Page 69 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Riley was quieter than usual, answering when spoken to, her voice steady but subdued. Elizabeth caught it, the way Sophia’s gaze kept sliding past her to Riley, the faint curve of her lips as though she were enjoying a private game.
“So tell us, Sophia,” Annette asked at one point, “what brought you back before the holiday? Surely Paris hasn’t lost its charm.”
“Oh, Paris is divine,” Sophia replied smoothly, buttering her toast with elegant precision. “But one tires of perfection. And besides, there are always reasons to come home.” She let the words hang, her eyes flicking to Elizabeth for just a beat too long.
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched.
Beside her, Riley’s fork scraped softly against her plate.
Elizabeth wanted to take Riley’s hand under the table, to anchor her, to remind her she wasn’t invisible. But the weight of her family’s gaze pressed down like lead. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap instead.
By the time coffee was poured, Elizabeth felt wrung out, like she’d been performing on stage without a script. Sophia hadmanaged, in the span of an hour, to turn every conversation into a display of her polish, her ease, her belonging. And Riley, Riley who had braved her family’s icy questions the night before, was being edged to the margins, forced to smile through it.
Elizabeth knew she should say something. Step in. Draw Riley closer instead of letting Sophia set the rhythm. But each time she opened her mouth, the words clamped shut again. It was easier to let the performance play out, to stay composed, to not give her family the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.
And yet, as she glanced at Riley’s careful smile, at the faint tension in her jaw, Elizabeth felt the truth like a stone in her chest: her silence was costing her again.
Still, she sipped her coffee, eyes cool, expression unreadable. If she couldn’t protect Riley here, at least she could hide.
The drawing room gleamed with morning light, the windows tall and generous, casting the parquet floors in pale gold. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the settee, posture immaculate, though her muscles ached from the effort. Sophia had installed herself opposite, teacup balanced delicately between two fingers as if she were posing for a portrait. Riley lingered at Elizabeth’s side, close but not close enough, her presence grounding and unbearable all at once.
Elizabeth’s mother had orchestrated it perfectly: a cozy after-breakfast tea with “just the girls.” A performance stage, really, where the unspoken lines were sharp as glass.
“So,” Sophia said, crossing one leg over the other, her voice velvet. “Tell me, Riley, how are you finding it here? Adjusting well?”
Riley’s smile was polite, practiced. “It’s beautiful. Very different from home, of course.”
“Of course.” Sophia’s laugh was light, indulgent. “I can’t imagine Maine preparing anyone for this. But then, Elizabeth has always been generous with her… projects.”
Elizabeth felt Riley stiffen beside her. Heat pricked the back of her neck, but she didn’t speak. Not yet.
Riley only tilted her head, her smile still fixed. “I wouldn’t call myself a project.”
Sophia’s brows arched, amusement glinting in her eyes. “No? Then what would you call yourself?”
The silence that followed was heavy, expectant. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She could end it. She could step in, laugh, redirect, anything to shield Riley from the blade Sophia had so carefully laid out.
But Annette was watching too, gaze sharp over the rim of her teacup. Waiting to see which way her daughter would turn.
Elizabeth smoothed her skirt. “Sophia,” she said evenly, “don’t interrogate my girlfriend over tea. It’s tedious.”
Sophia’s smile widened, satisfied. “Only curious.” She turned back to her cup, as though she hadn’t just drawn blood.
Elizabeth risked a glance at Riley, who gave her a faint, grateful smile. But beneath it, Elizabeth saw the fracture, saw the way the tension lingered in her shoulders, the way her eyes slid away too quickly.
The day passed in small torments.
Sophia walked with Elizabeth through the winter garden, gesturing at the frost-covered hedges as though she still belonged there. “Do you remember,” she murmured, “last New Year’s when the fountain froze solid? You insisted we skate on it. Nearly broke your neck.”
Elizabeth forced a thin smile. “Yes.”
Riley trailed a few steps behind, hands tucked into her coat pockets. Elizabeth wanted to slow, to fall back and walk with her, but Sophia had a way of filling the space, of taking Elizabeth’s arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Some things don’t change,” Sophia said softly, glancing sideways at her.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. She hated the implication, hated the way it pressed Riley further to the margins. She should have shrugged Sophia off, should have drawn Riley into the conversation. Instead, she kept her gaze ahead, her voice cool. “Everything changes.”
Riley didn’t say a word.
