Page 81 of Her Holiday Arrangement
“Insufferably adorable,” Riley countered, kissing the tip of Elizabeth’s nose before wriggling free of her grip.
Elizabeth wanted to scold her, but laughter won instead, bubbling out low and unguarded. It still astonished her, howeasily Riley could disarm her, how quickly she could unravel all the careful control Elizabeth had once believed was her strength.
“Come on,” Riley said, hopping down from the ladder and tugging Elizabeth’s hand toward the tree. “Help me put this up. We’re supposed to do it together.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but didn’t resist. They straightened the star together, Elizabeth’s steady hands guiding Riley’s clumsy ones until it sat perfectly aligned at the peak.
“There,” Elizabeth said softly.
“There,” Riley echoed, gazing up at it with the kind of smile that made Elizabeth’s chest ache.
For a moment they just stood there, hands still tangled, the lights of the tree flickering in their reflections on the glass.
Then Riley bent to rummage through the ornament box and pulled out the one Elizabeth knew she would. The glass bauble Riley had loved at the Vermont estate, the one Elizabeth had carried across Manhattan in the snow, terrified she was already too late. It caught the light like fire, throwing sparks of color onto the walls.
Riley held it up between them, her grin tilting into something softer. “You know, I still can’t believe you dragged a Christmas tree across the city for me.”
Elizabeth let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I’d drag a forest.”
Riley’s eyes widened, her mouth parting in mock awe. “A whole forest? You’re very dramatic, Hale.”
“Only for you,” Elizabeth murmured, and leaned down to kiss her.
It was gentle, lingering, the kind of kiss that spoke of comfort as much as want. Riley melted into it, her hand sliding up to Elizabeth’s jaw, her thumb brushing softly over her cheekbone.
When they finally pulled apart, Riley whispered, “Hang it with me?”
Elizabeth nodded, and together they looped the ribbon over a branch near the middle of the tree. The ornament glimmered against the lights, nestled between the mismatched pieces that made their tree truly theirs.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, unexpected and sharp. A year ago, she’d thought love was performance, that control was protection, that family was obligation. Now she knew better. Love was this—messy, mismatched, fragile, brilliant. And somehow, she’d been lucky enough to be chosen for it.
Riley leaned against her shoulder, still looking at the ornament. “Looks good, huh?”
Elizabeth’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her close. She pressed a kiss into Riley’s hair. “Perfect.”
For the first time, she meant it.
The snow outside fell heavier, blanketing the city in white. Inside, the penthouse glowed, not just from the lights of the tree, but from the laughter that spilled out of them both, the warmth of cocoa waiting on the stove—the kind of happiness Elizabeth had once thought was reserved for other people.
The scent of cinnamon and roasted garlic wove through the penthouse, softening its sleek lines and high ceilings with something warm, something human. Christmas Eve, and Elizabeth Hale’s living room, once an untouched magazine spread of gray marble and glass, was now full of chatter, clinking glasses, and the easy chaos of people who weren’t afraid to put their feet on the furniture.
Elizabeth stood at the dining table, aligning silver cutlery out of habit, though it was already perfectly straight. Riley’s voice drifted from the kitchen, full of laughter as she teased oneof their friends about burning the bread. The sound anchored Elizabeth in a way she still didn’t fully understand but had come to rely on.
One year ago, she’d spent Christmas Eve under siege, performing perfection, choking on the cold weight of her family’s expectations. Now, she was hosting her own Christmas Eve dinner, with a different kind of family. Chosen. Built.
“Stop fussing,” Riley said, appearing at her elbow with a flour-dusted cheek and a glass of wine in hand. She leaned over, kissing Elizabeth’s temple. “They’re not going to care if the forks are off by half a millimeter.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “You notice when I shift your mugs around by half an inch.”
“That’s different,” Riley said primly, though her grin betrayed her. “That’scoffee. Coffee deserves reverence.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile. Riley’s presence softened her edges, even when she wanted to resist. She set down the fork and accepted the wine.
Across the room, their friends filled the space: arguing about whether to watchDie HardorIt’s a Wonderful Lifeafter dinner. Hanging stockings, oversized, tacky ones Riley had insisted on, along the mantle. Every surface glimmered with fairy lights.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, but not in the old way, not with dread. This ache was gentler. It was what it felt like to want something and know you had it.
Dinner was loud and a little uneven, the roast slightly overdone, the potatoes a little too garlicky, but Riley presided over the table with such warmth that no one cared. She kept topping glasses, telling jokes, reaching across to touch Elizabeth’s hand when she thought no one was looking.
