Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Pen, you know I'd love nothing more than to be your lesbian life partner, but I can't."

Penelope groaned—there went her fool-proof plan. First, it would have given her family a shock, purely for entertainment value. Second, it would have satisfied the annual leadership retreat criteria, which this year was focused on maintaining a good work-life balance. Penelope wasn't particularly good at this, but she knew bringing a significant other would improve her standing. This retreat was important—vitally so—for the promotion she knew she deserved. Third, it would have made the experience much more enjoyable, being with Eloise instead of spending all her energy avoiding the likes of Cressida Cowper.

Here she was, Penelope Featherington, rising editor at Danbury Publishing House, about to be undone because she didn't have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend, thanks to Eloise. She thought she was past that particular milestone meaning so much.

"Whatever happened to chicks before dicks, El?" Penelope muttered into the phone, scrolling through the mocking company email on her screen. "I'm serious," she added when Eloise laughed. "Did you see the itinerary? Couples' massages. Massages, Eloise."

"Sorry, but Philip would kill me if I left now."

Penelope's eyes drifted over the email again. The Cotswolds retreat was invitation-only, and that would have thrilled her if she hadn't known exactly who else had been invited. The senior editor position loomed in her mind, dangling just out of reach and taunting her with its promises. Seven years of dedication, of late nights and breakthrough authors and stellar acquisitions. Seven years of proving herself, of building a reputation for spotting diamonds in the rough. All of that possibly meaningless because she couldn't demonstrate proper work-life balance.

Complete package, her boss had said last week. We're looking for the complete package. Penelope wanted to go all feminist on the concept, stating a significant other shouldn't be a prerequisite, but to be honest, she was afraid to. Making waves wasn't really her style. At least not formally.

The desk chair creaked as she shifted, her gaze drifting to the framed covers of books she'd shepherded to publication. A recent memoir on display had earned glowing reviews, the author even naming her: To Penelope Featherington, who saw the path when I could only see the obstacles. She knew books. Knew how to coax reluctant writers through revisions, how to spot a bestseller buried beneath clunky prose. But somehow that wasn't enough. Lacking executive presence, according to her last review, as success required more than just being good at your job.

Maybe she'd always be the girl hiding behind manuscripts, her whip-smart tongue marking up others' works rather than her own, watching everyone else take the spotlight. An insipid wallflower indeed.

She sighed at her own dramatics, her spoon clinking the inside of her mug while she stirred her tea. As if on cue, Cressida's melodic voice reached Penelope's office, intent on mocking her further.

"Bertie simply wouldn't hear of missing it," she announced to her rapt audience of colleagues. "And really, what kind of power couple would we be if we didn't do these things together? The massage should be divine."

Penelope leaned out to see the harsh fluorescent lights catch Cressida's ring as she gestured. Her French-tipped nails clicked against her own mug with precise, elegant movements.

"What about Colin?"

She nearly dropped her phone, having forgotten Eloise entirely. "What about Colin?"

"He's always been supportive of your career." Eloise's voice carried the tone she used when she thought she'd solved everything.

Heat crept up Penelope's neck, as though El could telepathically sense her response. Of course she'd thought about asking Colin. She'd thought about asking Colin a lot of things over the years.

"I can't." The words came out barely above a whisper.

"Why not? You're friends."

Friends. The word settled like lead in her stomach. "Exactly. We're friends, El. Nearly as close as you and I. I'm not going to risk that just to impress my boss."

"But—"

"No." Penelope's voice was firm, even as her chest ached. "I wouldn't ask him to do that. To…pretend that way. It's way too messy."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with things Penelope couldn't bring herself to say. She'd spent years carefully constructing that friendship, building it from the ashes of a girlish crush she'd (mostly) outgrown. The inherent risk wasn't worth the reward, not even for her dream job.

"He's back in town today, you know," which was a dumb thing for El to tell her, because of course she knew.

"Yeah, I know, he said through the new year this time."

Eloise scoffed in the receiver. "I bet a tenner he's gone by Boxing Day." Penelope wished she could argue, but it would be very on-brand.

A buzz against her cheek signalled an incoming text: Colin, ironically, reminding her about their plans. Five couldn't come soon enough.

"I've gotta finish up here, El. Thanks for nothing!"

El laughed again and made a kissing noise. "Anything for you, babe!"

Penelope stared at the dimmed screen of her phone, adjusting her blazer in the reflection. The woman staring back looked polished, professional...and utterly alone. My work speaks for itself, she thought, squaring her shoulders. She shouldn't need a plus-one to prove her worth.

The words felt hollow, even as she distracted herself with end-of-day tasks. When she grabbed her handbag and headed for the door, she did all she could to push the anxiety down deep. Colin would be waiting at their usual coffee shop, ready to make her forget with his elaborate tales of adventure, though she'd likely heard them all before. The thought steadied her nerves.

Some battles were just worth fighting alone.

The scent of roasted beans and baked goods hit Penelope in a comforting wave, putting her at ease as she scanned the main entryway at Fog & Fable. The café was warm and familiar, a refuge from the cold drizzle outside, but it was Colin who anchored her gaze. He sat at their usual corner table, the air shifting the moment their eyes met. That smile was disarming in the way it reached every part of his face, and, like always, it sent a gentle buzz through her body, dissolving the last remnants of her workday stress. His suitcase stood watch beside the table, a reminder he lived his life in perpetual motion.

"Pen!" Colin exclaimed, wrapping her in a bear hug that lifted her clear off the ground.

"Put me down, you prat," she laughed, settling into the chair across from him. Their standard orders already waited on the table—her London Fog and his black coffee, the heathen.

“Oh, I just realized I forgot pastries,” he announced, springing to his feet and heading to the counter without waiting for her input. Penelope smirked as she watched him charm the young barista with practised ease, all beguiling smiles and casual banter. That was Colin—magnetic, untethered, and completely unaware of how maddening it could be to watch him breeze through life.

When he returned, pastry plate in hand, he was already launching into a story. “So, before I left Croatia, the village I was in still made wine by stomping grapes. With their feet.” He paused dramatically. “And somehow, they convinced me to join in.”

Penelope leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. "Yes, I'm sure they had to twist your arm. Please tell me there's video evidence."

"Well it didn't make it to the channel," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Though I maintain my moves were perfectly respectable."

"I'm sure they were," she said dryly, secretly cherishing how easily they fell back into their established rhythm. They traded stories back and forth for the next hour or so, punctuated by laughter and playful banter, and Penelope found herself believing her own nonchalance.

Colin broke off a piece of his second chocolate croissant and pushed the other half toward her—a habit formed years ago when he'd noticed she never ordered sweets for herself. "So," he said, dusting crumbs from his fingers, "are you going to tell me what's bothering you? You've got that look."

Her stomach knotted. Of course he'd noticed.

Penelope traced the rim of her mug, stalling. "It's nothing, really. Just work politics."

"Pen." His voice softened, coaxing her. "Come on."

She looked up to find him watching her with the penetrating gaze that always saw too much. He could be frustratingly perceptive when he wanted to be, cutting straight through her defences. It was maddening, really.

"They're doing this leadership retreat thing," she finally said, the words tumbling out. "For work. And it's supposed to be a big promotional opportunity, but it's all about work-life balance. And couples massages." She wrinkled her nose at the last bit and shuddered.

"Sounds horrible," Colin agreed, though his expression had turned thoughtful. "Though the couples' stuff is confusing. When is it?"

"Next week. In the Cotswolds." She forced a laugh. "I tried to recruit your sister to be my date, but apparently Philip objects to our sapphic love affair."

"That Philip always was a bastard," Colin said solemnly, but there was something else happening behind those bright blue eyes and it made her nervous. "You know, I've never actually been to the Cotswolds."

Penelope's heart stumbled. "One, that's a lie, and two, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't offer out of pity." The words came out sharper than she'd intended, from years of watching him sweep in and out of London like a particularly charming storm. "I know you. You'll get bored halfway through, and I'll be left to explain to my boss why my plus-one suddenly became a minus-one."

Colin's teasing expression faltered. "You really think I would do that?"

The hurt in his voice made her want to take it back, but she pressed on. "You have to admit, your track record for staying in one place isn't exactly stellar."

"That's different." His voice had gone quiet, serious in a way Colin rarely was.

"How?"

"Because this is you." The simple honesty caught her off guard. "When have I ever let you down, Pen?"

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because he was right—for all his wanderlust, all his sudden departures and spontaneous adventures, he'd never once broken a promise to her. Even from the other side of the world, he always answered her calls, read her lengthy emails about manuscript dilemmas, remembered her birthday.

"You really want to spend a long weekend at a leadership retreat, pretending to be my date?" she asked finally. "You, who once threatened to jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane because staying on it was 'too boring'?"

His grin returned, bright and dangerous. "Maybe I'm developing an interest in improv. Besides," he added, reaching across the table to steal another piece of her...well, his croissant, "I hear they have excellent food at those fancy resorts there."

And there it was, the hum in her chest, the one she'd spent years trying to suppress. "Colin Bridgerton, are you offering to be my fake boyfriend?"

"I guess if you want to put a label on it," he said with a wink. "Though if you're worried about authenticity, we should probably practice. I hear couples massages require a lot of trust."

Penelope launched her napkin at his head. "You're ridiculous."

"Is that a yes?" His eyes sparkled with a boyish charm that all but confirmed Colin Bridgerton hadn't been punished for a thing in his life.

She should say no. She should protect herself from what she knew would happen: he’d sweep in, be wonderful, and then he’d leave, like he always did. She was used to it now, and knew her limits. Distance was the buffer. This would challenge life as she knew it.

"Fine," she sighed. "But if you leave me stranded alone in the Cotswolds, I'm telling your mother."

His mock horror was almost worth the knot of anxiety in her stomach. "Now that's just fighting dirty. Violet Bridgerton loves you more than me at baseline." Colin tossed the last bit of the croissant into his mouth. "I'm confused though, why is a company promoting work-life balance forcing not only a work function but demanding you have a significant other to qualify? That seems… hypocritical."

Penelope had run through this train of thought herself. "What choice do I have? I'm tired of being passed over because I'm not 'sufficiently engaged' or lack 'executive presence,'" she mimicked, her voice tired. "I have to play the game."

Colin's face twisted into a scowl. "That's rubbish. You're brilliant at what you do. Since when was that not enough?"

"It takes all my energy not to ask that question daily."

He narrowed his eyes, clearly deep in thought. "Well, if we're going to do this properly, we need a back story. It shouldn’t be hard to sell, but we have to be convincing."

"Sell it how?" And she started a bit when Colin reached for her, enveloping her small hand in his much larger one.

"Like that. You can't flinch whenever I touch you, it should feel natural." She merely nodded. It wasn't like this was completely foreign; Colin was an incredibly affectionate, touchy person. But it was never done with intention. Now, it needed to appear as though it was practised. As far as Penelope was concerned, that changed the context entirely.

"And," he continued, his voice slightly lower. "You can't blush when I call you…I don't know, sweetheart, or something."

"I do not blush—"

"You're blushing right now." He reached across the table and brushed his thumb across her cheek, making the colour deepen. "See? We need to work on that."

Penelope swatted his hand away, ignoring the lingering heat where his fingers had been. "I'm beginning to think Eloise was the better option."

"Probably," he agreed, far too cheerfully, rising to offer his hand. "But much less fun. Now come here, we need to practice walking." Penelope stared at his outstretched palm, hating how desperately she wanted to feel his touch again.

"Walking," she repeated flatly, but took his hand anyway. "I might be clumsy, but I'm pretty sure I know how to walk, Colin."

"Yes, but now we're in love." He tugged her close, wrapping an arm around her waist like it belonged there. "Couples in love walk differently. They lean into each other, share private jokes, steal glances when they think no one's looking."

And Penelope forgot how to breathe.

This was madness. She could not spend a full weekend in this man's presence while they faked being together. For one dinner, sure. For the length of a party, maybe. But the simple gestures, the quiet exchanges that made up a relationship? Those were harder to fake. How could she do this with him and keep herself intact? This was the oldest trope in the book, the setup for every cheesy romance ever written, and she could already see where it was going. Fake relationships didn’t work the way they did in fiction—someone always got hurt, and she knew it would be her.

She had to ease back out now, before it was too late.

"You've put an alarming amount of thought into this."

"I'm a writer by trade. We notice these things." He guided her toward the door, their steps naturally falling into sync. "Think of it as method acting. We play the game, as you say, until they get how brilliant you are on your own."

The bell chimed above them as they stepped into the cool evening air. Colin's arm remained steady on her waist, and Penelope tried to ignore how easily she fit against his side. It took everything in her to pull away.

"Pen." He turned to face her, his face set. "I meant what I said. I'm all in on this. No running off, no last-minute commitments. Just you, me, and whatever ridiculous corporate bonding exercises they throw at us." She believed him. And that's why she had to stop it.

"Colin, I can't," she whispered as he searched her face.

"If you really don't want me to go, I won't. I'm not going to force myself into your plans. But I want to help, and if this does, then it's the best Christmas present I can give you. So much better than the hideous jumper I was planning."

Despite herself, Penelope laughed. "You're insufferable."

"Part of my charm." He winked, then pulled her close again as they resumed walking. "Now, important question: how do you feel about pet names? Because I was thinking sugar plum—"

"Absolutely not."

"Pumpkin?"

"I will end you."

"Sweetiepie?" His face lit up with unholy glee. "No, wait, honeybunch!"

They continued like that all the way to the tube station, Colin suggesting increasingly outrageous endearments while Penelope tried (and failed) to maintain her composure. It felt natural, just like always. Except now when he laughed, the vibration rumbled against her body. When she looked up to roll her eyes at a particularly awful suggestion, she caught him already watching her, his expression soft in the encroaching darkness.

At the station entrance, he finally released her, and Penelope felt the loss of him immediately. "I'll call you tomorrow?" he asked. "We can work on our origin story. Really nail down when I swept you off your feet."

"Who says it was you? Maybe I did the sweeping." Colin let out a deep laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"I do have my reputation to maintain, Pen." He grinned, then surprised her by leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Sweet dreams, pumpkin."

Before she could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the evening crowd. Penelope stood there for a moment, hand pressed to her cheek, feeling sixteen all over again.

This is going to be such a mess.

Because she could already feel it, the way her carefully constructed walls were threatening to crumble. The way her pulse leapt at his touch, even knowing it was all for show. The way she wanted to lean into every casual embrace, memorise every soft look, pretend this was real.

But this was a favour, nothing more. Then Colin would be off again, chasing his next adventure while she... what? Went back to being just Pen, his sister's best friend, hanging in the periphery of his life? Even if she could move past it, tempting fate was a historically poor decision, and Penelope knew it.

Her phone buzzed with a text: What about schnookums?

She smiled, in spite of herself. I'm blocking your number.

No you're not, came his immediate reply. You love me too much.

She stared at those words until her screen went dark, then took a deep breath and headed down into the station. She had to convince her boss she had a balanced life, to prove she deserved that promotion. She could handle this. She could handle Colin's charm and his casual touches and his ridiculous pet names.

She just had to remember it wasn't real.

No matter how much she once wished it was.

Chapter Text

The rented Audi smelled faintly of Colin’s cologne—woodsy, clean, and undeniably him—as Penelope settled into the passenger seat. Through the rearview mirror, she watched as he hoisted her overstuffed suitcase into the back before sliding behind the wheel. He shot her a devastating grin, eyeing the travel mugs in her gloved hands.

“One of those better be mine,” he said, already reaching for the one with the navy silicone grip.

"I still maintain that anyone who drinks it black is a psychopath."

Colin took a long sip, sighing with exaggerated satisfaction. "But you do always get it just right."

The heater was slowly fighting back against December's chill as they pulled away from Penelope's flat. This should feel routine, regular. She'd sat beside Colin as he drove a million times over the years. In an effort to distract from how different this actually was, she already had her phone out, Notes app open, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Right," she said. "We should probably establish full story details before we reach the resort. Roughly two hours to make ourselves into a believable couple."

The past week had drifted by in a haze of texts and planning, though Colin had tried to book his own room at the resort. Unfortunately, due to the late nature of her invitation, there hadn't been another room available. At the very least they had managed separate beds, but Penelope had spent the intervening days alternating between panic and anticipation. What they hadn't spent much time working through was their backstory. Colin seemed content to just wing it, but Penelope needed a plan.

"We've got plenty of material to work with," Colin said, expertly navigating the quiet streets. "Though I still say we should keep as close to the truth as possible. Less chance of slipping up that way."

Penelope nodded, then smiled as Colin's playlist began. It was one they'd listened to on countless drives, the familiar opening chords of The Lumineers filling the car. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching him mouthing along to the words, his fingers tapping in time against the steering wheel.

"First date?" she prompted, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how domestic this all felt.

"How about...Bocca di Lupo? Remember that one night—"

"When you insisted I try the squash blossom pasta and then just ate half of it yourself?" Penelope finished, laughing.

Colin's grin was unrepentant, naturally. “Exactly. Perfect first date story.”

"Okay. That can be our official first date. But we need to figure out the bigger milestones too. Like..." She hesitated, then forced herself to say it casually. "Like our first kiss."

Colin was quiet, streetlights sliding across his face as they made their way out of the city. "Benedict's gallery opening," he said finally, shifting in his seat. "Three months ago. It would make sense, being a family event and all..."

They both fell silent, remembering that night—the soft glow of the gallery lights, the two of them lingering by Benedict’s painting, a dreamy depiction of fireflies dancing in a twilight garden. The way Colin had turned to her, a silent weight in the air, before Anthony had called him away.

In reality, there had been no kiss, obviously. But there had been... something. A flash. A possibility. Penelope had written it off, of course. Colin had left for a travel assignment not long after, making it easier to file away in her extensive collection of almost-moments. She'd mastered this dance a long time ago.

"That's... that's perfect actually," Penelope managed, tapping it into her phone. "Everyone was there, so they'll remember us being together, but it was crowded enough that no one would have noticed anything else. And it's recent enough to explain why we kept it quiet."

“Well,” Colin said, his tone more casual now, “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to this anyway, so we don’t have to mention it to the family. Unless you want to.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward her. “I figured it’d be easier to... keep it contained.”

Penelope frowned slightly. “I told Eloise,” she admitted. “But she knows it's just for show, since I asked her first. I don't think she'd say anything.”

There was an awkward pause before Colin shrugged. "Well, if we have to lie about it further... we'll just say we wanted to be sure," he added, eyes fixed on the gradually lightening road ahead. "Before we told everyone."

The playlist shifted to an upbeat tune, and Colin hummed along. Penelope reached into her meticulously packed snack bag, organized by sweet, salty, and emergency chocolate, and tossed a pretzel at him. He caught it with his teeth, grinning triumphantly around it, and she couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had built.

“Right,” she said, her voice steadier now as she rummaged through the bag. “What else do we need to figure out?”

She could hear the mischief lingering in his tone. "Well, if you're going to be my girlfriend, you should probably start calling me 'darling' at the very least."

The granola bar wrapper in her hands crinkled as her fingers tightened reflexively. "You're impossible," she retorted, refusing to look at him.

"Impossible darling," he corrected with a playful lilt.

It was going to be a very long drive to the Cotswolds.

The sun beamed full and bright in the sky by the time they reached the resort, and Penelope had almost convinced herself she would survive this charade unscathed. She could handle this arrangement, play the part, reap the benefits of Colin’s company, and keep her heart safely out of the equation.

That resolve lasted all of two minutes.

They approached the check-in desk just as Cressida Cowper materialized in line ahead of them, her honey-blonde hair radiating her particular brand of smugness. Her fiancé Bertram Fife trailed behind her like a confused puppy, and a part of Penelope almost pitied him. Cressida's gaze darted between her and Colin with razor-sharp assessment, clearly cataloging every detail of this unexpected pairing.

"Colin Bridgerton," she purred, her smile all teeth and no warmth. There was no pretence of civility—just a complex history of workplace competition, catty behaviour, and old-school rivalries, hovering like a thick fog. Colin's hand found the small of Penelope's back with a touch that was both protective and possessive. "And Penelope, well, what a surprise. I'd have bet anything you'd show up alone." The challenge rang clear as a test of their supposed relationship's authenticity.

Colin's response was smooth, effortless. "Alone?" he said, a hint of amused affection in his voice. "Well, that was definitely a losing bet. Though I'll admit, I'm the lucky one here."

His tone was casual, neither defensive nor overly eager. He didn't elaborate or over-explain. The simple gesture spoke volumes: they were together, they were comfortable, and Cressida's opinion was inconsequential. She narrowed her eyes, her smile growing wider, more saccharine. “How gallant,” she cooed. “I mean, you’ve always been so kind, Colin. So very generous, stepping in when it’s so… needed.”

Penelope felt her throat tighten, the words hitting exactly where they were meant to. She maintained an impassive look, unwilling to let Cressida see it land.

“It's not generous at all,” Colin countered, his voice low enough to sound almost private, though Cressida was clearly meant to overhear. His easy demeanour shifted, and she felt him tug her into his body. “I just know a good thing when I see it.”

Penelope's breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dangerous hope.

“Besides,” he added with a faint smirk, “it’s not exactly charity to spend a weekend with the woman I care about.”

Cressida’s smile faltered for a beat before she recovered. “Well,” she said breezily, looping her arm through Bertrand's. “Good for you, then.” She turned on her heel with a swish of her coat, dragging her bewildered fiancé behind her. The minute she was out of earshot, Penelope exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“That was…”

“Brilliant?” Colin supplied, his smile boyish and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Mortifying,” she corrected, though she couldn't quite fight a reluctant smile.

"Please," he scoffed, steering them toward the counter. "For Cressida maybe. Though I'd say for our relationship debut, we nailed it." He flashed their IDs at the waiting concierge, who was wearing the distinct frown of someone about to deliver bad news.

"Ms. Featherington, Mr. Bridgerton, I do apologize. It seems there was an oversight with the room assignments."

Penelope felt Colin shift beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned forward. "What kind of oversight?"

"Your original suite experienced some maintenance issues yesterday. We've upgraded you, of course. The Mountain Suite has the most amazing view, however..." he cleared his throat, "it only has one bed. A king, but still..."

"That's..." Penelope started, her mouth agape.

"Perfect," Colin finished, his hand reaching for their keys. "We're used to sharing space, aren't we, Pen?"

The lie stuck in her throat, so she just nodded. They'd never shared more than adjacent sofa cushions during movie nights with his family.

Their boots squeaked against the polished floors as made their way toward the lifts, and Penelope's mind raced through the implications. Her boss was three doors down. It would be a beautiful room, no doubt, but…

Colin leaned down, clearly amused.

“Don’t worry,” Colin said lightly. “I promise not to invade your side of the bed.”

Penelope shot him a look. “It’s not funny.”

“Come on, it’s a little funny,” he said, grinning. “It’s like we’re in one of those rom-coms you're obsessed with. The man and woman get stuck sharing a bed—it’s a classic trope.”

“This isn’t a rom-com,” Penelope muttered as they stepped into the elevator. “This is my life. My career.”

Colin pressed the button for their floor, leaning against the wall with an easy smirk. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure the bed is massive. I’ll be miles away. You might even forget I’m there.”

Unlikely. Penelope was painfully aware of Colin most of the time, against all her better judgment. She could maintain a certain distance in most situations, but the thought of sharing a bed with him—even if he stayed firmly on his side—made her pulse race uncomfortably.

The suite, when they entered, was admittedly perfect. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-dusted pines, and a stone fireplace sat along one wall in invitation. But she couldn't focus on the stunning view or the heated bathroom floors, because her brain had short-circuited at the sight of the single king bed dominating the room like some sort of relationship-defining monolith.

“Not bad,” Colin said, dropping their bags by the door. He wandered over to the bed, flopping down with a dramatic sigh. “Yep, plenty of room. I don’t even think we’ll need a pillow barrier.”

Penelope glared at him, fighting the urge to toss one of the decorative pillows at his head. In desperate need of distraction, she moved to busy herself unpacking, arranging her toiletries in the bathroom and her clothes in the small closet. She fought hard to ignore the sight of Colin lounging on the bed, arms tucked behind his head as he watched her with a bemused tilt to his lips.

"Need help?" he asked, catching her frozen stance.

"I've got it," Penelope responded a touch too quickly. Her eyes fell back on the large, but still singular bed.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his tone teasing, “if you keep glaring at the bed like that, it’s going to get self-conscious.”

“I’m not glaring,” she snapped, though she totally was. She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Look, this trip is already stressful enough. Can we please just keep this... normal? No teasing, no jokes. Just... normal.”

Colin sat up fully, his expression softening. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Penelope looked at him, surprised by the sincerity, though she wasn’t sure why. “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “I’m just... overthinking. As usual.”

He smiled, standing up and crossing the room to her. “Then let me make it simple. You take the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

Her brow furrowed. “The sofa? Colin, you’ll be miserable. It’s not big enough for you to lie down, you're like nine feet tall.”

She felt more than saw him move toward the closet behind her. "Pen, I've slept in hostels and desert camps. This luxurious sofa is practically the Ritz. Besides, what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I let you sleep on the sofa?"

And there it was, a glaring reminder of exactly what this was. What it wasn't. Penelope busied herself with her laptop bag, grateful for the excuse to hide. "A practical one?" she suggested, aiming for lightness. "Since I am tiny and you are decidedly not?"

"But you're the one who has to schmooze with bigwigs while I have to worry about finding contraband snacks," he countered, dropping onto the contested furniture and stretching out with exaggerated comfort. "See? Perfect fit."

His legs dangled well over the armrest almost at the knee. Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"Colin."

"Penelope."

They stared each other down for a bit before she sighed, recognizing the stubborn set of his jaw. "Fine. We'll share the bed. But if you snore, I'm recording it for blackmail."

His grin was triumphant. "I do not snore. Though I've been told I occasionally speak Italian in my sleep."

"Of course you do." Because Colin Bridgerton would be charming even unconscious. "Just... stay on your side?"

His expression relaxed into something she couldn't quite read. "I solemnly swear," he replied, holding a hand over his chest. "Cross my heart, hope to die, all that jazz."

Penelope shook her head, but she was smiling properly now. Maybe they could do this. Maybe she could survive a weekend of pretending to be in love with Colin without it completely ruining her forever.

Then he smiled at her—that real smile, the one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners—and she knew she was absolutely fucked.

All their careful planning had focused on the story: the where and when and how of their supposed romance. A waste of time, in the end. She and Colin knew each other's quirks and peeves better than anyone after years of friendship. The real struggle would be all these firsts. Even if they weren't real, they felt real, and the nerves and spiralling anxiety were very much a thing.

And right now that meant the first big social meal. The clink of silverware and wine glasses merely heightened her awareness of what was at stake. This wasn't just dinner; it was a chance to prove she had it all together, both personally and professionally. And as far as anyone here was concerned, she'd never had a partner, real or imagined, to bring to any function, let alone one as monumentally important as this one.

She tightened her grip on Colin's arm without realizing it.

"Breathe," he murmured, his free hand coming to rest briefly over hers. "You look beautiful, and we've got this."

They wove a path through the busy room, and Penelope could feel eyes on them—on her—assessing, judging. As they drew closer to their table, her gaze locked with Cressida's. Her colleague's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched slightly, her red-painted lips curving into that familiar, knowing smirk. Her scrutiny felt like a physical weight. Even now, Penelope wanted to shrink, to make herself smaller under her appraising stare.

She's waiting for you to mess up, Penelope reminded herself. That's what Cressida did—she watched and waited, cataloguing mistakes for later use. But Colin's steady presence beside her kept Penelope's feet moving forward, even as her stomach tied itself in knots. He pulled out her chair and helped her settle in before offering a wave.

"Hey, everyone, I'm Colin." A colleague's face lit up in recognition.

"Colin Bridgerton, right? The travel blogger?"

He rubbed his neck with feigned modesty, though Penelope knew better. He could never resist talking about his travels, and honestly, she welcomed the chance to ease into this dinner conversation.

She relaxed as Colin launched into a story, fielding questions in his infuriatingly cheeky way. He described sun-drenched terraces overlooking the Mediterranean, the taste of fresh-baked focaccia, the salty scent of the sea. His hands danced, mimicking the bustling streets and hidden corners of the Amalfi Coast. And her colleagues leaned in, completely captivated. Penelope had heard it all before, seen it all before, watched Colin work a crowd, studied the way his lips moved and his features shifted through all the requisite emotions. And still, he was mesmerizing. It was truly unfair.

"But enough about me," Colin said finally, seamlessly shifting gears. "Has Penelope told you about this incredible historical fiction manuscript she's championing? I mean, publishing is the real reason we're here, isn't it?"

Penelope blinked in surprise. That project had been nothing more than a passing mention in their late-night text exchange weeks ago, yet here he was, remembering the details.

His encouraging nod spurred her on, and she sat up straighter. "Her manuscript actually came through the slush pile—" Her words tumbled out easier than she'd expected, powered by genuine enthusiasm. "Historical fiction can be such a gamble, but this one..." For a fleeting moment, she forgot about Cressida's penetrating stare and the pressure she felt to prove herself. Instead, she revelled in the joy of discovering new talent and sharing it with others who appreciated it as much as she did.

Colin angled himself fully toward her. "What was it that caught your attention?" His timing was impeccable, drawing her deeper into conversation just as she hesitated.

She felt increasingly confident as she explained the intricacies of the plot, the compelling character work. Each time she paused to gather her thoughts, Colin was there with another perfectly timed question, each one allowing her to showcase her editorial and literary instincts. There was no hint of the restless energy she usually associated with him—just focus, an innate curiosity.

This wasn't the polished charm she'd seen him deploy countless times before. This was... different. She'd expected the full Colin Bridgerton experience when they'd started, the practised wit and eager conversation. But in all her years of publishing events, she'd never felt quite so authentically herself, so seen. Not as a plus-one, not as competition, just…Penelope. The dreamer. The sass behind a pen. Someone who could command attention without shrinking herself small. And he was letting her shine on her own terms.

Catching his eye, she offered him a small smile. A silent thank you for everything he'd done tonight, everything he continued to do. When he met her with a disarming smile of his own, Penelope's heart stumbled over itself, knowing that soon, she'd have to remind it that none of this was real.

The wine mellowed her edges, making the world softer and warmer. Their dinner conversation had flowed as naturally as it did at Bridgerton House, once she'd pushed past her initial nerves. Cressida aside, Penelope liked her coworkers, and having shared interests and aspirations made it easier to relate. And as expected, Colin fit right in.

Logically, he had been the infinitely better choice, as far as networking and general good manners went. Eloise, much as Penelope loved her, would have been a liability. While brilliant and passionate, she could be off-putting in certain circumstances, and she was what Colin affectionately called an "acquired taste". She felt guilty acknowledging that, especially since, if she were honest, she was enjoying Colin's company far more than she should. Not that she wanted to dwell on how right it felt to have him here.

They stumbled into their room, tipsy giggles echoing off the walls as they recounted how half-in-love their table was with Colin and his stories. His vlog might have had a modest following, but tonight he'd been treated like a celebrity.

“Right?” Penelope laughed, shutting the door and adopting an exaggerated voice. “Oh, Colin, you’re just so worldly and mysterious, tell me more about your glamourous escapades!” She batted her eyelashes dramatically.

Colin swept an arm out in front of him, mimicking a performer on stage. "Well, if I were to tell you even the tiniest detail, I'd be forced to marry you." He whispered the last part as though it were a dark secret. Penelope might have been more affected or offended, if she'd had a little less to drink.

Instead, she leaned closer, picking up a plush pillow and pretending to swoon. “Oh Colin! You’re irresistible! How could mere mortals ever hope to compete with your enchanting charisma?”

Colin flopped on the bed, laughter rumbling deep in his chest. "God, someone actually said that, didn't they? You all are a dramatic lot." Penelope felt his gaze on her as she started readying herself for bed, and the intimacy of it had a sobering effect.

"You have a whole bedtime ritual, don't you? Am I about to witness classified information?"

Penelope launched the pillow she'd been holding at his face. He caught it one-handed, then rolled to the edge of the bed, snagging her night cream. With exaggerated concentration, he studied the label as if deciphering an ancient text.

"Hmm, yes," he intoned in his poshest voice. "'Infused with diamonds harvested by ethically-sourced mermaids.' Ah, and here—" he flipped the jar over, squinting. "'Blessed by moonlight and unicorn tears.' I never knew you had such sophisticated taste."

She plucked the cream from his fingers. “I’ll have you know it’s very effective, with actual ingredients. And the whole process is soothing and meditative. Some of us value proper self-care."

Colin tumbled off the bed now, landing in a huff and crawling over to his luggage. From the depths of his bag, he pulled out a mixture of crisps, gummy bears, and an improbably large chocolate bar.

"Okay, I'm ready for my self-care routine."

“I’m not sure junk food qualifies as self-care, Colin."

He scoffed, tossing a gummy bear into his mouth. "I don't know in what universe it doesn't qualify, Penelope." Her heart raced involuntarily as he said her name, low and playful. She was breathing just a little too fast as she met his gaze, and she could not miss or deny the quirk of his brow or upturn of his mouth, as though it were a challenge. A challenge for what, she wasn't entirely certain, but she forced herself to look away. She could have sworn she heard a soft sigh as she turned, but quickly decided it was a trick of the alcohol and the power of suggestion.

They continued getting ready, their bedtime routines falling into sync as though choreographed. The ease of it all was disarming, unnerving, and, in the periphery of Penelope's awareness, very risky.

She finally slid under the warm covers, the luxurious fabric enveloping her with all the irritatingly expensive comfort she'd expected. She adjusted the pillows, trying to carve out her own little nook while avoiding any accidental brushes against Colin. The mattress dipped as he settled on his side, maintaining a careful distance that felt both too far and not far enough.

“Okay,” Colin said, pulling the blankets up around him with a satisfied grin. “I think we’ve officially reached maximum cosiness.”

Penelope took a deep breath, dissolving into a stillness that hung heavy between them. The dim light of the bedside lamp highlighted the contours of his handsome face, and he shifted slightly, his tone surprisingly contemplative. “You know,” he began softly, “I expected this would feel… a little weird. But honestly? It feels easy. Almost... normal?”

Meeting his gaze across the small space, she wondered how this could feel so different from what she had anticipated. “Yeah, me too,” she replied slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… comfortable, isn’t it?”

Colin's tone was understanding. “It is. It's like… we’ve just naturally slipped into this.” He settled, staring at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the patterns above them.

“Maybe it’s just the skincare and snacks talking,” Penelope added lightly. “Did you accidentally eat my face cream?”

He chuckled, but the air felt charged. Penelope turned away, suddenly self-conscious of how close they were even in the vast bed. Heat radiated from his frame, an unexpected warmth she hadn’t planned for.

“I guess it’s nice to know we can make this work, convincingly.”

Penelope nodded. “Yeah. Just a couple of friends… who happen to be sharing a bed.”

“Exactly,” he replied, and she could hear the smile buried in his inflexion. “Nothing to worry about.”

She let herself sink deeper into the blankets, feeling the weight of the day finally lift.

“Goodnight, Pen,” Colin said, soft and sincere as the room fell quiet.

“Goodnight, Colin,” she murmured back, closing her eyes. Suspended between reality and dreams, she felt an unexpected contentment, with Colin just a heartbeat away.

Chapter Text

After that first night, Penelope braced herself for the worst. Being in Colin Bridgerton's orbit in this singular way was like standing too close to the sun—warm, bright, and liable to burn her if she stayed there too long. Yet the first full day of the conference surprised her, as she found herself simply enjoying his company, and his insight. It was infuriating, truly, how effortlessly he excelled at everything, but for now, she decided to embrace it rather than fight it.

The retreat aspect of the conference was less awkward than she had anticipated. As they moved through meditative exercises and attended seminars on burnout and work-life boundaries in the digital age, Penelope found herself stealing glances at Colin. For someone who lived so much of his life online, constantly performing, he seemed unusually receptive. He nodded thoughtfully during discussions, jotted notes, and even volunteered personal experiences. Watching him engage so earnestly filled her with an unexpected sense of accomplishment—perhaps this weekend would benefit them both.

The first evening mixer, however, proved more challenging than the previous night's dinner. Despite the casual atmosphere, or perhaps because of it, Penelope felt exposed. She navigated the delicate balance between professional networking and social interaction, hyper-aware of every laugh, every gesture, every casual touch. The room hummed with conversation and possibility, careers made or broken over wine and small talk. Colin's presence beside her both steadied and unnerved her, a reminder of everything she stood to gain... and lose.

Penelope smoothed her navy cocktail dress, a shield against the scrutiny she felt. The thought of her hard-earned reputation being tarnished, of losing the respect of her colleagues, made her stomach twist with dread. If anyone found out about the true nature of their relationship, it could jeopardize all she'd worked so hard to achieve. There was an element of trust she was betraying, even if the reasoning was sound and the need to have him here, at least for the reasons they were projecting, was ridiculous. That wouldn't matter in the eyes of the executive board or her boss, would it?

But she put on her mask, unwilling to let her downward spiral derail what they'd already begun. There was no turning back now.

"Another?" Colin appeared with fresh drinks, rescuing her from a particularly painful conversation about market trends in young adult fiction.

"My hero," she murmured, accepting the wine. "Though I'm not sure alcohol is the answer to surviving small talk about vampire romance."

His eyes crinkled with amusement. "I don't know, I thought your suggestion about exploring the tax implications of immortality was legitimate. Did you see his face?"

"I panicked! He kept talking about blood bonds, and my mind went to estate planning." She felt the tension in her shoulders ease as Colin laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

"That's exactly why you're brilliant," he said, his hand finding its familiar spot at the small of her back. "Who else would think about vampire accountants?"

Before she could respond, Cressida's voice cut through their bubble. "Penelope, darling." Her smile was sharp and sneering. "I was just telling everyone about your... unique approach to author relationships. So maternal, isn't it? Almost like a nursery school teacher."

Colin stiffened beside her, but Penelope forced her own smile to stay steady. The instinct to shrink back was still there, a faint echo beneath her ribs, but she ignored it. "I prefer to think of it as collaborative," she replied evenly. "Though I suppose some might find genuine partnership threatening."

Cressida's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, of course. We can't all maintain that necessary professional distance. Some of us just get too... invested." She turned to Colin, her voice dripping honey. "It must be fascinating, watching Penelope mother her little authors. So different from your adventurous lifestyle."

"Actually," Colin's tone was light but carried an edge, "I find Pen's approach incredibly inspiring. There's something powerful about someone who can build others up while maintaining their own vision. Takes real strength."

Cressida's perfect smile faltered before she excused herself, citing other guests she simply had to greet. Her growing confidence in dealing with Cressida's attitude felt like a personal triumph, and as she met Colin's gaze, she could have sworn she saw a sense of pride.

"This feels like a good time for a tactical retreat," Colin murmured beside her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. He tipped his head toward the balcony doors, already moving. Grateful for the reprieve, Penelope followed him into the night. As they peered over the snow-dusted grounds, Penelope felt herself truly relaxing for the first time that evening.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for this," she admitted softly. "The politics of it all. The constant need to prove myself."

Colin leaned against the railing beside her, their shoulders brushing. "You know what I love about travel writing?" he asked, his breath visible in the cold air. "It's not just the places. It's about finding the heart of them. The stories that make them real." He turned to face her, his demeanor earnest. "That's what you do with books, Pen. You find their heart."

The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch. "I just... I want to make something meaningful," she whispered. "Not just chase trends or play games."

"You already do." His hand found hers on the railing, warm despite the chill. "Anyone who can't see that is an idiot." He paused, seemingly lost in thought. "But, even in finding that heart, it is funny what travel can do to a person."

"Do what to a person?" she asked, brow furrowed as she watched him skim his thumb lightly over her knuckles.

"Make one appreciate home."

The moment was heavy, feeling very much like that night at Benedict's gallery opening. And now that she knew it was more than a passing thought to him too, she was acutely aware of how close they were standing, how easy it would be to lean into him, to blur the lines they'd drawn. The chatter from inside drifted out to the balcony, muted and dreamy, and for a split second she let herself imagine this was real. That Colin's gentle squeeze of her hand meant more.

But then someone called her name from inside, breaking the spell, and reality crashed back in. Here was the danger, peaking its head out in these lapses in judgement, so easy and insidious. No matter how natural it felt, no matter how perfectly they fit together here, this is all it would ever be.

By some miracle, they had survived until the last day of the conference, though it was arguably the most crucial as far as her employment opportunities went. Penelope had opted to give a presentation herself during one of the seminar hours, a decision equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. The morning found them in their suite's sitting area, presentation materials spread across the coffee table. Penelope sat cross-legged on the floor, nervously twisting a pen between her fingers as Colin reviewed her slides. She’d seen that look on him before, the mixture of intensity and curiosity reserved for new cultures, unfamiliar dishes, or the occasional cryptic road sign in a foreign language. She had never been the subject of it, though.

"So this section here," he said, leaning forward from his position on the sofa, "where you talk about building unique trust with authors, it reminds me of something you did with that memoir manuscript last year. You said you spent weeks talking them off the ledge about the last few chapters, trying to balance encouragement and criticism."

Penelope blinked, surprised. "You remember that?"

"Of course, Pen, I pay attention." She wasn’t sure what startled her more: his memory or the quiet way he said it, as though it should have been obvious. "Actually, I think that example would strengthen your point about maintaining author relationships through major revisions. It shows how you create a partnership rather than just telling them what to do."

She stared at him, a strange feeling settling deep. This was Colin, her friend who travelled the world, who lived for adventure and new experiences, here in this mundane little bubble of hers, talking about manuscript revisions and editorial relationships with genuine interest. She supposed he was, at his core, also a writer, but it intrigued her just the same.

"That's... actually brilliant," she admitted, reaching for her laptop to make notes.

"I have my moments." He flashed her a crooked smile that made her feel warm all over. It wasn’t his usual charming grin—the one he used to get out of trouble or make strangers laugh—but something quieter, more intimate. "Besides, I know something about receiving feedback. The best travel editors I've worked with use a similar approach. They help you see the potential in your work while guiding you through it."

As he spoke, he shifted down to sit beside her on the floor, brushing against her as he adjusted the laptop screen. The casualness of the movement left her disoriented. He was close now, closer than he needed to be. It was hard to focus on the slides rather than the feel of him as he pointed out different sections.

"This part about building author confidence," he said, his voice lower than before, "it's really good. You have this way of making people believe in themselves, Pen. Of seeing the best in them."

She turned to thank him, but her words evaporated the second she realised how close his face was. Colin’s gaze flickered to her mouth, so quickly she nearly missed it, but it was enough to make her forget her own name.

Her heart was thundering in her chest as she quickly looked away, gripping the pen in her hand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Right,” she said, her voice strained. “We should probably finish this before lunch.”

"Right," Colin echoed, but he didn't move away. Instead, his knee pressed slightly against hers as he reached for the next set of notes. "Though I think you're more prepared than you realise. You're going to be amazing, Pen."

The quiet conviction in his words made her throat tighten. She was too afraid to meet his eyes again, afraid of what she might see in them—or worse, what he might see in hers.

And yet, with every one of Colin’s thoughtful suggestions and small, encouraging smiles, Penelope felt herself falling. She was drowning in him, pulling her deeper into the dangerous territory between pretence and truth.

The two of them made their way to the tiered presentation room that afternoon, Penelope donning her carefully crafted mask of confidence like an actress stepping onto the stage. Professionals in curated business casual attire milled about, their lanyards swinging as they navigated between discussion groups and networking circles. Colin lingered by her side at first, but slipped away at some point, likely in search of coffee or a distraction.

When he returned, it was with two cups in hand and a playful smirk that instantly eased some of the tension coiled in her body.

"I've infiltrated the enemy camp," he announced in a stage whisper, nodding toward a cluster of publishing executives near the refreshment table. "Apparently, the CFO has strong opinions about Oxford commas."

Despite her nerves, Penelope smiled. "Did you start that debate on purpose?"

"Me?" His wounded innocence didn't quite hide the mischievous glint. "I would never. Though I did mention that sometimes they're absolutely necessary, and other times they're superfluous."

"You're terrible," she muttered, but accepted the coffee gratefully. The warmth seeped through her hands, calming her as she surveyed the audience. Cressida held court near the podium, gesturing animatedly to a captive audience. Even from across the room, Penelope could feel the weight of her occasional glances.

"Hey." Colin's voice dropped lower, meant only for her. "You've got this, Pen. These people would be lucky to have you leading their editorial team."

Before she could fully get lost his praise, the conference organiser called for everyone to find their seats for the opening session. Colin's hand found the small of her back on instinct, guiding her toward their assigned table. The touch was light and casual and sent sparks racing through her body, no matter how many times he did it.

"Ready to dazzle them with your brilliance?" he asked as they settled in.

Penelope sighed, channelling confidence she didn't quite feel. "Ready to pretend I know what I'm doing."

"You don't have to pretend." His hand moved to her knee with a reassuring squeeze. "Just be you. That's more than enough."

The lights dimmed as the first speaker took the stage, and Penelope tried in vain to focus on their opening remarks. But her mind kept straying to the comfort of Colin’s leg pressed against hers, to the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the table edge, to the unwavering belief in his tone when he’d told her she was enough.

It wasn't long before her name was called, and Penelope smoothed her blazer for the hundredth time. She'd practised this presentation until she could recite it in her sleep, but she still trembled as she connected her laptop to the projector.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the moderator began, "please welcome Penelope Featherington, discussing 'Building Trust: The Art of Author-Editor Relationships.'"

Penelope's heels clicked against the hardwood as she approached the podium. The first slide appeared behind her, and she took a steadying breath.

"The relationship between an editor and author is, at its core, built on trust," she began, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It's about—"

The screen went black.

She clicked the remote. Nothing. Clicked again. Still nothing. She tried in vain to tap at the keyboard of her laptop, but the screen remained blank. A murmur rippled through the audience, and she caught Cressida's satisfied smirk. Not normally one to jump to conclusions, she would have bet a year's salary this was intentional.

Panic clawed at her throat. Her carefully prepared slides, her statistics, her perfectly timed transitions—all gone. She looked up, desperately seeking Colin in the crowd.

He was watching her, intently, his expression fierce and determined. He gave her the smallest nod, and suddenly she could breathe again.

Trust, she thought. That's what this whole presentation was about.

"You know," she said, unplugging her laptop with steady hands, "this is actually perfect." She moved from behind the podium, closer to her audience. "Because trust isn't built through slides. It's built through connection. Through understanding."

The room stilled, attention shifting from the blank screen to her.

"Last year, I worked with an author who was struggling with her memoir. She had this powerful story about family secrets and trauma, but she was afraid to tell it. Afraid of hurting people she loved." Penelope watched understanding bloom on several faces. "We spent weeks talking through not just the technical aspects of the writing, but the emotional impact of sharing such personal truths."

She began to walk slowly along the front of the room, making eye contact with different audience members. "That's what we do as editors. We don't just polish sentences. We help authors find the courage to tell their stories, to take risks, to be vulnerable."

For the next thirty minutes, she shared real examples, invited audience participation, and facilitated a discussion about the challenges and triumphs of editorial relationships. The room engaged enthusiastically, sharing their own experiences and asking thoughtful questions.

When she finally concluded, the applause was genuine. Several senior editors were nodding, the executives looked pleased, and her colleagues looked genuinely impressed. But Penelope only had eyes for Colin, who was beaming at her with such pride it made her chest ache.

She’d done it. Without slides, without a script, without a safety net. And somehow, letting go of the plan made her presentation stronger than she ever could have imagined.

But when they returned to their hotel room, the adrenaline left her all at once. As Colin shut the door behind them, her legs gave out, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Pen.” Colin’s voice was soft, and then he was kneeling in front of her, his hands gently pulling hers away from her face. “Hey, look at me.”

She shook her head, tears spilling over. "I can't believe...that I almost..." She almost choked on the words.

"You were magnificent." His thumbs brushed away her tears. "Do you have any idea how amazing you were out there?"

"But the presentation—"

"Was better without the slides." His hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You showed everyone exactly who you are. Brilliant, adaptable, and genuine. That's worth more than any slideshow."

A watery laugh escaped her. "You're just saying that because you're supposed to be my supportive fake boyfriend."

"No, I'm saying it because it's true. Because you're extraordinary, Penelope Featherington, and watching you today..." He trailed off, his eyes searching hers.

She was suddenly aware of his palms still cradling her face, of the way his thumb traced small circles against her skin. She stared at his lips, and she hated how transparent she must have looked. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to close the distance. Instead, she stayed frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of him, like a star on the verge of collapse.

Her phone burst into life, its cheerful ringtone shattering the illusion. They jumped apart as if burned, and Penelope fumbled for her phone with unsteady hands. Her mother's name flashed on the screen.

"Hi, Mum," she said, her tone overly bright, as if she weren’t seconds away from completely unravelling.

"Right. Of course." Colin ran a hand through his hair, taking a step back. "I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, not meeting her eyes.

Her mother’s voice poured through the receiver, a mix of holiday plans and family updates, but Penelope could barely focus. She made the appropriate sounds of agreement when required, but her mind remained firmly rooted in the moment that had just slipped through her fingers.

The way he’d looked at her.

The way he’d touched her.

Like she was something precious, something desired.

Something real.

Chapter Text

For a final hurrah, the resort's grand ballroom had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Crystal snowflakes caught the light from little white bulbs, giving the illusion of tiny, perfect stars. Garlands of pine and silver tinsel draped the columns, and the air carried the mingled scents of wine and cinnamon.

Penelope stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching couples sway to "White Christmas." After the phone call with her mother—twenty minutes of Christmas planning that felt like an eternity—she and Colin had maintained a careful distance, both pretending the almost-kiss hadn't happened. But she sensed his presence across the room like a physical weight, heating her skin even from afar.

When she did spot him, he was entertaining a group as always, them hanging on his every word. She was certain he’d been talking her up again; he had spent the entire weekend advocating for her to anyone who would listen, almost as if he had a personal stake in her success.

And maybe he did. That was Colin, after all—steadfast and generous, always putting others before himself. Even now, she decided, he was giving her space. Being a gentleman. Letting her navigate the evening on her own terms.

How were they supposed to go back to real life after this?

"Dance with me?" His voice startled her. She hadn't heard him approach, but there he was, hand extended, eyes twinkling in the starry lights.

She hesitated before placing her hand in his. "Promise not to step on my toes?"

"I make no such guarantees," he said, pulling her close as a new song began. "But I'll try my best not to embarrass you."

The music surrounded them, something slow and sweet about coming home for Christmas. Colin's hand was warm against her lower back, his shoulder solid under her palm. They moved together easily, having done this countless times for weddings and celebrations over the years.

"So," she began, suddenly feeling like every nerve was on fire. "Are you excited to be home for Christmas this year? I know your Mum had some strong opinions about your missing last year."

Colin groaned, absently flexing his fingers against her back, the affection in his touch seeping through the fabric of her dress. "I do love my family, but I really just go for the food." His cheeky grin took the sting out of his words.

Penelope laughed heartily, shaking her head and snuggling in closer. She could feel a deep rumble as he softly sang the lyrics, and she laid her head on his chest, trying to absorb this night into her very being. As the final notes of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" filled the room, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her gaze searching his face. His eyes met hers, wide and remarkably blue and full of something she felt all the way to her bones. He wasn’t singing anymore, but his lips parted slightly as if he was about to speak.

She didn’t let him.

Maybe it was the champagne, or the way he'd been looking at her all night, or the impending finality as the weekend came to an end. Gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, Penelope rose onto her toes, the movement slow and deliberate, and pressed her lips to his.

For one terrifying moment, Colin went still. But just as panic started to creep in, his arms tightened around her, pulling her firmly against him. And suddenly, he was kissing her back.

It wasn’t tentative or careful—it was everything she never dared to imagine. His lips moved against hers with a consuming intensity, as if he’d been waiting just as long for this. The hand on her back slid upward, his fingers tangling in her hair, cradling her head as he deepened the kiss. She clutched at his shoulders, melting into him like he was the only thing holding her upright.

The room fell away. There was only the warmth of Colin’s mouth on hers, the faint scrape of stubble against her skin. It was tender and passionate and entirely overwhelming, a perfect contradiction making her dizzy. This was real. Messy and beautiful and impossibly perfect in its imperfection.

When they finally broke apart, the music had stopped, but Penelope barely noticed. Colin rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily.

“Penelope,” he murmured, her name a prayer on his lips, rough and reverent. “I—”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the sharp crackle of static burst from the DJ’s speakers. Beyond the windows, snow was beginning to fall in thick, heavy flakes.

"Unfortunately, we will be ending the celebrations early tonight. The weather is calling for a large storm front, and in case some attendees wish to head home tonight to beat the worst of it, they will have the opportunity to do so."

Colin stepped back, his hand still lingering on her arm, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. She looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face was a storm of its own. Making a practical decision right now was not in the cards for her. They should leave; neither of them would want to be stranded hours from London, potentially unable to get home for Christmas. But her heart longed to haul this beautiful, perfect man up to their suite and finally give in to every selfish, forbidden desire she'd ever had. And something in his eyes told her he wanted the same.

"We should head home," she heard herself saying, the sound almost otherworldly, as if she wasn't saying the words herself. Colin glanced at her in question, but she then saw a resolve settle over him as well.

"Right. Yeah, we should." He pulled away, grabbing for her hand in a way that felt woefully platonic.

"Let's go then."

But as Colin led her toward the exit, their hands still joined, she couldn’t help but glance back at the ballroom. It felt like something out of a dream, something fleeting that would dissolve when they stepped into the real world.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were leaving something important behind.

They changed and packed their bags at lightning speed, the suite terribly quiet except for the occasional rustle of clothing or zip of a suitcase. Penelope's lips still tingled from their kiss, but the growing awkwardness made her wish she could take it back. There was so much as stake: their friendship, their easy companionship, the delicate balance they'd maintained all these years.

"The roads might get bad," Colin said suddenly without looking up from his phone. His voice was calm but clipped, like he was forcing himself to sound casual. "We should try to get ahead of the worst of it."

"Right." Penelope nodded, focused on her luggage. "Smart."

But a sense of foreboding settled in with a flicker of the room lights. The picturesque windows painted a beautiful scene, the snow falling hard and fast and coating the landscape in delicate white. Penelope sighed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

"We shouldn't drive in this," she offered, her voice small. The lights stuttered again as if emphasizing her point. Colin watched the storm rage, his shoulders tense, before dropping his bags with a thud that made her flinch.

"Fine."

The word was excruciating in its simplicity.

They left their bags packed, a silent acknowledgement that this forced proximity was temporary. Tomorrow, with any luck, the storm would pass and they could retreat to their separate corners of London. Colin could jet off once more, with things left unsaid. Again.

"We should talk about this," Colin ultimately broke the quiet, his voice strained. He stood behind the sofa, gripping it like an anchor, his knuckles white with tension.

"Should we?" The ache in her chest crept into her voice, edged with the fear she couldn’t quite hide. "Because it seems like you'd rather pretend it didn't happen." It was unfair, she knew that. She should have been the one to bring it up. She was the one who had started it. But sadness and longing were too much for her logical side to bear.

Frustration flashed across his face. "That's not—I wasn't—" He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "It just caught me off guard, Pen."

"Well, I'm sorry for inconveniencing you," she snapped, hurt making her brave. "Next time I'll submit a formal request for—"

"That's not fair." His voice rose sharply, turning away from her to watch the snowfall. "You can't just kiss me like that and expect me to—"

"To what? Feel something back?" She laughed, the sound brittle. "Just teasing me with glances and touches and flirtation like it was nothing."

"Is that what you think happened?" He whirled to face her, brow furrowed in disbelief. "Pen, I—"

The lights died with a final flicker, plunging them into darkness.

"Fucking hell."

Colin muttered something under his breath and pulled out his phone, using it as a flashlight. "I'm going to check downstairs, see if they have any information about the power."

Before Penelope could respond, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. She sank onto the bed, finally allowing tears to fall. The dark felt appropriate, matching the hollow feeling that made it hard to breathe.

She readied for bed in the blue glow of her phone, her movements mechanical. Their course had shifted in the space of that single kiss, the world tilting on some invisible axis. When Colin returned, they moved around each other like ghosts, the earlier intimacy replaced by careful distance and avoidance in the shadows. His voice, when it came, was sandpaper-rough in the darkness.

"They're working on the power, but don't have a restore time. Guess we're just supposed to hang tight." 

Was he not affected by any of this? Colin was not a careless or cruel person in any way, but she wondered in her self-conscious heart of hearts how she could be so off base.

She should have known. Years of walls and snarky jokes and banter were no match for her affection for Colin. They were etched into her skin, a part of her DNA. She'd spent years writing them off as background noise, a constant hum she could ignore if she tried hard enough, echoes of childhood fancy. But now, forced to confront them in this shared space, she couldn't deny it anymore.

She was still in love with Colin Bridgerton. And she feared she always would be.

She slid beneath the sheets while he changed, trying and failing to ignore him in the harsh phone light: the familiar slope of his shoulders beneath his worn t-shirt, the way his joggers hung low on his hips. Without looking at her, he retrieved a blanket from the closet, its bulk cradled against his chest like armour. The sofa springs creaked softly as he settled in, the sound final as a closing door.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the howling wind outside and Colin's restless shifting on the too-small sofa. Penelope stared at the ceiling, listening to him toss and turn, each movement a reminder of how spectacularly she'd ruined everything.

After what felt like hours, she heard him exhale sharply, followed by another uncomfortable adjustment. Despite feeling foolish and out of her depth, she reached back and pulled down the duvet behind her.

The invitation hung in the darkness, weighted with what they weren't saying. For a long moment, there was only stillness, and Penelope's heart clenched, thinking she'd misread again. Then came the soft scrape of Colin’s feet against the floor, the quiet thud of his phone being set aside, and finally, the bed dipped under his weight.

He hesitated. She sensed the stiffness in his limbs as he tried to maintain distance. Then he slid closer, his chest brushing her back, tentative at first, then pressed against her in a way that felt like surrender. His arm slid around her waist, solid and certain, and held her like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they had been doing this for years.

"Is this okay?" he whispered into her hair.

Penelope covered his hand with hers where it rested on her stomach. "More than okay."

She thought this would be it. They would hold one another, call it what it was, move past the momentary lapse in judgment and they'd return home tomorrow. They'd laugh about how things had gone, they'd move on from this and commit to their friendship, and things would go back to normal. It would be harder now, knowing exactly how his lips felt against hers, but she'd manage. She'd had plenty of experience burying her feelings for Colin Bridgerton.

She sighed at the thought and shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and froze when she felt him, hard against her back. Heat flooded her face as understanding dawned.

Colin cleared his throat roughly, already moving away. "Sorry, I—"

Without thinking, Penelope reached behind her, catching his hip and wordlessly pulling him back toward her. Colin let out a startled sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and she felt the solid length of him against her again, more insistent this time.

He groaned, sounding pained, as she moved against him more purposefully.

"Penelope," he rasped against her neck, almost anguished. "Don't..."

She guided their intertwined hands down her stomach in invitation, slipping past the hem of her top. He began to trace the dip at her waist, toying with the band of her bottoms. When he spoke again, his voice had transformed into something dark and sultry that made her toes curl.

"Are you sure?"

She loathed the restraint in every line of his body, the way he held himself carefully apart even as his fingers burned tantalizing patterns on her skin. He was giving her an out. But she didn't need one, and she was tired of wanting from a distance. Her resolve had crumbled completely, caution to the wind. Consequences were for future Penelope. Here, she was desperate for the realization of every hope and fantasy she had entertained in secret.

So she arched her back in answer, and Colin control slipped. His mouth found the nape of her neck, trailing fire from her ear to her shoulder and murmuring in heated syllables. When his fingers finally slipped beneath her waistband, the touches were feather-light, maddening, drawing shivers from deep within. Penelope turned, seeking his mouth in the dark, and they met in a wild dance of lips and tongues and swallowed moans. His hand drifted lower, following the crease of her thigh and coming to rest on the outside of her knickers, testing and teasing her through the damp fabric.

"Fuck, Pen," he murmured, his voice wild with need. "Tell me what you want."

God, she wanted everything. She kissed him once more, rocking against his body, and he groaned into her mouth. His touch grew rougher, needier, until he finally gave in and slipped his fingers beneath the lace edge.

He found her centre with striking precision, and the cry that escaped her lips was entirely involuntary. Her whole body felt like a live wire, sparking and suddenly alive.

"I want you, Colin."

Her words seemed to break him open, like his last thread of restraint was snapping. He moved to cup her fully, his fingers moving deftly through her folds. His cursing and mumbling became a constant stream against her skin, the vibrations of his voice all-consuming as he slipped one finger inside her, then another. The sound that tore from her throat was almost inhuman.

The thrill of being touched like this, of being wanted like this—wanted by Colin—made her wonder if she was lost in a long-buried fantasy.

But the heat of his body against hers, the slight calluses on his fingers, the ragged edge to his breathing, it was all too visceral, too perfect to be a dream. Still, she had to know, had to be sure this was real.

She turned in his arms, catching only his profile in the dim moonlight as it reflected off the falling snow. She ran a hand down and over his chest, fingers clutching at the soft material of his shirt when his fingers hit a particularly glorious spot inside her.

"I want to touch you," she whispered, trailing her fingers down his stomach. His muscles jumped beneath her touch, and his breath hitched.

"Pen, you don't have t—" She silenced his protest with a searing kiss, her nails scraping along the patch of visible skin between his shirt and joggers.

"I want to," she breathed against his lips, her hand slipping lower. "Let me."

He pulled back, shifting to kneel beside her as his fingers continued an incessant, seductive rhythm.

Sitting back on his heels, his chest rose and fell rapidly as she explored heated skin under his shirt, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his joggers.

He was gorgeous.

She cautiously stroked the hard length of him through the material, his frame a haunting, half-lit silhouette she longed to see in vivid detail.

But the darkness also made her bold. She tugged at his waistband, and when she finally touched him, wrapping her fingers around his length, the sound he made was nearly her undoing.

"Christ," he gasped, his fingers stilling inside her. "Pen—" His thumb continued rough circles at her clit, a measured pace that had her rising to meet him. Her body was caught between two warring needs: the building pressure of her own release, and the desire to watch him come apart in her hands.

Her touch grew more confident as she learned what he liked, what he needed. He matched her exploration, reading her responses as his thumb curved and stroked and teased. When he curled his fingers just so, she cried out, her grip on him tightening reflexively.

"Colin, please—"

"That's it," he moaned, and even in the near darkness, she melted under his gaze. "Let me hear you."

She was so close, hovering, moving frantically against him as her hand twisted and stroked his cock. Colin seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more focused, more deliberate. His free hand gripped the headboard, anchoring him as he leaned over her.

"Come for me, Pen," he whispered into the heady space between them. "I need to feel you."

His words, dark and erotic and unrepentant, sent her spiralling over the edge.

She cried out as pleasure washed over her in waves, her body bending and stuttering against his hand. Colin worked her through it, murmuring praise and endearments, so quietly she nearly missed them altogether.

The aftershocks still rippled through her when she found him again, driven by an almost primal need to watch him fall apart. He surrendered with a guttural groan, eyelids fluttering shut as he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing more skin to her touch. He was so beautiful like this—all restraint stripped away, chest heaving, muscles taut. She caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, his strong shoulders as his head tipped back. This was Colin as she'd never seen him, vulnerable and wanting and hers, if just for now.

"Penelope," he warned, his fingers now gripping her thigh for dear life. "I'm close, I can't—"

She nodded in permission, memorising every detail. His hips rocked into her hand, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. When he finally found his release, the sound was raw and wild. She felt him pulse in her hand, spilling onto her bare stomach where her shirt had ridden up.

It was more intimate than anything she'd ever experienced.

Colin cleaned them both with gentle efficiency, his discarded shirt serving as a makeshift cloth. Before she could feel exposed or awkward, he had gathered her back against his chest, pressing tender kisses along her shoulder. Each touch felt like a promise she was afraid to believe in.

His breathing gradually evened out, becoming deep and rhythmic as he drifted off with his arms still wrapped securely around her. But Penelope lay awake, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't quiet.

God, what had they done?

It had been so easy to get lost in him: in the lingering adrenaline from their fight, in the memory of their kiss, in the fantasy they'd been living all weekend. But in the cold light of morning, reality would be harsh and unforgiving.

Colin shifted in his sleep, pulling her closer, and her heart clenched painfully. This what what she'd have given anything to have, and that made it so much worse. Because Colin wasn't going to settle down; she'd watched him charm his way through countless relationships, never staying, always seeking the next adventure. She was just... here. Available. A warm body on a cold night when emotions were running high.

Tomorrow, he would wake with undeniable regret. He'd try to soften the blow—Colin had always been unfailingly kind—but their easy companionship would be buried beneath layers of uneasy silence and careful distance. The thought sent hot tears spilling onto her pillow.

In gaining everything she'd ever wanted, she'd lose the one thing she couldn't live without.

The first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon when Penelope finally admitted she wouldn't sleep. Colin's arm was heavy around her waist, his chest warm against her back, and removing herself felt like physical pain. She moved slowly, carefully, replacing her body with a pillow when he stirred slightly.

Standing beside the bed, she allowed herself one moment of weakness. His chestnut curls were wild against the white pillowcase, face softened by sleep, one hand still reaching for where she'd been. Memorizing him felt important somehow, like preserving evidence of something precious before it fell to pieces.

Beyond the expanse of the room, the world had gone still. The storm had passed, leaving behind an unsettling quiet that felt ominous and appropriate. Her hands shook as she pulled up a rideshare app, relief and regret warring in her mind when she saw cars were running. The station in Cheltenham wasn't far. She could be on a train before he woke. Before she lost her nerve.

She changed quickly and quietly, most of her belongings still tucked away in her luggage. In the drawer of the ornate bedside table, she found a notepad, and she felt like the worst person in the world, writing these heavy words down on resort stationery like this was some impersonal tryst. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. How did you thank someone for being all you’d ever dreamed of, while simultaneously letting them go?

Colin,

Thank you for coming to the retreat with me. I couldn't have done any of it without you. I wouldn't have survived the presentation, dealing with Cressida, any of it. You've been the best friend I could ask for.

Last night doesn't have to change anything between us. We were both emotional and we got carried away, and I understand. We can just go back to normal. I checked out downstairs already, I wanted to get ahead on my manuscripts and I didn't want to wake you.

I'll see you at Boxing Day brunch at your mother's house.

- Pen

The words felt so hollow and inadequate. They said nothing of how her heart was breaking, how every fibre of her being screamed to stay. Nothing about how she'd loved him for so long she couldn't remember what it felt like not to. But that would only make him feel more guilty, or like he was beholden to her somehow.

She placed the note on the pillow where she'd slept, fighting the urge to tear it up and crawl back into his arms. But that would just delay the inevitable. Better to leave now, before the remorse became real. She couldn't bear it.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that felt deafening in the early morning quiet.

“Goodbye, Colin,” she whispered, the words lost in the stillness.

Her steps were soft as she made her way to the stairs, toward the cold, impersonal reality waiting beyond.

Chapter Text

For Penelope, crossing the physical threshold of her flat allowed the weight of the weekend—grief, confusion, exhaustion—to fully consume her, pressing against her chest. The solid wood at her back was the only thing keeping her upright as her legs threatened to give way.

Her phone vibrated again, the third message since her terse update from the station. She'd told Colin she was in London, nothing more, before setting it to vibrate. She hadn’t even looked at his replies. She couldn’t. His name lighting up her screen felt still too much, too soon. Even this small reminder felt like too much to bear.

The flat was unnervingly still. On the surface, nothing had changed. Everything was exactly as she'd left it: her stack of manuscripts on the coffee table, the throw blanket draped carelessly across her favourite reading chair, even the empty tea mug she'd forgotten to wash. How could it all look so normal when nothing would ever be the same?

Her body gave in then, legs buckling as she slid down the door in a controlled collapse. The cool floor offered little comfort as she drew into herself, wrapping her arms around them like a shield. She pressed her forehead to her knees, trying to steady her breathing.

What am I going to do?

The existential question echoed in her mind, bringing with it flashes of the previous night: Colin's gentle touch, his whispered words, the way he'd held her like she was precious. But morning always came, harsh and unforgiving, stripping away the magic of midnight confessions and replacing them with cold reality. They were friends. That is all they would ever be.

Her phone vibrated one final time before falling silent, leaving her in a stillness broken only by the methodical ticking of the wall clock and her ragged breathing. She stared at nothing, unseeing, her mind a mess of half-formed thoughts and memories that slipped away when she tried to anchor them.

I can't think about this anymore.

The thought was barely coherent, but it was enough to spur her into motion. Her muscles protested as she pushed herself up from the floor, using the door for support. Each step down the hallway felt like wading through deep water, feeling along the wall for balance.

She didn't want to think about Colin. About last night. About her job. About anything at all.

Penelope stumbled into her bedroom, the quilted duvet calling out like a mirage in the desert, promising a comfort she knew was false. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the bed, the dam finally breaking. Tears slid down her cheeks as she curled inward, folding her body into the smallest possible space.

She pressed her face into her pillow, trying to smother the sound of her unravelling. It all felt wrong—the empty space beside her, the lingering scent of Colin on her skin, the deep, unscalable cavern where their friendship used to live. She'd changed things between them, crossed a line they could never uncross. All of it transformed into something unfamiliar and uncertain.

Needing closure, Penelope retrieved her phone. Home safe. I need time. I'm sorry. The message felt inadequate, but it was all she could manage. Before he could respond, she powered off the device and set it on her nightstand as if it might detonate.

Her body felt heavy, wrung out from crying, from feeling, from everything. The exhaustion draped over her, begging for surrender, and she had no fight left in her.

Even in her sadness, there was a strange comfort in being alone with her thoughts. She needed this moment of peace before facing what came next. As sleep began to pull at her consciousness, she knew hard conversations waited on the other side. But for now, she let herself drift, too spent to do anything else.

The sharp buzz of the intercom jarred Penelope from her fitful sleep, still curled in on herself under the duvet. Time had dissolved into a meaningless blur, and she couldn't tell if she'd been out for minutes or days. Her wool jumper clung uncomfortably to her skin as she stumbled to the intercom button, simply to make it stop.

"Yes?" The word scraped past her lips, barely audible.

“Penelope Featherington, let me up. Right now.”

She jerked back from the speaker as if stung. Well, shit.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of sleep evaporated, replaced by crystal-clear panic. God, she'd been naive to think Colin would just accept her note and let her disappear. She’d hoped, fleetingly, he might take it at face value, that he may even be relieved. She could have worked with that, shaped it into something logical, something manageable. A foundation to convincing her heart what was inevitable.

But now he was here, and he was angry, and she was royally screwed.

"I said I'd see you on Boxing Day," she countered, hating the thick emotion in her voice.

“And I’m telling you, we need to talk now.” There was a rawness that sent a fresh wave of guilt through her. “Or I’ll buzz every single one of your neighbours until someone lets me in. Don’t think I won’t.”

With a defeated sigh, she jabbed the entry button. Better to face Colin directly than have this conversation become fodder for the building's rumour mill. His footsteps thundered up the stairs, and she drew in several long, uneven breaths. She gripped the edge of the counter as she forced her face into something neutral and unreadable.

The pounding at her door still made her flinch.

“Penelope? Open the door.”

There was a sadness there, deep and achingly human, that she couldn’t ignore.

Because that was Colin Bridgerton as she'd always known him. A man who felt all things big and bright and loud, who experienced life in full technicolour. She knew that better than anyone. It was part of what made him so magnetic, so impossible to look away from.

How had she convinced herself he wouldn’t care, or wouldn’t be hurt by the way she’d left? Silent, purposeful, slipping out while he slept? She forced herself to imagine it in reverse. Tried to picture waking up to an empty bed, his absence a chasm beside her.

It didn’t take much imagination.

Because he was always leaving. It was never deliberate, just who he was, and who he needed to be, and she supported that. Even simply as his friend, she wanted him to pursue what felt right for him, to chase his passions and adventures.

It was familiar. It was a pattern. It was history.

Still, she couldn’t deny the truth, not entirely. If she had woken to find him gone, if she had been the one left behind this time...it wouldn't have just hurt.

It would have destroyed her.

Another knock, softer this time. “Pen, please.”

The sound broke her. Resigned, she unlocked and opened the door. Colin surged inside, all coiled energy and barely contained emotion. The scent of winter air and his cologne filled her small kitchen, making her head spin. Stopping mid-stride, he raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair.

She closed the door quietly behind him, pressing her back against it. She wanted so badly to reach for him, to smooth the worried lines from his face. The tension, electric and volatile, crackled between them, absently forcing her fingers to curl into fists.

“You left.” The quiet accusation struck as if he'd shouted it at full volume. He spun to face her, a simmering storm of frustration and fear. "After what happened...after last night, you just left."

“I thought—” The excuse withered on her tongue. Arms wrapping tight around her middle, she whispered, "I didn't think you'd want to wake up next to me."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “You didn’t think I’d—in this weather, so far from home?" He shook his head, his voice rising. “Was the idea of being alone with me so awful that you convinced yourself it was what I wanted? Penelope, how could you possibly think that?"

“I don’t know!” The truth burst forth, surprising them both. “Maybe because I started it? Maybe because I crossed a line and now you're here and furious at me? Because I couldn't stand your regret or accept your pity?”

“My pity?” Colin stared at her, incredulous. When he spoke again, his voice was pained. “Pen, I was an entirely willing participant. It's not like I haven't wanted it…wanted you, for ages.”

His words hung in the air, not really connecting. “...What?”

Colin sighed, turning away and dragging a hand down his face. “Of course,” he muttered bitterly, mostly to himself. “Of course you didn’t know. I’ve only been obvious for years.”

Penelope's head tilted, confusion etching deeper lines in her forehead. “Obvious about what?”

He laughed, an empty sound that didn't suit him at all, before facing her again, full of fire. “About you, Penelope! About the fact that I—it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my peace with it. With having you in my life in whatever way you wanted, because that was better than not having you at all.”

The confession lingered, electric and terrifying. “So… you do regret it.” The words came out uneven, her voice wavering.

He seemed desperate now, as he reached her in two long strides, gripping her shoulders and leaning down until she had nowhere to look but at him.

“I don’t regret it,” he said, his voice deep and fierce. “I don’t regret a single second. What terrifies me is what it might have done to us. To you. That you think this is some weird friends-with-benefits situation, or that I would just do that without it meaning anything.”

Her body felt tight, emotions welling up so fast and so strong she felt like she might drown. She searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt, that he’d take it back. But all she saw was Colin, rough and defenceless, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“You’ve been waiting for me to pull away,” she murmured, her shaky tone barely audible.

“Because you always do,” he said, his hands still holding her steady. He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And I can't let you do it again.”

Penelope shook her head, hating herself for the tears that hovered, waiting. She bit at her bottom lip, fearing what was about to come out of her mouth, if she was about to make it worse.

"Because you always leave," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as her body betrayed her, swaying slightly toward him. “You’ve done it for as long as I’ve known you. You leave for work, for travel, for whatever new adventure catches your attention. And I know it’s who you are. I know it’s your job, your life. But it’s why I pull away. Because I know eventually, you’re going to leave again.”

Colin flinched at that, stepping away. “It’s not that simple. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me to leave sometimes?” He exhaled sharply, pacing a bit before turning back to her. “After Benedict’s gallery opening…”

She didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

“I almost kissed you,” he admitted. “I think we can acknowledge it now. And I’ve regretted not doing it every day since. That time I left because I didn’t know how to stay. Because I didn’t know if I could… if we could handle it.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Leaving felt safer. Easier, maybe.”

Penelope blinked, his honesty catching her off guard. “So why come with me?”

“Because I wanted to, because I care about you,” Colin said simply. “Hell, I'd agree to a marriage of convenience for you if you asked. So when the opportunity came to help you, I took it. I told myself I’d just be your friend and I'd support you. Nothing more, nothing less. But…” He hesitated, seemingly weighing his options. “I've wanted more for a long time, Pen.”

She stared at him, her voice steady despite the pounding in her ears. “That’s not how this works, Colin.”

His brow furrowed, and God help her, even his confusion was seductive. "How what works?"

"This." She gestured between them, her oversized top slipping off one shoulder. Colin's gaze tracked the exposed skin almost involuntarily. “This weekend was like something out of a romance novel. The fake relationship. The one bed. The power going out and getting snowed in together and sharing these…this. That doesn’t happen in real life, Colin. It doesn’t end in happily ever after. It doesn’t end in love.”

For a beat, he seemed to study her, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh, glancing up at the ceiling in surrender. When his eyes dropped back to hers, he was all hardened resolve, and the edge in his voice was dangerous.

"Well, it's too fucking late for that."

He crashed into her like a wave breaking shore, his mouth claiming her, fierce and persistent. His touch was searing, tearing apart her pathetic excuses, the forced distance, the walls around her heart. The urgency made her knees weak, and she tasted coffee and mint and Colin.

She hesitated before clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss was a collision of things left unspoken, it was frustration, it was longing, it was something far deeper than she'd ever allowed herself to hope for. He made a low sound in his throat that hummed through her entire body, and suddenly his hands were everywhere—tangling in her waves, skating down her sides, digging into her hips with bruising intensity.

They broke apart on a gasp, but he kept her close, as though she might disappear. "You don't get to decide how this ends, Pen." Each word brushed her lips like a ghost of a kiss. "Not on your own."

There was no mistaking his intention now, no room for doubt or denial. And she didn't want to fight it anymore.

"Then how does this end, Colin?" she whispered earnestly, needing to hear the words.

His smile promised sin as he moulded her to him, every curve finding its matching hollow like they'd been carved from the same stone. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “But I know it’s not with walking away. Not again.”

She whimpered, a flush creeping across her cheeks as she tilted her head back. "God, I've wanted you for years, Colin! Over a decade!" The confession felt odd on her tongue. "I just... I never let myself believe you'd feel the same."

His demeanor shifted, the surprise giving way to a fond look that righted her soul. "Penelope—" Her name broke on his lips before he seized her mouth again.

She melted into him as he kissed her like a starving man, like he'd been holding back for years and couldn't stand it anymore. His lips moved over hers between fragments of words, each one pressed into her skin like a brand.

“Wanted you—”

Another kiss.

“Every single day—”

A nip at her earlobe.

“—that is like torture—”

It slowly became something playful and sweet, sending her heart aflutter. She tugged at his shirt, need making her clumsy as he guided them backwards, his hands warm on her hips.

"Bedroom?" He growled between kisses.

"Mmm. Left." They stumbled down the hall, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing, Penelope managing to lose to her jeans somewhere along the way. Colin's shoulder caught the door frame with a solid thud and a curse.

"So graceful," she teased, guiding him toward the bed with a playful pull at his arm. He followed willingly, his hands and lips seeking her like a magnet finding its pair. When they reached the bedframe, she let her fingers drift upward, mapping the column of his neck before delving into his hair, the dark curls as soft as silk against her skin. It was the slight tug, tentative and teasing, that finally tested his whisper-thin patience. He bent to her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice a deep, commanding tone that shot straight to her core.

"Lie down."

She couldn't have disobeyed if she'd wanted to. As she sank onto the mattress, she drew him down with her, savoring the delicious weight pressing her into the cool sheets, every point of contact electric.

"You're perfect like this," he murmured into her neck, but his attempt at seduction was somewhat undermined as he fumbled with the hem of her jumper. The angle was awkward, and after the third failed attempt to get it over her head, she couldn't help but laugh at his increasingly frustrated expression.

"This was smoother last night," he grumbled, finally managing to free her from the wool prison.

"My shirt didn't come off last night."

He groaned in response, watching her fingers as they worked their way down his chest. "God, don't remind me. I was an absolute idiot." His eager hands skimmed up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her bra. "I plan to make up for that oversight. Thoroughly."

The sight of Colin above her, shirt half undone, hair delightfully mussed from her touch, gave her a surge of confidence. "Do you have a condom?"

He stilled, the heat fading to chagrin in an instant. "Ah. No, actually." He looked so genuinely disappointed that she had to bite back a laugh.

"Really?" She arched a brow in challenge. "Mr. Worldwide doesn't carry protection everywhere?"

"Hey!" He propped himself up on his elbows, looking adorably indignant. "What exactly are you implying about my travels?"

"Nothing!" She feigned innocence, her hands up in surrender. "I just assumed... with the globetrotting, you know, all the women in Paris and whatnot."

He released a sigh, resting his forehead on hers. In the space between their lips, he confessed, "It's been almost a year. I didn't..." He swallowed hard, the motion resonating in her own throat. "I didn't want anyone else."

Something warm unfurled in her chest. "Me too," she whispered, her palms rising to cradle his face. "Well, longer than a year, but—"

"Don't." The word was frantic, almost dazed. "I can't think about another man touching you."

His lips sought hers once more, needy and reckless, as his fingers found her bra clasp. She arched into his touch, then remembered—

"Wait!" She pushed at his shoulder. "I think Eloise left condoms in my bathroom."

Colin recoiled so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Why would my sister—" Horror dawned across his features, and he shook his head violently. "No. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Second drawer!" she called after as he sprinted to the bathroom. Crashes and muttered curses echoed from the bathroom, punctuated by the distinct sound of bottles hitting tile.

"Found it!" He burst back through the doorway, foil packets raised high in victory.

She couldn't resist. "Are you sure it'll fit? I mean, Philip might be more..." She gestured vaguely.

Colin's face went through the five stages of grief before settling on disgust. "Oh god, stop. Please." He pressed his hands over his ears. "I'm begging you."

He narrowed his eyes at her, chuckling behind a carefully placed hand, and something predatory crossed his face. Penelope squealed as he stalked toward her on hands and knees across the bed, trying to maintain a scowl and failing miserably.

"You're evil," he muttered, caging her beneath him. "Absolutely wicked."

"Mmm." She caught his open shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. "You love it."

His gaze softened, thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Yeah," he agreed. "I really do."

And then he was kissing his way down her neck, the playfulness shifting to a man hell-bent on worship. He followed her curves with reverent hunger, like he needed to memorize every inch of her skin, every subtle reaction he could draw from her body.

"Last night was a blur," he sighed against her collarbone. "I want to remember every second this time."

His mouth charted a meandering path, alternating between feather-light kisses and the sharp edge of teeth that made her gasp. When his tongue traced the delicate lace of her bra, it coaxed forth a sound she barely recognised.

"Off." She pleaded, scrambling for something solid to cling to. "Please."

He obliged, making quick work of the clasp this time. As he slipped the straps down her arms, his gaze turned molten.

"God, you're beautiful."

She might have felt self-conscious, if she hadn't been robbed of all logical thought. When his mouth closed over her breast, the world narrowed to the pull of his lips, the clever flick of his tongue. Her fingers twisted in his hair, holding him close, demanding more. His free hand cupped her other breast, thumb circling the peak in time with his mouth.

"Colin," she gasped as his leg slid between her thighs, pressing against her through the final layers. The teasing friction was maddening, not enough and too much all at once.

He lifted his head to watch as he touched her, his own breathing uneven. "Tell me what you want, Pen." The echo of last night's question carried new weight now, heavy with possibility and promise. This time, she knew she could ask for anything—everything—and he would give it freely.

"I want you," she said simply, reaching for his belt. "All of you."

His groan vibrated through her as she worked the leather free, her fingers tracing him through his trousers. He was already hard, straining against the fabric, and the knowledge that she affected him this much made her brazen. Even after last night, knowing what she did now, this was undeniable proof that it was real—that he wanted her just as much as she longed for him.

"Christ, Pen." His voice fractured around her name. "You're killing me."

Her movements were unsteady as she fumbled with his trousers, trying to cover up her nerves by recklessly pushing them down, his boxers following suit. Thankfully he was just as impatient, kicking them off the rest of the way, and before she could appreciate the view, his mouth was on her again, all desperation and need.

His fingertips found the delicate fabric at her waist, tracing the elastic in teasing circles. "These," he groaned, "are in my way."

She lifted her hips in invitation, and he slowly peeled the lace down her legs, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. When he finally looked at her—bare and wanting beneath him—the unabashed lust there was disarming. None of her countless fantasies had prepared her for this reality, for feeling exposed and cherished, vulnerable and adored.

His hands trailed along her thighs, his touch gentle and sure, taking care as they curved around the fullest part at her hips. In one fluid motion, he was teasing her open, his fingers were on her before she could think to ask.

"God, you're so wet," he breathed, his thumb circling her clit. It had been so long since anyone had touched her, and never as he was now. "Is this what you want?"

"More," she panted as he slipped inside her. "Please, Colin."

She clutched at his shoulders, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape as he worked his fingers with agonising slowness. He was fixed on her face, watching, learning what made her breath catch. When his mouth found her breast again, she truly thought she might combust. Each kiss, each careful touch seemed to mark her, as if he were writing his claim across her body in a language only they could understand.

"Colin," she pleaded, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion. "I need—I want—"

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire but tempered with something deeper. "What do you need, Pen?"

"You," she managed. "Inside me. Now."

His curse was guttural as he reached for the condom on the nightstand. She simply stared, embracing details she'd only imagined before. The elegant line of his throat as he swallowed hard. The way he gripped himself as he rolled the latex down his length. The ripple of muscle across his abdomen with each uneven breath. He was so beautiful like this, all contained energy and grace, focused entirely on her.

When he settled between her thighs, the feel of him was like a dream. After years of longing glances and feelings she'd tried to bury, it felt surreal in its intensity. But the weight of him above her, the heat of his skin on hers, was wonderfully, incredibly real.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, just as he had the night before, brushing her damp hair back from her face. The gesture was so tender, so quintessentially Colin, that tears pricked at her eyes. Even now, balanced on the edge of reason, he had to be certain.

She wrapped her legs around his waist in answer, drawing him closer. As he eased into her, slow and steady, she watched his face change—saw his control splinter at the edges, striving to be gentle, and wanting to surrender.

When he was fully seated inside her, they lingered there, motionless, as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them. The stretch was intense but burned in the sweetest way. She'd never felt so perfectly filled, so utterly possessed.

"Okay?" he whispered, and she could hear the strain in his voice, clearly holding back.

She nodded, rocking her hips experimentally. She watched in fascination as his lids fluttered closed, his lips parting on a broken exhale. "Better than okay," she whispered. "Perfect."

His first thrust was unhurried, measured, but when she rose up to meet him, he wavered. His rhythm quickened, each roll of his hips drawing sounds from her throat that seemed to drive him wild. Her hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath her fingers as he lost himself.

"God, Pen," His words were a sinful plea. "You feel…I never imagined…"

She captured his mouth, messy and desperate. When he shifted his angle slightly, hitting somewhere deep and delicious, she felt him smile into their kiss.

"There?" he teased, repeating the motion. Her answering moan was all the confirmation he needed.

One of his hands slipped between them, finding her clit, and the dual sensation was almost too much.

"Colin," she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm close—"

"I know, baby." He sounded on the edge of madness. "Let go. I want to watch you."

In the end, she never could deny Colin Bridgerton. She came with his name on her lips, cresting and crashing and trembling as he continued to move deep inside her, each thrust prolonging the sensation until she thought she might shatter completely.

The sight of her coming undone seemed to break what remained of his tempered restraint. The snap of his hips became erratic, his breathing harsh against her skin. When she instinctively tightened around him again, he cursed, his whole body tensing.

"Pen—fuck—" He sank deep into her, face buried in her neck as he came. She held fast, savouring the way he shuddered in her arms, the way his teeth grazed her shoulder, muffling the broken sounds spilling from his lips. Penelope drank in the sight of him—his tousled curls, the flush high on his cheeks, the way his features had gone exposed and vulnerable in the aftermath. When he finally lifted his head to look at her, his smile was blissful and a little wondering.

"That was..." Words seemed to fail him, a rarity in almost any circumstance. 

"Better than a rom-com?" she suggested, running her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. 

He laughed, the sound echoing through her where their bodies were still joined. "Definitely." His expression grew more serious as he gently cradled her face. "Better than anything I've ever known."

She smiled then, her heart full to bursting as she leaned into his touch. Pulling away finally, he let his lips graze her collarbone, the curve of her breast, the soft skin of her hip, comforting her against the sudden emptiness.

"Stay?"

Her plea held more weight than its single syllable suggested—stay here, stay with me, stay mine.

"You're not getting rid of me," he promised as he returned, rolling back to her and nuzzling into the curve of her neck. "Though we might need to send Eloise a thank you note."

"Don't you dare," she warned, fighting a laugh. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"Mmm, probably not," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Worth it though."

As she drifted off in his arms, content and satiated and incandescently happy, Penelope couldn't help but agree.

As they moved about her flat that afternoon, Penelope realized it felt like every other day they'd ever shared—just with the freedom to touch, to kiss, to love openly. Their fears about crossing that line, about ruining their friendship, had been unfounded. If anything, they were more themselves now: the truest versions that had always existed beneath the surface, the ones that cherished and loved each other without reservation.

It was thrilling, really, to let herself succumb to the truth.

She loved Colin Bridgerton, and he loved her. Deeply. Passionately. Completely—as evidenced by how they rarely left her bed for the next several days, until Christmas morning, when they walked into the official family gathering hand in hand.

The responses had been traditional Bridgerton anarchy: surprise and elation from most, a subdued but genuine smile from Francesca, a knowing squeal shared between Hyacinth and Violet, maybe a tinge of disappointment from Greg, and utter confusion from Eloise. Her best friend's bewilderment grew more pronounced as the day went on, especially when Penelope mentioned her promotion—the one she'd been offered the day after they'd returned home, and which had been celebrated thoroughly in her bedroom.

"This was all part of my master plan, you know," Eloise announced that afternoon in the sitting room. Her declaration sparked an immediate chain reaction: Hyacinth claiming to be the true mastermind, Violet watching with maternal satisfaction, and the rest building on each other's energy until the room buzzed with typical Bridgerton theatrics. Penelope turned to Colin—only to find him watching her, the look dreamy and private amid the chaos.

He leaned close in a whisper meant only for her. "It was all my plan, actually. Why do you think I don't have anything else lined up right now?"

Penelope pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide and searching, suddenly misty with emotion. Colin tucked her hair behind her ear, the gesture unfailingly intimate.

"You're the only plan I need."

And there was the truth that had been waiting for them all along, hidden beneath layers of clichés that turned out to be real after all. Maybe the best love stories weren't about perfect timing or grand gestures. Sometimes they could just be about two people who were always meant to find each other, and were finally brave enough to stay.

As Colin's thumb brushed away a happy tear from her cheek, Penelope knew that this—the shared laughter, the quiet understanding, the unwavering support—was better than any romance novel she could have imagined.

Because it was real. It was theirs. And it was just beginning.