Chapter 4
Riley took one step into the Hale family foyer and immediately forgot how to breathe.
Yesterday, she had been so nervous at meeting the family, she hadn’t focused on her surroundings, but this morning she realized it was like being dropped into the set of a Christmas movie—if the movie had a budget larger than most small countries.
The chandelier overhead sparkled with cruel precision, each crystal glinting as though in judgment.
The grand staircase curled upward like something out of Versailles, its banister wrapped in garlands so flawlessly arranged they may as well have been installed by NASA.
Every ornament on every tree matched. Even the pine smelled expensive.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Nope, still real.
Elizabeth was already halfway across the space, speaking with someone Riley didn’t recognize. She wore a slate gray coat that matched the marbled tones of the room, her hair pinned back like she’d stepped out of a Sotheby’s catalog. She looked… different here. Sharper. More contained.
Riley swallowed hard, dragging her eyes away before the internal monologue started spiraling again.
Okay, Riley, focus. You can do this. You are charming. You are funny. You are not going to faint in the hallway like a Jane Austen heroine with a vitamin deficiency.
She mentally flipped through the script Elizabeth had drilled into her as they dressed this morning:
“Don’t say anything about student loans. Don’t talk about how your last girlfriend ghosted you after you forgot to Venmo for brunch. Don’t knock over the million-dollar vase.”
She glanced sideways at an actual million-dollar vase perched on a pedestal near the hallway. It had dragons on it.
The entryway alone was the size of her entire apartment. Three different staff members moved in perfectly timed choreography around her, fluffing wreaths and adjusting ribbons that were already perfect. A tray of champagne passed her elbow. She resisted the urge to grab one like a drowning woman.
Focus, Riley.
She straightened her back and mentally pulled up the script Elizabeth had drilled into her. It wasn’t that long, really, just a few ground rules. Smile. Hold hands occasionally. Don’t overshare. Don’t under-share. Don’t call her “boss” in front of the family.
And above all else: don’t screw this up.
This entire performance came with a generous paycheck, enough to keep her from panic-Googling side hustles at 3am.
But the stakes weren’t just financial anymore.
The whole family was here. The whole very rich, very polished, very old-money family.
And Elizabeth was somewhere, probably already five steps ahead, already in character. And Riley?
Riley felt like a knockoff ornament at a Tiffany’s sample sale.
She let out a breath, scanned the room for Elizabeth again, and their eyes met.
Just for a second. Across the room, through the crowd of muted cashmere and tasteful champagne, Elizabeth looked at her. And her expression, which had been all cool diplomacy a moment ago, shifted. Not dramatically. But enough.
Riley’s heart stuttered.
Because there, under the perfect lighting and behind the practiced poise, was a softness. Just for her. Something almost apologetic, almost proud. Something that said I know this is hard. I see you trying.
Riley tried to steady herself, but her stomach flipped like a gymnast on Red Bull.
She glanced away, cheeks warming, and busied herself adjusting her shirt cuffs.
A few people milled nearby, probably cousins or family friends who vacationed in Switzerland and could detect off-brand shoes by scent alone.
She pasted on her brightest smile, the one that said I’m fine, this is fine, I meant to walk into the wrong room that one time, laugh with me.
It had gotten her through awkward holiday dinners, disastrous Tinder dates, and that one time she tripped into a fire hydrant trying to impress a girl.
Humor and deflection. That was her survival kit. That and lip balm.
A woman walked by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Riley grabbed one like it was a life preserver.
“Thanks,” she said to no one in particular. “Just what I needed to calm my existential class anxiety.”
No one laughed. But she sipped anyway.
The room smelled like pine and fireplace and something floral she couldn’t name. It was beautiful. Immaculate. And entirely foreign. Riley was an intruder here, no matter how charming her smile or how carefully she followed the script.
But then she caught Elizabeth’s eye again, this time closer, now making her way toward her with that purposeful stride, like she belonged here but didn’t mind breaking the rules.
And suddenly, Riley didn’t feel quite so alone.
Their eyes met.
And Riley forgot everything else.
It wasn’t a long look. Just a flicker across the polished expanse of the room. But in it, there was something that made Riley’s stomach drop like she’d missed a stair. Something soft. Something that didn’t feel like acting.
She blinked and looked away too quickly. God, she needed to pull it together.
Elizabeth Hale didn’t flinch at congressional hearings or corporate takeovers. She wasn’t going to survive this weekend if Riley couldn’t handle walking through a fancy doorway without self-combusting.
Riley forced her feet forward, nodding politely at a woman in a fur-trimmed coat and avoiding the thousand-dollar runners underfoot like they were lava. The Christmas music piped in from somewhere, probably live musicians, knowing this family, was tasteful and non-denominational. Of course.
A man in cashmere glanced at her shoes.
She adjusted her posture, flipped her hair, and tried to channel “understated elegance” instead of “messy assistant in off-the-rack shoes.” Humor was her best armor, and she wore it like a Kevlar vest. She could do this. She had to do this.
And then Elizabeth was there.
Up close, she was all angles and poise, dressed in a long coat the color of steel and eyes that gave away nothing. Not unless you knew her. Not unless you looked hard enough.
“Sorry,” Riley said brightly, stepping into place beside her, voice just loud enough for nearby relatives to overhear. “Took me a minute to soak in the generational wealth. I think I just walked past a nativity scene made entirely of crystal.”
Elizabeth didn’t laugh, but her mouth twitched at the corner, just slightly. “You’re on script,” she murmured, her voice low and private.
“Trying to stay on brand.”
Elizabeth’s hand brushed against hers in a casual, practiced motion, then took it gently. No stage fright. No nerves. Just clean choreography.
“I was starting to think you’d bolt,” she said.
“Tempting,” Riley whispered back. “But I promised I wouldn’t flee until after dessert.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to her again. Something warmer there, just for a heartbeat. Then, louder: “Come say hello to my aunt. And try not to scare the caterer.”
They stepped forward as a unit, Riley letting Elizabeth lead, letting her fall into the role of the graceful, attentive partner. One she could play, if only because Elizabeth made it weirdly easy. She even managed a real smile.
And as they passed the dragon vase, Riley muttered under her breath, just for Elizabeth:
“So, how many priceless heirlooms am I allowed to break before I’m exiled from Vermont?”
Elizabeth glanced sideways. “Two.”
Riley grinned. “Three if I make your aunt laugh?”
A pause. A hint of a smile.
“Three if you make me laugh,” Elizabeth said.
Riley’s heart stuttered for a beat too long.
And then they were swept into the crowd.
Riley had faced a lot of daunting rooms in her life, her fifth-grade spelling bee, that one apartment where raccoons lived in the ceiling, Elizabeth Hale’s corner office at ten past six on a Friday, but this was a whole different beast.
The Hale family’s formal living room looked like it had been decorated by someone who thought Versailles needed more gold.
There were velvet armchairs positioned for maximum discomfort, an antique harp in one corner (untouched but polished to a shine), and more family portraits than Riley could count.
The most recent one featured everyone looking aggressively windswept on a yacht. She tried not to stare at it too long.
“Darling,” came a voice like soft silk hiding razors.
Riley’s stomach flipped as Elizabeth guided her toward the far side of the drawing room.
The immediate family had already been polite, if a little formal, but now came the extended cast: cousins, a scattering of great-aunts and uncles with sharp eyes, and a few family friends who seemed to radiate wealth like a perfume.
Aunt Constance, Elizabeth’s great-aunt, swept across the room in a deep emerald gown that made her look like she had been carved from polished jade.
Her smile was practiced, precise, and carried just the faintest edge of judgment.
She stopped in front of Riley, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if measuring her worth.
“And this is Riley,” Elizabeth said smoothly, stepping forward.
Riley forced a confident smile and extended her hand. “The one and only,” she said, praying her voice didn’t betray the nervous flutter in her chest.
Aunt Constance’s gloved fingers met hers, firm but not warm. “So lovely to meet you at last,” she said, her tone polite but sharp. “Elizabeth has been… reserved, until now.”
Riley tilted her head, searching for a foothold. “Well, she finally got tired of eating holiday cookies alone, I guess.”
Aunt Constance gave a faint, tight laugh. “Charming,” she said, stepping back to scrutinize her carefully.
Then a trio approached: Elizabeth’s cousin, Nathaniel, his wife, Celeste, and the longtime family friend, Mr. Hawthorne, whose eyes seemed to measure everything they landed on.
Nathaniel resembled Julian, Elizabeth’s brother, but was more animated, less restrained.
Celeste was all silk and pearls, her smile fixed and teeth impossibly white.