Page 58 of Her Holiday Arrangement
The kitchen was already warm when Elizabeth stepped inside, though it had nothing to do with her mood. The air smelled of butter, coffee, and sizzling bacon. The staff moved like clockwork, aprons crisp, hair pulled back, each one intent on chopping, whisking, or arranging trays of fruit for the long farmhouse table.
Elizabeth stood at the far counter, phone in one hand, a delicate porcelain teacup in the other. She’d been up since before dawn, skimming financial reports, answering emails from London, and trying very hard not to think about the look on Riley’s face the night before when she’d left her in that dying firelight.
She could feel the faint ache behind her eyes, the kind that came from too little sleep and too much… everything. So she’d done what she always did: polished the armor. Immaculate black slacks, cream silk blouse, hair swept into a smooth twist at the nape of her neck. Neutral lipstick, just enough to look alive. Controlled. Unshakable.
The door swung open.
Riley stepped in, hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed from either the cold or the gauntlet of relatives already up for breakfast. She wore a soft sweater and jeans, mug of coffee in her hand, and looked like someone who’d been up half the night thinking things she couldn’t quite say.
Elizabeth’s grip on her teacup tightened.
“Morning,” Riley said, her voice pitched low, as if unsure whether this was neutral ground or enemy territory.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth replied, perfectly even, eyes flicking back to her phone. She scrolled to an email that didn’t matter, just to have somewhere else to look.
Riley crossed to the island, leaned a hip against it. “You’re up early.”
“I always am.” Elizabeth took a sip of tea. “Time zones wait for no one.”
The silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable. Staff bustled around them, the faint clatter of utensils filling the space where something else might have lived. Riley took another sip of coffee, then set it down a little too firmly on the counter.
“You know,” she said lightly, “most people ease into holiday mornings. Pajamas, cinnamon rolls, lazy conversations. You should try it sometime.”
Elizabeth allowed herself the faintest smile, the kind she gave business acquaintances who made a passable joke. “I find efficiency more restful than idleness.”
“Right.” Riley’s lips pressed into a thin line. She was studying Elizabeth now, the way she did when she was trying to read what was behind the glass.
Elizabeth set down her teacup and closed her phone, letting it rest on the counter. “I appreciate your concern for my leisure time,” she said, tone as smooth as polished marble, “but I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Of course you are,” Riley said, but there was an edge to it. She straightened, picked up her coffee again, and for a moment Elizabeth thought she might say something reckless, like she had under the fairy-lit trees. But instead, Riley just smiled, that infuriating half-smile that made Elizabeth feel both seen and exposed.
“Well,” Riley said, backing toward the door, “I’ll leave you to your efficiency, then.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Riley’s eyes lingered on her for one last moment, searching, measuring, and then she turned and left.
The door swung shut, cutting off the faint sounds of her footsteps on the hall’s old wooden floor.
Elizabeth exhaled, long and quiet. She could still feel the ghost of Riley’s nearness, the way her voice last night had dipped low when she said,I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest.
Honesty was dangerous. Honesty meant stepping out from behind the lines she’d drawn for herself years ago.
So she picked up her phone again, sipped her tea, and let the steam fog her vision until she could see only the familiar shape of control.
The ballroom was unrecognizable.
Elizabeth had gone all in, garlands looped in swooping arcs from the vaulted ceiling, fairy lights twinkling in the dim like a thousand suspended stars, and three towering Christmas trees flanking the stage at the far end. The scent of pine and cinnamon drifted through the air, mingling with the rich sweetness of cocoa from the refreshment tables. Kids darted betweenclusters of volunteers with the kind of sugar-fueled energy only December could bring, their laughter rising above the mellow background hum of Bing Crosby crooning from a set of vintage speakers.
Riley trailed Elizabeth in through the double doors, shoving her hands into her coat pockets against the lingering bite of cold. She’d been here for days now, long enough to know that events like this were less about the holiday spirit and more about social optics for the Hale family. Still… it was hard not to be swept up in it.
Elizabeth was already sliding into hostess mode, elegant navy coat, black boots polished to a mirror sheen, hair tucked neatly behind one ear as she greeted the mayor, a few local business owners, and a camera crew from the regional paper. Riley hung back, scanning the long tables laden with donated toys, rolls of festive paper, ribbons, and tags.
Their deal, the one she’d agreed to in a weak moment of poor judgment, meant playing the role of doting partner at events like this. Which was why, after ten minutes of polite mingling, Elizabeth reappeared at her side, hand light at the small of Riley’s back.
“Smile,” she murmured without turning her head.
Riley tilted her lips upward, the kind of grin that was meant for show but somehow didn’t feel as fake as it should. Maybe it was the warm press of Elizabeth’s palm, maybe the glittering trees, maybe the hum of holiday cheer thick in the air. She made polite conversation with a trio of retirees manning the cocoa station, joked with a teenager trying to fashion an elaborate bow for a skateboard, even helped a couple of kids attach name tags to their gifts.
