Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton had always considered himself lucky.
He came from a family that was large, loud and often exhausting but it was also filled with more love than most people experienced in a lifetime. Family dinners turned into debates, celebrations became competitions, and privacy was practically nonexistent, yet he would not have traded any of it for the world.
At twenty nine, life had unfolded almost exactly as he had imagined.
His publishing company was thriving, growing from a dream scribbled in a notebook into a respected business with offices in London and New York. He had travelled to more than fifty countries before turning thirty, documenting every adventure, every mistake and every lesson along the way. Those experiences had eventually become a bestselling travel memoir that had opened more doors than he could have ever expected.
Most importantly, he had found someone to share it all with.
Marina.
She was still asleep beside him, her dark hair spread across the pillow, sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow across her face. Colin rested his head against his hand and simply watched her.
There was something unfair about how beautiful she was.
Perhaps it was the way she smiled before she was fully awake, or how her eyes softened whenever she looked at him. Whatever it was, even after three years together, he found himself staring.
Marina opened one eye.
“Are you going to keep looking at me all morning?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
Colin grinned.
“Probably.”
She laughed softly. “That’s slightly concerning.”
“I can’t help it.”
Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her lips.
“You are ridiculously beautiful.”
Marina rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement.
“You say that every day.”
“Because it’s true every day.”
“Oh, please.”
Colin laughed as she pushed lightly against his shoulder. He ignored the protest and pulled her closer, peppering kisses across her cheek until she burst into laughter.
“Colin!” she squealed. “Stop.”
“Never.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
“You have work.”
“So do you.”
“And you’ll be late.”
“Worth it.”
Marina shook her head, laughing as she attempted to escape his arms.
“You are an actual child.”
“Maybe,” Colin admitted. Then his expression softened as he looked at her. “But you’re going to marry me anyway.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Marina froze.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“What did you just say?” she asked quietly.
Colin’s smile faded into something gentler.
“I said you’re going to marry me.”
A strange expression crossed her face before she laughed and shoved his shoulder.
“Stop being ridiculous and get ready for work.”
Colin had known he was going to marry Marina long before he ever bought a ring.
The certainty had crept up on him quietly.
Maybe it had started during their second date, when they had spent six hours talking and neither of them had wanted the night to end. Maybe it had been the Christmas Eve kiss that left him grinning like an idiot for days afterward. Or perhaps it was when he had invited her to a Bridgerton family dinner and watched her survive the chaos with ease, laughing with his siblings as though she had always belonged there.
Whatever the moment was, Colin had known.
Marina was it for him.
The only reason he had waited was because he wanted to build something of his own first. He loved his family, but he had never wanted to rely on the Bridgerton name or the fortune that came with it. He wanted to create something himself, something he could be proud of.
Something he could offer her.
Three years later, his company was thriving, his future was secure, and the life he had worked so hard for was finally within reach.
Tonight, he was going to propose.
The thought alone made him smile as he adjusted his tie in the mirror before leaning down to kiss Marina goodbye.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“You too.”
He kissed her once more before forcing himself out the door.
The elevator ride down from his penthouse felt unusually long. His phone rang halfway through and he answered immediately when George’s name flashed across the screen.
“Morning, George.”
“Morning?” George’s voice boomed through the speaker. “You’re late.”
Colin laughed.
“You do realise I own the company?”
“Doesn’t matter, mate. Being the boss doesn’t magically make you punctual.”
Colin shook his head.
George had been his best friend since high school. They had survived exams, terrible jobs, heartbreaks, and hangovers together. Now George worked alongside him, which meant Colin never got a moment’s peace.
The elevator doors opened into the lobby.
“Five minutes,” Colin said.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“I meant it this time.”
“Sure you did.”
Still smiling, Colin crossed the lobby, giving a nod to the barista at the café near the entrance. He was halfway to the revolving doors when someone collided with him.
The impact knocked his phone from his hand.
“Shit.”
The device clattered across the marble floor.
A woman sat awkwardly on the floor, surrounded by a canvas tote bag and what appeared to be the contents of her entire life. A notebook, several pens, a water bottle, and a paperback novel had scattered across the lobby.
She had long, curly red hair and wore an oversized yellow jacket that looked at least two sizes too big. Bright striped socks peeked out from above a pair of boots.
The outfit was… memorable.
The woman scrambled to gather her belongings before glancing up.
“I’m really sorry, sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going…”
The apology died instantly.
Her eyes widened.
For a second, she simply stared at him.
Colin frowned.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Just be careful next time.”
He glanced down at his tie and sighed. Coffee had splashed across the fabric.
Perfect.
The woman was still staring.
“Uh…”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“You’re…”
Colin raised an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“You don’t recognise me?”
Something about her expression made him pause.
He couldn't help but wonder how old she actually was. Her features suggested she was easily in her late twenties, but she was exceptionally short. It was a stark contrast to Marina, who was taller than most of his sisters and a perfect match for Colin's height, given that he was the tallest of all the Bridgerton brothers.
“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “Should I?”
The woman’s face fell.
It was brief, lasting less than a second, but he saw it.
Colin raised an eyebrow. Deciding to ignore the odd reaction, he bent down to retrieve his phone from the ground. George was still squawking through the speaker.
"Yeah, sorry mate, someone ran into me," Colin said into the receiver, turning to walk out the glass doors.
"Wait!"
Colin paused, turning back toward the red-haired woman.
"Don’t you remember me?" she asked, her voice tight with a mix of hope and anxiety.
Colin looked at her skeptically, his mind completely blank as he shook his head.
"It’s me," she said, taking a small step forward. "Pen."
"Look, lady, I really don't know who you are, but I’m in a massive rush," Colin said, turning his back on her as he lifted the phone back to his ear to talk to George.
Even as he kept walking and trying to focus on George's voice in his ear, Colin couldn’t quite shake the image of the woman in the lobby. Her face lingered in his mind, irritatingly familiar.
He ran through a mental Rolodex, trying to place where on earth he could have met her. Was she a fan of his book? No, she hadn't looked like a reader asking for an autograph; her reaction had been deeply personal. A family friend, perhaps? The Bridgerton social circle was massive, but he was fairly certain he would remember a redhead, considering his own family was entirely brunette. An old flame? Colin scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as he pushed through the building's glass revolving doors.
There was absolutely no way he had ever been with someone who wore those atrocious striped socks.
He was just answering a question from George when the sky completely opened up, unleashing a sudden, torrential downpour. Cursing the unpredictable morning weather, Colin tucked his phone closer to his ear and broke into a jog, aiming to cross the street before he got completely soaked. He stepped off the curb, his focus split between the slick pavement and the call, when the deafening blare of a horn shattered the sound of the rain.
Colin froze, turning his head toward the noise just in time to see a motorcycle skidding directly toward him out of the gray mist.
In that single second, Colin’s perfect life shattered completely.
Seven months later
“We appreciate your interest in the position. However, after careful consideration, we have decided to proceed with other candidates—oh piss off!”
Penelope slammed closed her laptop.
A moment later, she dropped her forehead onto the kitchen table.
The impact hurt far more than she had intended.
“Ow!”
She sat upright, rubbing the sore spot while glaring at her laptop as though it had personally rejected her.
Which, at this point, it practically had.
With a groan, she slumped back into her chair and stared at the stained ceiling of her tiny apartment.
“Why?” she asked the universe. “Why can’t I get a single job?”
No answer came.
Not that she had expected one.
Her rent was due in two days.
Her bank account contained an amount of money so depressing she refused to look at it.
And she had officially received twelve rejection emails this month.
Twelve.
At this point, she was beginning to suspect there was a secret group chat among employers dedicated solely to ruining her life.
She pushed herself out of her chair and began pacing around the apartment.
“This is all Phillip’s fault.”
The accusation echoed dramatically through the empty room.
Her best friend.
Her absolute disaster of a best friend.
The man who somehow managed to create chaos everywhere he went.
Three weeks ago, Penelope had still been employed at a small restaurant in Kensington. The pay had been terrible, but it covered rent and groceries, which was really all she needed.
Then Phillip had arrived.
Drunk.
Very drunk.
Drunk enough to believe he was a gifted singer.
Drunk enough to stand on a chair and perform “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys at a volume usually reserved for emergency evacuations.
Penelope buried her face in her hands.
To make matters worse, several customers had started singing along.
Her manager had not been amused.
She could still remember the exact conversation.
“Penelope.”
“Yes?”
“Get your friend.”
“I’m trying.”
“Get him and leave.”
The next morning, Phillip had shown up at her apartment carrying coffee, pastries, and enough guilt to power an entire city.
He had apologised repeatedly.
Then apologised for apologising too much.
Then apologised again.
Eventually, he had promised to cover her rent until she found another job.
It had been a generous offer.
But Penelope still planned to strangle him.
“Oh, when I catch that man…”
She pointed a threatening finger at an imaginary Phillip standing across the room.
The gesture lost most of its menace when her stomach growled loudly.
Penelope sighed.
She opened her laptop again.
Twenty three unread job applications waited for her.
With all the enthusiasm of someone approaching their own execution, she clicked on the next one.
By the fifth rejection email, Penelope had officially given up pretending she was handling things well.
She slammed her laptop shut. “Okay that’s enough.”
Right on cue, a cheerful knock sounded at her front door. She didn’t even have to move to know exactly which annoying human being was standing on the other side of the wood.
She marched over and yanked the door open to find the devil himself.
Phillip Crane stood there, offering a bright, hopelessly optimistic smile while holding out two takeaway coffee cups as a peace offering. Penelope wasn't having a single bar of it. Before he could even utter a greeting, she kicked off her left sandal, caught it in midair, and hurled it straight at his face.
Phillip shrieked, barely managing to block the flying footwear with his forearm, spilling a bit of coffee in the process. "Whoa! What are you doing?"
"What are you doing here?" Penelope yelled, already reaching down to weaponize her other foot. "Huh? Are you here to celebrate the fact that I’m officially a failure because of you?"
"Ahh, please, mademosil," he pleaded, ducking behind the coffee cups as she aimed. "Don’t hit me!"
Penelope let the second sandal fly with lethal precision. "It’s mademoiselle, you twat!"
"That’s literally what I said!" Phillip shouted, pivoting on his heel to run down the hallway.
Penelope was hot on his heels, determined to make him pay. "No, it wasn't! We've been friends for twelve years, Phillip, and you still can't pronounce a single French word to save your life!"
She leaped forward, launching herself at his back and wrapping her arm around his neck to drag him down into a headlock. Even while being actively choked out, Phillip kept his arms extended, desperately balancing the two coffees so they wouldn't spill all over the carpet.
"Ahh, okay, let me go!" he wheezed.
"What did you get me, huh?" she demanded, loosening her grip just a fraction so he could actually breathe.
Phillip looked up at her sideways, sticking his tongue out like a child. "A caramel latte. But you're not getting a single sip now."
Penelope instantly let go, shifting from furious to deeply apologetic in a split second. "Oh, my ami! Sorry, sorry," she said, giving him a sheepish grin.
Phillip just rolled his eyes, adjusting his collar as he handed over her drink.
Penelope let out a long, contented sigh as she took her first sip of the coffee. "Honestly, this is so much better than alcohol."
"Why are you even thinking about alcohol at ten in the morning?" Phillip asked, walking alongside her toward her open apartment door.
"Shut up, you're the one who always brings up drinking," she said, swinging her leg out to kick him in the ass.
Phillip laughed, effortlessly dodging her foot as he bolted ahead of her, slipped into her apartment, and slammed the door shut. Penelope sprinted after him, reaching for the handle, only to hear the sharp click of the lock turning from the inside.
She began pounding on the wood, yelling loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. "Phillip, you little shit, open this door right now!"
She knocked aggressively a few more times and decided to throw a frustrated kick at the bottom of the door, immediately yelping in pain as her bare toes hit the solid wood.
"Hey! Keep it down out there!"
Penelope whirled around to see her neighbour, Stacy. The older woman was standing in her own doorway, holding her tiny dog and looking completely unimpressed.
Penelope offered a deeply apologetic, sheepish smile. "Sorry, Stacy. So sorry."
Turning back to her own door, she gave it a few incredibly soft, polite knocks instead. "Phillip, when I get in there, you are seriously dead," she hissed under her breath.
She tried the handle again, and this time it twisted easily. She pushed the door open to find Phillip standing in her entryway, practically suffocating on his own laughter.
"You're dead," she repeated, locking eyes with him. "Come here."
Phillip's laughter cut off instantly. "Friend, wait, I'm sorry!" he yelled, pivoting and sprinting toward the safety of the kitchen.
Penelope slammed her coffee down on the nearest table and bolted right after him, determined to catch him.
Twelve years ago, when Penelope Featherington first met Phillip Crane, she never imagined she would eventually have another close male friend. Well, specifically, a male friend she wasn’t hopelessly in love with. Phillip was the sole exception to that rule. Before him, there had only ever been one boy who managed to occupy that sacred, painful place in her heart: Colin Bridgerton.
The ridiculous thing was that if anyone met Penelope today, they would never believe she had once been the most popular girl in school. Yet, at twelve years old, she had been exactly that. Boys in her year, and even a few older ones, used to follow her around the playground like lost puppies. Some brought her chocolates, others wrote embarrassing love notes, and one particularly memorable boy had even stolen flowers from his mother’s garden to present to her during lunch.
Penelope had rejected every single one of them. Back then, she had been thinner, louder, and far more confident than she was now. Most importantly, her mother had adored her. That was perhaps the biggest difference of all. Penelope could still vividly remember the way her mother used to brush her hair before school, telling her she was beautiful, she was special, and she was destined for great things. At twelve years old, Penelope had believed every single word. Life had felt simple then. Perfect, even.
But despite always being surrounded by people, she had never felt particularly close to any of them. The boys liked her because she was pretty, and the girls liked being near the center of attention. Friendships at that age were fragile things, built entirely on popularity and shifting loyalties. Nobody really knew her. Nobody knew how much she loved books, and nobody cared about the stories she spent hours writing in battered notebooks.
Nobody except Colin.
The first time she saw him, he was sitting on the pavement outside their neighbourhood park. Two boys stood over him menacingly. One shoved his shoulder while the other laughed.
"Come on, Bridgerton. Run after us," one taunted.
"I said give it back," Colin replied, his voice shaking.
The taller boy held a book high above his head, well out of reach. "Why? So you can cry over it?"
The boys burst into cruel laughter, causing Penelope to slow her pace. The chubby boy on the ground looked no older than she was. His cheeks were bright red with embarrassment, and his eyes were suspiciously glossy. Suddenly, one of the boys pushed him hard. Colin stumbled backward, hitting the pavement as his book landed face-down in a muddy puddle.
Something inside Penelope snapped. Before she could think twice, she marched straight across the street.
"What is wrong with you?" she demanded.
The boys turned, surprised. One scoffed. "And who are you?"
Penelope didn’t bother answering. Instead, she stepped forward and shoved him. The boy let out a startled yelp as he stumbled backward, and his friend immediately stepped back too. Neither of them had expected actual resistance from a twelve-year-old girl.
"Leave him alone," Penelope said, the sheer confidence in her voice surprising even herself.
Apparently, it surprised them too. After a moment of awkward, tense silence, the boys muttered a few weak insults and walked away. Penelope waited until they completely disappeared around the corner before she finally looked down at Colin.
He was staring up at her as though she had just descended from heaven.
"You okay?" she asked.
Colin blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah."
His gaze dropped to the soaked book lying in the puddle. Penelope immediately reached down and fished it out, but the cover was already completely ruined. Her heart sank on his behalf.
"It can dry," Colin said quickly, trying to be brave.
”It looks dead,” she said.
A laugh escaped him then. A real, genuine laugh. And somehow, that became the beginning of everything. The friendship, the summer afternoons spent talking about books and films, the notebooks full of stories they constantly exchanged and the crush that Penelope never quite managed to get over.