Page 75 of Her Holiday Arrangement
She grabbed her car keys from the dresser.
Her hands shook, not with fear, but with urgency.
For once, she wasn’t running from vulnerability. She was running toward it.
Toward Riley.
Elizabeth settled back into the seat of the private jet as it began to taxi down the runway.
Getting her pilot on such short notice, and on Christmas morning, was no easy feat, but it was nothing that a huge financial bonus couldn’t take care of. She did feel guilty for disrupting the pilot and small crew’s plans, but time was slipping away, and she had to get to Riley before it was too late. Maybe it already was.
She took a deep breath, trying to will herself to calm down. There was nothing she could do for the next hour at least. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Every beat rang with the echo of Riley’s note, etched in her memory:I loved pretending. Because it didn’t feel like pretending to me.
Each reread had carved a deeper hollow inside her chest. She had imagined Riley writing it, probably right after Elizabeth had walked away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed they’d shared. Imagined the shake of her hand, the resolve it must have taken to walk away.
She had let her go.
Worse, she had watched her go, silent, cowardly, rooted to the steps while the car pulled down the snowy drive.
What if Riley didn’t want to see her? What if there was nothing Elizabeth could say to fix this? What if Riley didn’t even return to her apartment in New York and this all just fell apart?
Elizabeth pressed her fingertips to her temple, eyes shut against the questions. She had always believed in control: careful investments, carefully chosen partners, carefully constructed images. But control had shattered the moment Riley had looked at her with betrayal in those wide, wounded eyes.
I told you not to get attached.
The words haunted her, acidic on her tongue. She had said them like armor, and all they had done was slice Riley to pieces.
The plane lurched into the air, pressing her back against the seat. Elizabeth clutched the armrest, though not from fear of flying. The fear was internal, clawing, insistent.
She replayed every moment with Riley like a film reel, each scene sharper than the last.
Riley laughing with a mug of cocoa, marshmallow foam on her lip.
Riley tugging Elizabeth’s scarf higher when the snow blew hard, muttering, “You’ll catch your death, boss.”
Riley unpacking that ridiculous pile of bags in their shared bedroom, cheeks pink with embarrassment, and Elizabeth’s pulse tripping over itself at the sight of lace that should have been forbidden.
Riley asleep beside her, humming in her dreams, shoulders brushing in the dark.
Elizabeth had never let someone under her skin like that. Not Sophia, not any of the polished women who had fit neatly into her world on paper. They had all been placeholders, safe, shallow, convenient.
But Riley? Riley had wrecked her.
And God help her, she wanted more of that wreckage.
The seatbelt sign dinged off. Elizabeth unfolded her hands, then refolded them again. Her phone had no service in the air, but she unlocked it anyway, rereading the old text threads. So short. So professional. Times, dates, reminders about meetings. Nothing personal. No foundation to stand on.
Because she had been a coward.
Because she had built walls higher than the estate gates, and Riley had still managed to climb over them with nothing but messy charm and relentless kindness.
Elizabeth leaned her head back against the seat. Closed her eyes. Imagined what she would say when she reached the city. Every draft collapsed in her throat. Too cold. Too formal. Too weak.
She had no script.
The hum of the engines became a metronome to her thoughts. What if Riley didn’t forgive her? What if she opened that worn apartment door, saw Elizabeth on the threshold, and slammed it shut?
The image cut deep, but it wasn’t enough to stop her.
