Chapter 12
Elizabeth woke with the sensation of being watched, though when her eyes blinked open the room was empty of movement.
Pale morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, turning the air a cool silver.
Beside her, Riley lay on her side, facing the window, hair mussed against the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek.
She looked utterly still, save for the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The memories of last night unspooled in Elizabeth’s head before she could stop them.
The dining room. The judgement of her family.
Riley’s shoulders tightening under the weight of every comment.
And Elizabeth, sitting there in silence, eyes fixed on her wine glass, pretending not to notice the way Riley was being carved apart at the table.
She had told herself, in that moment, that silence was strategy.
That speaking up would have only given her family more ammunition, more reason to sneer.
But lying here now, with the memory of Riley’s voice cracking when she asked for backup, Elizabeth knew the truth: she hadn’t been protecting Riley at all.
She had been protecting herself. From conflict.
From the inevitable argument. From the risk of looking weak in front of her parents.
The shame sat heavy in her chest.
Elizabeth rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling beams. Riley had still climbed into bed beside her after the fight, though she’d turned her back, leaving a careful strip of space between them.
The silence had been thick enough to choke on.
Elizabeth had lain awake for hours, trying to think of what she could possibly say, too cowardly to risk making it worse.
Now the light was growing brighter, and she could feel the windowpanes humming faintly with the winter wind. She couldn’t leave it unsaid any longer.
She turned her head. “Riley?”
A soft grunt came from the pillow. Riley’s lashes fluttered open, her eyes unfocused with sleep. She blinked at Elizabeth, then seemed to remember where she was. Her body shifted, just slightly, pulling further toward the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. “I need to apologize.”
That woke Riley fully. She pushed herself up on one elbow, guarded. “For what?”
Elizabeth sat up too, tucking her legs under the covers, fingers knotting together in her lap. “Last night. At dinner. I should’ve… I should’ve said something. Anything. I thought being quiet would keep things from escalating, but it just left you alone at that table.”
Riley studied her, face unreadable. The morning light picked out the faint bruised shadows under her eyes, a reminder of how little sleep either of them had gotten. “It felt like you agreed with them,” she said quietly.
Elizabeth flinched. “I didn’t.”
“You didn’t disagree either.”
There it was; the truth she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself. Elizabeth’s throat worked, but she forced the words out. “I was wrong.”
The silence that followed was long and sharp. Riley’s expression softened by degrees, suspicion giving way to something more fragile. She sat up fully, pulling her knees to her chest. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I can’t stand the thought that you think I don’t see you.” Elizabeth’s voice was low, rougher than she intended. “I do, Riley. I see you. I should’ve shown that last night, and I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”
Riley’s eyes searched hers, as though testing for cracks, for insincerity. At last, she let out a slow breath. “You’re not great at this, are you?”
Elizabeth almost laughed, the sound catching in her throat. “No. I’m terrible at this.”
The corner of Riley’s mouth twitched. She reached out, hesitantly, and let her fingers brush Elizabeth’s hand where it clenched the blanket. The touch was so light it barely registered, but Elizabeth felt it all the way through her chest.
For a long moment they sat like that, hands just touching, the air between them warmer than it had been in days. Then Riley shifted closer, her knee knocking against Elizabeth’s beneath the covers. The distance they’d so carefully maintained last night began to dissolve.
Elizabeth lifted her hand, cupping Riley’s cheek, her thumb brushing the faint crease left by the pillow. Riley leaned into it, eyes half-lidded, a softness there that Elizabeth didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop herself from craving.
The kiss began tentatively, almost shy, a question asked in the gentlest of ways.
Riley’s lips were warm, hesitant, tasting faintly of sleep.
When Elizabeth leaned in further, Riley answered with a low sigh, her hand finding Elizabeth’s shoulder, grounding her.
The kiss deepened, unhurried but certain, a slow unraveling of all the tension that had knotted between them.
Elizabeth pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Riley’s. “I don’t want to fail you again.”
Riley’s hand slid down to clasp Elizabeth’s, their fingers tangling together. “Then don’t.”
It was as simple, and as impossible, as that.
They lingered like that, tangled in the morning quiet, until the clock on the mantel chimed the hour.
The sound jolted Elizabeth back into the reality of the day, the waiting family, the inevitable scrutiny, the facade they still had to maintain.
She forced herself to move, though the loss of Riley’s warmth was immediate.
Elizabeth hesitated before she pulled away completely, her thumb brushing over the back of Riley’s hand one last time.
The touch was small, fleeting, but it felt like the most honest thing she’d done in weeks.
Riley watched her, eyes soft and searching, still a little dazed from the closeness between them. Her hair was mussed from sleep, her voice rough when she spoke. “You don’t have to go yet.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “If I stay, I won’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t,” Riley said again, quieter this time, less a challenge, more a plea.
The simplicity of it undid her. Elizabeth sank back down beside her, their knees brushing, their joined hands still resting between them. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The morning light streamed through the curtains, pale and forgiving, painting Riley’s skin in gold and shadow.
Elizabeth reached up, almost without thinking, to tuck a strand of hair behind Riley’s ear. Her fingers lingered at her cheek, tracing the faint curve of a smile there. Riley leaned into the touch just slightly, a quiet surrender that made something tight in Elizabeth’s chest loosen.
“Having sex wasn’t a mistake,” Riley murmured. “Just so we’re clear.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. She wanted to answer, to say something grounding, something real, but the words caught somewhere between her ribs. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Riley again, soft and unhurried, a lingering press of lips that felt like a promise she wasn’t ready to name aloud.
Riley’s hand came up to rest against Elizabeth’s neck, thumb tracing small circles just beneath her jaw. It was such a simple thing, that gentle touch, but it steadied her. For a moment, the world outside, the house, the expectations, the ghosts of last night’s arguments, faded away.
When they finally broke apart, Elizabeth rested her forehead against Riley’s again, their breaths mingling in the quiet. “You make it very hard to remember that this is supposed to be pretend,” she whispered.
Riley smiled, a small, knowing curve of her mouth. “Maybe stop reminding yourself.”
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh that didn’t sound like her usual one.
It was lighter, unguarded. She pressed a kiss to Riley’s temple, another to her shoulder, unable to resist the warmth of her.
Their legs tangled again beneath the sheets, and for a while they simply existed in that fragile peace, the soft rhythm of their breathing, the tick of the mantel clock, the hush of snow still falling outside.
When Elizabeth finally spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to fail you again.”
Riley’s response was immediate, steady. “I meant what I said, too—then don’t.”
The simplicity of it struck her again. No forgiveness wrapped in grand speeches, no elaborate conditions, just trust offered freely, undeserved but given anyway.
Elizabeth drew Riley closer, closing her eyes as she let herself sink into the warmth of her. The tension in her shoulders finally eased, replaced by something quieter, gentler, something dangerously close to hope.
They stayed like that until the next chime of the clock, until reality pressed at the edges of the room again. Elizabeth sighed and pulled back, her fingers still brushing lightly against Riley’s as she stood. The loss of contact made the morning feel colder somehow.
“We should go down,” Elizabeth murmured, smoothing her hair, trying to pull herself back into order.
Riley propped herself up on one elbow, watching her with an unreadable expression.
“We’ll face them together,” she said softly.
Riley’s answering smile was small but real, and it gave Elizabeth the courage to stand.
For the first time in days, Elizabeth felt like they were walking in step, not just performing for the same audience but holding onto something of their own.
They hurriedly got dressed for the day. Elizabeth opened the bedroom door, and together they stepped into the hall.
Halfway to the dining room, Elizabeth thought maybe, just maybe, they would survive the rest of the holiday intact.
Elizabeth’s mother was waiting at the foot of the staircase as though she’d been rehearsing.
Pearls gleamed at her throat, and her smile was polished to a shine so bright it made Elizabeth uneasy.
Riley’s hand brushed hers once before slipping neatly away, and Elizabeth wished, just for a second, that she’d held on.
“Elizabeth,” Annette began, her voice rich with triumph. “Riley. Good morning.”