Page 41 of Her Holiday Arrangement
She couldn’t breathe.
Not because of the weight of Riley’s body, or the warmth of her presence, or the softness of the morning light, but because of the ache.
It was a sharp, sudden tenderness in her chest. A feeling she hadn’t prepared for. Couldn’t prepare for.
She turned her head slightly, careful not to wake Riley. Watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way a lock of hair had fallen over her eyes. There was a small crease at the corner of her mouth, softened by sleep, and Elizabeth felt something twist deep inside her.
No.
This was not the plan.
She was supposed to be in control of this. Of herself. Of everything.
It had started as strategy. As protection. As a calculated narrative. Riley had agreed to play a role, and Elizabeth had been good at roles all her life. The perfect daughter. The poised heiress. The unflappable executive.
But this, this quiet, tangled intimacy, was not part of the script.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.
I never meant for this to happen.
She shifted slightly, her body tense. Riley murmured something incoherent in her sleep and pressed closer. Elizabeth froze.
I can’t afford this.
This wasn’t just complicated, it was dangerous.
Riley worked for her. This was a temporary arrangement, an illusion carefully constructed for the sake of family, image, and distance from the wreckage of her last relationship.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like comfort. Like belonging. Likehome.
Elizabeth’s pulse ticked faster. She felt the familiar tug of her coping mechanisms, the ones that had carried her through every performance in her life.
Compartmentalize.
Shut down.
Control the narrative.
Overthink until the feeling dissolves.
With practiced movements, she began to untangle herself. Slowly, carefully. She slid Riley’s leg from hers, inch by inch, wincing at the small shift in warmth.
Riley stirred but didn’t wake. She simply sighed and rolled onto her back, one arm flung across the pillow, hair fanned out like a halo.
Elizabeth sat up, every motion silent. Her robe hung neatly on the hook beside the wardrobe, and she reached for it like a lifeline. Pulled it around her shoulders. Tightened the belt.
She didn’t look back.
Instead, she crossed to the window and pressed her fingers to the cold pane.
The world outside was beautiful. Utterly still. Snow blanketed everything, the hedges, the long stone drive, the distant trees. It was the kind of scene people fantasized about: picturesque and peaceful.
But all Elizabeth could feel was the trap.
They were snowed in. Isolated. Suspended in time.
And she was cornered by her own feelings.
