Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Penelope Featherington could map Colin Bridgerton’s dating history more accurately than her own life goals. Not because she was obsessed—God forbid she become the cautionary tale of the pathetic girl mooning after her best friend’s older brother—but because Colin made it so easy.

Three months ago: a Pilates instructor named Bella.
Six weeks after that: a bartender from that rooftop launch party.
Last week: someone Penelope could only describe as “an influencer in mostly beige clothing.”

He rotated women the way Spotify curated playlists—vaguely themed, predictable around holidays, and over just as she was starting to remember their names.

Not that Penelope compared herself to them.

(…much.)

She adjusted the strap of her satchel as she entered the Bridgerton townhouse through the side entrance—because she was so familiar with the place that no one questioned it anymore—and immediately heard his laugh.

Of course.

The kind of laugh that did ungodly, stomach-flipping things to her, even though she had built metaphorical sandbag walls against such nonsense around age fourteen.

She was twenty-four now. Mature. Unflappable.

She could handle Colin being home unexpectedly.

She could handle Colin and some gorgeous yoga-bending woman being home unexpectedly.

She marched into the kitchen like she had every right to be there—which, to be fair, she did. Eloise had summoned her under the dramatic threat of “if you don’t come help me stage an intervention about Mum’s obsession with seasonal decorative gourds, I’ll fake my own death.”

But Eloise was nowhere in sight.

Colin was leaning against the island, sleeves rolled to elbows, grinning down at his phone. Alone.

Good.

Bad.

Dangerous.

He looked up at the sound of her bag thudding onto the counter. And just like always, his posture shifted—the swagger melting into something softer, warmer.

“Pen,” he said, smile curving slow and genuine. “Didn’t know you were coming by.”

He always said her name like it was a secret.

She hated that about him.

She loved that about him.

“I was summoned,” she said dryly. “Your sister insisted on a seasonal crisis.”

“Ah,” he nodded gravely. “The gourds.”

They shared a solemn look as if discussing war.

He pushed himself off the counter, sauntering over. Penelope very pointedly looked anywhere but his forearms.

“You eaten?” he asked, reaching for the cupboards.

She blinked. “That depends. If I say no, are you about to offer to cook?”

He gasped. “You wound me. I make an excellent omelette.”

“You once set toast on fire.”

“Once. And in my defense, the toaster was possessed.”

She snorted, but her chest did that awful glowing thing she refused to name.

He was like this with everyone—easy, charming, magnetic. But with her… there was something else. A stillness, an attention, like she wasn’t background noise.

And he didn’t even notice.

He was now pulling pans out with dramatic flair. “Sit. Let me feed you.”

“Colin—”

“Sit,” he said again, gentle but firm.

And because she would walk into traffic if he asked nicely enough, she obeyed.

She sat and watched the man she had quietly loved since she was old enough to understand yearning, wondering—not for the first time—if he would ever look at her the way he looked at women he’d forget in a month.

Probably not.

But that didn’t mean she’d settle for someone who looked at her less.

Chapter Text

Colin Bridgerton was good at roughly five things:
1. Making an entrance.
2. Making an omelette (debatably).
3. Making women laugh.
4. Making women think he was interested.
5. And then… accidentally making them realise he actually wasn’t.

He didn’t try to be a disappointment — it was simply his natural resting state when romance was involved.

Like now.

“So then I told him, if you’re going to use a line that bad, you should at least buy me dinner first,” giggled… what was her name?

Chloe? Cleo? Something with a C. He should start keeping notes.

They were sitting on the big blue sofa in the Bridgerton living room. She was angled toward him, hand resting far too pointedly on his knee, waiting for him to flirt back properly. And he could. He absolutely could. He’d done it a thousand times.

But instead, he found himself glancing — for no logical reason — toward the hallway.

Waiting.

She shouldn’t even be here today. Penelope usually came by late afternoons with Eloise. Yet his mind kept wandering toward the possibility of her arrival like a dog waiting for footsteps.

“—and then I told my friend he was totally checking me out,” the girl continued.

Colin blinked back into the moment. Right. Flirty mode.

He smiled charmingly. “With material like that, how could he resist?”

She laughed again, leaning closer, perfume blooming around him. He didn’t dislike it. He just didn’t… feel anything about it.

And then—

The front door clicked.

Footsteps.

He straightened before he could stop himself. The girl — Clarissa? — tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Just thought I heard—”

Penelope.

She appeared in the doorway at the exact moment his pulse decided to start doing laps around his ribcage.

She paused when she saw him — them — and her expression barely shifted, but he saw it. A flicker. Quick. Contained.

He hated that flicker. He didn’t know why, but he did.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly grinning like an idiot.

The girl beside him looked between them, brow faintly pinched. “Is that your sister?”

Colin snorted. “God, no.”

Penelope let out the tiniest snort of disbelief and walked further in, head high.

Before he could introduce anyone — not that he particularly wanted to — Eloise crashed in behind her.

“Oh good, Colin’s seducing another basic,” Eloise announced cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Eloise, professional chaos.”

The girl stiffened, mumbling something about having to go, and within ten seconds Colin was standing alone in the living room with his sister and Penelope.

Eloise looked pleased with herself. Penelope looked… composed.

He wasn’t.

“You didn’t have to scare her off,” he muttered.

“She was boring,” Eloise replied. “Also, she smelled like fake coconut. Also, you were bored.”

“I was not—”

“You were,” Penelope said quietly. Not mocking. Simply… certain.

That threw him. She walked past him toward the bookshelf, fingers trailing the spines like she belonged to the room more than he did.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” he said without thinking.

She blinked. “What?”

Before she could object, he stepped forward and brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone.

Soft. Warm. Freckles.

She went still.

He didn’t move away.

For one strange, suspended moment, the room didn’t exist. Just her eyes locked on his, wide and startled, and his hand cupping the edge of her jaw like it had done it before.

He dropped his hand.

Cleared his throat.

“Got it.”

She nodded. Too quickly. “Thanks.”

Eloise stared between them, expression flat as stone.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, and left the room.

Colin watched Penelope as she deliberately busied herself with a book she had absolutely no interest in.

…And wondered — for the first time — why touching her felt different than touching anyone else.

Chapter Text

Penelope didn’t even want to go out that night.

Eloise had insisted. “Aren’t you tired of being indoors? Come on.”

So Penelope agreed—grudgingly—and put on a fitted emerald top that hugged her waist and emphasized her chest slightly more than she normally dared. Not scandalous. Just… notable.

She regretted it instantly, even before they were halfway through the bar entrance.

The place was buzzing—warm lighting, pulsing music, groups huddled in leather booths and along the polished wood bar. She could already feel people’s eyes skimming over her, whether out of curiosity or interest she couldn’t tell. She clasped her purse tighter.

Eloise disappeared within seconds, predictably gravitating toward a corner group debating over some obscure documentary. Penelope exhaled, adjusted her neckline once, and stepped toward the bar.

She had barely ordered her drink when a man leaned beside her.

Tall. Blond. Easy-looking grin.

“Is that one of those overpriced cocktails people pretend to like but secretly hate?” he asked casually.

Penelope blinked. “I—yes.”

He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

She chuckled despite herself. “You’d think if something cost fifteen pounds it would actually taste like something.”

“Right? I’m Tom.” He extended a hand.

“Penelope.”

“Well, Penelope, if it’s awful, I promise my drink is worse. Want to swap halfway through to compare trauma?”

She smiled—actually smiled—they continued to talk in a booth by the bar before Penelope excused herself to find Eloise - she was leaning against the bar when a voice slid in effortlessly from the other side.

“Having fun?”

Her spine straightened.

Colin.

Of course he was here.

He was leaning against the bar, elbow propped casually, a half-finished beer in hand and a grin that had no business being legal. His hair was messily perfect. His sleeves rolled. His charm at full setting. Colin turned fully toward her, amusement already alive in his eyes.

“So,” he said. “You’re making friends.”

Penelope gave him a cautious look. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh, not at all.” He sipped his beer. “I’m proud of you. Branching out. Socializing. Flirting.”

“I was not—”

He cut her off with a raised brow. “Penelope. He was offering to share trauma via cocktails. That’s practically foreplay.”

She turned away, pretending to adjust her straw. “He was being polite.”

“Sure.” Colin’s tone was far too knowing. “Tell yourself that.”

She tried to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. “Aren’t you usually off charming someone yourself at this hour?”

“I was,” he said simply.

She stiffened. “Was?”

“Mmm.” He took another sip. “Got bored”

She glanced at him sharply, but his face was infuriatingly unreadable. Casual. Relaxed. Utterly confident.

She turned away before he could catch her expression.

“I’m getting another drink,” she muttered.

“You’ve barely touched that one.”

“I need something sweeter.”

“Or someone?” he mused.

She shot him a glare. “Goodbye, Colin.”

He gave a slight salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves a very short list.”

She slipped away before he could retort.

Time passed, though Penelope had still not managed to relocate Eloise.

Penelope was standing in a quieter corner, new drink in hand, watching the crowded bar with studied detachment. She’d almost relaxed when his voice reappeared beside her.

“So,” he said, leaning against the wall. “What was his name?”

“Whose?”

“Cocktail Boy.”

“Tom,” she said flatly.

“Ooh. Tom. Strong name. Bland, but dependable. Like oatmeal.”

She sighed heavily. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m entertained.”

She took a long, slow sip.

He watched her. He was close, but not touching. Casual. Too casual. Like being near her took no effort whatsoever.

“So?” he prompted.

“So what?”

“Are you going to go for it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said firmly.

“Not a valid reason.”

She turned to him. “Why are you so invested?”

He looked genuinely perplexed. “I’m supporting your romantic development.”

She stared.

He grinned. “Penelope. You need to get some.”

She choked on her drink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugged. “You’re gorgeous tonight. People are looking. Why not enjoy it?”

Her breath caught. She didn’t know whether to thank him or hit him.

She shook her head, laughing despite herself.

His smile softened just a fraction.

“Seriously,” he said more gently. “What’s stopping you?”

She hesitated.

For a moment, she considered lying. Brushing it off again. But the question lingered in the air, and his face—though still smug—held just enough genuine curiosity to crack something in her.

She exhaled.

“I just…” She searched for the words. “It’s hard.”

“Hard?”

“Finding someone.”

“You’re in a bar. Surrounded by candidates.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what?”

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

She looked away—past him, at the swirl of strangers and laughter and careless flirting she’d observed for years.

“It’s—” she started. “Everyone says I’m too… particular.”

“Particular?” he echoed.

She nodded faintly. “I suppose. I have… expectations.”

He smirked. “Tall? Rich? Handsome?”

She gave a scoff. “No.”

“Then what?”

She swallowed.

Someone who sees me.

Someone like—

“I guess I just… no one ever lives up to…” She trailed off.

He tilted his head. “To what?”

Her heartbeat pounded.

To you.

She caught herself.

“—to what I want,” she finished quickly.

Colin blinked once.

Then, surprisingly, he didn’t tease. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t smirk.

He just nodded. Quietly.

“Fair,” he said softly.

She stared at him.

Just as quickly, he recovered, grin sliding back into place. “Still think you should kiss Tom, though”

She tried to hide her smile. Failed miserably.

—

Later, Tom found her again.

They chatted. He was nice. Funny. Charming in a low-effort, steady way.

Colin remained across the bar—pretending not to watch, a group of girls trying to keep his attention, but failing spectacularly.

When Tom laughed at something Penelope said and touched her arm lightly, Colin’s smirk slipped for half a second.

Eloise appeared beside him at some point, sipping soda.

“You’re glaring.”

“I don’t glare.”

“You’re doing it now.”

He tore his eyes away. “I’m observing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tom leaned closer to Penelope. Said something that made her laugh again.

Colin scoffed under his breath.

Eloise smirked. “Problem?”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

Colin downed the rest of his drink.

When Penelope glanced up and caught his eye from across the room, he looked away first.

She excused herself from Tom soon after.

Not to chase Colin.

Just because her pulse was acting stupid.

—

She found a quieter hallway near the restrooms, breathing slowly.

“Running away?” came Colin’s voice.

She nearly jumped. “Do you lurk in every shadow?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

She crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining someone else by now?”

“Bored.”

“Already?”

His lips tilted. “No one holds my attention long.”

She snorted. “Tragic.”

“Indeed.”

Silence. Comfortable. Uncomfortable.

Then—

“Penelope?”

She looked at him.

He hesitated.

“You know I was joking earlier, right?”

“About?”

“The whole ‘go get some’ thing.”

She raised a brow. “You weren’t joking.”

“No,” he admitted. “But… I wasn’t saying you need someone.”

She stared, unsure where he was going.

He cleared his throat. “Just that… if you want someone, you could have them.”

Her breath caught again.

She shook her head.

He leaned back against the wall beside her, close but not touching.

Then, in an unexpected shift of tone—

“Who are you comparing them to?”

Her heart stopped.

She swallowed. “No one.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Pen—”

Then—to her relief and disappointment—he let it go.

“Fine,” he said lightly. “But if I ever meet this mysterious paragon, I’ll fight him.”

She laughed. “You’d lose.”

“I never lose.”

“You would.”

He glanced at her.

And for a fleeting second, something—something sharp, something unknown—passed between them.

Then he grinned again, ruining it instantly.

“Come on,” he said, nudging her playfully. “Let’s go back before Tom thinks you’ve abandoned him.”

They walked back into the crowded room.

Tonight—something had shifted.

Not enough for Colin to notice.

Not enough for her to admit.

But enough for tomorrow to feel different.

Chapter Text

Penelope had not intended to make an entrance.

She never did.

But when she stepped through the Bridgerton front door that afternoon—sunlight hitting her hair just right, a soft navy dress cinching at her waist, cheeks warmed by the walk over—Benedict let out a low whistle.

“Well, don’t you look suspiciously radiant.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “It’s a dress.”

“Mm,” Benedict said, sipping his tea.

From the sofa, Eloise called, “Shut up and let her sit before you make it weird.”

Penelope made her way over to Eloise, settling beside her. Colin was across the room, sprawled casually in an armchair, a cup of coffee in hand and an expression that was far too neutral to be innocent.

He hadn’t looked up when she came in. Not immediately.

But now his gaze flickered over her.

Quick.

Assessing.

Barely noticeable.

Except it was.

She ignored it.

“Busy morning?” Eloise asked.

“Not particularly,” Penelope replied, reaching for a scone. “Just had a text from—”

She caught herself.

Too late.

Eloise’s eyes sharpened. “From?”

“—no one,” she said flatly.

Benedict leaned forward with interest. “Oho. That was deflection.”

“Drop it,” Penelope muttered.

Eloise smirked. “Was it Tom?”

Colin’s head lifted.

Slowly.

Penelope forced nonchalance. “Possibly.”

Benedict grinned. “Who’s Tom?”

“No one,” Penelope repeated.

Eloise ignored her. “A man she met the other night. Very attentive. Very smiley. Very interested.”

Penelope kicked her under the table.

Eloise yelped. “Ow!”

Benedict’s grin widened. “Penelope Featherington! Flirting with strangers in bars—what a scandal.”

“She wasn’t flirting,” Colin said suddenly, voice calm but firm.

All eyes went to him.

He didn’t seem fazed by the attention—simply sipped his coffee.

Benedict raised a brow. “How do you know?”

Colin shrugged. “She doesn’t flirt.”

Penelope froze.

Something about the way he said it—so certain, so offhand—struck deeper than she expected.

Eloise glanced at her, then at Colin

Colin said simply. “You’re polite. You’re kind. But you’re not flirtatious.”

Penelope set her teacup down a little too carefully. “You make me sound like a house plant.”

Colin tilted his head. “You’re more elegant than a house plant.”

“Thrilling.”

“More like…” He considered. “A collectible vase. Admired, untouched, above reckless behavior.”

Something in her tightened.

He was joking.

He was always joking.

But that one—

That landed.

Too neatly.

She looked straight at him. “And what does that make you?”

His gaze flicked to her phone, which was lighting up beside her.

Tom: If you survived that drink the other night, I’d say we’re officially bonded by trauma. Want to test another?

Before she could silence it, Eloise leaned closer.

“Oooh,” Eloise sing-songed. “He’s funny.”

Penelope snatched her phone up quickly.

Too late.

Colin had seen.

She couldn’t read his expression—not immediately. A flicker. Something sharp, gone in a blink.

He leaned back, stretching his arm lazily along the back of the chair.

“So,” he said casually. “You’re entertaining suitors now.”

“Don’t call them suitors,” she muttered.

“Fine. Admirers.”

Eloise grinned.

Penelope glared at her.

Colin’s smirk widened. “Well. If he asks you out, say yes. You need practice.”

She stared at him. “Practice?”

Benedict coughed. “I’m staying out of this.”

Colin continued smoothly. “Dating. Flirting. You know. Building confidence.”

Eloise watched with open fascination.

Penelope took a slow breath. “I don’t need practice.”

Colin’s grin softened into something more genuine. “Pen. You’re brilliant. But you hesitate.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. You overthink. You second-guess. You stall.”

She held his gaze.

His tone was light.

But his eyes—

They were steady.

Too steady.

Heat spread across her chest.

She looked away.

“I’ll reply later,” she said flatly, placing her phone face-down.

“Well,” he said, brushing nonexistent lint off his shirt. “If you need help crafting your response—”

“I don’t.”

“I’m very experienced in witty banter.”

“That’s not a recommendation.”

He sauntered toward the kitchen. “I’m grabbing more biscuits. Anyone?”

No one answered.

He left.

Benedict exhaled dramatically. L

Penelope sipped her tea without comment.

Eloise smirked. “You know he has no idea what he’s doing, right?”
“Benedict was right earlier.”

“About what?”

“You’re radiant.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Stop,”

Eloise smirked. “He notices. He just hasn’t worked out why.”

Penelope bit the inside of her cheek.

She didn’t reply.

—

Colin stayed in the kitchen longer than necessary.

He leaned against the counter, staring at a tin of biscuits like it had personally insulted him.

Tom.

Tom with the smile.

Tom with the texts.

Tom asking Penelope out.

Penelope—who apparently received texts from men now.

He scoffed under his breath.

Practice.

He had meant it. Hadn’t he?

Of course he had.

She deserved attention. Deserved someone to look at her and—

His jaw tightened.

She deserved—

Someone better than Tom.

He grabbed the biscuit tin a little too aggressively.

When he returned, he didn’t look at her.

Not immediately.

But he placed the tin directly in front of her.

She blinked. “I didn’t ask—”

“Take one,” he said.

She hesitated.

Then did.

He smirked and in a low voice said “Good girl.”

The words left his mouth before he registered them.

They hung in the air.

Benedict froze.

Eloise’s eyes widened.

Penelope’s fingers stilled around her biscuit.

Colin didn’t flinch.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t explain.

He just smiled—lazy, unbothered, entirely too composed.

Then, without waiting for response, he walked back to his seat and sat down like nothing had happened.

Penelope’s pulse hammered.

Eloise mouthed, oh my God.

Penelope ignored her.

She lifted the biscuit.

Took a bite.

Slow.

Measured.

Unbothered.

But her cheeks were warm.

Across the room, Colin watched—head tilted, fingers drumming on the armrest.

Just for a moment—

He looked like he’d surprised himself.

Then he smirked again.

Unsettled.

But committed to pretending otherwise.

Chapter Text

The small coffee shop smelled of freshly ground beans and vanilla, warm and inviting. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, highlighting the soft dust motes in the air. Penelope sat at a corner table, her ankle still tender, a latte cradled in her hands.

Colin entered moments later, his usual confident grin in place, though there was a subtle tension in his shoulders that wasn’t often there. He spotted Penelope immediately, and for a fraction of a second, his chest tightened—a reaction he quickly smoothed over.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, leaning slightly against the table.

Penelope set her book aside. “Of course,” she said, offering a small smile.

Colin pulled out the chair opposite her, settling in. “How’s the ankle?” His voice carried its usual teasing lilt, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern.

“Much better,” she replied softly, glancing up. “Thank you again… for helping me the other day.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “It’s nothing… but I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if you’d ended up hobbling around like that.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words. There was something different in his gaze today—less teasing, more… attentive.

After a moment, he leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on her. “So… Tom?” His tone was casual, but his fingers tapped nervously against the edge of the table, betraying his outward calm.

“No,” Penelope said simply.

Colin’s gaze sharpened. “Not even… someone who sends flirtatious texts at odd hours?” He glanced at her phone on the table.

Her pulse quickened. “I… I haven’t replied.”

He froze for a split second, then a subtle, secret smile tugged at his lips. She hadn’t replied to Tom. Good. Relief mingled with something new—something he didn’t fully recognize yet—but he quickly masked it with his usual grin.

“Why not?” he asked, voice casual, though his knee brushed slightly against hers under the table, almost unconsciously.

She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “I… just haven’t had the chance,” she murmured, keeping her tone neutral, avoiding the deeper truth.

Colin’s smirk softened, and he leaned back, letting his shoulder graze the chair slightly. His chest felt tighter than usual, and for a moment, he had to focus to maintain his usual cocky composure.

Colin’s mind raced faster than he liked to admit. Secretly, he was relieved—glad no one else was occupying her attention. Nervousness coiled in his stomach, unfamiliar and unbidden. His eyes flicked down at her hands, clutching the latte, before darting up, catching her gaze.

“Curious,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “You usually reply quickly.”

“I… just didn’t feel like it,” she said quietly.

Before either of them could continue, a familiar voice interrupted. “Colin! There you are!”

The auburn-haired girl from the last gathering approached, bright smile in place. “I thought I’d find you here. Mind if I join?”

Colin’s gaze flicked to her for a fraction of a second, then he looked back at Penelope. His smile remained polite but firm. “No, thank you.”

The girl’s face faltered. “Oh… alright then.” She lingered for a moment, but the look in Colin’s eyes—quick, sharp, subtly protective—made her retreat quietly.

Penelope’s stomach fluttered. She hadn’t expected him to shut someone down so casually, so instinctively.

Colin leaned closer, elbows resting lightly on the table. His smirk returned, but it was less cocky, more tentative. “You’re very careful with yourself,” he said, voice low.

Penelope’s cheeks flamed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… try not to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother,” he murmured. His knee brushed hers again, slightly more than necessary.

Her heart skipped, pulse racing. She could feel every subtle movement, every slight brush of his skin, and she knew he noticed her reaction—but he didn’t comment.

Penelope took a sip of her latte, trying to hide the flush creeping across her chest. Colin leaned back slightly, trying to mask the strange flutter in his stomach, the way her presence affected him differently than anyone else.

The noise of the coffee shop faded around them. For a few quiet moments, it was just the two of them, lingering in a tension neither could fully name.

And Penelope, heart hammering, realized she couldn’t look away from Colin Bridgerton.

For once, he didn’t feel entirely untouchable.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the outdoor terrace of a small rooftop café. Wooden tables dotted the space, umbrellas flapping gently in the breeze. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and blooming flowers from nearby planters.

Penelope sat across from Benedict, who was animatedly recounting some mundane anecdote about a mishap at the office. Eloise lounged beside her, sipping iced tea, smirk barely concealed as she watched the dynamics around her.

Colin leaned against the railing nearby, the sun catching the gold in his hair. A girl with chestnut hair and a petite frame was beside him, laughing at one of his jokes. Colin’s hand brushed hers lightly, casual and flirtatious.

Penelope tried to focus on Benedict’s story, on Eloise’s quiet presence, anything to keep her pulse from racing. But Colin’s attention seemed effortlessly magnetic, drawing her gaze like a lodestone.

“I can’t believe you actually tried to argue with your boss about the coffee machine,” Benedict said, gesturing dramatically. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m persuasive,” Penelope said lightly, smiling at him whilst glancing at Colin . “And apparently amusing.”

Eloise snorted, glancing at Colin. “Amusing to some, certainly.”

Colin’s head tilted as he listened, his attention flicking to Penelope momentarily, but the movement didn’t go unnoticed by the chestnut-haired girl, who leaned slightly closer to him.

And that’s when she spoke—smooth, teasing, a sly smile curving her lips.

“You know,” the girl said, voice loud enough for the table to hear, “it’s kind of obvious you have a thing for your best friend’s brother, isn’t it?”

Penelope nearly choked on her iced tea. Her eyes went wide, cheeks heating instantly. She looked down at her hands, gripping her glass tightly.

Colin froze mid-laugh, a flash of surprise crossing his features. Something uncharacteristic stirred in him—nervousness, something sharp and unfamiliar. He glanced at Penelope, noticing the flush creeping up her neck, the sudden tension in her posture

Benedict blinked, confused. “What?”

Eloise, smirking faintly, sipped her tea, perfectly content to watch the scene unfold without comment.

The girl beside Colin laughed lightly, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You can’t hide it, Penelope.”

Penelope opened her mouth, but no words came. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, but her pulse betrayed her, racing like it had a life of its own.

Colin, meanwhile, felt an unexpected tug in his chest. Relieved, he realized, that she hadn’t replied to Tom, but also… uneasy, because the way she looked at him now was different. His usual cocky, teasing confidence wavered slightly, replaced by something more cautious, more aware.

He leaned against the railing, trying to mask the flutter in his stomach, the sharp awareness of her presence. “Best friend’s brother, huh?” he said, voice low, teasing, but carrying a subtle tension. “Is that what I am to you?”

Penelope’s throat went dry. “I… I—” she tried to brush it off, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Colin’s smirk softened, eyes lingering on her with a faint unease. For the first time in a long while, he felt… unsure. He had noticed how she affected him, and he didn’t entirely like it.

The chestnut-haired girl, realizing she had stirred something, excused herself gracefully, leaving Colin, Penelope, Benedict, and Eloise in the quiet afternoon air.

Colin’s gaze remained fixed on Penelope, a small, almost nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Interesting,” he murmured, voice low

Penelope felt her pulse thudding painfully in her chest. She tried to look casual, to sip her iced tea, but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her. Colin noticed, of course. He always noticed.

And for a brief, suspended moment, the four of them—Benedict animatedly gesturing, Eloise quietly observing, and the sun warm over the terrace—were caught in a tension that neither Penelope nor Colin could name, but both fully felt

Chapter Text

The Bridgerton living room was alive with laughter, the soft glow of candlelight and string lights illuminating eager, slightly tipsy faces. Eloise had orchestrated another games night, and this time, everyone was more relaxed—willing to push boundaries, daring each other to confessions and playful challenges.

Penelope sat near the center, quietly sipping her wine, feeling a strange mix of nerves and amusement. Colin had kept his distance since the terrace incident, sitting across the room with a wine glass in hand, casual and cool—or trying to be.

It was her turn. “Truth or dare?” someone asked, grin wide.

“Truth,” she said smoothly.

The instigator leaned closer, smirk teasing. “Tell us… what qualities do you find most attractive in a man?”

The room fell a little quiet. Penelope felt a blush rise but decided to play. Slowly, she began to describe the traits she admired: “Confidence. Charm. Intelligence. Someone who notices the little things, who’s… attentive, considerate, and funny in ways that catch you off guard. Someone who makes you feel… safe, but alive at the same time.”

The circle went quiet for a moment. Colin’s drink paused halfway to his lips, eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed her gaze wasn’t on him—or was it? Eloise and the others exchanged impressed looks. “Well, it seems Penelope’s gained confidence,” one whispered.

Then, with a mischievous smile, Penelope ended her description, pointing slightly away. She leaned forward, lightly pressing a quick, cheeky kiss to his Gregory’s cheek. Gregory blushed, startled, while the group erupted into laughter.

Colin’s jaw tightened just slightly, a flicker of something he didn’t quite recognize passing through him. He remained seated, sipping his wine, but his attention never wavered from Penelope.

The game moved on, laughter and dares swirling through the room. Finally, it landed on Colin. Eloise grinned, unable to resist. “Truth or dare, Colin?”

“Dare,” he said smoothly, though there was a faint edge to his voice, a subtle tension the group couldn’t detect.

A particularly beautiful girl who had been invited leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I dare you… to kiss the person you find most attractive in the room,” she said with a teasing laugh, clearly expecting herself to be the target.

The group leaned in, whispers of anticipation filling the air. Colin raised an eyebrow, a faint, teasing smirk tugging at his lips—but then, to everyone’s surprise, he slowly rose from his seat, glass still in hand. For a heartbeat, everyone froze, thinking he would go for the girl.

Instead, he moved toward Penelope, deliberate and confident, yet with a subtle tension in his shoulders. Penelope’s breath hitched, a mix of nerves and excitement rushing through her.

The circle held its collective breath as Colin stopped a step away from her, leaving the moment suspended—

The room waiting. Penelope frozen. Colin’s eyes locked on hers.

And then…

To be continued.

Chapter Text

The room was electric with anticipation. Laughter had died down to a hush, and all eyes turned toward Colin and Penelope. The beautiful girl who had dared him flushed, leaning back, clearly expecting him to do something else entirely.

Colin’s gaze, however, never wavered from Penelope. His jaw tightened slightly, and his usual cocky smirk softened into something unreadable—focused, serious, a flicker of nervousness beneath the confidence.

“Are you… ready?” he asked, voice low enough for only her to hear.

Penelope’s pulse raced, heat flooding her cheeks. She nodded, barely audible. “Yes.”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the soft glow of candles and string lights framing the moment. Colin leaned in slowly, giving her just enough time to pull back if she wanted. But she didn’t. Her eyes met his, steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

When his lips finally met hers, it was deliberate but gentle, a testing, searching kiss. Not like a dare or a joke, but something real—something meant for her. Penelope’s hands trembled slightly as she rested them lightly against his chest, feeling the warmth there, the subtle pulse of his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

Colin’s hands found her waist, steadying her, but his touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers brushing against the curve of her hips. The kiss deepened fractionally, slow and teasing, yet filled with a hunger neither fully admitted.

When they finally pulled back, both were breathing a little heavier, foreheads nearly touching. The room was silent—Eloise’s smirk hidden behind her hand, Benedict wide-eyed, the other guests unsure whether to applaud or avert their gaze
The group erupted into nervous laughter and cheers behind them, but for Colin and Penelope, the world had narrowed to the quiet intimacy between them. Fingers brushed, foreheads touched, breaths mingled—the first real, undeniable connection finally made.

And for the first time, Colin didn’t pull away immediately. He lingered, letting her feel the weight of his attention, the intensity of his focus. He was still cocky, still teasing—but for Penelope, there was no denying that, in this moment, he was entirely hers.

Chapter Text

Later that night, when the noise of the games had faded and the others had drifted off to bed or into quieter corners of the Bridgerton house, Colin found Penelope alone in the dimly lit hallway near the back terrace.

She was adjusting her shawl, ready to slip away quietly. But before she could reach the door, Colin stepped into her path—gentle, but intentional.

“Pen,” he said softly.

She startled slightly, looking up. “Oh. I didn’t think you’d—”

“Stay?” He gave a faint, wry smile. “I almost didn’t.” Then his expression shifted—more serious, more hesitant than she was used to seeing on him. “Can I ask you something?”

Penelope’s breath caught. “Yes.”

He exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself. “Is that… really all I am to you?” His gaze held hers, steady but cautious. “Just… your best friend’s older brother?”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy, brimming with everything she’d never dared to say.

Penelope swallowed. Her first instinct was to deflect, to laugh it off—but she couldn’t. Not with him looking at her like that.

“That’s… how I’ve had to think of you,” she said quietly. “Because anything else felt… .”

Colin’s brows drew together, voice low. “Go on…”

She offered a small, nervous smile. “Because if I thought of you as anything more, I wouldn’t be able to hide it. And I didn’t want you to know.”

Colin’s chest rose and fell, his expression flickering with something unreadable. A mix of surprise, guilt, warmth… and maybe something else.

He stepped just slightly closer—still keeping a respectful distance, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. “So you don’t actually see me that way, then?”

Penelope looked at him—really looked. At the man she’d adored in silence for years. At the one who had been oblivious and dazzling and infuriating and kind.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I never have.”

His breath caught—that was enough of an answer.

A long pause stretched as they both stood there, trembling with unsaid things.

Colin’s voice was softer now. “Good,” he murmured, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Because I don’t want to be just that.”

Penelope’s heart pounded. “Then… what do you want to be?”

Colin looked at her like that was the question he’d been terrified to answer out loud.

Instead of words, he held her gaze for a long moment—eyes searching hers—before he finally said, quietly:

“Something more. If you’ll let me.

Chapter Text

Penelope Featherington had never looked better in her life — and she hadn’t even done anything dramatic.

Just a dark green satin dress, sleeveless with a square neckline that skimmed her curves without screaming for attention. Her hair was up, soft strands framing her face. Minimal makeup. A pair of gold earrings Colin had bought her six months ago — the first gift he’d given her after they officially became… whatever they were.

A couple. Partners. Together.

Not a secret. Not a dream. Not an almost.

Real.

And yet — the moment she walked into the wedding reception and Colin turned to look at her, Penelope still felt that ache in her chest, that impossible mix of disbelief and certainty.

He smiled at her like she was the only person in the room.

“Finally,” he said, stepping away from Benedict mid-conversation to intercept her. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me for the open bar.”

Penelope arched a brow. “Please. As if I’d fight that crowd.”

“You could,” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “You’re terrifying when you want to be.”

“Complimenting me already?” she teased. “Big night for you.”

“Just getting started.”

He slid an arm around her waist, casual but sure. The kind of touch that didn’t ask permission anymore — it belonged there, like it always had.

Across the room, Eloise clocked them, raised her champagne glass in a finally gesture, and turned back to conversation with Daphne.

It was still surreal, sometimes.

The reception was beautiful — candlelit tables, a string quartet transitioning into a live band, fairy lights draped across the ceiling of the venue hall. People danced, people drank, people cried about speeches that weren’t even that emotional.

Penelope sat beside Colin at their table, surrounded by Bridgertons. Anthony had already gotten competitive with one of the groomsmen over who could give a better toast (no one had asked), Benedict was sketching something inappropriate on a napkin instead of paying attention, Gregory was flirting with three women at once, and Eloise was judging everyone equally.

It was chaos. It was home.

And Colin had barely let go of her hand once.

Which was why she noticed — instantly — when he did.

“Back in a moment, I need the restroom”

Just as he was on his way back he was intercepted:

A blonde. Tall. Dress a little too tight. Laugh a little too practiced.

Ah.

One of his ex-almosts.

Not an official ex, because Colin didn’t have those. Just women who had passed through his life for a week or two, entertained, flirted, and promptly forgotten.

The blonde reached out and touched his arm in greeting. She pressed close. She said something that made her tilt her head and laugh at a pitch meant to carry.

Penelope calmly lifted her glass and sipped her champagne.

Eloise leaned in without looking away from her own drink.
Penelope hummed. “She seems determined.”

“She’ll fail.” Eloise shrugged. “You should blink slowly at her like a cat if she gets too close.”

Penelope snorted. “I’m not going to hiss at her.”

“A pity.”

Colin was being polite. Friendly. Not cold, but not inviting. It was different now. She could see it.

Then — the girl placed her hand on his chest.

Penelope paused, glass halfway to her lips.

Colin glanced down at the hand.

Then — slowly — he removed it.

Not harsh. Just firm.

He said something Penelope couldn’t hear — but she didn’t need to.

Because whatever it was made the blonde’s smile falter.

A moment later, Colin walked away — without looking back — and returned to his seat beside her.

“Sorry,” he said as if nothing had happened. “People from ancient history never quite stay in the ground.”

“Zombie exes,” Penelope said wisely. “Tragic.”

He smiled. Then — as if remembering — he looked at her properly.

“Does it bother you?”

She blinked. “Should it?”

He stared at her.

“I know who you are,” Penelope said simply. “And I know where you’re sleeping at the end of the night.”

That earned her a stare that bordered on reverent.

“Jesus Christ,” Colin murmured. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat your salad, Bridgerton.”

**

Dancing followed. Speeches. Cake. More alcohol.

Then — as all weddings do — it devolved into a mix of chaos and sentimentality.

At some point, Eloise dragged Penelope to the bar for a refill.

As they were waiting, the blonde ex-zombie wandered over. Great timing.

She gave Penelope a slow once-over, then a smile that was almost condescending.

“So… how does it feel?” she asked sweetly.

Penelope blinked. “How does what feel?”

“Landing the infamous Colin Bridgerton,” the blonde said with a giggle. “I mean — wow. Best friend’s older brother and town heartbreaker? That’s quite the fantasy package.”

Eloise turned so sharply she spilled her drink.

“Excuse me?”

The blonde waved a hand. “Oh come on. You must have been obsessed with him growing up. It’s so obvious. It’s kind of cute, really.”

“That’s enough,” Eloise snapped — ready to pounce — but Penelope gently placed a hand on her arm.

“It’s fine,” Penelope said calmly.

She turned to the blonde. Smiled pleasantly.

“You’re right,” she said.

Eloise’s jaw dropped. The blonde perked up.

Penelope continued, voice still sweet.

“I did love him quietly for years.”

“Pen—” Eloise started, alarmed.

“And now,” Penelope said softly, eyes warm, “he loves me loudly.”

The blonde opened her mouth — then closed it.

Penelope squeezed Eloise’s hand. “Shall we?”

They walked away, leaving the ex-zombie blinking.

Colin found her on the dance floor minutes later.

She was standing alone, watching the newlyweds sway in the center. The music had slowed. Warm. Honeyed.

He approached silently and stood behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder.

“Eloise told me what you said at the bar,” he murmured.

“Ah.” Penelope smirked. “Which part?”

“That I love you loudly.”

She leaned back into him. “Do you?”

“Are you joking?” he scoffed, genuinely offended. “Pen. I practically announced it to half the countryside before I even realised it myself.”

She laughed softly.

Then — quieter — he said:

“Do you want to know what I said to her?”

“The blonde one?”

“Mmm.”

“I assumed something along the lines of ‘please stop touching me.’”

“Yes,” he said. “And then I told her—”

He paused.

She waited.

“I told her,” Colin said finally, “that I used to flirt with everyone in the room, because I didn’t know where home was.”

Her breath caught.

“And now?”

His arms tightened.

“Now I do.”

Penelope swallowed thickly. “Colin…”

“So, no,” he continued roughly. “You’re not just my sister’s best friend. You’re not a childhood crush. And I am not ‘the best friend’s older brother’ anymore.”

He turned her gently, so she faced him fully.

“I’m yours.”

Her eyes shone.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m very possessive over my labels.”

He grinned, relief and affection so open it made her chest ache.

“Dance with me, Featherington.”

She did.

Later — much later — when the night had thinned and the music had softened to a final, sleepy melody, they remained on the dance floor long after most couples had retired.

Penelope’s head rested against Colin’s chest. His hand traced lazy circles at her lower back.

She hummed.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“I was just thinking…”

“Dangerous.”

She pinched his side.

She looked up at him, sincere. “I used to think loving you would ruin everything.”

He smiled — not cocky, but soft.

“And now?”

She leaned up and kissed him. Slow. Certain.

“Now,” she murmured against his lips, “I know it saved me.”

Colin pressed his forehead to hers.

Voice low.

“I’m going to marry you.”

She smiled. Calm. Steady.

“I know.”

He laughed softly.

“Bossy.”

“Realistic.”

“Penelope Bridgerton has a nice ring to it.”

“Colin Featherington does not,” she deadpanned.

He groaned.

She kissed him again anyway.

And when the world finally faded around them — it wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet. Sure. Earned.

Not fantasy.

Not forbidden.

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