Archive of Our Own

Colin Bridgerton had never meant for the argument to end the way it did. Hell, he didn't even want to argue with his eldest brother. It began, as most rows with Anthony did, with concern disguised as command.

“You cannot keep dipping into the trust as though it’s an endless decanter of whiskey,” Anthony Bridgerton said, voice clipped in his usual no-nonsense-hotshot-CEO way. “It’s meant to secure you. Not indulge you and your endless travels.”

Colin laughed in a sharp and careless way. He was so done with all the lectures of his big brother. He had just gotten out of a very bad relationship, got cheated on by the person he thought was the love of his life. Didn’t he deserve some space to process it all?

“Secure me from what? Living?”

That was the spark. The rest followed like spilled brandy. Accusations of naivete, irresponsibility. Falling for the wrong person despite his many warnings. Of restlessness masquerading as a ‘quest for purpose’. Of a younger brother refusing to grow into the shape expected of him. Colin’s temper flared. Words were said that could not be gathered back up. This was life, after all. Not Uno. there wasn’t a reverse card.

“I’ll make it on my own,” Colin snapped at last. “I don’t need the trust fund or your credit cards. I’ll see what I’m worth without Bridgerton gold propping me up. Okay?”

Anthony had looked stunned. Then furious. Then, worst of all, disappointed. “So, you’re still leaving?”

“Yes, Ant! I kinda have to…” Colin said in a helpless whine.

“Fine. Do whatever!” Anthony growled and stormed off. 

Two days later, Colin packed a rucksack, booked a one way ticket, and swore he would earn every pint, bed, and mile with his own hands.

The Netherlands suited him. Bicycles and canals. Easy laughter. No expectations. By the time he reached Maastricht, his funds were low but his spirits were not. Fate dropped him straight into the orbit of André Rieu—the maestro musician, conductor and performer who brought joy in millions of people’s lives every year through enchanting performance of his waltz-playing Johann Strauss Orchestra.

The gig Colin landed was absurd. Glorious. Dress up as the bull in the orchestra’s famous bull and red lady act, enjoy the concert from inside a padded costume, and receive free food, free drinks, and a modest envelope of cash.

Colin would have done it for nothing. He adored the maestro. André Rieu, was a childhood favourite of Colin’s. He remembered attending a concert with his father, his mum adoring André's performance. Colin adored him to this day. The chance to be near that music, to hear it swell and soar night after night, was worth every ounce of discomfort he faced in the bull’s costume.

So there he stood now, backstage at the Vrijthof, encased in brown felt and foam horns, waiting for his cue. España cañí, the familiar Spanish bullfighting paso doble would open any moment. It was his cue to make his entry.

Inside the bull’s head though, Colin’s thoughts were not on music.

He was thinking of Penelope.

Pen, who had always been a constant and loyal friend of his. Pen, who noticed everything, remembered everything about him. Pen, who lived next door and somehow felt more like family than any Bridgerton had, even when he was three countries away.

No, not family. Pen felt like home.

He had sent postcards from all the towns he explored. Photos. Voice notes. Long rambling messages about Dutch trains and terrible hostel coffee. Tulip blooms. Canals that felt like veins of the city.

But all he got from her was radio silence. He checked the last message received from her. 

Two months ago.

At first he told himself she was busy. New job at the publication house, new flat, new routines. But the unease had settled under his ribs and refused to move.

Are we all right?

Have I done something?

The doubt crept in slowly. And now it had festered into some ugly insecurity. Did she think of him as a loser, now that she was working in a big publication house and he was still a jobless, aimless wanderer? Had she met someone accomplished and got swept off her feet by this mystery man and no longer wanted to be associated with a slacker such as him?

Even if she had a new boyfriend, why would she cut him off? And why was the mere thought of her having a boyfriend making him fume in anger?

The opening notes of España cañí rang out, bright, brash and impossible to ignore, and Colin shook his head inside his bull’s costume, trying to dispel all the thoughts of the redhead from his mind. He lumbered into the aisle on cue, hooves clopping, audience laughter blooming exactly as rehearsed. He strutted, tilted his head, snorted theatrically. The hunt for red had begun.

Somewhere ahead, his target—Dorrie was waiting. Sweet, kind Dorrie in her mid-thirties, a singer from André’s orchestra—already in her flowing red costume, pretending to be just another audience member.

Colin remembered the first time they’d spoken.

“Where are you from?” he’d asked, casual, curious.

“A small place between The Hague and Rotterdam.”

“Oh.” He tilted his head. “Does this small place have a name?”

“It does,” she said evasively.

“And it is…?” Colin said curiously. Was he losing his charms, or was he giving serial killer vibes? Never in his life did he encounter someone who was so hesitant to share the name of their hometown. “Are you worried that I'm a stalker?”

“Nooo…” Dorrie was smiling now, “but you’re going to laugh if I tell you.”

“What? I promise I won’t.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure. I’m not an arse who laughs at a lady because of her hometown. I was raised better than that,” Colin proclaimed pompously.

She studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “It’s still very hard not to laugh.”

“Your lunch is on me for the rest of the week if I do.”

Her smile turned triumphant. “Alright then. Here I come, free lunch.” She paused, sweet as sugar. “Monster.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m from Monster.”

Colin stared at her. Then he gasped. “No.”

He tried. He truly did. For a full second.

Then he snorted. Then the snort became a laugh. Then the laugh turned into a full, unashamed guffaw.

Dorrie folded her arms. “Told you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said between laughs. “I really am. I just—Monster?” he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, amused despite herself. “You owe me lunch for the rest of the week.”

“Gladly. But listen.” His eyes were already sparkling. “If you eat mashed potatoes there, do you call it Monster Mash?”

She groaned.

“And Halloween must be intense. Children knocking on doors like, ‘Trick or treat or we’ll feel underrepresented.’”

“Colin.”

“Wait, wait. If someone’s acting strange, do you say they’re being a bit… monstrous?”

She pressed her lips together, failing not to smile.

“And if someone makes…ahem…naughty videos in your hometown, will it be called monster porn?”

Dorrie finally laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” he said cheerfully. “But on the bright side, imagine the tourism slogans. ‘Monster: frighteningly charming.’ Or, ‘Once you visit, you’ll never escape.’”

“I live in Monster, not Hotel California.” She laughed again, softer this time. “You’re buying me lunch for a month.”

“Worth every penny,” Colin said. “I mean, how often do you get to say you’ve got a friend from Monster?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered, and that was the start of a legendary friendship.

As he made an entry, he passed the first aisle, looking for Dorrie. 

Scarlet scarf. Wrong woman.

Second aisle.

His heart stopped.

There, halfway down the row, sat Penelope Featherington.

Pen in flesh and blood. Not the one in his fantasies (of course he frequently fantasized about his best friend, much to his own chagrin). Her hair was pinned up differently now, softer waves as opposed to her usual bouncy curls. She wore a red wrap dress, not as flashy nor bright red as Dorrie’s costume, but a deep, dangerous hue of red that contrasted with her porcelain skin so beautifully, it made Colin’s mouth water.

She was laughing, unaware. Unprepared.

Colin forgot the skit. Forgot the music. Forgot Dorrie, who was already waving her red caped sleeve like a muleta three rows behind him. 

He did not see Dorrie.

All he could see was her.

Penelope.

The bull turned sharply. Penelope looked up. Their eyes met. Oh well, Colin’s eyes met hers, her eyes were staring at the bull’s black eyes in horror as he strutted towards her.

Her smile vanished. She shrieked, a startled, utterly genuine sound, and bolted for the aisle as the audience roared with delighted laughter, assuming this was all part of the act.

But this wasn’t. This was very much not rehearsed. Or Scripted. Or anticipated by even André himself.

 “Ah, my dear bull,” he said lightly, voice pitched just loud enough to be picked up as playful, but Colin knew his employer was mad. “I fear you may have missed your mark tonight.”

Colin didn't stop. He ran, not as the bull but himself. A man chasing his bestie down. A bestie who had ghosted him for no reason.

The costume bounced and wobbled as he thundered after her, panic and joy and disbelief tangling together. She ran fast, clutching her bag, red dress flashing between rows as the orchestra played on, triumphant and oblivious.

“Pen!” he shouted from inside the bull’s head, voice muffled and ridiculous.

She did not hear him. She did not slow down.

“Perhaps,” André continued smoothly, chuckling into his microphone as they reached another turn and Penelope entered another aisle, “you might like to look for another red lady? Hmm? There seem to be so many tonight.”

Somewhere behind them, Dorrie called out his name, hands on her hips, staring in astonishment as the bull abandoned her entirely and chased the wrong woman.

Onstage, André lifted a brow, smiling thinly, apparently amused and annoyed in equal measures. 

The music softened, teasing now. André chuckled again, seemingly deciding that today’s skit wasn't going to land normally, and did his best to salvage the show. “Ah! You see? Red suits her, no? There seems to be a history between my bull and the young lady. She seems to have awoken the beast inside him.”

The audience roared with laughter.

Colin ignored André’s teasing words, focusing on the chase as he burst into the open aisle just as Penelope reached the exit, breathless and flushed and very confused.

If she thought she’d survive once she stepped out through that exit door, she was deluding herself. 

Because after two long, radio-silent months, she was finally here. And Colin wasn’t about to waste this opportunity.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━💃🐂━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Working for a publishing company was a dream come true for Penelope. An avid reader could not ask for a better job than the one she currently had at Danbury Publishing, tasked with acquiring new titles for the publisher. As luck would have it, six months ago, Agatha decided that her publishing house is in dire need of a children’s section; having many women working for her who were mothers and aunts was what gave her the idea.

Around the same time, Penelope was talking about reading novels to her niece Philomena, who was four. Her main topics of conversation became the works of Dr. Seuss, Julia Donaldson and Beatrix Potter. Peter was Philomena’s favorite rabbit as much as Jemima Puddle-Duck was the only duck she knew and cared about. Penelope could not wait to introduce her precious niece to Mary Poppins when she was old enough to laugh at the biggest word that was to be found in the book's adaptation. Having inspired lively conversation with her co-workers on the subject, who were delighted to reminisce about the days of their childhood and stories they themselves loved to read, prompted Agatha to offer her the position of a scout in the children’s division of the company. It took them a few months to set the division up before any books could be acquired. 

Ever since she founded the publishing house, Agatha has encouraged the creation of a book list amongst her employees of titles they considered to be worthwhile and she tended to peruse it at the end of every month. She would always say how she surrounded herself with people whose taste she trusted and whose love of books reminded her of her own. When the time came to create a list of children’s books they wanted to see published by Danbury Publishing, everyone was happy to contribute to it.

Immersed in her work and spending time with Philomena, who has unknowingly become the youngest book reviewer for the company, Penelope considered her life to be happy and fulfilled. She had her family and her friends, she was content.

Growing up across the street from the Bridgertons’ had given her an idea, early on in life, of what a devoted family looked like. A kind of family she dreamed of having, gregarious and mischievous. Vast in numbers and versatile in character, the family tended to flock together and look after each other in hard times, there was always someone to offer a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on; no matter how much Eloise claimed she did not need to be watched over by the owls, as she called them. Anthony was to blame for that nickname. Eloise swore nothing could pass unnoticed by him, as if his head was able to turn much like an owl’s did, rotating left or right at the maximum of 270 degrees. It was either that nickname or the one Hyacinth had given him—a mother hen—so he opted to be referred to as the main owl of the group.

Having no such closeness and a sense of camaraderie with her own sisters, Penelope believed herself to be an honorary Bridgerton. Her presence in their home swiftly became the norm, so much so that Violet herself tended to demand it at every family gathering, be it a birthday party or a summer holiday at their country estate.

She loved them for who they were and what they represented—a family who treasured every moment they spent together. Even in times of anger, over some trivial matter, they never failed to care for or about each other. Interesting though they were, each in their own way, Penelope’s heart had chosen her favorite Bridgertons from the day she met them.

Colin and Eloise were most adamant in pointing out their differences to anyone who would listen, when they were younger. Eloise was most offended to be considered a boy, no matter if their similarities were to be found in character alone. Out of everyone within her family, she chose Penelope as her kindred spirit. At least that is how she loved to refer to her every autumn when they would dedicate their time to re-reading the L.M. Montgomery book series about Green Gables. Much like Anne and Diana, they were kindred spirits. Colin would then ruin the idyllic picture she had painted for herself and proclaimed himself to be Gilbert within the group. A statement that would never fail to make Eloise roll her eyes, she refused to imagine him in such a role.

“Gilbert and Anne are bound to fall in love,” she would say. “Pen will do better in school than you, Colin. That much is true. She loves you as a friend, that is also correct. Anything else? Forget it!”

To rile her up, he would simply say, “We shall see…”

Pen would laugh and withhold the truth, just like she always had done.

The truth was hers alone. No matter how much she wished to share it, to scream it from every rooftop, something always held her back and kept her resolved in her silence. Ever since she understood what love was, Penelope loved Colin. Assuredly and most fervently. All that was missing was the voicing of it. She had never felt brave enough to take that step, well aware that it would alter their relationship and nudge their friendship into a territory they both may not be willing to traverse. Colin may not be willing to stand by her side and love her in a way in which she always dreamed he would. So, she kept her silence. They were friends.

She was happy to love him profoundly and claim his attention as his best friend; a title he had given her soon after they met. Interrupting reclusive moments between herself and Eloise, Colin demanded to be present and included in every conversation. Racing against his sister for Penelope’s attention, he would encourage her to always speak her mind and express her wishes.

So she did, sharing every wish she ever had with Colin. All but one—the wish of them. In spite of her relentless hope, she knew it was never meant to be.

Mentioning it in good humor, as a book reference, was all she was ever to be given, apparently. Even when it hurt her to think of it, Penelope made peace with that fact. She chose to focus on the happy moments her job and her friendships provided her with. All was well…

Until it wasn’t.

Two months ago, the world as she knew it and felt it to be—safe, comforting and loving—changed for good. With a single statement, Colin crushed her dreams and what was left of her hopes.

“Are you mad?” she heard him ask Fife, of all people. “I would never date Penelope, not in your wildest fantasies…”

The tone of his voice sounded incredulous, like the mere idea of them was something that never crossed his mind. Like it was impossible; never to be. To him, she was only Pen—his friend. She would never be a woman his heart could ever be devoted to in any other life-altering manner.

She still had no memory of anything other than hearing his words that night at the party Benedict was throwing to celebrate a successful exhibition of his paintings at the National Gallery. She got home, but how? All she could hear were his words. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, which meant she could stay in bed until Monday and forget about the world. Try and forget those words, which she knew would never happen.

By the time Monday arrived, she made a plan. Every contact with Colin would cease for the foreseeable future. It was the hardest decision she ever made, yet she reminded herself such an act of self-preservation is a dire necessity at this moment. After convincing herself of that, as best as she knew how, she felt lucky to have a job she loved so much. Surely, the delightful literature will provide her with enough distraction and comfort.

The universe must have decided to lend her a helping hand, because Agatha began giving her scouting assignments all over the country that same week. Busy as she was, traveling and negotiating ever since, it had been easy to omit the truth from Eloise and to distance herself from the whole Bridgerton family. Work was a perfect excuse for missed calls and lack of visits. Due to the fact she was working in the children’s division, no one had the guts to reproach her for her absence. Children came first, Violet Bridgerton’s dedication to her family was proof enough of that.

Messages from Colin kept landing in her inbox. She tried to convince herself they were not there, tried her best to pretend she had not read them, which was a wobbly illusion even her vivid imagination could not sustain. Every new question made him sound more concerned and confused.

He had, in fact, done something detrimental to her dreams. A thing that would never make anything feel alright again between them.

She knew time would come, and soon, when she would have to face him and the remnants of what they were; face the pieces of broken hopes she would see under his feet every time he got near her, which was a space he loved to bask in. He was her Gilbert, after all; wherever Anne was, he would be close by—attentive and encouraging, just like Colin himself always had been and will insist on being. It was in his nature. It was one of the many reasons why she loved him.

She would have to accept the truth as it was, the one he himself believed. No, the one Colin knew to be true. His comment was clear enough. It was precise—just like a fact always was. Penelope knew she would have to embrace it and learn to live with it. No matter how much it hurt to even think about it, let alone to believe it.

When an opportunity presented itself for a more drastic change in her scenery, a work assignment in the Netherlands, she accepted a reprieve from her surroundings and her thoughts and packed her bags. 

This would be her first international scouting, Agatha ordered a purchase of the rights to the works of Paul Biegel. First to be published would be ‘The Little Captain’, a story of an adventurer intent on finding an island where children could go to grow up overnight. Apparently, he was convinced that the usual route to adulthood took too long.

The business side of her trip concluded rather swiftly. An exchange of signatures between her, the Biegel Rights Agency and the author’s original Dutch publisher, the Gottmer Publishing Group, made the future of his tales at Danbury Publishing secured.

Since she was in no rush to return home, on Agatha’s orders, she decided to enjoy her stay in the city. The universe itself evidently decided to give her a gift due to such a rare moment of self-indulgence.

André Rieu was in town too. Against all odds, Penelope purchased the last ticket to his concert. Walking down the street filled to the brim with shops, after eating lunch at a nearby restaurant, Penelope was stopped in her tracks by a red dress proudly displayed in one of the windows of a Mart Visser store.

Seeing her own reflection through the window and the dress that hugged the mannequin's lithe frame, Penelope knew one thing with certainty—that dress would perfectly hug her luscious curves. 

Purchasing the dress with as much joy as she had felt while buying that last Rieu ticket, she felt a dose of hope and thought to herself that, just maybe, all will be well in life.

Seated amongst the crowd, enjoying the notes played with such love and precision, Penelope caught herself pondering a question: what could shake the sense of calm she was feeling at present? Real life awaited her return, but just for tonight she would allow herself to enjoy the magic Johann Strauss Orchestra provided her with.

A moment later, a bull was chasing after her with no intention of shifting his focus to the skit he had left incomplete. André was surely fuming underneath his warm smile…

All Penelope found herself able to do was to run, as fast as she could. Distancing herself from the concert, she was fast in leaving behind the calm and joy it had made her feel.

The bull was as relentless as Colin himself tended to be, that was the main thought that followed every stomp of Penelope’s feet as she kept on running.

She made it out of the concert, panting from running from the bull. When she finally halted, she looked behind her to see the bull close now, no longer running.

The bull lifted his costume head, revealing her best, now estranged, friend. His eyes were full of longing, hurt, and embarrassment.

As she stared into the opening of the costume, she saw piercing blue eyes, the same eyes that had always followed her dreams.

“Colin, what the fuck?!”

“Sorry, Pen. I didn’t think this through. I’ll probably lose my job, but I don’t care. I needed to talk to you.”

She frowned at the words lose my job. “Job? As a bull? What is happening?” She looked at him, then added jokingly, “Did Anthony cut you off or something?”

Colin looked sheepish. “Yeah, he did.” He winced as a member of the support team came over, shouting at him. “You need to go back with a red bra. André will be pissed if you don’t.”

“It’s not Dorrie. I can’t do it. Is there any other prop I can use?” Colin asked the young man, who looked puzzled and unsure of what was happening.

“No, it’s always Dorrie’s bra.”

Colin sighed. “Sorry, mate. Don’t worry, I’ll take the blame.”

Pen looked between Colin and the worried young man. Then, before she could overthink it, she quickly slipped her bra off beneath her dress. “Fuck it. Go, Colin, before I change my mind.”

Colin stared at her with wide eyes, then quickly schooled his expression as he took the red intimate item. He pulled the costume head back on and said, “Please wait for me.”

As if she could leave now, without a bra and with her breasts hanging freely beneath her dress, she nodded. Crossing her arms over herself, she suddenly felt very self-conscious, acutely aware of how exposed she looked.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━💃🐂━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

As Colin left Pen back with her bra in his hand, his mind could not stop imagining how lush her breasts looked under the dress, how the cups of her bra showed that she indeed had the most perfect breasts he ever had the pleasure of imagining. 

Oh, he had imagined them. He had imagined them from the first moment he noticed them, the first time he saw her in a bikini. He had to learn how to master his body around her, how to control his reactions whenever she wore a daring cut dress or swimsuit.

As the years went by, it was no longer just the dresses or the swimsuits. It was everything, every time. He learned how to control himself because Pen, with her curves and her smile, could undo him in milliseconds, and he could not let himself lose control like that. She deserved so much more than that. He did not want to lose her.

And yet, here he was, without her, remembering how easily his restraint had slipped when he saw her in red. How quickly he had lost control again, just in the tiny hope he could talk to her. He had to talk to her.

He went back into the concert hall as he heard the laughter and André joking how at least his bull managed to get the show going. As he finally finished his bit, he walked backstage, and went to Pen who was still blushing so beautifully in that red dress, giving back the bra which she snitched from his hand and then looked around so nervously. 

He put the crook of his elbow out and said, “Come, Pen, my dressing room is this way. You can get yourself dressed and go back to your seat. If you would allow me to talk to you for five minutes just before you go, I would be eternally grateful.”

She looked at his arms, then walked next to him without taking his offering. “Where are the changing rooms?”

He led her down the corridor to a small room. It had just a privacy curtain, as he went in with her and closed the door behind them, pointing to the privacy curtain. “Go behind here, I need to get out of this quickly as well. I get to use this changing room 15 mins after my bit.” 

She nodded without saying anything as she went behind the privacy curtain to redress herself again. He dropped his head and looked the other way, as he knew he needed to get himself under control. As he quickly took off his costume, which thankfully it was over his shirt and a chino.

He looked at the floor, and decided to take his chance now, before she slipped out of his hands again. “Pen, I don't know what happened. I thought you knew that Anthony cut me off, and that is why you stopped talking to me,” he said, trying to get the answers he wanted for months now.

“I didn't know about Anthony. I am sorry, Colin, I didn't know you were here either. I barely have talked to any Bridgerton in the last couple of months,” Pen said with a bit of guilt in her voice.

“Then what happened? Please tell me, Pen. I can't bear it anymore. I need to know what happened. I have missed you.” Colin tried to pour all his feelings into this, as he stopped himself from falling on the floor to beg. 

“You miss me, but you’d never date me?” Pen said with hurt more than anger. “I heard you with Fife, declaring that you would never date me, not in his wildest fantasies. I didn't ask you to date me, but I would have expected you not to be laughing about it with Fife. I understand I am not your type, but of all people I didn't expect you to be this cruel.”

Colin was shocked. He knew what she was talking about. He did say those words. “Oh, Pen, I did not mean those words. I am sorry you heard them. And I am sorry I hurt you.”

“Pen, believe me when I say, when Fife cornered me about us. I wanted him to know that you deserved much more than someone like me. So when I said I wouldn't date you, not in my wildest fantasies. I also finished the sentence with Pen deserves much better than me, or you. Don't even dare consider it,” Colin said as he slowly moved his eyes to the privacy curtain to see Pen looking at him wide-eyed.

“You said that?!” Pen while looking into his eyes.

“I did, Pen, because it's true. You deserve much more than a restless soul like me.” Colin confirmed as he kept his gaze into her eyes. 

“Pen, can I buy you a drink, maybe to have a chat? Make up for running you out of the concert? I can wait outside for you till it finishes.” Colin looked at her hoping she would say yes. “Please”.

He waited with bated breath for her response. It had been so long since he’d last seen her, and Colin wanted more than anything to explain himself better, to assure her of just how important she was to him. Though Penelope had taken what he told Fife in a way he never intended, it still hurt him deeply knowing that he had hurt her. Enough for her to cut all contact with him. And what he said couldn’t be further from the truth. Looking at Penelope right now from across the dressing room and how beautiful she truly was, Colin started to notice the way his heartbeat picked up and how his stomach began to flutter as if a humming bird landed just behind his rib cage. He had these feelings every time he looked at Penelope, and typically equated it to her friendship making him feel safe and teenage hormones. 

That wasn’t what this was though, and it never had been. 

“Okay,” Penelope finally answered with a short nod of her head. 

Colin felt a sudden weightless drop in his stomach and it was as if everything suddenly changed, yet all made sense at the same time. 

He loved her. 

Penelope let out a huff of annoyance, pulling Colin back to the present. He panicked when he realized that she was getting ready to walk out the door, clearly taking his silence as something different. 

Quit fucking this up before you lose her for good. 

“Wait,” Colin said, reaching out a hand to stop her. Penelope instantly snapped her hand back but stopped walking. Colin’s heart twinged painfully at her reaction but he let out a sigh of relief now that she was no longer leaving. He pushed away the blanket of monumental feelings that were enveloping him and kept his attention on the person who mattered most.

His Pen.

“Sorry, Pen. It’s just a bit surreal seeing you after months of…not.” 

Penelope winced, looking down to the floor. Colin forced his hand to keep from reaching down to tip her chin back up so he could see her pretty blues. He also felt the urge to try and make her laugh or smile, but for the first time in his life, Colin wasn’t sure if Penelope even wanted that. She had agreed to have a chat somewhere with him, but that didn’t mean he was forgiven. 

“So,” he muttered to cut through the awkwardness, “there’s a café and a pub close by. What are you feeling up to?” 

Penelope finally looked at him again and a wave of warmth washed over him. She felt like home and Colin was a fool for not realizing that sooner.

“The café is fine.” 

Colin nodded and grabbed his jacket before following her out the door. He hoped Penelope wasn’t able to hear how low his heart was pounding. 

The two stepped back out into the cool night and Colin tilted his head in the direction they’d be headed. Penelope fell into step beside him and the sound of their footsteps were the only thing to fill the silence. Colin was desperately racking his brain on what to say or how to start the conversation, once again thinking about how he hated being in this type of situation with Penelope. And hated himself for essentially being the cause of it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, just needing to voice it again. The guilt was tearing him up inside and he needed Penelope to know how sorry he truly was that she had to hear that. 

“What?” 

Colin sighed and stopped walking. He turned to face her and looked her directly in the eye, praying she saw how earnest he was. 

“I’m sorry for my unkind words. You didn’t deserve it at all, Pen. Let alone from someone who’s supposed to be your best friend.” 

Penelope crossed her arms and Colin noticed she was shivering. Without thinking, he stripped his jacket off and handed it to her. He couldn’t help but smile when she took it instantly and wrapped it around herself. The black leather swallowed her entire frame and Colin wanted to both hug her and kiss her hungrily at the same time. 

“It’s fine, Colin. You said tha-“

“It’s not fine.” Colin hated to cut her off but he had a point to make. “Penelope, we’ve been best friends for so long and I promised myself to never make you doubt that friendship despite what anyone else said.” 

He watched her wince again, remembering how Cressida and even Eloise used to sometimes tease Penelope for how “close” she was to Colin. Colin had found her crying in the Bridgerton library one day because of Cressida's cruel words and he swore in that moment to try his best to ensure Penelope never felt like that again. 

“You are everything to me,” he continued, “and I need you to know that I am not ashamed of you. And what you heard me say to Fife was a complete and utter lie. I look for you at every Bridgerton get together because you are the one who lifts my spirits. You are the one who helps me see the world in ways I’ve never imagined, simply by how clever and warm you are. I promise I only said that to him because I believe you deserve better than me. I’m proud to call you my best friend, Penelope Featherington, and I would be so lucky to date you.”

At that, she choked on her tongue. “Date me?! Colin, do not say things you do not mean.”

Staring at her, dumbfounded, he came to realize she didn’t know. She hadn’t seen how he had to conceal his physical response to her every time they were touching. 

He had lost count of the number of times there hadn’t been enough seats in the drawing room, given his seven siblings and all of the friends and lovers that came with having a large family, and he would pull Pen into his lap, claiming her, and making her giggle.

She would stiffen at first, before he pointed out how very petite she was and how he was more than capable of handling someone as tiny as her on his lap. After that, that had been a thing they would do, even if there were enough seats, she’d come. She was cold and he was always running warm.

Colin, of course, knew how much control he had needed to show, especially when she would shift back, and lean against his chest during films, or how preciously he would cradle her on the rare occasion that her work had exhausted her, but she’d come to hang out with them all anyway.

He continued. “Why would you think I was saying things I do not mean? I have always gone out of my way to be close to you, to touch you, to feel the weight of you against me. It is my most cherished space.”

Looking as though she had caught him in a lie, she said, “I am not your ‘type,’ Colin. You've only dated thin girls, who look like models, all aloof and mysterious.”

He barked out a laugh, turning the corner as they neared the cafe. “Yes, but none of those relationships lasted. I have been trying not to be attracted to you, since I hit puberty and knew I was older and the hormones I was feeling were inappropriate. You are my best friend, and I couldn’t risk losing that if you couldn’t share my feelings, so I just tried to date people that were nothing like you, so that when I showed you physical affection it wouldn’t seem weird.” 

As he noticed she was looking ever more baffled, he assumed she thought him manipulative and unfeeling, and he didn’t want her to think that. “Envitably, every girlfriend I have had has seen me interact with you, and figured it out fairly quickly. Marina even tried to claim we were sleeping together, which is why she and George started sneaking around. I tried to tell her there wasn’t anything going on, and that is probably why I was so touchy when Fife brought it up, because he cannot have you… Not that you are a possession, but I know Fife, and I know he could never make you happy.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━💃🐂━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Penelope bit her lip. What did he mean!? He had always been affectionate, but all of the Bridgertons were. He was rambling, and she was trying to understand, but her entire lens she had viewed their friendship through since puberty had been skewed.

Colin made a motion toward a door, in front of which they had stopped, and she realized they were at the café. And with their arrival, he seemed to shift from a rambling explanation to something else.

“Penelope, you are wildly successful, stunning, and incredibly witty. Anyone, and I do mean anyone, would be beyond lucky to have you in their lives. And what I said is true, you deserve so much more than I could offer you, and I had to make my peace with that truth long ago. But none of that means that I don’t want you in my life!”

As she stood there, just outside the café, suddenly unable to remember why they were here, or that it was cold out, she found herself thinking about Colin, and whether his affection toward her ever felt like more than friendship, because she could not wrap her brain around a reality where he had to “get over” her.

Sure when they were together he would always have an eye out for her. And maybe he had been weird any time she had mentioned liking or dating someone (not that any of those relationships had been anything other than disasters). When the Bridgerton siblings would all get together he would always pull her into his lap, even when there were plenty of seats.

“But Colin,” she wrinkled her forehead, still processing, “we are friends.”

“Yes, but we—forgive me, I do not know what I was thinking.” Colin’s eyes were beginning to well up, as if being only friends had always been breaking his heart. He had pulled open the café door to allow other patrons to leave, motioning for her to enter after they were clear, but she just stood there, staring at him.

“But I’d very much like to be more than friends.” And with her declaration, Colin released the door, moving a step closer to her as she continued. “So much more.”

That was all Colin needed, his arms moved to encircle her, as he bent down to kiss her.

The breath was knocked from her lungs, as her body melted into his, kissing him back.

The two of them continued like that, kissing with all the unshared declarations of love that their bodies already knew. Every lingering glance, or extended hug that the two of them had shared.

Penelope could hardly believe this was happening.

She looked around, left to right, and realized they needed to continue this somewhere less public. “Colin, the hotel I’m staying at is maybe a fifteen minute walk—unless your flat is closer?”

His eyes widened, his pupils almost taking over his denim blues as he understood her meaning. “Yeah, actually my flat is literally three minutes away. Do you want to…?”

“God, yes,” she breathed into his mouth as she kissed him again, before pulling away and insisting he lead them back to his place.

They practically ran along the streets, pausing to kiss sporadically—Colin even pushing her into an alley once, pressing her against the wall with his hard body and snogging her senseless, his hands wandering up and down her sides, much like she’d always imagined in her most private fantasies. She almost lost herself in it, before he broke away, whispering in her ear, “C’mon, not here, love.”

Before she knew it, they were at his door. He used his keys, his hands shaking slightly. He ushered her inside, a hand on the small of her back. She blinked as she took in the space—it was modest, to be sure, at least for a Bridgerton. 

“Sorry that it’s—um, small.” He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and she had the urge to embrace him again (and resist a “that’s what he said” joke).

“Hey, hey,” she said, wrapping her arms around his torso, laying her head on his chest. “It’s perfect, Col, I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” he said, speaking from above her, his chin settling on the top of her head as they hugged each other. “That means a lot to me, Pen…”

“Colin, I—” she hesitated, she couldn’t say it yet. It was too hard, she didn’t feel brave enough. She took the time to shed her jacket, placing it on the hook by the door.

They were quiet for a minute, the silence felt thick like honey, but also needed, as if the pause was rejuvenating and grounding them in this important moment.

“Pen, I need to tell you something.” 

Colin had finally broken the quiet, and she pulled away to look at his face. 

“Yeah?”

He swallowed thickly, looking as if he was steeling himself to continue. “I…I love you, Pen. I love you so much. It took me far too long to realize what it was, but once I did, I saw what an idiot I’d been. I’m so sorry, I’m such a fool—” 

She cut him off by kissing him again, hard. Their mouths slotted together perfectly, as if they’d been doing this for years, rather than minutes. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and heard him groan in pleasure, pulling her closer to his hard body, holding onto her like nothing else in the world mattered as much as them being close. 

Finally, she pulled away, not even realizing her hand had drifted to the nape of his neck and was pulling slightly at his curls. “Colin, listen to me.” She caught his gaze, letting the eye contact linger for a moment, the space between them crackling with tension. 

“I love you, too. So much. So much that it makes my heart and my stomach and my brain hurt sometimes. So much that I guarded myself against it for the longest time, assuming you would never love me back. So much that I gorged myself on your friendship, thinking it would be enough—and it was, don’t get me wrong, your friendship means everything to me. But to hear that you love me? Well, that is the most amazing thing of all. Because I love you, with my whole heart. You have it now—you’ve always had it.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━💃🐂━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Colin felt as if all the breath had left his lungs. 

She loved him. 

He felt an overwhelming urge to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to consume her, folding her into his body and never letting her go. Making sure for the rest of her days she felt safe and happy and pleasured… forever. 

Suddenly this urge translated to action as he cupped her cheek, kissing her again and lifting her onto the nearest surface, which was the kitchen counter, closest to the entryway. His hands gripped her thighs, and he relished in her little grunt as he placed her on the marble.

“Fuck, Pen,” he breathed into her mouth as they continued to snog, his hand drifting downward to fondle her breast. He smoothly moved it under the red dress’s fabric, letting his fingers run over her pert nipple, prominent under the red bra she’d redonned after the performance. He relished in the gasp she let out. He quickly moved his hands to the clasp at the back, removing the bra even faster than she had earlier that day. 

“You like that?” he whispered into her ear, as he continued to pinch and flick her, before moving to the other one to continue, while kissing her neck.

“Yes,” she breathed, throwing her head back.

He couldn’t get enough of her body, it was as if a door opened that he never knew had been closed. He needed her, every inch of her, in his mouth. 

“Pen, please,” he said, his voice sounding needy and foreign. He lowered his body slowly, so he was eventually eye-level with her core, and regarded her again.

“Please.”

She nodded, and he dove in head-first. Her panties were the first to go. He was delighted to see they were red, matching her bra and dress, but they were off as soon as he could remove them. He placed his large hands on both of her thighs and spread them wide, her plush, pale legs surrounding him like an altar as he knelt before her, praying to his goddess.

He sucked in a breath sharply as he finally saw her pussy for the first time. It was gorgeous. Pink, swollen, glistening with wetness made just for him. 

He dove in, he couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as his tongue made contact with her wetness he groaned and his half-stack fully hardened, causing him to palm himself through his pants. 

“Oh fuck!” Pen shouted above him, gripping the counter with white knuckles. 

He licked her cunt relentlessly, focusing on her clit, alternating sucking it between his lips and flicking it with his tongue. He hadn’t even gotten a finger inside her yet when he started to feel her shake, her thighs jiggling around his ears and her noises becoming increasingly feral every minute that went by.

“Oh, oh, oh God, Colin!” she screamed as he had her nub pulled between his lips, the flat of his tongue flicking it. She went rigid and shook, her entire body locking, and Colin was overwhelmed with how long it lasted. It was a delicious eternity, feeling her come on his tongue, her thighs squeezing his head, trapping him inside her ecstasy with her. 

Once she finally relaxed, he let his mouth drift away from her core. Not a moment before, not until he was sure he’d dragged every bit of pleasure out for her. 

He sat back on his heels, looking at her fondly. He knew her slick was all over his chin, but he couldn’t care less. “I love you, Pen,” he said, feeling like it meant even more once his head had been cradled between her luscious thighs, her hand carding through his hair comfortingly. 

“I love you too, Col,” she said sincerely. “Would you… would you make love to me?

Colin stared up at her in disbelief, the baby blue eyes of his love looking down at him pleading because she loved him.

Wanted him.

Wanted him to make love to her.

It was only when she swallowed and looked away that he realized he had been too lost to respond to her, standing quickly and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before nipping his way along her jaw as he ran his fingers through her curls.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, sweetheart,” Colin whispered into Penelope’s ear, sucking her earlobe and groaning in response to the sweet little whine she let out as he lifted her up, his hands beneath her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. He took her from the counter and began to walk her away.

“Colin,” she whined, lacing her hands behind his neck to hold on as he went into their next kiss, nibbling playfully on her lower lip before pulling back to press his forehead to hers.

“I’m taking you to bed,” Colin said softly, watching her eyes search his, his own desire mirrored in her. “I’m not taking you for the first time on the kitchen counter, Penelope.”

She let out a giggle that went straight to his heart as he walked her through the doorway to his small, but cozy room, dropping her gently onto the mattress and looking her over. Colin ran his hands along her shoulders beneath his leather jacket, sliding it down her arms and off of her and tossing it to the side.

“As cute as that looks on you,” he laughed as she bit her lip, “you can wear it again later if you’d like.” 

Stepping back from the bed, his eyes raked over the beautiful redhead in the perfect red dress, waiting there just for him. 

The one who had his heart and wanted him, too.

“Where are you going?” Penelope teased, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Nowhere,” he said. “Just wanted a good look at you on my bed. Burn it into my memory.”

“Come here,” she instructed just once—she’d never needed to ask him more than once—before sitting up on her knees as Colin rushed to her. When he reached the bed, she slid her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, the feeling of her hands on his bare abs making him shiver as she locked her eyes with his. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before he helped her pull off his shirt, watching her movements in awe as she ran her nails over his bare chest.

Ripping his pants and underwear off in one motion, he let his hard, leaking cock spring free, Penelope’s mouth dropping open as she squeaked out the only word she seemed to be able to manage. “Colin.”

He fucking loved the way his name sounded on her lips.

“Pen,” he gasped back as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself over her. “May I?”

“Please,” Penelope exhaled as he reached for the knot on her waist holding closed the red dress that had helped his siren call to him, slowly untying it and revealing more and more of her creamy skin and luscious curves until it was open, tugging it gently off her arms and and tossing it to the side. The red bra that she had removed for him earlier provided no obstacle for him now, as he quickly made work of the clasp and let it join her dress on his floor.

“You’re perfect,” he moaned as he looked at her, all of her, naked on his bed—where he hoped he would see her over and over again. Leaning in to kiss her, Colin let his hands roam down to her perfect breasts, cupping them and feeling the weight in his palms before twisting her nipples gently between his thumbs and forefingers, never wanting to forget how lucky he was to have this goddess beneath him, whimpering into his mouth. “Pen, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

He kissed his way down her chest, until he reached his destination—the pink peaks that called his name from their place atop her glorious breasts—and suckled one nipple, then the other, before returning to his rightful place with his mouth slotted against her own. Resting his forehead against hers, he relished the feeling of her fingers weaving through his hair, tugging just a little too hard on his waves and taking his breath away as he slid two fingers into her wet heat, his thumb quickly finding its way to where she needed him most and tracing firm circles on her clit.

“Oh, Colin. Oh, baby—I’m going to come again,” she whined as her hips canted up into him, as it took everything in him to will himself not to come on the spot at the contact. 

“Yes,” Colin begged, needy and wanting—wanting her, wanting her pleasure, wanting to be the one to provide it. “Give me another, Pen, let go, baby. Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.”

He nearly lost himself as he felt her pulse around his fingers, as though the very idea of making love to him was enough and he swallowed the murmurs of his name on her lips as she crested and relaxed beneath him with his kisses to ground her.

“I need you inside me, Col,” Penelope whispered against his lips and Colin nodded, needing it just as much. “I—I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. I’m clear and on birth control, if you…”

“I’m clear, too. I’ve never—never gone without a condom before but…you want to feel me, sweetheart?” he asked tentatively, every nerve in his body feeling as though it had been lit on fire when she nodded. “Yeah, I want to feel you, too.”

Kissing her deeply, he positioned himself at her entrance before locking his eyes on hers again.

He would never forget this—this was it. This was Penelope.

“Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for so long,” she said, her sweet voice dripping with longing and confidence in equal measure as he slid into her slowly, her fingers digging into his biceps deliciously as he buried himself to the hilt in his lover, his friend, his Pen.

“Move, Col,” Penelope exhaled and he obeyed, pulling out slowly until only the tip remained before crashing back home, the two letting out twin moans as they savored the feeling of each other. “So good. So good to me.”

Colin couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about the whine he let out at her praise as he leaned in and captured her bottom lip again, his tongue begging for entry as she opened for him gladly, sucking his tongue in time with his thrusts as she overwhelmed his senses.

“Fuck, Pen,” he moaned into her beautiful mouth. “Fuck.”

His love giggled—giggled—until he picked up his pace and she gasped, trying to catch her breath as she matched each of his moves, dropping her head back as she clawed his back with her nails, leaving him hoping she was marking him, claiming him for later. 

For always.

“Colin, I want you to come with me, baby,” Penelope gasped and he groaned his agreement.

“I can do that,” Colin huffed with a chuckle. “Are you close, love?”

“Yes,” she screamed, his cock twitching inside her, spurred on by her enthusiasm.

“Me too. Where do you want me to—”

“Inside me,” she demanded and his hips snapped even faster into hers in response to the request he didn’t know he had craved so much, his hand snaking between them to find her clit once more as he rubbed quick circles that had her coming again within moments.

“Col-col-oh fuck, Colin, baby, I love you,” she yelled as she fell over the edge, her words pulling him over right behind her as he released hot ropes of cum inside her, his Penelope milking every last drop from him while her name tumbling from his lips.

“Pen,” Colin said softly as he rolled them onto their sides to face one another, peppering kisses all over her cheeks and nose as they came back to earth, back to each other. 

“That was perfect,” Penelope mused dreamily, soothing his cheek with her thumb, staring into his eyes as though she were seeing them for the first and thousandth time all at once.

He knew the feeling.

“Perfect,” Colin echoed. “Stay?”

“Always,” she whispered. “As long as you want me.”

“Forever, then?” he asked as he kissed her slowly, cupping her cheeks in his hands before pulling back, separating from her slowly and retreating to his bathroom to get a warm, wet cloth for her, along with a T-shirt from his drawer. After carefully cleaning the evidence of their desire from her body, then his own, he slid his shirt over her head, laughing at how big it was on her tiny frame before grabbing a pair of boxers for himself and hopping back into bed beside her, pulling her close and murmuring his love into her hair as she stroked his chest.

His Penelope.

His love.

His forever.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━💃🐂━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

One Year Later

Penelope caught sight of Dorrie at the end of their section, clearly searching for her, so she waved her hand to get her attention. 

“Dorrie!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of all the Bridgertons surrounding her. They were at Wembley Arena in the most unbelievable front section seats to see André Rieu perform for Violet’s birthday.

When Colin had quit working for the maestro, it had been a relief to the show’s manager who had let him know that he had been trying to decide whether or not to fire him for the mishap with Penelope. He got his chance on his way out to apologize to the man himself, telling his former boss that he was leaving to be with the love of his life.

That bit of goodwill and reaching out to Dorrie for assistance had allowed Colin to surprise his mother with a family outing to see André Rieu in concert. 

When Colin had returned home to London, he had gone to his mother’s house, gripping Penelope’s hand like a lifeline. He had steeled himself for cold glares, biting words, or to be thrown out of the house all together, though Penelope had assured him none of those things would happen. 

As usual, she was right.

Violet had burst into tears, hugging her son so tightly, like she was afraid he would slip away if she let go. Over her shoulder, Colin saw Anthony enter the foyer and stiffened, wary of what was to come. Sensing the shift, their mother had loosened her grip and watched them regard each other before her eldest child reached for his younger brother and held him just as his mother had. Penelope had cried at the sight, knowing deep down that despite their differences, at their basest level they were two brothers who cared about each other more than words could describe.

Of course, they attributed Colin’s return to Penelope, rather unfairly, she thought, but once his family saw that there was now something more between the two long time friends, it was clear why Colin’s wayward days were behind him.

Colin had wanted to do something nice for his family and his mother in particular, so he and Penelope had brainstormed ideas one day during a lazy Saturday morning in their shared flat. When Colin had decided to return to London, Penelope had suggested moving into her place while he looked for a flat for himself, but as he searched, Colin found that what he was really looking for was a flat for the two of them with a kitchen where he could make his Pen chocolate chip pancakes during lie-in mornings after she was up late writing.

The last year with Colin had flown by for Penelope. She had never been happier, and Colin was the most himself she had seen him be since his father died. So, of course, when Penelope suggested that it would be quite poetic to take his family to see Rieu’s performance, she wasn’t surprised to watch her boyfriend’s wheels turning. When she suggested reaching out to Dorrie, Colin’s eyes went wild for a second, like a mastermind with a plan.

And now Penelope understood why. These seats were amazing. Wembley Arena was much larger than the venue she had been to in the Netherlands. The seats were so close, and Penelope had wished Colin could see the look of excitement on Violet’s face as they walked closer and closer to the stage. There had been a note left for him to meet Dorrie backstage since Rieu had gotten wind of Colin’s return and requested to see him before the show.

Penelope had been looking for him when she saw Dorrie in her red outfit as usual.

“Where’s Colin?” she asked her as she pulled away. 

“You’re never going to believe this,” said the woman in red. “Colin is reprising his role as the bull.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

Dorrie nodded, brimming with excitement. “It was a request from the maestro.”

“But his seat…” Penelope gestured to the empty one next to her.

“Oh, that’s a great idea, actually!” said Dorrie, and she plopped down right beside her. “Don’t worry. That segment is towards the first half of the show. He’ll replace me here once he’s out of the costume.” 

Penelope blinked, stunned. Her boyfriend was going to be the bull once more, chasing Dorrie out of the arena and… coming back with her red bra?

As if reading Penelope’s mind, Dorrie leaned in as the lights began to dim and the audience applauded. 

“Don’t worry. We cut the bra part.” She gave her a wink for good measure.

She couldn’t help feeling sheepish at getting caught with her heart on her sleeve.

As the show got three, four, five pieces deep, Penelope was getting more and more anxious by the minute. However, she was the only one. The Bridgertons with her were enraptured, and she even noticed Violet wipe a tear discreetly with her thumb.

Then, it began. 

Rieu had made his way toward their section and had called Dorrie out for her red outfit. And there was the bull charging toward her from the far end of the row. Dorrie took off and the Bridgertons cheered in their rambunctious way. As they watched them disappear through a door, Penelope was about to lean to Violet and whisper that it was Colin in the costume when a hand touched her arm.

It was such a familiar touch that she knew it was Colin before she turned around. But how could he be here when she had just watched him run off through a door over a hundred feet away?

When she turned around, the music changed from España Cañí to a sweeter, more romantic piece by Mozart, and Colin was down on one knee, offering her the most beautiful ring.

“Will you marry me, Pen?” he asked with a slightly watery smile, and Penelope’s smile matched his. Later, she would not be able to recall what was going on around her because she was locked in on the man she loved, baring his heart to her in front of the entire arena.

“Of course,” Penelope answered, rushing forward to kiss him before he could do anything else. It had gotten louder around her as the concert-goers and Bridgertons around them cheered even more. “In what world would I not?”

“One I wouldn’t want to be in, Pen,” he answered, getting up and putting the ring on her. He lifted their clasped hands triumphantly, and as the arena roared and the orchestra swelled, Penelope couldn’t help but agree.