Chapter 3 #3
When the housekeeper finally withdrew, Riley stood in the doorway between the two spaces, arms folded. “This all feels very… not real. Like I’m in someone else’s holiday fantasy and I missed the casting call.”
Elizabeth moved past her, opening the wardrobe. “You’re doing better than most actresses I’ve hired to present quarterly reports.”
“That’s… comforting?”
Elizabeth turned. Riley’s coat was half-undone now, revealing a deep green sweater that hugged a little too well. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold, and her hair looks a little windblown.
Elizabeth’s gaze lingered.
Dangerous.
She looked away.
“You’ll need to change for dinner,” she said, stepping back. “It’s semi-formal.”
“Of course it is.”
Elizabeth crossed to the window, arms folding as she stared out over the snow-covered lawn, the twinkling trees, the rolling hills beyond. This was supposed to be control. A performance she could choreograph.
And yet, her heart thudded too loudly. She could still feel Riley’s warmth under her palm. The way Riley had leaned into her ever so slightly in the hallway when Annette had narrowed her eyes.
Riley wasn’t just playing the role.
She was inhabiting it.
And Elizabeth was beginning to lose track of where the lie ended.
“You okay?” Riley’s voice was quiet.
Elizabeth turned her head, surprised.
Riley stood in the center of the room, eyes searching hers. Not intrusively, just gently. Genuinely.
It was the first time someone had asked her that in a long time.
Elizabeth’s walls snapped up like reflex. “Fine.”
“Okay,” Riley said, though she clearly didn’t believe her. She glanced toward the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… get changed.”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She waited until Riley disappeared behind the door before releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The show had begun.
And she wasn’t sure who the audience really was anymore.
The dining room smelled faintly of roasted herbs and pine from the small arrangements Elizabeth had approved weeks ago.
Candles flickered in crystal holders, casting soft light over the polished mahogany table.
The place settings were perfect, as always, gleaming silverware aligned like soldiers, napkins folded with military precision. Everything, meticulously orchestrated.
Riley slid into the chair next to her, still adjusting to the formal rhythm of the Hale family table.
Elizabeth noted the way her shoulders hunched slightly, how she tugged at the edge of the napkin on her lap, a subtle signal of nerves she couldn’t quite hide.
Riley’s hands fidgeted with the glassware, and Elizabeth’s eyes flicked between her and the food before them.
The first course arrived, cream of mushroom soup, garnished with a drizzle of truffle oil, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but scan Riley’s face for any sign of hesitation.
She was doing well, though. Nodding politely, offering a small laugh when Elizabeth’s mother made a pointedly clipped comment about the weather and the perils of cross-country travel.
Her voice was soft, careful, but steady.
Elizabeth allowed herself a fraction of relief.
Riley was performing, yes, but she was also holding her own.
Conversation flowed around them in the practiced cadence of wealth and old money.
Elizabeth’s father told a story about his winter hunting trip, three exaggerated tumbles from the sleigh.
Riley chuckled at the right moments, offering just enough to seem engaged, yet never overstepping.
Elizabeth caught herself watching how her chest tightened each time Riley’s hand brushed against hers or the armrest, a gentle accident or deliberate? Elizabeth refused to guess.
Elizabeth’s attention never left Riley. One slip of phrasing, one wrong laugh at the wrong moment, and the family could smell inauthenticity a mile away.
Riley’s hand brushed hers again. This time, she held it just a moment longer than necessary.
Elizabeth’s pulse jumped, but she kept her voice even.
“Do you ride horses, Riley?” her father asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair, glass of wine in hand.
Riley blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I went on a pony trek once as a kid,” she said quickly, curling her hands in her lap. “I was terrified of falling off, but I made it to the end. Barely.”
Elizabeth nudged her subtly under the table, stifling a laugh. “She’s always up for trying new things.”
Riley’s cheeks warmed. “I try.”
Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Good. Ingenuity is admirable. And necessary in our circles.”
Elizabeth caught Riley’s eye. There was a mix of relief and tension there. She whispered under her breath, “Keep smiling. Just a few more courses.”
Riley’s lips twitched in acknowledgment, but Elizabeth could feel the weight of nerves in the way her shoulders hunched.
The next few minutes were a delicate dance of small talk, polite laughter, and Elizabeth’s carefully measured interjections to steer Riley through questions about the trip and the city.
Finally, Elizabeth set down her napkin, fingers brushing Riley’s under the table. “We’ve had a long day of traveling,” she murmured, low enough only Riley could hear. “We should get some rest. Early start tomorrow.”
Riley’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
After they said their good evenings to the family and made their way out of the dining room, Riley hesitated, glancing at the polished table, the scrutinizing faces around them. “I… I think I managed, okay?”
Elizabeth’s voice was calm, yet there was an edge of warmth she couldn’t fully hide. “You were excellent.” Her hand grazed Riley’s back as she led her toward the hallway. “Now, the suite awaits. Time for you to recover from surviving my family.”
Riley’s laugh was soft, nervous, but genuine. “I’ll try not to embarrass us.”
“You won’t,” Elizabeth said, though her own pulse raced. She could feel Riley’s warmth through the sleeve of her coat, a tether, an anchor. She forced herself to focus on the measured steps toward the suite, every footfall deliberate.
And yet, her mind flicked ahead to the bed, the single bed they would share.
The thought made her throat tight, her pulse quicken.
She wasn’t sure she wanted it to be just the bed.
But for tonight, she pushed the thought down.
Tonight, she’d concentrate on keeping Riley poised, keeping herself poised.
And surviving the first night without anyone noticing the tension simmering between them.
Elizabeth led the way up the stairs, one hand lightly resting at Riley’s back, the other steady on the railing. Her mind raced, mapping out contingencies for any question, any slip, any glance from the family that could unravel the fragile pretense.
But under all that planning, she couldn’t ignore the simple fact: Riley was next to her, alive and warm, and the apartment’s quiet hum seemed to pulse around them.
Tonight, they would rest. Tomorrow, the games would resume, but for now, it was just her and Riley, and the bed waiting silently at the top of the stairs.
The bedroom was straight out of a luxury ski lodge fantasy, a cathedral of polished wood, golden lamplight, and absurd intimacy.
A towering four-poster bed dominated the space, dressed in deep crimson quilts and a fur-lined throw that probably cost more than Riley’s last three rent payments combined.
The fire in the stone hearth flickered with lazy confidence, and candle sconces glowed on the walls like the room had been staged for seduction.
Elizabeth barely blinked.
She could sleep on one edge of a king-sized bed and not touch Riley for two weeks. Easy.
Except it wasn’t easy.
Because Elizabeth hadn’t expected this.
She had planned logistics, fabricated backstories, even briefed Riley on which cousin was married to which trust fund heir.
But she hadn’t let herself think too hard about this moment—the bed, the scent of candlewax and winter spice in the air, the silence between them that now held weight.
Elizabeth was rattled, though she would’ve rather walked barefoot across broken glass than admit it.
Riley placed her duffel on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Is it weird if I unpack?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, forcing a shrug. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Riley knelt to unzip her bag. “That feels like a trick statement in this room.”
Elizabeth turned away and focused on adjusting the thermostat. One degree lower than usual. Her palms were warm. She ignored it.
Behind her, Riley began lifting out neatly folded items. A sweater. Thick socks. A worn paperback. Elizabeth allowed herself one glance, just one, out of the corner of her eye. Riley looked absurdly soft in the firelight.
Elizabeth told herself it didn’t mean anything.
Then Riley reached into her bag and pulled out—oh.
It was one of the lingerie sets. Black lace. Delicate straps. Something that looked like sin itself had commissioned it.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Riley’s hand froze. Her eyes widened. Then she gasped and shoved it back into the bag like it had burned her.
“Oh my God. Sorry. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to… It got packed by the shopper person, not me, I didn’t even look, I swear.”
Elizabeth turned slowly, expression composed. Her voice was a blade wrapped in velvet.
“It’s fine.”
Riley was still flushing a dangerous shade of crimson. “I’m not, I mean, I wasn’t planning on… You said no intimacy, and I’m not, I wouldn’t—”
“Riley.” Elizabeth’s tone cut through the panic.
Riley looked up, lips parted, breath shallow.
Elizabeth met her eyes, carefully neutral. Detached. She couldn’t afford to be anything else.
“You don’t have to explain yourself. We’re here to play a role, remember? Appearances. That’s all.”
Riley nodded too quickly. “Right. Appearances.”
But her fingers were still trembling as she zipped the bag closed and shoved it under the bench like it had personally betrayed her.
Elizabeth didn’t comment.
She walked to the window instead, pausing to stare out into the darkness beyond the frosted glass.
Snow had started falling again, fat flakes drifting lazily under the moonlight, coating the lawn in silence.
It was the kind of evening that made people fall in love in movies.
The kind that made you want to believe in things like magic. Or timing.
She hated it.
Behind her, Riley moved around the room, unpacking a toothbrush, plugging in her phone. Elizabeth listened to every sound like it was a language she hadn’t studied but couldn’t stop trying to understand.
What was she doing?
Riley was her assistant. The most competent, unflappable employee she’d ever had. And now she was in Elizabeth’s bedroom, in Elizabeth’s family estate, her suitcase hiding seductive black lace that Elizabeth could not stop picturing against pale skin.
This wasn’t control. This wasn’t smart.
Elizabeth exhaled, slow and quiet.
She was doing this for appearances. For her mother. For the press. For stability.
Not because Riley’s presence steadied something in her. Not because Riley had laughed in the office last month with her head tilted back, eyes crinkled, hair messy from the wind. Not because Elizabeth had caught herself staring for too long, twice.
She turned away from the window.
Riley had finished changing into pajama pants and a hoodie, dark blue with a tiny, peeling logo over the heart. She looked younger like that. A little lost.
Elizabeth forced her tone into something lighter.
“You should get some rest. The first day is always the worst.”
Riley nodded, dragging her overnight bag toward the side of the bed furthest from the fire. “Right. Early breakfast with the judgmental upper crust.”
“They’re worse after mimosas.”
“Great,” Riley muttered, but she smiled.
Elizabeth crossed to the other side of the bed and unzipped her own garment bag, selecting a sleek black satin slip.
She changed in the bathroom, eyes fixed on her reflection as she fastened the thin straps.
It wasn’t a seductive piece, she’d brought it for comfort, not allure, but as she returned to the bedroom and slipped under the covers, she could feel Riley’s gaze dart toward her and away again, fast.
Warmth bloomed in the space between their bodies.
They weren’t touching. Not quite.
But her shoulder was there. A few inches away. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin in the silence.
Elizabeth turned off her lamp.
The room plunged into shadow.
She listened to Riley settle. A sigh. The rustle of fabric. The faint creak of wood as Riley shifted to her side, facing the wall, polite and distant and entirely too present.
Elizabeth lay frozen. Her body was tense, her mind louder than it had been all day. She could hear her pulse in her ears.
This was supposed to be a performance. Two weeks of appearances. Of precision and control.
But here, in the dark, in her childhood bedroom that didn’t feel like hers anymore, beside a woman she had no business inviting into this mess, Elizabeth let the truth creep in.
She wanted to roll onto her side, just to see Riley’s face in the moonlight.
She wanted to reach out, just to see what it would feel like.
She didn’t move.
Instead, she stared at the ceiling, fists clenched beneath the blanket, and asked herself the question that had been building since the moment she offered Riley the role.
What the hell have I done?