Chapter Text
Colin wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
After a ten-year career, one would think he had learnt to say no to Anthony. And yet.
And yet, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Or at least that’s what he told himself every time fear set in at the prospect of working with his brother.
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to read page 32 again,” the casting director ordered.
Taking a deep breath, Colin quickly scanned the pages until he located the correct one. It wasn’t as if it was going to work anyway. He then took a furtive look at Cressida Cowper before shifting his gaze back to the text before him, swiftly recognising the words from an old romantic comedy of the 90s. Their eyes met the casting director’s, who silently signalled them to carry on with a nod of his head.
“I fear not recovering if I was once again ... cast aside, as I would absolutely expect to be,” Colin said, staring intensely at Cressida, summoning all his acting skills. “There are too many pictures of you everywhere, too many films. You’d go, and I’d be... well, buggered, basically.”
Cressida surprisingly didn’t lift her chin or nose in her typical arrogant attitude. Instead, she tilted her head and looked at him with semi-helpless eyes. “That really is a real no, isn’t it?” She let out a forced laugh, as if her heart were breaking.
“I live in Notting Hill. You live in Beverly Hills. Everyone in the world knows who you are,” Colin explained, slightly embarrassed, as he placed his hand on his waist. “My mother has trouble remembering my name.”
Cressida’s eyes narrowed in their typical fashion, making Colin fight back a laugh and stay in character. The truth was, she had remarkable acting skills and excelled in almost any role, except for those that required her to be silly or vulnerable. And that was precisely why she struggled to land romantic parts.
“Fine. Fine. Good decision,” she responded firmly. “The fame thing isn’t really real, you know.” She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her nose in the air. “Do not forget—I'm also just a girl. Standing in front of a boy. Asking him to love her.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the casting director declared, and Colin felt a wave of relief wash over him as his tense shoulders relaxed. If he hadn’t asked them to stop, he would have had to endure the burden of Cressida kissing his cheek, along with the eternal trauma it would bring.
Thrilled, Colin snapped his script closed, thinking that the chemistry test’s brevity meant he wouldn’t be chosen to play Cressida’s love interest in that production.
“Great work,” he muttered insincerely as he casually slung his bag over his shoulder without even glancing at her.
“Always,” she purred, her voice filled with condescension, and then she added, “You too,” while giving him a seductive once-over, as she always did.
Or at least, as she always did with any actor who could potentially improve her image. It had been quite a scene at the last BAFTAs when Armitage Cho had to quickly escape to avoid getting soaked by a glass of Veuve Clicquot after showing interest in the blonde.
“Right,” Colin said, for the lack of a better reply. With an awkward wave, he said his goodbyes, stating, “I’m going now,” before following the casting director and his assistants out of the room.
And had Cressida spooked him less, he would have opted for the second and more discreet exit, where he wouldn’t be greeted by rows and rows of aspiring actors and actresses, all of whom were now staring at him.
“We’re taking a twenty-minute break!” One assistant declared to them, eliciting a few groans of disapproval in response.
Temporarily disregarding the inquisitive glances, Colin fixed his gaze on the crowd and contemplated how he truly didn’t miss the times when he had to queue for just one opportunity to be selected. His professional success had grown so much in the last couple of years that he no longer had to put in any effort to land roles—casting directors would actively seek him out. Admittedly, his professional journey was still progressing, but judging by the multitude of eyes and whispers that followed him as he navigated the room, it was clear that he had transformed into more than just an average actor. He was now recognised as the Colin Bridgerton.
And the Colin Bridgerton was exhausted and desperately in need of rest.
“Colin!”
The sound of a sweet, high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts. Abruptly, he turned at the familiar sound, recognising it instantly. And then he saw her—a little redhead standing out in the sea of actresses.
“Pen?” he asked, a smile involuntarily forming on his face.
Ignoring the curious onlookers, he walked towards her, and she responded with a similar grin.
“What are you doing here?” She asked.
“Chemistry test,” he said, gesturing toward the room he had just left.
“Really?” she asked. “Who are you playing?”
When he looked at her, he hesitated momentarily, as if suddenly remembering the confidential nature of his involvement in the project.
“Never…nevermind,” Penelope stuttered. “You don’t have to tell me yet.”
Shaking his head, Colin chuckled, allowing another smile to grace his lips. “It’s alright, Pen. I know you wouldn’t say anything. Besides...” He straightened his back and surveyed the people surrounding them. “I’m sure word will get out soon.”
She nodded, and he glanced at her once more. “I’m going to be Leonidas,” he revealed.
“Are you serious?” Penelope asked, her voice betraying her interest in her friend’s response. That was a funny twist.
“Why? Who are you auditioning for?” He asked, noticing her intrigued expression.
“Um, I’m...” she anxiously gestured towards the actresses standing beside her and then nervously clasped her hands together. “I’m auditioning for the role of Nora.”
His eyebrows raised. “Really? Friends both on and off screen, then?”
A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she replied, “Maybe.” Her hand instinctively reached up to scratch the back of her head. “If I get the part,” she added.
After facing countless rejections from auditions, Penelope had developed a realistic understanding of the process. She knew there were numerous young, attractive, and probably more talented actresses vying for this role, and any of them could easily be Nora.
But though Penelope was old enough to know better, the persistent, foolish dream still held a powerful grip on her heart. However, with each closed door and passing year, she slowly realised the mistake she had made in choosing her desired career instead of the safer one. The upcoming audition was her way of fulfilling a promise she had made to herself - to try one more time before being rational and returning to her previous profession.
“You will,” Colin said, ever the optimist, or forever oblivious to Penelope’s struggles. She wasn’t sure which. “I am sure. If I wasn’t, I would bribe my bro—” he quickly caught himself, wincing at his slip-up.
“Your brother?” Penelope interrupted, moving closer to the man who was still recoiling, and whispered, “Colin, is this an Anthony movie?”
Anthony Bridgerton was known for many things—his quick temper, dominating personality, micromanagement skills, and devotion to his family. Interestingly, these very traits proved to be incredibly advantageous in his unexpected career as a director, despite his initial reluctance. Truthfully, Anthony had intended to run the family entertainment business solely from a bureaucratic standpoint. However, after his father’s passing, Anthony discovered a new side of himself as he carried on Edmund Bridgerton’s legacy in the field of film directing.
Surprisingly, this became the aspect for which the eldest Bridgerton sibling became renowned. His films were not only loved but eagerly anticipated. It was common knowledge that regardless of the plot, any movie directed by Anthony was bound to be a masterpiece. He was hailed as the next Scorsese, and perhaps even the next Spielberg.
And he despised every bit of it. All Anthony wanted was to create his films in peace, while desperately trying to maintain his sanity and assist his mother in running Bridgerton Industries. That was why, every time he embarked on a new project, he did so with the utmost secrecy, simply to delay everyone’s pestering for as long as possible.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Colin begged. “Unless you want me to get kicked out from home.”
Even though she was surprised, she couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “You don’t even live with them anymore.”
“Yes, but would you want to be banned from the Bridgerton holidays?” he cried, his eyes wide with horror. “What if I never get to taste Mum’s cookies again?”
Typically, seeing the old and silly version of Colin would make her burst into laughter. However, it was not a typical day, and it hadn’t been in a long time.
Colin noticed the deterioration in Penelope’s mood and immediately understood the reason behind it.
“How are things between you and Eloise?” he asked.
Penelope pursed her lips and shrugged weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, “Pretty much the same.”
The truth was, she had firsthand experience of being excluded from the Bridgerton’s holiday celebrations, as Eloise had made sure of that.
“I’m sure she will come around,” Colin said, his optimism shining through his words once again.
But the redhead only shook her head. “I’m not as certain.”
“Pen,” he said, his voice gentle as he clasped her hand, trying to capture her attention, “The friendship between the two of you has remained steadfast throughout the years. I know my sister. And if she knows you as well as I do, she will eventually come around, I know it.”
His unwavering gaze, with deep, dark blue eyes, bore into her as he said all of those things. Unfortunately, it reminded her of all the reasons she had foolishly and misguidedly fallen for Colin Bridgerton.
Kind, understanding, appeasing. Colin was the kind of guy who noticed everyone and extended his warmth to even the most unworthy individuals. It was truly incredible how not even fame could change this aspect of his personality.
Of course, even she couldn’t ignore the impenetrable facade he’d built over the years, shielding himself from the world and projecting a confident, irresistible alpha male image that his fans craved. In the entertainment world, he was whatever he needed to be, but still, in moments like these, he was who she needed him to be. Himself.
And sometimes she wished that wasn’t the case. She wished he wasn’t the genuine, kind person he always was, or maybe that their paths hadn’t crossed before his rise to fame and all the masks that came along with it. Maybe then she would never have loved him. There wouldn’t be a single glimmer of hope in her heart to say that he noticed her—and that one day, perhaps, he might see her as more than a friend.
As if on cue, his phone started ringing. He quickly glanced at it, then promptly declined the call.
“I really need to go, Pen. Tracy’s waiting for me,” he said.
She forced a fake smile, her lips curving upward in a tense gesture, and nodded.
Of course. Tracy. The runway model of the month. Or, unfortunately, as it turned out, the year. Pen often deluded herself, believing that the girls Colin dated were blind to his true self and uninterested in the man beneath the celebrity facade. However, she couldn’t deny that these relationships always lasted, forcing her to admit that her jealousy and delusion occasionally crossed the line.
So she bid him goodbye with a wave and joined the back of the line, where she seemingly belonged. Waiting for one more opportunity to be noticed, to feel relevant, to be cast in an Anthony Bridgerton movie, which was quite laughable.
And if not laughable, problematic at the very least. Because Penelope was certain that if she worked on a project with both Anthony and Colin, Eloise would have solid evidence to support her suspicions that her former best friend had only befriended her with the secret and twisted intention of using her well-connected family to rise to fame.
But, oh well, Penelope reasoned to herself, she had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like she had the slightest chance of being chosen anyway.
“Should we wait for Charlotte?”
“She’s currently at Paris Fashion Week and has explicitly stated that she wishes to be contacted only in case of utmost urgency,” Agatha explained, raising an eyebrow as if silently judging Charlotte’s priorities. “Besides, she assured me that she trusts my judgement, whatever it may be, so she shouldn’t dare to complain,” she added, pursing her lips as if anticipating Charlotte’s future objections.
Anthony nodded in agreement, though he found it difficult to believe that Charlotte had no input on the casting for her book adaptation. However, he wisely chose not to interfere in the complex dynamics of the friendship and power play between the two women.
“Alright, so tell me. What do you think?” Anthony asked.
Agatha glanced at the assortment of pictures spread across the table in front of them. “In my opinion, it would be best to consider a combination of fresh talent and familiar faces for the lead roles.” With a discerning gaze, she pointed to one of the photos and asked, “What about her?”
Anthony picked up the photo and studied the actress depicted in it. She was undeniably stunning—a quality that immediately caught his attention. However.
“Isn’t she too old?” He asked.
Agatha only raised her eyebrows at him. “And how old are you, may I ask?”
He glared at her and her antics. Having known him since he was a toddler, she was keenly aware that he was turning forty that year.
“I’m the director and not the main actress in an adventure romance movie, aren’t I?” he replied. Faced with Agatha’s fixed gaze and unwavering silence, he continued, "Aren't you a producer? Shouldn’t you be well informed about the audience profile?”
“Yes,” she replied sharply, snatching the photo from his hands. “I’m a producer. And that’s exactly why I’m letting you know she’s the right choice. She is new, has the perfect look, and is a splendid actress. Or do you happen to believe she is not sufficiently attractive for your film?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anthony snapped, his voice full of frustration. “I’m simply approaching it from an advertising perspective. You know that perfectly well.”
“Good,” she replied, placing the photo back on the table as she gave him a sidelong glance. “I’d hate to think that the boy I once saw in nappies now chooses his cast with the same criteria he applies to choosing his girlfriends. The younger the better?”
Anthony rolled his eyes, feeling a slight heat rise to his cheeks as she openly mentioned his nappies in front of the casting director and the other crew members present. Among all the women he had ever known, Agatha Danbury stood out as the most insufferable and overbearing.
Instead of adding fuel to her caustic remarks, he turned to one of his assistants and said, “Call Kate Sharma. Tell her to meet us in my office tomorrow at 9 a.m.”
Agatha smiled contentedly and said, “Now that we’ve taken care of that, who else is left to make a decision about?”
“I’m determined to have Thomas Dorset as the protagonist. We just need him and Kate to take a chemistry test,” he said, and Agatha nodded. “And as we’ve already discussed, Colin will be Leonidas.”
“Yes, I agree, it suits him,” she observed, her gaze fixed on the photographs on the table. “And Catherine?” She asked, as selecting Leonidas’ romantic interest was equally significant.
Anthony nodded, understanding her concerns. “Bert mentioned he had a good chemistry read with Cressida Cowper,” he commented, gesturing toward the casting director, who appeased Agatha’s inquisitive gaze with a nod.
“Cressida Cowper?” She looked back at Anthony. “In a romantic role? Are you sure?”
The director tilted his head. “It’s definitely innovative, but if Bert says it worked, I trust him.”
“Okay,” Agatha reluctantly admitted. In his experience, Bert Fife was clueless most of the time, but for some strange reason, Anthony seemed to trust him. And although she could help choose the cast, she was absent during the chemistry tests and could offer no better option than Cressida.
“Ah, I need your help with this,” Anthony said, sliding photos of a dozen actresses into the centre of the table. “Nora,” he explained, “I have to admit that when I read the book, the character didn’t catch my attention. But she must now, if we are to have a successful film. If we find the perfect person, it will make a world of difference for me. What do you think?”
Agatha’s eyes were fixed on the multitude of faces captured in the photos; her lower lip caught between her teeth in a contemplative manner. In that pile, she saw a broad mix of outstanding actresses, but Nora’s position required more than simply skill.
Of course, she was a secondary character at best. Initially naïve, consigned as Leonidas’ closest friend and sidekick, she would need to cultivate a domineering air over time. She was the kind of character that could make or break a film, as a story and its main characters are only as powerful as its supporting cast.
Then, Agatha’s gaze focused on someone in particular.
“Her,” she said, pointing to the photo.
Anthony directed his gaze to where her finger was pointing, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
With a satisfied smile, she confidently declared, “I am. She is absolutely perfect for the role and has a face that is not widely recognised because she is quite new to the industry, and we are well aware of her acting skills. Also, if my memory serves me right, she already knows your brother, doesn’t she?" She asked.
He had to admit she had a valid argument. To be honest, he didn’t have many objections at all. He had quite liked the idea from the start, but he simply didn’t want to show any favouritism, given her connection to his family. But if Agatha Danbury herself chose the girl, it was undoubtedly the correct course of action.
So, turning to the same assistant as before, he instructed, “Call Penelope Featherington. Inform her she has been chosen to play the role of Nora Cloke.”