Page 33 of Her Holiday Arrangement
The reason for her current, wide-awake, hyper-aware state of torment was lying precisely seven inches to her right. Under the same duvet. In the same bed. Again.
Elizabeth Hale.
CEO. Ice queen. Untouchable goddess in a silk sleep shirt.
And Riley wassweating.
She shifted slightly under the covers, praying the mattress wouldn’t creak and reveal how restless she was. Her pajama tanktop clung to her back, and her flannel pants suddenly felt like thermal prison. Meanwhile, Elizabeth lay perfectly still, on her back, one hand draped across her stomach, like she was starring in some minimalist winter fairytale.
Riley could smell her shampoo. Some fancy herbal-vanilla thing that made her want to bury her face in the pillow and scream.
Don’t touch her. Don’t think about her. Don’t wonder what she’s wearing under that shirt. Oh God, Riley. Get a grip.
The worst part? This wasn’t new.
They’d been doing this bed-sharing thing for three nights now. The first night had been awkward, Riley had built a dramatic pillow wall between them and then promptly kicked it down in her sleep. The second night had been tense in a quieter,pretend-this-is-normalkind of way. And now… this.
Now it was worse.
Because she knew Elizabeth laughed in her sleep sometimes, soft, like she didn’t mean to. She knew she read in bed with glasses on, which she removed precisely twelve seconds before turning out the light. She knew she always lay on her back for the first twenty minutes and then, without fail, rolled onto her side, facing Riley, like her body had made a decision her brain hadn’t signed off on.
And Riley had no defenses left.
This isn’t real. She’s not yours. You’re getting paid to be here, remember?
But the covers were too warm, and Elizabeth’s bare feet had brushed against hers under the duvet exactly four minutes ago, and Riley had felt it in hersoul.
She turned onto her side, facing the window, gripping the edge of her pillow like it might stop her from blurting something humiliating.
The silence stretched. The snow tapped softly against the glass. The fairy lights outside twinkled in frosted patterns she couldn’t follow.
“Do you think the reindeer feel pressured to perform at Christmas?” she whispered suddenly into the dark. “Or is that just me?”
A beat. Then:
A soft huff of laughter. Quiet. Real.
Riley turned her head, stunned.
Elizabeth had her eyes closed, but there was the unmistakable trace of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Is this what keeps you up at night?”
“I mean,” Riley whispered, emboldened now, “the whole world is counting on them to deliver joy and whimsy and, like, flight physics? That’s a lot of pressure for one magical species.”
Elizabeth’s eyes opened, just barely. “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Riley smiled into the dark. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Elizabeth wasn’t looking at her, not really, but she also wasn’tnotlooking at her. The glow from the hallway nightlight cast soft golden shadows across the planes of her face.
“You laughed,” Riley said quietly.
“I didn’t.”
“You did. A real one. Not the tight CEO one. That one had, like, texture.”
Elizabeth turned slightly, adjusting the pillow under her head. Her voice came softer this time. “Don’t get used to it.”
