Chapter Text
Penelope kept staring at the text message on her phone.
It was not unusual for Colin to text her. In fact, it was expected—especially since it was her birthday and they were friends.
Best friends.
The oldest of friends.
But friends did not text like that.
The more she looked at it, the more questions she had. It was ridiculous, really. Three little words should not have the power to turn her whole world upside down.
Not today, at least. She already had plans.
But leave it to Colin Bridgerton to have the subtlety of a wrecking ball, knocking down every brick she had so carefully laid to build her walls.
Penelope laid the first brick when Colin started dating her cousin a few years prior. Up until that point, she had been hoping—wondering—when the two of them might finally become something more. But all it took was him bringing Marina to Eloise’s twenty-second birthday celebration for Penelope to take a definitive step back. That was not territory she was willing to wander into. And when they announced their whirlwind engagement a month later, Penelope built a fortress overnight.
She figured the further away, the better. With her internship completed and tuition money saved thanks to scholarships, she booked a one-way ticket to Rome and set off to eat, pray, and love her way through Italy, then India, then Indonesia. She spent about a month in each country, and by the time she was heading back, the fateful engagement had fallen apart. Penelope allowed herself a flicker of satisfaction—she was only human—but what she gained from her journey ran far deeper. In a matter of months, she had learned how to choose herself, and it rewired everything.
What began as running away from her life became her way of living it. Instead of returning to London, she went back to Italy and settled in Milan, landing a job at a fashion publication thanks to her designer friend Genevieve. Penelope still traveled often for work, covering events around the world, but it was comforting to have one place to call home.
She kept in touch with Eloise and Colin regularly. Eloise hated flying, so they rarely saw each other in person—but Colin, every now and then, would somehow end up in the very same city she was in.
Such as now, where he had conveniently ended up in São Paulo, Brazil of all places—on her birthday, of all days.
Penelope would be lying if she said she did not enjoy that. As thrilling as it was to travel and to see new places, constantly meeting new people was exhausting. She preferred watching, observing, and writing. And if she had to spend her social battery, she wanted it to be on people who mattered. So whenever Colin showed up unannounced with some flimsy excuse, she let herself be grateful—and tried not to overthink it.
Life behind the fortress was cozy, comfortable. Over time, the hard walls had softened—covered in flowering vines, moss settling between the bricks, weathered into something beautiful, yet still protective.
But if she had ever doubted those moments he showed around the globe to meet her were anything more than coincidence, his text message erased that completely.
He was there for her.
She was just coming to terms with his proposition.
In one sense, it felt like every wish she had made blowing out birthday candles since she was fifteen was finally coming true. But she had not wished for Colin Bridgerton in years.
So maybe this version of things was better.
Him wanting something casual, no strings attached, on her birthday felt like the perfect middle ground between the girl who had once wanted everything with him and the woman who no longer allowed herself to want him that way.
She could do that.
She could absolutely do that.
Most people would think twice before getting in bed with their best friend. But Colin and Penelope were not most people.
They had always toed the line.
And tonight they were going to cross it.
—
Penelope stepped out of the shower in her hotel room and studied herself in the mirror. A small smirk tugged at her lips, quietly proud of the fact that she had booked a full spa and beauty package the day after landing—Brazilian wax included.
That had been some impressive foresight on her part. Especially considering her new plans for the night.
She had been genuinely looking forward to meeting Genevieve and the friends they made during São Paulo Fashion Week the year before, but Colin had made her an offer that was difficult to refuse. Gen would understand. She would probably be proud, even. Ever since Penelope moved to Milan, Gen had been encouraging her to be bolder, more carefree.
Turning a quarter of a century old might be an appropriate excuse to finally listen.
Penelope walked over to the wardrobe and began inspecting her options. She rarely fully unpacked, but she always hung her clothes. April was fall in Brazil—milder than what she was used to in the UK or Italy, but the evenings still carried a chill. Her fingers trailed over dresses and coats until they stilled on an oversized black leather jacket, complete with large front pockets and a belt that cinched at the waist.
It was edgy, sleek, bold, and exactly the energy she wanted to channel tonight.
She took a slow breath. It had to be the jacket. She had never worn it before, which made it feel more significant. She had learned that some Brazilians wore new clothes on their birthdays, much like the New Year tradition, as your birthday marked the start of your own personal year.
And her new year was about to start with a bang, quite literally.
When she pulled the hanger free, another caught and clattered to the floor. Penelope bent to pick it up, and smiled when she realized what it held.
Now that would go perfectly with the jacket.
A black corset-style bodysuit, trimmed with floral lace along the cups. Sheer mesh panels ran along the sides, sculpting her waist, while the front remained structured and opaque, a zipper stopping just between the cups.
She remembered how enthusiastic Gen had been about that modern twist on a classic piece, using Penelope as her model during the design process. Penelope, in turn, had insisted on garter straps—delicate lines extending from the bodysuit to thigh-high stockings. Gen had happily obliged, finishing them with lace tops that mirrored the cups.
The oversized jacket fell just beneath the lace, making the whole look daring though just respectable enough for the walk down the hotel hallway and into the elevator on her way to Colin’s suite, which she was sure was a lot nicer than her double deluxe room.
She kept her makeup minimal. Considering how the night was likely to go, the last thing she needed was anything melting, smudging, or feeling heavy on her skin. A touch of waterproof mascara and a soft lipstick would do.
Her hair fell in loose, beachy waves—effortless, a little wild. Very her.
She gave herself one last look, wiggling her brows at her reflection before turning away.
Penelope slipped in her classic black pointed-toe heels.
This was it.
She was ready for him.
—
Against her better judgment, Penelope was humming “Birthday Sex” all the way to Colin’s room.
How he had managed to secure a suite last-minute during one of the busiest weeks in São Paulo was beyond her—though she suspected that being a Bridgerton came with a level of access and privilege the rest of the world simply did not enjoy.
When she reached his door, she took a soft breath and raised her hand to knock.
The door swung open almost immediately.
“Pen!” Colin beamed, pulling her into a warm hug. “I’ve been waiting all day for this. Well—more like three months, but who’s counting? Happy birthday!”
She laughed softly against his chest. “Thank you, Colin.”
“I was actually on my way to your room,” he added, still holding her close. “You beat me to it.”
“Oh.” She pulled back slightly, gesturing vaguely behind him. “I just assumed we would be… staying in your very fancy, very expensive suite.”
“Well, yes,” he said easily. “But first, we are going to dinner. I got us a reservation.”
Penelope blinked, stepping out of his arms to look up at him, thoroughly thrown. He just stood there, smiling at her like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
She felt ridiculous. Of course Colin Bridgerton would take a girl to dinner before doing anything remotely indecent.
Unfortunately, she was not exactly dressed for dinner.
Or dressed at all, if she was being technical.
“That’s… really sweet,” she managed. “Do you think we could maybe just order room service?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. And trust me—once we’re back in this room, we’re not leaving unless there’s a fire alarm involved.”
Her stomach flipped.
“But it’s your birthday,” he went on, softer now. “You deserve to be taken out, to be seen.” His gaze swept over her, slow and appreciative. “You look… beautiful.”
He took her hand and twirled her gently, taking her in. “Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself.
His voice was warm and deeper now, making her pulse quicken.
The jacket shifted slightly as she turned, and she wondered if he had caught a glimpse of lace at the top of her stockings.
She exhaled, steadying herself.
“Okay, then,” she said, lifting her chin just a touch. “Take me to dinner first.”
—
Penelope should have been feeling more nervous about this unexpected turn of events, but if anything, it was nice that he had thought about dinner first.
She only wished she had done the same.
Still, the steakhouse was on the top floor. She had already decided her risqué outfit was acceptable for walking through the hotel, and technically, the restaurant was part of the hotel.
So this was fine.
Totally fine.
Right up until the hostess reached for her jacket.
“Miss, may I take your jacket?”
“Sorry—what?”
“Your jacket,” the hostess repeated with a polite smile.
“Right.” Penelope mirrored the smile, though hers came with a flicker of panic she was not hiding nearly as well as she thought. “I’m… good, actually. Obrigada.”
The hostess hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Follow me, then.”
They were led to a table for two overlooking the city.
Ivory linen tablecloth with a single candle flickering at the center. Dark green cloth napkins, two glasses, and an intimidating number of utensils. A small card printed on thick, textured paper read Feliz Aniversário.
It was nice, maybe too nice for the kind of arrangement they were going for.
Colin pulled out her chair and just before she sat, he paused.
“Are you sure you want to keep your jacket?” He asked gently. “I can take it off for you.”
“How about I let you take it off later?” she replied, her voice dipping as she grazed her lower lip with her teeth. “When we’re alone.”
Colin’s lips parted slightly at that. For a moment, he looked almost caught off guard, but then he smiled.
“Whatever you like. You’re the birthday girl,” he said easily, as they took their seats across from each other. “I’m at your service.”
Suddenly, she hated the idea of dinner all over again. She tried to pay attention to the menu, but all she wanted was to be back in his room, ordering him around instead.
Penelope cleared her throat, trying to suppress those inconvenient thoughts. “You didn’t have to do all of this, by the way.”
“Sometimes I forget how difficult it is to do something nice for you.”
“It’s not!” She shot back, laughing softly.
“I’m teasing you. Or am I?” he smirked. “Hey—thanks for fitting me into your busy schedule. I’m really glad you said yes.”
She swallowed. Honestly, soon enough, she would be the one very glad about fitting him in.
“Yeah?”
“Of course. I love spending time with you.” Colin reached across the table, covering her hand with his.
Penelope snickered. “That’s one way to put it.”
“What? I’m serious.”
“I know. Still a funny way to say it. It’s not like we’ve done this before.”
“Done what? Dinner?”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You know what I mean.”
He only looked back at her, genuinely confused.
Her smile faltered.
“Are you… nervous?” She asked carefully. “Is that why you wanted to do dinner first?”
“I’m not nervous, Pen. What are you talking about?”
“Hey… It’s okay if you changed your mind.”
“I haven’t,” he said, brows knitting. “I still want to hang out in my room later.”
Hang.
Hang out.
Penelope froze.
Slowly, she reached for her phone and pulled up their messages.
Text chat between Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington
Colin: Hey Pen
Colin: I’m in Brazil
Colin: And it’s your birthday!
Colin: We should bang
Her eyes flicked back up to him.
He wanted to hang. Not bang.
She stared at the screen again, almost waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves out of pity.
Was it a typo all along?
The h and the b were right next to each other on the keyboard. And Colin—judging by the very sincere confusion on his face—clearly had no idea what she was talking about.
Unless he was the worst flirt alive, which she would not put past him, but felt unlikely.
Penelope forced a small smile, setting her phone back down.
So much for Colin taking her jacket off tonight.