Chapter 4 #2
“You’re her girlfriend, then?” Nathaniel asked, raising an eyebrow at Riley.
Riley’s smile stayed in place. “Depends on the time of day. Before ten a.m., I don’t speak to anyone unless they’re delivering coffee,” she said lightly, hoping to defuse the tension.
Celeste’s gaze lingered over her outfit, clearly noting the careful selection of designer pieces. “How… delightful,” she said. “Elizabeth has such exacting standards. It’s… refreshing.”
Riley inclined her head, forcing a chuckle. “I try to keep things unpredictable. Like a surprise party in human form.”
Elizabeth’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back, grounding her. Riley let herself lean just a fraction closer, relishing the warmth. The eyes of the room were on them, waiting for her to slip, to reveal the outsider she truly was.
Mr. Hawthorne coughed softly, a polite but deliberate clearing of his throat, and Riley swallowed. The fire crackled behind them, casting long shadows across gold-rimmed frames and polished wood.
Elizabeth’s voice cut through the tension, calm and authoritative. “Riley will be joining us for the holiday. She knows the itinerary.”
Riley’s shoulders tensed, but she nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” Aunt Constance said, glancing at Elizabeth like she was approving the choice, or at least acknowledging it. “We’ll see if she can keep up with our traditions.”
Riley’s heart thumped, but she refused to flinch. Instead, she smiled, a little wryly. “I’m adaptable. Very festive, when necessary.”
Elizabeth gave her a small, almost imperceptible squeeze on the back, a silent signal: you’re doing fine.
Riley let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It was a tightrope, balancing charm, composure, and humor, but with Elizabeth there, silently watching, she might just survive the evening unscathed.
“Oh, Riley, was it?” said one of the cousins, Charlotte or Clementine or Clive, Riley had already lost count. “What do you do, exactly?”
Riley opened her mouth. Closed it. What do I say? she thought. I fake-date your cousin for money?
“I work in strategy,” she said at last.
Elizabeth, from her place by the fireplace, cut in smoothly. “She’s with me.”
Annette’s brow arched. “Yes, dear, we gathered that.”
Elizabeth’s gaze was flat. “She’s not my assistant this week, Mother. She’s with me.”
The room went quiet, just for a breath. Riley’s pulse ticked up a notch.
“Of course,” Annette said, like she was humoring a child. “We’re all very… pleased.”
Riley caught Elizabeth’s eye for a half-second. It was like being tossed a rope while sinking in quicksand. She smiled back, grateful, and returned her focus to not breaking anything or screaming into the void.
A younger cousin, maybe sixteen, wearing Gucci loafers and teen boredom, sidled up to her. “Are you famous or something?”
Riley blinked. “God, no.”
“Oh. You just don’t seem like… this.” He gestured vaguely at the room.
She laughed. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me tonight.”
He smirked. “Yeah. I don’t like them either.”
Riley liked him immediately.
Margot appeared at her side again, materializing like a tax audit. “Do you ski, Riley? We usually do Aspen in January. It’s practically a family tradition.”
Riley tilted her head. “I’ve been known to slide uncontrollably down a hill if that counts.”
Margot laughed politely, one “Ha,” then turned away like Riley had been dismissed.
She felt her cheeks flush, her body buzzing with the kind of nervous energy that made her want to run laps around the mansion just to burn it off. But instead, she nodded graciously to another cousin, accepted a flute of champagne from a passing tray, and kept smiling.
This is fine. You’re fine. You are a professional fake girlfriend and a mediocre drinker. Get through the next two hours and you can hide in the bathroom until bedtime.
A hand grazed her back lightly. Elizabeth.
“You’re doing well,” she said quietly, only for her.
“Define well,” Riley whispered, not turning her head.
“You haven’t cursed once or insulted Margot. That’s already better than my last three dates combined.”
Riley dared a small grin. “Oh good. High bar.”
“I’m serious.”
Their eyes met. Elizabeth’s expression didn’t shift much, she never gave much away, but there was something steadying in her voice, like an anchor beneath the storm.
“Thanks,” Riley murmured.
More guests arrived. Annette led the charge to the next room for cocktails, and Riley moved with the current of tailored suits and polite murmurs. A thousand microaggressions hung in the air, each wrapped in ribbons and dipped in champagne.
“So charming.”
“So unexpected.”
“So… grounded.”
Every word was a test. And every time, Riley met them with a joke, a compliment, a harmless deflection. Her insides were screaming, but her mouth didn’t falter.
And when Annette placed a perfectly manicured hand on her arm and said, “It’s sweet, really, that Elizabeth brought someone so approachable home this year.” Riley smiled and said, “I’m like a therapy dog with sarcasm.”
A few people chuckled. Annette didn’t.
Later, when they were finally seated near the fire and the crowd had thinned, Riley let out a slow breath and leaned closer to Elizabeth.
“If I break that dragon vase on the way out,” she murmured, “promise you’ll say it was an accident?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “Fine, three heirlooms.”
“Getting risky now,” Riley muttered, sipping her champagne with a wink.
Riley’s face hurt. It actually hurt. Muscles she didn’t even know she had around her mouth were sore from hours of politely smiling, fake laughing, and performing “normal, charming girlfriend” for the entire Hale dynasty like she was auditioning for a holiday rom-com no one had asked her to star in.
As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, she dropped the act like it weighed fifty pounds.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, kicking off her boots with a groan and immediately beginning to pace the carpet. “I think I just pulled a cheek muscle from pretending I wasn’t offended by your uncle’s ten-minute speech on inherited meritocracy.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t.
She was already by the wardrobe, removing her earrings with the practiced grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, navigated impossible people, impossible expectations, and impossible silk gowns without so much as a single hair out of place.
Riley watched her for a second. Her back was to her, hair swept into a low twist, fingers moving efficiently. Calm. Composed.
This woman is a robot, Riley thought. A hot robot. But still.
She rubbed at her temples, still pacing. “Is it like… genetic?” she asked. “Is that why they all talk in that weird code where ‘how quaint’ means ‘you’re trash,’ and ‘what an interesting outfit’ means ‘did you steal that from a bin?’”
Elizabeth, now half-changed into a pair of navy silk pajama pants, didn’t flinch. “It’s a skill set. They think it’s polite.”
“Polite?” Riley snorted. “I got asked if I was a barista or a barmaid five separate times today.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “You smiled.”
“Because if I stopped smiling, I would have launched myself into the punch bowl, Elizabeth.” Riley paused, hands on her hips. “I swear, if one more cousin called me ‘down to earth’ like it’s a compliment, I’m setting the crystal on fire.”
Elizabeth turned then, slipping into a matching pajama top, sleeves rolled neatly at her wrists. “I can’t stop them from being who they are.”
“No, but you can stop them from slowly chipping away at my will to live.”
Elizabeth looked at her for a beat, cool, unreadable. Then: “You handled yourself.”
Riley blinked. “Wow. High praise from the emotionally repressed iceberg queen herself.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and walked over to the bed. “And yet, here you are. Alive. Intact.”
“Barely.” Riley stopped pacing just long enough to take in the bed. Oh no. No no no. Right. That part.
Elizabeth turned and walked around to her side of the bed, pulling back the comforter with the same composed efficiency she did everything else.
Riley followed slowly, dragging her feet like a reluctant kid at summer camp. “Okay, I know we did this last night and survived,” she said, hovering near the edge of the bed, “but I still feel like I should issue some kind of formal warning before I get in again.”
Elizabeth gave her a look. “Are you about to propose a pillow fort again?”
“I’m just saying, last night was tense. We both laid there like mannequins. Very polite, very still mannequins.”
“We’re adults, Riley,” Elizabeth said flatly, slipping beneath the covers with clinical grace.
“Sure, but one of us is an adult with an unreasonably symmetrical face, and the other is spiraling about accidental toe contact.”
Elizabeth reached for the bedside lamp. “Just get in the bed.”
Riley exhaled dramatically, like this was some kind of trial by fire. “Fine. But for the record, if my foot accidentally brushes yours, I want it known that it’s not a declaration of war or seduction.”
Elizabeth, in the shadows, arched an eyebrow. “Duly noted.”
Riley retreated into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her makeup had held up better than her composure. Her hair was frizzing at the ends. Her eyes were wide with panic.
Just a bed, she told herself. You’re getting paid to be here. You don’t actually like her. This is just fake. A job. A really, really well-paying job.
She changed into pajamas—cotton tank top, soft pajama pants, nothing scandalous—and splashed cold water on her face. Then she stood there for another full minute, willing her heart to slow down.