Chapter 12 #2
“Mother.” Elizabeth’s tone came out cool, the practiced neutrality she always reserved for family breakfasts. “Is something wrong?”
“Quite the opposite,” Annette said, as if Elizabeth had just set up the perfect cue.
“I’ve spoken with Sophia. Can you imagine?
She was in Paris but now she’s back here on the East Coast, and when I invited her to our little family gathering she was absolutely delighted to join. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Elizabeth froze. The world seemed to tilt, the carpet pulling slightly sideways under her feet.
Riley didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to, Elizabeth could feel her stiffen, feel the faint ripple of hurt and disbelief radiating from her like heat off a flame.
“Mother,” Elizabeth said, forcing her jaw to unclench. “You invited my ex to Christmas?”
Annette’s smile didn’t falter, not even for a second. “Darling, you know how fond we all are of Sophia. She was practically family. Besides, she said she had no other plans, and I thought, why not? A familiar face, someone who understands our traditions. It will be… comforting.”
Comforting.
Elizabeth wanted to laugh, sharp and bitter. Comforting for whom? Certainly not for her, and definitely not for Riley, who had been standing at Elizabeth’s side every day, who had seen Sophia walk out of Elizabeth’s apartment without so much as a backward glance.
Riley’s expression was controlled, but Elizabeth caught the flicker of her throat as she swallowed, the way her hands curled too tightly against her sides.
Elizabeth wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and say something, anything, that would undo the blow her mother had just delivered.
But Annette’s gaze was on them both, watching, calculating, and Elizabeth’s instinct was to armor up.
“That was presumptuous,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Next time, perhaps ask me before inviting people into my home.”
Annette’s brows arched. “Your home? Darling, this is the Hale estate. It belongs to the family.” Her tone was gentle, but the barb landed.
Elizabeth felt Riley’s eyes on her then, waiting to see if she would push back, if she would stand up for them. But she didn’t. Not yet. Not with her mother’s perfectly sharpened smile daring her to make a scene.
Instead, Elizabeth inclined her head. “We’ll see her, then.”
Annette beamed, satisfied, and swept off toward the dining room, pearls catching the light like victory banners.
Elizabeth let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Riley said nothing as they entered the dining room, but Elizabeth felt the distance yawning between them again. It was only minutes ago, in the safety of their room, that they’d kissed like it mattered. Now, in the bright echo of her mother’s triumph, it felt fragile all over again.
Sophia arrived just as breakfast was being served.
Elizabeth heard her before she saw her, the low, melodious laugh that had once felt like music, now sour on the air.
And then there she was, sweeping into the dining room in a tailored coat that managed to look effortless and impossibly expensive all at once.
Sophia had always had that talent: slipping into a room and making everyone else feel like they were just slightly underdressed, slightly off-balance.
“Elizabeth,” she said warmly, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek before Elizabeth could move. “It’s been far too long.”
Elizabeth endured it, the brush of perfume that smelled faintly of jasmine and memory. “Sophia.”
“And Riley.” Sophia’s gaze flicked over her with polite acknowledgment, the faintest edge of familiarity in her smile. “Still keeping her organized, I see.”
Riley’s answering smile was thin. “Someone has to.”
The table chuckled. Sophia slid into the empty seat beside Elizabeth, far too close, as though Riley weren’t seated on her other side.
Elizabeth tried to breathe evenly. It was only breakfast. She could endure breakfast.
The conversation flowed easily around Sophia, of course it did. She slipped back into her role like a hand into a glove, laughing at her father’s stories, complimenting her mother’s menu, dropping references to friends abroad who would be recognizable to every person at the table.
Riley was quieter than usual, answering when spoken to, her voice steady but subdued. Elizabeth caught it, the way Sophia’s gaze kept sliding past her to Riley, the faint curve of her lips as though she were enjoying a private game.
“So tell us, Sophia,” Annette asked at one point, “what brought you back before the holiday? Surely Paris hasn’t lost its charm.”
“Oh, Paris is divine,” Sophia replied smoothly, buttering her toast with elegant precision. “But one tires of perfection. And besides, there are always reasons to come home.” She let the words hang, her eyes flicking to Elizabeth for just a beat too long.
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched.
Beside her, Riley’s fork scraped softly against her plate.
Elizabeth wanted to take Riley’s hand under the table, to anchor her, to remind her she wasn’t invisible. But the weight of her family’s gaze pressed down like lead. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap instead.
By the time coffee was poured, Elizabeth felt wrung out, like she’d been performing on stage without a script.
Sophia had managed, in the span of an hour, to turn every conversation into a display of her polish, her ease, her belonging.
And Riley, Riley who had braved her family’s icy questions the night before, was being edged to the margins, forced to smile through it.
Elizabeth knew she should say something.
Step in. Draw Riley closer instead of letting Sophia set the rhythm.
But each time she opened her mouth, the words clamped shut again.
It was easier to let the performance play out, to stay composed, to not give her family the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.
And yet, as she glanced at Riley’s careful smile, at the faint tension in her jaw, Elizabeth felt the truth like a stone in her chest: her silence was costing her again.
Still, she sipped her coffee, eyes cool, expression unreadable. If she couldn’t protect Riley here, at least she could hide.
The drawing room gleamed with morning light, the windows tall and generous, casting the parquet floors in pale gold.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the settee, posture immaculate, though her muscles ached from the effort.
Sophia had installed herself opposite, teacup balanced delicately between two fingers as if she were posing for a portrait.
Riley lingered at Elizabeth’s side, close but not close enough, her presence grounding and unbearable all at once.
Elizabeth’s mother had orchestrated it perfectly: a cozy after-breakfast tea with “just the girls.” A performance stage, really, where the unspoken lines were sharp as glass.
“So,” Sophia said, crossing one leg over the other, her voice velvet. “Tell me, Riley, how are you finding it here? Adjusting well?”
Riley’s smile was polite, practiced. “It’s beautiful. Very different from home, of course.”
“Of course.” Sophia’s laugh was light, indulgent. “I can’t imagine Maine preparing anyone for this. But then, Elizabeth has always been generous with her… projects.”
Elizabeth felt Riley stiffen beside her. Heat pricked the back of her neck, but she didn’t speak. Not yet.
Riley only tilted her head, her smile still fixed. “I wouldn’t call myself a project.”
Sophia’s brows arched, amusement glinting in her eyes. “No? Then what would you call yourself?”
The silence that followed was heavy, expectant. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She could end it. She could step in, laugh, redirect, anything to shield Riley from the blade Sophia had so carefully laid out.
But Annette was watching too, gaze sharp over the rim of her teacup. Waiting to see which way her daughter would turn.
Elizabeth smoothed her skirt. “Sophia,” she said evenly, “don’t interrogate my girlfriend over tea. It’s tedious.”
Sophia’s smile widened, satisfied. “Only curious.” She turned back to her cup, as though she hadn’t just drawn blood.
Elizabeth risked a glance at Riley, who gave her a faint, grateful smile. But beneath it, Elizabeth saw the fracture, saw the way the tension lingered in her shoulders, the way her eyes slid away too quickly.
The day passed in small torments.
Sophia walked with Elizabeth through the winter garden, gesturing at the frost-covered hedges as though she still belonged there. “Do you remember,” she murmured, “last New Year’s when the fountain froze solid? You insisted we skate on it. Nearly broke your neck.”
Elizabeth forced a thin smile. “Yes.”
Riley trailed a few steps behind, hands tucked into her coat pockets. Elizabeth wanted to slow, to fall back and walk with her, but Sophia had a way of filling the space, of taking Elizabeth’s arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Some things don’t change,” Sophia said softly, glancing sideways at her.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. She hated the implication, hated the way it pressed Riley further to the margins. She should have shrugged Sophia off, should have drawn Riley into the conversation. Instead, she kept her gaze ahead, her voice cool. “Everything changes.”
Riley didn’t say a word.
By evening, Elizabeth’s nerves were frayed raw.
Sophia was radiant at dinner, sliding effortlessly back into her family’s rhythm, trading stories with her brother, laughing at her father’s dry remarks. She even complimented Annette’s roast, which earned her a rare, genuine smile.
Riley was quieter than usual, though she played her part, smiling when expected, responding with warmth when directly addressed. But Elizabeth could see the difference. The spark had dulled, her edges drawn in.
And Elizabeth hated herself for letting it happen.
She wanted to reach for her under the table, to remind her she wasn’t alone in this viper pit. But the weight of so many eyes, the danger of one slip, it was suffocating. Instead, she drew herself tighter, retreating behind the frost that had always kept her safe.
If Riley noticed, she didn’t let it show. But Elizabeth saw the way she excused herself early, the faint stiffness in her shoulders as she left the dining room.
Elizabeth let her go.
Later, when the house had quieted and the fires had burned low, Elizabeth stood at the balcony doors of their room, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. Snow drifted in the darkness beyond, soft and soundless, covering everything in white.
Behind her, she heard the faint rustle of fabric as Riley slipped out of her dress and pulled on one of Elizabeth’s spare robes. The silence between them stretched, fragile as spun glass.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wanted to turn, to apologize again, to pull Riley into her arms and tell her she was more than enough, that Sophia was nothing but an echo. But the words tangled in her throat, caught in years of conditioning. Vulnerability was weakness. Weakness was dangerous.
So she stayed at the window, her reflection a pale silhouette in the glass.
“You’re quiet,” Riley said softly, not quite a question.
Elizabeth managed a small sound of agreement.
She heard Riley shift, the bed creaking faintly as she climbed in. After a moment: “I hate how they treat you when you’re around me.”
Elizabeth turned then, startled. Riley was propped against the pillows, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes steady. Not accusing, simply honest.
Elizabeth’s chest ached. She wanted to say, It isn’t you, it’s them. Wanted to say, You’re stronger than they’ll ever understand. Wanted to say, I care for you more than I’ve cared for anyone.
But all that came out was: “You’ll get used to it.”
The look on Riley’s face, hurt, quiet disbelief, nearly undid her. But she didn’t move. She didn’t take the words back.
Instead, Elizabeth turned off the lamp, letting the room sink into darkness. She lay down stiffly beside Riley, a gulf of unspoken words between them, the cold persona wrapped tight around her like armor.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to Riley’s steady breathing. She told herself she’d explain tomorrow, when the house wasn’t watching, when the ghosts of her family’s expectations weren’t pressing so hard against her ribs.