches. Not about the mornings.” She forced the words past the ache in her chest. “I was pretending I didn’t love you. Because that’s easier than risking being loved back.”
The silence that followed was brutal. Riley’s eyes flicked over her, messy hair, flushed cheeks, the small evergreen tree Elizabeth carried like an offering, and something flickered, but her mouth stayed hard.
“Why now?” Riley asked finally. Her tone wasn’t cruel, but it cut. “Why today?”
Elizabeth bent, carefully setting the tree on the worn carpeted floor between them. Her fingers were shaking as she reached into her pocket. The ornament was still there, wrapped in a crumpled napkin. She unwrapped it, the glass catching the dim light of the hallway.
“I saved this,” she said quietly. “The ornament you liked from the library. You said it reminded you of home.” Her hand trembled as she held it out. “I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me.”
For a long, unbearable pause, Riley said nothing. Her arms were still crossed. Elizabeth’s heart slammed against her ribs, harder than any boardroom negotiation, harder than any confrontation with her family.
Then Riley let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. She shook her head, eyes wet. “You’re still terrible at this.”
Elizabeth let out a sharp exhale, relief breaking through her chest. She managed the ghost of a smile. “I know,” she admitted. Her voice softened. “But I want to learn. With you.”
Riley’s arms dropped at last. She stepped forward, slow, as if every inch closed between them might still be a mistake. Elizabeth didn’t dare move, afraid to spook her, afraid to ruin the fragile thread of hope she’d been given.
And then Riley’s hands were on her face, warm, calloused, achingly familiar. She pulled Elizabeth down, and their mouths met.
