Page 35 of Her Holiday Arrangement

The room stilled.

Riley turned, and there was Margot, holding a sprig of mistletoe over their heads like it was a royal decree.

All eyes were on them. The room was too warm. Riley’s heart was hammering.

“Tradition,” Julian said smoothly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

Elizabeth’s expression didn’t change. She simply looked at Riley, steady and unreadable, then leaned in and pressed her mouth to hers.

Just a kiss.

It was supposed to be just a kiss.

And it was. Technically.

Closed mouths. A light touch. Barely two seconds long.

But something in it lingered, just a breath longer than it needed to.

Elizabeth’s hand had curled around Riley’s waist, anchoring her. Their noses brushed as they pulled apart.

And Riley, God help her, felt like she was falling.

She smiled, barely. Played it cool. Let out a soft laugh and said something dumb like, “Guess I’m officially indoctrinated now,” which made Margot roll her eyes and retreat.

The conversation resumed. The games continued. The fire crackled.

But Riley was no longer in her body.

She could still feel Elizabeth’s lips. The weight of that kiss haunted her like a secret.

Later, she found herself standing by the drinks cart, swirling cider she wasn’t drinking, trying to calm the chaos inside her chest.

Elizabeth appeared at her side, as if summoned. “You handled that well.”

“The kiss?”

“No, the word game. But yes, that too.”

Riley snorted softly. “You have the driest sense of humor for someone who just kissed me in front of their entire family.”

Elizabeth didn’t look at her. “You’re doing better than I thought you would.”

“What does that mean?”

Elizabeth finally met her eyes. “It means you’re good at pretending. That’s all.”

Riley nodded slowly. “Right. Pretending.”

But she couldn’t shake the look on Elizabeth’s face when they kissed. Or the way her fingers had gripped Riley’s waist like she didn’t want to let go.

They returned to the game table. More puzzles. More laughter. More of Elizabeth’s hand skimming the small of Riley’s back every time she passed behind her chair.

And Riley couldn’t stop thinking:

If this is pretending, I don’t want to know what real feels like.

Snow beat softly against the windows like a lullaby made of ice. Somewhere downstairs, the staff had finally gone to bed. The house was quiet, lavish, sleeping, still.