Chapter 4 #3
When she finally emerged, the lights were off except for a low lamp by the far side of the bed.
Elizabeth was lying under the covers, back turned toward her, hair now down, falling in loose waves across the pillow.
She looked… human. And somehow even more beautiful without all the trappings of power armor and designer suits.
Riley hesitated at the edge of the bed, then slowly climbed in, careful to stay on her side. She even scooted over a few extra inches, just in case.
The sheets were warm. Elizabeth’s presence even warmer. Not that they were touching, but God, they might as well have been. Riley could feel the heat radiating from her like it was magnetic.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t.
But she was thinking about it. About earlier, when Elizabeth had changed after the formal dinner.
The door had been slightly ajar as they were talking.
Riley hadn’t meant to look, but then there she was, standing in front of the mirror in a lacey black bra and nothing else. Not even heels. No armor.
Just skin and curve and shadow.
Riley had nearly swallowed her own tongue. She still wasn’t sure if Elizabeth had noticed the way her breath hitched or how quickly she’d spun away. She didn’t say anything about it, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen.
And now here they were. Inches apart. Elizabeth breathing evenly, Riley’s thoughts running a thousand miles a minute.
Her body wouldn’t calm down. Her limbs were buzzing. Her skin was too aware. She turned onto her back, stared at the ceiling. Every time she shifted even slightly, the bed moved, and she was terrified Elizabeth would think she was trying to start something.
You’re not into her. It’s fake. It’s all fake. Hot robot. Remember?
Except she wasn’t a robot. Not really. Not when she said, “She’s with me,” like it meant something. Not when her voice softened just enough to remind Riley that somewhere under all that CEO polish was a person who maybe wasn’t made of stone.
Riley clenched her hands under the sheets.
She needed to sleep. She needed to not think about how close Elizabeth was. How good she smelled. How easily Riley could roll over and feel skin.
She turned again, facing away. The pillow smelled like lavender.
Behind her, Elizabeth stirred slightly. Just a breath. A shift.
And Riley lay there, eyes wide open, trapped in her own body, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.
Sleep would not be coming soon.
The bedroom was quiet but not peaceful.
Outside, snow whispered against the tall windows, branches occasionally tapping like they were asking to come in.
The moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, spilling faint silver shapes across the floor, just enough to see by.
But Riley didn’t look. She was too busy staring at the ceiling.
Or rather, trying not to stare at Elizabeth.
They were both awake. Riley knew it. She could feel it, feel it in the tension under the stillness, in the precise way Elizabeth breathed. Too measured. Too careful. Like someone pretending to sleep.
Which was fair. Riley was doing the exact same thing.
She’d been lying there for what felt like hours, heart pounding loud enough to count as internal betrayal. Every time she tried to shift, she stopped herself. Every time her toe came within an inch of Elizabeth’s calf under the duvet, she flinched like she’d touched fire.
She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think straight.
Her mind was in a spiral, looping the same awful questions like a cruel lullaby.
What are you doing here? What happens if you mess this up? What happens when it ends?
This whole thing, the job, the performance, the whispered lies wrapped in silverware and champagne, it had always had an expiration date.
But now that she was in it, really in it, with Elizabeth breathing next to her in the dark and the memory of a laugh still echoing from dinner, the edges were getting blurry. Dangerous.
Riley wanted it to be real.
And that was the scariest part.
She bit her lip, pressing her eyes shut. You knew this was a game. You knew. You’re here for the paycheck, remember? Not the person.
Except the person was soft in sleep. And warm beside her. And no longer just a cold silhouette behind a desk. She was the woman who brushed her hand lightly at dinner. Who defended her, subtle but firm. Who saw her in rooms full of people trying to reduce her.
Riley let out a quiet breath, the ceiling blurring above her.
The silence pressed in thick and close. She could feel words building up in her throat, stupid, nervous, itchy words.
So she whispered them.
“Thank you for letting me come.”
Immediately, she winced. “I mean, not come come. Just… here. To Vermont. For this. Thing.”
Silence.
And then, so quiet Riley almost thought she imagined it, a laugh.
Small. Real. A breath of something warm under all the ice.
Elizabeth.
Riley smiled into the darkness, heart flipping over. “I really should stop talking. That would be smart.”
A pause. The sheets shifted slightly.
Then Elizabeth said, low and unguarded, “You’re fine.”
Riley turned her head toward the sound of her voice, cautious, curious. “You’re awake.”
“I was asleep until you thanked me for letting you… come come.”
“Ugh,” Riley groaned, covering her face. “This is why I don’t do sincerity. My mouth sabotages me every time.”
Elizabeth was quiet again, but this time it wasn’t cold. It felt like she was waiting. Listening.
Riley swallowed. The dark felt safer somehow, like a cocoon wrapped around her awkwardness. The kind of space where she could say things she never would in the light.
So she asked the thing that had been tugging at her since day one.
“Why me?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer right away. Riley almost thought she wouldn’t.
“I mean,” she continued, softer now, “you could’ve picked someone else. Someone… better at this. More polished. Who knows which fork is for fish without having to Google it.”
Still silence. But not dismissive. It felt like Elizabeth was choosing her words with care.
Then finally: “Because I trust you.”
The words landed like a soft blow. Unexpected. Heavy in the best way.
Riley blinked, breath caught.
Of all the answers—beauty, availability, convenience—she hadn’t expected that.
She turned fully now, shifting gently under the duvet until she was on her side, facing Elizabeth. The faint outline of her face came into view, just enough to see the curve of her cheek, the rise of her shoulder. The dark made it easier to be close. Intimate. Honest.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
“Trust me with what?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
Elizabeth was lying on her back, gaze fixed on the ceiling, like she couldn’t bear to meet Riley’s eyes, even in the dark. “With… my family. My reputation. My name.”
Riley stared at her, stunned. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
There was a beat. And then, quieter, “I also trust you not to make fun of me for saying that.”
A soft laugh escaped Riley before she could stop it. “Oh no. It’s too late. I’m absolutely going to tease you for this the moment the sun rises.”
“I figured.”
But neither of them was smiling in the way they usually did, bright, quick, guarded. This smile was slower. Gentle. Real.
And now they were lying there, facing each other in the dark, close enough to feel breath and body heat and something else, something electric that hung in the inches between them like static waiting to spark.
Riley could see Elizabeth’s eyes now. Just faintly. Focused, unreadable. But she didn’t pull away.
Neither of them did.
Riley’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her hand itched to move, just a touch. Just to prove that this wasn’t all in her head.
But she didn’t.
Because this wasn’t hers, not really. It wasn’t real. And still, her body ached with the truth of wanting it to be.
The air between them shimmered, charged.
“You can go to sleep,” Elizabeth said, voice hushed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It sounded like a promise. One Riley wasn’t sure she deserved. One she wanted anyway.
She nodded slowly, though she didn’t close her eyes.
And neither did Elizabeth.
They stayed like that, facing each other in the dark, saying nothing more.
Breathing.
Not touching.
And feeling everything.
Riley woke up slowly, blinking into the soft gray light filtering through the heavy curtains. For a moment, she forgot where she was, forgot the snow, the fake dating scheme, the centuries of Hale family portraits judging her from the hallway.
All she registered was warmth.
Then came the awareness.
A deep inhale. Not hers. Slow and steady beside her.
Elizabeth.
Riley didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just listened to the even rhythm of Elizabeth’s sleeping breath and the way the sheets rose and fell beside her. Her heart started thudding faster, not with panic, exactly. Something quieter. Sadder.
She was so aware of her body. Of how close they were. Of how the edge of Elizabeth’s arm brushed hers beneath the duvet.
Riley turned her head slowly, carefully, to look.
And there she was.
Not the CEO. Not the ice queen in a suit. Just… a woman. Asleep.
Her hair was slightly mussed at the temple where it had pressed against the pillow. A lock curled toward her cheek. Her lips were parted, and at the corner of her mouth, there was the faintest line, one that only appeared when she wasn’t trying to hide anything.
Riley had never seen her like this. Soft. Still. Unprotected.
Her chest ached.
She told herself it was the moment. The intimacy of waking up beside someone. The quiet spell of morning light and winter silence. That’s all it was. Just a trick of atmosphere.
Don’t fall for her.
Don’t fall for her.
Don’t fall for her.
But she already had.
It hit her like a wave, how much she wanted this to be real. Not just the pretending. Not just the warmth and laughter and late-night conversations in the dark. She wanted this: the morning after, the small details, the slow realization that someone you thought was unknowable… isn’t.
Riley turned her face back to the ceiling, eyes wide, heart pounding.
This was a job. It had always been a job.
But lying here, shoulder to shoulder with Elizabeth Hale in a bed that wasn’t theirs, in a house full of people who didn’t believe this was possible… It didn’t feel fake anymore.
It felt like falling.