Page 37 of Her Holiday Arrangement

The words hit like a brick—quiet, solid, irrevocable.

Riley looked up. Elizabeth was watching her, face unreadable but eyes sharp with something that made Riley’s throat tighten.

“Not to me,” Elizabeth added, and that broke something open.

Riley felt suddenly, terribly naked. Not in the literal sense, though her borrowed robe had slipped off one shoulder, and she was definitely not wearing much under it except cotton sleep shorts and a cami, but emotionally, she felt peeled back. Seen. Too seen.

“Okay,” Riley said, voice cracking like glass. “That’s… not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“You can’t say things like that. Not when this is pretend. Not when we’re not?—”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “Not what?”

Riley’s mouth opened. Closed. The truth sat heavy behind her teeth. She swallowed it down with another gulp of wine.

“Never mind,” she muttered.

But the moment had shifted. The air felt charged, like the seconds before a lightning strike. Elizabeth leaned forward, just slightly, and her knee brushed against Riley’s again. Neither moved.

“I know this started as a performance,” Elizabeth said quietly. “But I’m not pretending right now.”

That was too much.

Riley set her mug down with shaking hands. “We should go to bed.”

Elizabeth didn’t argue. She didn’t say anything, just nodded once and stood. Riley followed her to the bed like a ghost, trying not to look at the curve of Elizabeth’s back, the way the robe swayed around her legs.

They climbed in, too close, too aware.

The fire burned low. The snowstorm raged on.

And Riley lay awake in the dark, heart racing, replaying the words she couldn’t forget.

You’re not replaceable.Not to me.

They lay there for a moment, back-to-back, like always.

Only tonight, it felt unbearable.

Riley exhaled slowly. The ceiling offered no comfort.

“This is the part where I ruin everything, right?” she whispered.

The question came out before she could think better of it, half-drunk, half-true, like it had been waiting for its chance. Her voice trembled more than she meant it to.

Elizabeth didn’t respond.

Riley let out a soft, bitter laugh into the dark. “Cool. Yeah. Silence. That’s encouraging.”

She didn’t know what she wanted, reassurance, maybe, or some kind of confirmation that she hadn’t completely imagined the moment by the fire. But when she turned her head toward Elizabeth, she could just make out the silhouette of her face. Eyes open. Watching her.

The silence stretched, taut and fragile.

Riley shifted slightly, meaning to pull the blanket higher over her shoulders. Her hand reached across the space between them, but instead of fabric, her fingers brushed Elizabeth’s hip.

Warm. Solid.