Chapter Text
“I could never date Penelope Featherington, not in your wildest dreams, Fife!”
“Oh.”
“P–I didn’t see you there, Pen!”
“Clearly.”
“I didn’t mean it like that–”
“I think you did.”
The interaction played in her mind, over and over again, even as she sat in a cabana on a beach in a green bikini with a mai tai in her hand. The turquoise blue water glittered in the plentiful sunshine, the cool breeze smelling of salty ocean and flowers. She was in a literal paradise, lush green jungle and tall mountain peaks in every direction, spotted with white sand and orange beach umbrellas. The wicker lounge chair beneath her reclined at the perfect angle so she could take a nap if she desired, but still have a prime view of the shirtless men working the bar to her left. She had a pleasant buzz from the endless tropical cocktails delivered to her by a bronzed model with sweaty, glistening abs whenever she finished the one in her hand.
And yet, the worst moment of her life repeated behind her closed eyes, like a bad Tik Tok.
She was thirty years old, and shouldn’t let a man-child like Colin Bridgerton get to her so much.
But she was in love with him, so of course his words ripped her heart out and stomped it into the ground.
It’s not like she expected him to know she was in love with him. She’d never said anything, and he never indicated any interest in that sort of relationship with her at all, but to hear him say that crushed her.
Twelve years of friendship, ruined in one night.
One stupid comment made by that numbskull man to his friends, a giant group of idiots who egged him on and pestered him about finally settling down as they all met together in a bar, and the tiny bit of hope she held that one day, he might stop flying around the world to avoid his problems shattered. She never expected him to return her feelings, with him looking like sex on a stick and her…well, Penelope knew she didn’t turn any heads.
But they were friends, she thought. For twelve years, he called her before and after each of his flights, texted her about his adventures, and made time to see her whenever he was in London. She always took his calls, told him what was happening at home, and vetted all of the posts he made to his very popular Instagram. She knew he valued her opinion on most things, and she figured that translated to more than just a casual affection. At the very least, she thought he held their friendship in high enough regard to avoid bad-mouthing her behind her back to his boys.
He didn’t expect to see her at that bar though. She only walked over to say hello when she heard his true feelings for her, the apparent mask he wore around her completely off.
That she was, apparently, unsuitable for his romantic affections, something she’d wished for since the day they met.
So she left.
If Colin Bridgerton could pilot his way around the world in his tiny plane for all of his adult life, avoiding everyone when things got too ‘complicated,’ she could fuck off to a tropical island by herself for some time alone to get her shit together after one of her oldest and closest friendships fell apart.
She might have gone to Ibiza, or Greece, or Cyprus, or the Canary Islands, or somewhere closer, but she truly wanted to be as far away from England and civilization as possible.
Why not French Polynesia, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on the other side of the world?
The next morning she booked her flights to the remote island of Bora Bora. She put in for two weeks off from her high-stress journalism job, much to the dismay to her boss Agatha, and for the next month she counted down the seconds until she could leave. Eloise tried to go with her, but Penelope insisted she needed time alone.
Colin, the absolute turnip of a man, called her countless times, but she never answered.
Eloise told her Colin called her for once, asking specifically if Penelope was okay. Pen was forced to explain the entire incident to El, who offered to throttle Colin the next time she saw him, but Pen convinced her that wasn’t necessary. The point of this trip was to mourn their friendship and the hope of a future relationship with him, maybe have sex with a hot tourist, and go back home feeling refreshed and ready to move on.
She did tell Eloise that under no circumstances was she to tell Colin where she was, because she didn’t need him showing up and trying to convince her she misheard him, or he didn’t mean it that way, or whatever half-assed excuse he tried to foist upon her. She heard him loud and clear: he would never date Penelope Featherington.
She needed space to come to terms with that.
~
She left London from Heathrow Airport on a very, very early Friday morning flight, rain drizzling from the sky and her bags packed with tiny string bikinis (her body issues be damned) and loose, flowy dresses, and a very large sunhat on her head.
It took nearly an entire day to fly there, first on two large commercial airliners, then on the smallest plane Penelope had ever seen used by an airline. So small, in fact, she spent the entire four hours on the flight with her eyes closed, trying to not look outside in case she vomited. Other than the pilot and his co-pilot, the only other passengers were a few couples, the single flight attendant, and Penelope, about a dozen people in total. Her seat partner was a bubbly woman who talked her ear off the whole time. She lived on the island, apparently, and was heading back to her job after visiting family with her brother, who was in the seat behind them.
Penelope merely smiled and nodded politely, trying to keep her cool. The plane landed successfully and she finally realized why people clap for the pilot. They exited right onto the tarmac, and she desperately wanted to stop at the bar but decided to wait until she made it to the resort. She took the provided shuttle and was thankfully greeted by a full bar in the lobby after she checked in. Mojito in hand, she took her room key and rolled her luggage down the wooden walkway, taking note of the numbers while she looked for her own.
She went all out on this trip, paying for the fanciest room she could afford at the Four Seasons Bora Bora Resort and splurging for the all-inclusive bar and food package. Her room turned out to be a full hut, all to herself, with a thatched roof and a partial glass floor that sat over the water so she could watch all of the tropical fish swim beneath her feet. Everything was open to the air, allowing a breeze to blow through the room, eliminating the need for air conditioning completely. A king-sized four-poster bed covered in mosquito netting took up most of the space, crisp white bedding spread across the bamboo frame, the whole thing facing a wide opening framing the mountain and jungle across the water. She set down her luggage next to the wardrobe, and padded across the room to find the bathroom. She opened the door to find a toilet, of course, but also her own massive jacuzzi tub and a steam shower with a full glass window with the same view as the bed.
This entire, luxurious suite, in paradise, all to herself.
She wanted unforgettable, and she believed she got it.
Penelope sighed, feeling her body finally start to relax after a month of stress and tension in her life.
The first thing she did was put on a bikini and jump in the water. No hesitation, no checking to see if anyone watched her, she just tied the strings, stepped out onto her little deck, and hopped in feet first. The water was warm and salty, and just barely deep enough to go over her head. She floated for a few minutes on her back before swimming back over to the ladder and climbing out, dripping all over the wood as she made her way to the phone.
She perused the menu before ordering enough room service for two: a plate of fresh sashimi with rice, a green smoothie that tasted like apples, a bowl of fresh pasta with cheese and scallops, and a bowl of mango, papaya, and pineapple for dessert. No one questioned her choices either. The attendant brought her meal on a cart and set it up in her room with a smile and told her that if she needed anything to give reception a call. She promptly asked if she could get another mai tai, and within 15 minutes she had it in her hands, ice cold and with a pineapple and maraschino cherry garnish.
As she ate her food and sat in her jacuzzi tub and watched the sunset, she tried to think of absolutely nothing.
~
And now she was here, three days later, on a beach slathered in sunscreen and smelling of coconut, still unable to completely shed the sound of Colin Bridgerton saying he would never date her from her mind. Though it was only late morning, she sipped a margarita beneath the shade of her private rented cabana, her sunglasses holding her hair back and her skin only a little red from too much sunshine. A calypso band played behind her, enhancing the tropical paradise vibe. She bobbed her head to the beat a little as she people-watched.
With all of her basic needs taken care of and nothing to do all day but sit, drink cocktails, read one of the three books she brought, eat copious amounts of fresh seafood and tropical fruit, or go for a swim in the crystal clear water, she found her mind wandering to that man far too often.
Of course, there were planned activities, like making your own Polynesian shell necklace, private dining on a tiny island, cooking classes, or movie nights, but nearly everything was aimed at families or couples. More than once Penelope saw a pair of newlyweds making out on a beach towel or on a boat or at the bar, and she did her best to not scowl at them.
She even tried a Polynesian massage ritual meant to clear her mind and center her spirit, but all it did was make her a bit horny for the modelesque male masseuse with a charming French-Polynesian accent. She had another massage booked for the next day, this time one ‘tailor made’ for her needs, which she hoped meant that it would be with a woman and focused entirely on releasing the giant knots in her back.
She needed more to distract her.
Her plan of finding a hot tourist to fuck backfired spectacularly when she realized nearly everyone there was a couple. There were almost no single men to be found, and her half-assed attempts at flirting were always interrupted by the girlfriend/wife/spouse/partner joining in their conversation. One particularly embarrassing attempt ended with her eating dinner with a gay couple, which was pleasant but not what she expected.
“Another drink, Madamoiselle?”
She glanced over to see a sweaty, shirtless cabana attendant offering her another mai tai with a winning smile and a wink.
A wink?
“Yes, thank you,” she purred, and he smirked as he turned around and went back to the bar.
Well, there’s my distraction, she thought. Anything to get my mind off of Colin fucking Bridgerton.
She sipped her drink, the liquid courage coursing through her.
One more drink , she thought, picking up the cheesy romance novel on the table next to her. Then I’ll shoot my shot .
~
She must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she remembered was a gentle voice waking her.
“Madamoiselle Featherington?”
A woman stood next to her, smiling. The sun was much lower in the sky, and based on her vague understanding of how that worked (and her much stronger understanding of how long her naps lasted), she thought it must be late afternoon.
“Yes?” she answered, still a little groggy.
“There’s a call for you at the bar. It sounded urgent.”
A call for me?
Who the hell would go through enough bother to figure out where I am and how to contact me?
Only nightmare scenarios filled her mind, someone hurt or sick or injured or dead–
“Of course,” she replied urgently, getting up from her lounge chair and tying her wrap around her waist. She followed the woman over, her bare feet sinking into the hot sand with each step.
She reached for the receiver of the old-school landline, her own cellphone unable to find a signal on the island (not that she minded), and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Penelope! Thank God! This is a dire emergency.”
Shit.
God damn fucking shit fucking work fucking calling on fucking vacation god damn shit–
“Agatha? Why are you calling me on vacation?” Penelope let her irritation show in her voice. “I’m currently on a tropical beach in the middle of the Pacific Ocean drinking endless cocktails in a bikini. This better be important.”
Agatha Danbury ran the news journal she wrote for, and if she called her on vacation, it could only mean one thing…
“If I had anyone else that could do this, I would have called them.”
God fucking damnit.
“You need something from me?”
If she played stupid, maybe she wouldn’t have to do it.
“I need you to fly to Tahiti tonight.”
Fuck.
“Tahiti? Agatha, I had plans for this evening. There isn’t anyone else around whose life you can screw up?”
“You’re in Bora Bora, it’s right there, and we realized we needed someone on the ground for the Tahitian Regatta, and no one can get there as fast as you.”
“Why, exactly, are we covering a boat regatta? We cover social and political gossip, not sporting events.”
“Because Michael Stirling is racing in it.”
Penelope groaned. Her colleague was known to drop everything and do ridiculous and stupid things, like go to the Pacific Ocean to race his gigantic sailboat. Not to mention the fact that he was one of the dill weeds there that night when Colin proclaimed her un-dateable. “So because that twat decided it would be fun to lose a boat race, I have to interrupt my vacation to chronicle his crushing defeat?”
“I think he would appreciate a little more confidence, but I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Agatha…”
“Listen, you fly there tonight, cover the story tomorrow, write up a fluff piece about Stirling and his love of boats and the beautiful scenery and the delicious food, whatever you want, and fly right back to your vacation that night. Quick, easy, painless, and you’ll be doing me a huge favor. Fifteen hours at the most.”
Penelope sighed. “And how am I supposed to get there, exactly?”
“We’ll book you a charter flight as soon as possible. Penelope, you are a star, I owe you big.”
She could only vaguely hear the details Agatha provided over the frustration roaring in her ears; something about the flight leaving at 7 o’clock that night, being in the air for about an hour, and to show up at the airport as soon as she could because there was some inclement weather on the way. She said goodbye and hung up with a sigh.
“Guess I should go pack,” she remarked to the hot bartender. He had gorgeous brown eyes, bronze skin, and luscious hair down to his shoulders, and wore a button-down shirt that he didn’t even try to button with some very tiny swim shorts.
“Oh? Leaving so soon?” he asked, cleaning a glass with a rag and setting it beneath the bartop.
“Just for tonight and tomorrow. I’ve been called in to work, of all things,” she explained.
“I hope you get paid extra, working on vacation, and missing out on all the fun to be had here,” he smirked.
“Unfortunately, I doubt it,” she lamented.
“Might I see more of you tomorrow night?” he asked, a little twinkle in his eye.
“You might,” Penelope flirted, “if you tell me your name.”
“Malakai. It’s nice to meet you…?”
“Penelope,” she replied.
“Well, Miss Penelope, I live in Bungalow 5. If, when you arrive back tomorrow night, you feel like having a nice evening, come knock on my door,” he purred.
“I’ll…probably take you up on that offer,” she responded, hoping she looked as seductive as she felt.
Agatha Danbury better make that favor worth my while if she’s causing me to miss out on sex with the hottest man to ever flirt with me.
Penelope walked back to her hut, dragging her feet a little. When she unlocked the door, someone had come by and made the bed, leaving orange hibiscus petals scattered about. They had also started the jacuzzi tub for her and perfumed it with some kind of delicious-smelling oil, the aroma filling the entire bathroom.
Penelope decided to make use of the tub, since they went through the effort of making it up for her, and as a little ‘screw you’ to Agatha telling her to leave as fast as possible. As she tried to relax, her mind spun, trying to figure out a way to get out of the excursion. She was attempting to forget her real life, and going back to work was a sure way to put her right back into reality.
She watched the sun set slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of yellow, orange, red, purple. Her dinner arrived in her hut, a delicious-looking filet of white fish with fresh salad, quinoa, and mango sorbet. She savored it as she packed her suitcase, electing to only bring two changes of clothes and a swimsuit with her along with whatever she had on. She debated heading to the airport in her bikini and wrap, but thought better of it and threw on a lavender sundress. She slipped on her flip-flops and rolled her suitcase down to the shuttle.
Once there, she checked in and floated through security with ease. She made sure to grab a mojito from the airport bar, finish it quickly, and then ordered a pina colada to sip while she waited for her plane to show up. If she had to fly in one of those cursed, tiny planes again, she would do so absolutely hammered.
She assumed it would be a tiny plane, anyway. It was a chartered flight, very expensive but paid for by the journal, and the airport did not look like it could handle anything bigger than the 20-passenger jet she arrived on. She watched the skies for any movement and waited.
The airport was hot and breezy that evening. Some clouds hung around, but she couldn’t tell if they were dark from the fading sunlight or potential rain. Agatha did mention something about inclement weather…
Whatever.
Only better for her if the storm got too bad the flight couldn’t leave.
She watched from her little bench as a small Dehavilland Beaver flew by, descending in altitude and lining up with the tarmac below.
That’s the same plane Colin usually flies.
Strange.
Penelope felt her stomach turn at the thought that she might be traveling on that thing to Tahiti. Colin had flown her in one before, and it was only large enough for four people inside. She’d had a panic attack flying from London to Brighton, but she might pass out entirely over the open ocean at night in that tin can.
It was an incredibly bad idea, but she did have a few Xanax in her bag…
Well, it’s not like I’m the one flying the plane.
She pushed that idea into a little pocket in her brain for later, should she need it.
The plane landed, taxing over quickly to the gate, not that there were many gates to choose from. The rest of the airport was empty, with all of the regular flights either done for the night or canceled. It was only Penelope, the single flight attendant, and the bartender sitting across from her.
“I guess that’s mine,” she mumbled, getting up from the stool and regrettably leaving her drink behind.
She rolled her suitcase over just as the engine of the plane shut off, the low rumble suddenly changing into relative silence.
“Hold on, Miss Featherington, I believe the pilot said he has to work on the engine for a moment before you can take off,” the flight attendant stopped her as she tried to go outside.
“Work on the engine?” Her anxiety skyrocketed. “What do you mean? Is it safe? I can’t go anywhere it that. It’s broken.”
“It’s not broken,” a voice said from behind her, just come inside from the runway. “Just needs to be maintained a little before takeoff.”
She started to turn around, her finger ready to wag and her eyes ready to roll back in her skull. “I’m not sure that rickety old plane could make it across the island, let alone the oce–”
Her voice failed her as she faced the man that would take her to Tahiti.
“Pen?”
Shit .
Of all the things fate might throw at her. Of all the people in the world.
Colin fucking Bridgerton was her pilot.
She needed that Xanax right now.