Page 43 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Inside, though, her nerves felt like piano wires strung too tight. One shift, one pluck, and they’d snap.
She busied herself unnecessarily, folding a napkin, rearranging the silverware, anything to keep from thinking about the image burned into her mind: Riley’s hand brushing hers under the duvet, Riley’s breath warm in the dark, that whispered, slurred confession:This is the part where I ruin everything, right?
Elizabeth had said nothing.
She had looked at Riley in the dark andsaid nothing.
Now she had to live with that choice.
The swinging kitchen door creaked open behind her. Her posture stiffened before she even turned.
Riley.
She stood in the doorway wearing borrowed wool socks, plaid pajama pants, and a slightly-too-big Fair Isle sweater that Elizabeth recognized as one of her own from college. Her curls were pulled up in a halfhearted bun, cheeks flushed from the cold or maybe from nerves.
Her eyes locked on Elizabeth immediately, uncertain.
Elizabeth didn’t let herself react. She simply gave a crisp nod. “Morning.”
Riley hesitated for a beat, then stepped inside. “Hey,” she said, casual, like they hadn’t just spent the most emotionally confusing night of their lives tangled in each other’s bodies.
“Sleep well?” Elizabeth asked, tone even. Detached.
Riley blinked, caught off guard by the neutral delivery. “Uh, yeah. Eventually.”
Elizabeth offered a polite smile, ignoring what Riley’s answer implied, and turned back to the table, brushing imaginary crumbs from the linen runner.
Behind her, she could feel Riley trying to read her. The pause in her movements. The subtle tightening in her shoulders. It made something twist in Elizabeth’s stomach, a stab of guilt so sharp it was almost physical.
She hadn’t meant to punish Riley. This wasn’t abouther.
It was self-preservation. Pure and simple.
Riley joined the rest of the family at the kitchen table, sliding into a seat between Elizabeth’s cousin and her younger brother. Someone passed her a platter of pancakes.
Conversation bloomed easily around them: holiday plans, last-minute shopping, someone’s dog who got into a box of chocolate truffles. Christmas carols played faintly from the speaker tucked into the corner, Ella Fitzgerald singing “HaveYourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Laughter rang out every few minutes, syrup was poured generously, and the scent of nutmeg floated through the air like a spell.
Elizabeth sipped her black coffee and smiled when expected, but everything felt distant. Muted.
Like she was watching the morning unfold from behind a pane of glass.
Riley was trying, though. That much was clear. She laughed at her uncle’s terrible jokes. Complimented the pancakes. Chatted with the cook about the difference between molasses and treacle. She was bright, engaged, funny.
But Elizabeth could see the flickers of confusion behind her eyes. The way her gaze kept flicking to Elizabeth, searching for something. A signal. A smile. Anything.
Elizabeth gave her nothing.
Because if she gave Rileyanything, she might fall apart.
And she couldn’t afford that.
She was already dangerously close.
Riley’s foot brushed hers under the table. A mistake, surely, but Elizabeth didn’t move away. She didn’t react at all, though her heart slammed against her ribs like a warning bell.
A moment later, Riley coughed and shifted her chair subtly. Created space.
Elizabeth stared down into her coffee, her reflection fractured by the surface.
