Epilogue
One Year Later
The penthouse no longer looked like the same cold, pristine palace it had a year ago. The floor-to-ceiling windows still framed Manhattan in all its glittering steel and snow, the furniture was still elegant and sleek, but everywhere, little traces of Riley had crept in and stayed.
A crocheted blanket with slightly crooked edges draped itself over the sofa.
A stack of dog-eared paperbacks leaned against Elizabeth’s carefully curated art books on the coffee table.
There were plants, real ones, that Riley had insisted on adopting, each of them thriving in spite of Elizabeth’s initial prediction of certain death.
And tonight, at the center of it all, was a Christmas tree that practically glowed.
It was a compromise between their worlds: strung with expensive, hand-blown glass ornaments Elizabeth’s family had sent over the years, but also peppered with cheap, glitter-coated baubles Riley had insisted they needed.
A clay reindeer with lopsided antlers Riley had made at a sip-and-sculpt class dangled just below a crystal snowflake from Tiffany’s.
Stockings hung by the fireplace, Elizabeth’s monogrammed in elegant embroidery, Riley’s with her name written in uneven sequins.
The pine-scented candle Riley had found in a Vermont gift shop flickered on the mantle, filling the room with the memory of that snowy estate and the night everything had changed.
Elizabeth stood back, arms folded, surveying it all with a quiet satisfaction she still wasn’t used to feeling.
“Little higher!” Riley called from across the room.
She was perched precariously on the second rung of a ladder, stretching on tiptoe with the tree topper in hand.
Her messy bun had already half-fallen apart, strands of hair tumbling into her face, and she was wearing one of Elizabeth’s cashmere sweaters, the sleeves rolled up clumsily to keep them from dragging.
Elizabeth’s heart lurched the way it always did when Riley did something ridiculous and endearing in equal measure.
“You’re going to break your neck,” Elizabeth said, stepping closer.
“I’m fine,” Riley insisted, wobbling slightly as she tried to center the star at the very top. “I’ve got, oh, shit.”
The ladder tipped just enough to make Elizabeth’s chest seize.
In two strides, she was there, arms snapping around Riley’s waist before she could fall.
The tree star clattered against the branches, landing askew.
Riley squeaked in surprise and then laughed, breathless, as she found herself pressed tight against Elizabeth’s chest.
“See?” Riley grinned up at her. “Totally fine.”
Elizabeth exhaled sharply, her forehead dropping to Riley’s temple for a moment before she pulled back enough to fix her with a glare. “You are insufferable.”
“Insufferably adorable,” Riley countered, kissing the tip of Elizabeth’s nose before wriggling free of her grip.
Elizabeth wanted to scold her, but laughter won instead, bubbling out low and unguarded. It still astonished her, how easily Riley could disarm her, how quickly she could unravel all the careful control Elizabeth had once believed was her strength.
“Come on,” Riley said, hopping down from the ladder and tugging Elizabeth’s hand toward the tree. “Help me put this up. We’re supposed to do it together.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but didn’t resist. They straightened the star together, Elizabeth’s steady hands guiding Riley’s clumsy ones until it sat perfectly aligned at the peak.
“There,” Elizabeth said softly.
“There,” Riley echoed, gazing up at it with the kind of smile that made Elizabeth’s chest ache.
For a moment they just stood there, hands still tangled, the lights of the tree flickering in their reflections on the glass.
Then Riley bent to rummage through the ornament box and pulled out the one Elizabeth knew she would.
The glass bauble Riley had loved at the Vermont estate, the one Elizabeth had carried across Manhattan in the snow, terrified she was already too late.
It caught the light like fire, throwing sparks of color onto the walls.
Riley held it up between them, her grin tilting into something softer. “You know, I still can’t believe you dragged a Christmas tree across the city for me.”
Elizabeth let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I’d drag a forest.”
Riley’s eyes widened, her mouth parting in mock awe. “A whole forest? You’re very dramatic, Hale.”
“Only for you,” Elizabeth murmured, and leaned down to kiss her.
It was gentle, lingering, the kind of kiss that spoke of comfort as much as want. Riley melted into it, her hand sliding up to Elizabeth’s jaw, her thumb brushing softly over her cheekbone.
When they finally pulled apart, Riley whispered, “Hang it with me?”
Elizabeth nodded, and together they looped the ribbon over a branch near the middle of the tree. The ornament glimmered against the lights, nestled between the mismatched pieces that made their tree truly theirs.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, unexpected and sharp. A year ago, she’d thought love was performance, that control was protection, that family was obligation. Now she knew better. Love was this—messy, mismatched, fragile, brilliant. And somehow, she’d been lucky enough to be chosen for it.
Riley leaned against her shoulder, still looking at the ornament. “Looks good, huh?”
Elizabeth’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her close. She pressed a kiss into Riley’s hair. “Perfect.”
For the first time, she meant it.
The snow outside fell heavier, blanketing the city in white.
Inside, the penthouse glowed, not just from the lights of the tree, but from the laughter that spilled out of them both, the warmth of cocoa waiting on the stove—the kind of happiness Elizabeth had once thought was reserved for other people.
The scent of cinnamon and roasted garlic wove through the penthouse, softening its sleek lines and high ceilings with something warm, something human.
Christmas Eve, and Elizabeth Hale’s living room, once an untouched magazine spread of gray marble and glass, was now full of chatter, clinking glasses, and the easy chaos of people who weren’t afraid to put their feet on the furniture.
Elizabeth stood at the dining table, aligning silver cutlery out of habit, though it was already perfectly straight.
Riley’s voice drifted from the kitchen, full of laughter as she teased one of their friends about burning the bread.
The sound anchored Elizabeth in a way she still didn’t fully understand but had come to rely on.
One year ago, she’d spent Christmas Eve under siege, performing perfection, choking on the cold weight of her family’s expectations. Now, she was hosting her own Christmas Eve dinner, with a different kind of family. Chosen. Built.
“Stop fussing,” Riley said, appearing at her elbow with a flour-dusted cheek and a glass of wine in hand. She leaned over, kissing Elizabeth’s temple. “They’re not going to care if the forks are off by half a millimeter.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “You notice when I shift your mugs around by half an inch.”
“That’s different,” Riley said primly, though her grin betrayed her. “That’s coffee. Coffee deserves reverence.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile. Riley’s presence softened her edges, even when she wanted to resist. She set down the fork and accepted the wine.
Across the room, their friends filled the space: arguing about whether to watch Die Hard or It’s a Wonderful Life after dinner. Hanging stockings, oversized, tacky ones Riley had insisted on, along the mantle. Every surface glimmered with fairy lights.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, but not in the old way, not with dread. This ache was gentler. It was what it felt like to want something and know you had it.
Dinner was loud and a little uneven, the roast slightly overdone, the potatoes a little too garlicky, but Riley presided over the table with such warmth that no one cared. She kept topping glasses, telling jokes, reaching across to touch Elizabeth’s hand when she thought no one was looking.
At one point, Jenny, one of Elizabeth’s old friends, asked Riley about her new job, and Riley sat a little taller, pride flickering in her eyes.
“It’s not glamorous,” Riley said, “but it’s good. Community outreach at the fire department, they let me help organize programs for kids, fundraisers, safety workshops. And they actually listen when I have ideas.”
Her voice wobbled slightly, as if she still couldn’t quite believe she belonged there. Elizabeth pressed her knee against Riley’s under the table, a quiet reminder: You do. You always did.
She didn’t say it aloud, though. Riley knew.
What Riley didn’t know was how many strings Elizabeth had pulled quietly in the background to make sure the position was funded, to keep Riley shielded from the bureaucratic nonsense.
Elizabeth hadn’t done it to be owed gratitude, she had done it because she wanted Riley to have something she could own for herself.
She was too good to be someone’s assistant.
Later, after plates were cleared and people drifted toward the living room, Riley tugged Elizabeth aside, into the quieter corner by the tree.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Riley said softly.
Elizabeth stilled. “Do what?”
“The job. Jenny told me. She said you leaned on the city council for funding.”
Elizabeth’s mouth pressed into a line. She hadn’t wanted Riley to know. But Riley’s hand was warm on hers, her eyes shining, not with irritation, but with something that looked suspiciously like love.
“I wanted you to have what you deserve,” Elizabeth said finally, voice low. “Responsibility. Respect.”
Riley smiled crookedly. “What I deserve is you. But thank you.”
Elizabeth looked away, overwhelmed by the weight of it, by how easily Riley accepted the parts of her she’d once been terrified to reveal.