Chapter Text
Colin couldn’t help but twist and untwist the end of his costume’s whip around his hands as he surveyed the crowded gallery his brother had rented for the Bridgerton’s annual Halloween bash. With their mother refusing to abandon her tradition of handing out candy at home with her youngest children—grandchildren, now that Gregory and Hyacinth were both nearly of drinking age and Violet’s babysitting services were in high demand—the honor of throwing more minor holiday celebrations had begun to rotate between the eldest Bridgerton children. Daphne always chose something upscale and refined, Anthony went along with whatever Kate decided, and Colin was always oh so conveniently out of the country whenever his turn arrived.
Benedict, however, took every opportunity he could get. He and Sophie were—though Colin would never admit it out loud—the true “cool kids” of the Bridgerton bunch. They were well versed in London’s underground art scene and loved to throw parties full of yet-undiscovered geniuses. It was as if the entire city was abuzz any time it was their turn to throw a family party—especially a costume party.
This year was no exception. What had started out as a fairly simple gallery party featuring works exploring the history and lore of the holiday, had evolved as the sun set into what Colin could only describe as a séance-turned-drug-trip. He had apparently missed the memo about needing a costume change—his Indiana Jones outfit worked while the lights were up but was wildly unimpressive under the throbbing neons—and was already regretting his decision to stay sober for the night by the time the live band turned in their strings for horns, the music loud and intoxicating as it flowed between the dimly lit paintings of goblins and ghouls.
Colin’s eye caught on a tray of cocktails trailing dry ice as a server in full leather walked past, but he simply twisted the whip tighter and returned to his search. He wouldn’t risk drinking. Not tonight. Not when he had finally signed a long-term lease, found a steady job, and built up the courage to talk to her. To tell her how he felt.
If only he could find her.
“What on earth is that face for?” Eloise’s question came as a shout from by his elbow. Colin turned right as she reached up and, failing to poke his cheek, nearly blinded him.
“What face?” Colin tried not to scowl as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back down.
Eloise yanked her hand free, stumbling slightly over her costume’s devil tail in the process. Colin raised an eyebrow at the drink in her hand. It was nearly full, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it wasn’t her first. Eloise hated parties, on principle, and especially hated the fact that Phillip had out-trivia-ed her into wearing a couple’s costume for the evening. Colin glanced back over her shoulder to see a pair of fluffy white wings roaming about in the crowd. When Phillip turned their way, Colin raised a hand and waved him over.
“That face,” Eloise finally answered his question, trying—and succeeding—to poke his cheek again.
“It’s just my face, El.” Colin made his voice as stern as possible, not letting his amused smile break through. “You’ve known it your whole life.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Eloise shuddered and downed the rest of her drink, pressing the empty glass into Phillip’s hands as he reached them. Phillip didn’t try nearly as hard as Colin to hide his laugh. “But your face isn’t usually like…that.”
“You’re not making any sense, love,” Phillip chuckled, trying to wrap an arm around Eloise’s waist.
She elbowed him in the stomach when she brushed him off. “I always make sense. His face is the one not making sense.”
Colin rolled his eyes. There would be no getting her off his back, now. Eloise was singularly focused when drunk. It was an odd trait that frequently ended with her ruining their siblings’ plans or tearing their secrets unbidden from their lips. But Colin couldn’t have that. He refused to let Eloise or any of his siblings unsettle his plans.
Not tonight.
If he could only just find her.
“Maybe my face and your face just speak different languages.” Colin fought the urge to stick out his tongue. He hoped his reply was just nonsensical enough that it would keep her occupied while he slipped away to search the next room over.
“But…But…” Eloise spluttered for a second. “You’re English!”
The deep furrowing of her brow and the “aren’t you?” visibly waiting on the tip of her tongue broke Phillip’s composure as he burst out laughing. Eloise whirled on her boyfriend, her full attention and scrutiny suddenly devoted to figuring out how he dare laugh at her when she had been so selfless to go along with his stupid costume idea. Phillip’s gaze caught Colin’s over her head as he backed away.
Colin offered a slight shrug and a mouthed apology before he turned and fled. Noble sacrifices and all that.
As he wove his way through the maze of colorfully lit rooms, Colin did his best to avoid any other encounters with his family. Benedict and Sophie were flitting around everywhere, constantly called away by some distant friend of a friend. Anthony and Kate could be heard bickering behind one of the sculptures—Colin gave that corner of the room a wide berth lest he come into view right when their argument took the inevitable turn towards the sensual. Francesca was sitting in Michaela’s lap by the bar, her face nearly the same shade as her cherry bomb lipstick, her attention entirely consumed by her “not-date.” Thankfully, Benedict had forced Gregory and Hyacinth out when the evening party turned more mature; if there was anyone who could meddle in Colin’s plans worse than Eloise it was his youngest sister.
With all Bridgertons—blood or otherwise—accounted for, Colin was left at a bit of a stalemate. He had searched every room, seen every acquaintance, and had even nearly tapped on the shoulder of a complete stranger in his search for her and still—nothing.
Half-tempted to find Eloise once more and ask if her flat mate had gone home early, Colin turned on his heel and stopped dead in his tracks.
There, veiled in a halo of neon-lit smoke, was Penelope.
Her long crimson hair flickered shades of purple and gold in the pulsing light, her skin absolutely radiant contrasting against her short, skin-tight black dress. The sleeves fluttered, glittering with spiderweb embroidery to match the dangerously tilted witches hat perched upon her head.
Colin felt his pulse skyrocket, the pounding in his chest loud enough to drown out the sensual jazz of the band not one room away. He had to force himself to breathe, mentally shouting at his lungs to work as her gaze caught his, icy blue and slightly hazy from the smoke of the curtained room behind her.
It was like a trance, only broken when she looked away, turning to whisper something in Edwina’s ear beside her. The pair broke out in a fit of giggles, Edwina nodding furiously as she shoved Penelope forward.
Towards him.
Colin released the death grip he had on his costume’s whip and quickly—and oh so smoothly—wiped his palms on his jacket before brushing his hair back in what he hoped was a perfectly tousled kind of way. This was it. This was the moment he finally told Penelope how he felt.
How much he loved her.
It was a decision years in the making, if he were honest. He had spent nearly all of his twenties traveling the world, helping small struggling restaurants build their brands and find their footing in the digital age. It had been perfect. Travel, food, adventure. He had everything.
Except her.
The first time he realized his perfect life was missing something—the first time he let himself realize it—was the day his flight had been delayed in a storm and he had missed her and Eloise’s graduation from university. He had promised Penelope he would be there after she admitted over FaceTime that her mother and sisters wouldn’t be able to make the trip. She had looked so resigned. The fact that Penelope, Pen who always found time for her family, who was the one person Colin could rely on to pick him up from the airport no matter what ungodly hour the flight came in, wouldn’t have anyone at the ceremony just for her? It made him sick.
The entire Bridgerton clan would be there, of course. They would have been even if Eloise hadn’t been graduating the same day. Colin knew they would have been there for her, but he also knew she wouldn’t see it that way. She never seemed to believe any of them when they told her she wasn’t just like family, she was family.
Wanting to repay her for all of the times she had been the only person truly there to support him, Colin booked the flight while still on the call, swearing that he would be there for her. Just her. She, of course, already knew he hadn’t planned to come back for El’s graduation—he loved his sister, but she would be fine with him watching the live stream from his hotel in Thailand. The entire time Penelope tried to convince him not to, that it wasn’t worth the trip, the money, the time, he could see the slight glistening of tears in her eyes even through the lagging video call.
After nearly an hour of endless protests, he finally just shrugged and told her the truth. “You’re worth it to me.”
She didn’t have anything to say to that.
But it had been rainy season and the storms cancelled every outgoing flight out of every airport in the country and he had missed it.
Colin had FaceTimed her the minute the live stream of the ceremony ended, apologizing profusely, swearing up and down that he would make it up to her somehow, that he would have been there if he could.
She had just smiled, reassured him that it was fine, that she was fine, and thanked him for trying anyway.
He had never felt more wretched.
The moment the storms had cleared, Colin found his way back to London and spent every minute he could trying to make it up to Penelope. He helped her move out of her dorm—shared with Eloise—into her new flat—still with Eloise. He taught her to cook real Thai food and proofread her resume and cover letters as she searched for a job—though he had no idea why she thought he was qualified for the job; she was the best damn writer he’d ever met. They went to museums and musicals, tried out every restaurant she had saved on her “special occasions”—i.e., too expensive—list, and she even let him take her on a trip to Paris to celebrate when she got the job at her dream magazine. It had been the best few months of his life.
But, as always, his company sent him another contract with a new restaurant—in Senegal—on their client list and he packed up his bag from Benedict’s spare room and headed off on another adventure.
Except that time, he hadn’t wanted to go. It was as if all of the appeal of travel, discovery, and wonder had drained from the world and concentrated itself into a single point. Into a curl of red hair, a smattering of freckles, a gaze of crystal blue. Colin left and did his job and found that the only moments he ever truly enjoyed were those when he could call Pen.
When he came home after that trip, he didn’t bother calling one of his siblings to pick him up even though his flight arrived at a perfectly respectable hour for once. He called Pen, struck with a strange tightness in his chest when he saw her standing by her car with a cheesy cardboard sign reading “Mr. Colin Bridgerton” like she always did. She jumped onto her toes when she saw him, waving with that familiar grin she always had, and Colin would have sworn he had never seen anything so beautiful. She seemed surprised when he all but ran to her, pulling her into his arms and picking her up off of the ground, a surprised squeak only making him hold her tighter. Even when he obliged her laughing shouts of “put me down,” he found he couldn’t let her go.
He never did find out how long they stood there, him holding her tight to his chest, breathing in the comforting smell of her, her small hands tentatively, at first, then just as fiercely fisting into the back of his shirt to pull him closer. They parted only when the car behind hers started blaring its horn. Colin knew from the moment she stepped away that that embrace hadn’t been long enough.
As long as he would always have to leave, Colin knew that no moment spent with her would ever be long enough.
So, he had started turning down contracts. He applied for jobs all across London, moving out of Benedict’s spare room—much to his brother and Sophie’s relief—and trying to rediscover a sense of permanence in a long-term lease four blocks down from Penelope’s building. It still felt too far—especially because he had yet to tell her—but he needed to prove to her and to himself that he could make something of himself, be the stable dependable person she deserved. He needed to prove that he could be there for her when he said he would.
That he wouldn’t let her down like that again.
It was then, that very Halloween night, that Colin decided he was ready. He had everything in his life under control, for once, and he had let Benedict talk him into believing that maybe, just maybe, Penelope might return his feelings. Or, at least, could come to love him half as deeply as he loved her. He had picked out the stupid Indiana Jones costume because she once admitted to having a crush on Harrison Ford—he’d take any advantage he could get—and refused to drink even though his nerves were half shot already because he wanted to remember every second of the night when he told Penelope that she held his heart in the palm of her hand.
And there she was. Sheathed in the sexiest witch costume he had ever seen, curls trembling amidst the smoke that slowly trailed out from the curtain behind her, walking—no, sauntering was the only word for it—directly towards him. Colin’s hands twitched at his side, his body frozen under her gaze even as his mind screamed at him to go, to meet her halfway, to take the moment while it was there.
“Pen,” Colin began once she was within earshot. “I was looking—”
She reached up and covered his mouth with her hand. He was surprised at the amount of pressure behind the gesture, as if she was leaning into him. Colin couldn’t help but smile, his lips turning up against her warm palm. He cocked his head to the side slightly and her hand slipped off, fingers trailing a line of goosebumps down his neck as she brushed against him. Surprising him even further, she didn’t let her hand fall to her side.
No. Her touch dropped only to the collar of his jacket. Fingers gripping the fabric she stretched up onto her toes and pulled him forward.
Colin’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest at the unexpected—but thrilling—turn of events. Who was he to deny her? She was everything he ever wanted.
Colin’s eyes slipped closed the moment his lips pressed against hers. Penelope’s mouth opened with a soft sigh, her breath hot against his mouth as he traced her bottom ever so lightly with his tongue. Her lipstick was slightly chalky, her soft sigh acidic like white wine, and her lips moved determinedly against his. Her hands were tight against his collar, the cheap pleather digging into the back of his neck as if she were using him to hold herself up. Maybe she was, swaying slightly against him, mumbling something that sounded like poetry against his lips. It was sloppy and fervent and colored by every pulse of the neon lights and subtle mellophone from the room behind them.
It was the best kiss Colin had ever had. It was perfect. It was Penelope.
It was Penelope.
With that thought Colin’s mind seemed to catch up with his body. Where he had moved slowly, hesitantly, afraid to shake her from whatever spell seemed to possess her, now he held her tight. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly so that she was no longer hanging from his jacket. His tongue dove into her mouth, exploring the taste of wine and something else—sweet but earthy, odd—on hers. Her hands, no longer supporting her, tangled in his hair, her own hat falling to the ground as he coaxed her head backwards to deepen their kiss.
Her black and red acrylics dug deeper into his hair, scraping against his scalp and leaving little pinpricks in the back of his neck. Colin couldn’t bite back the groan—didn’t want to—that broke from his chest, the sensation the most exquisite mix of pain and pleasure settling itself deep in his body.
The sound seemed to rouse her, her grip shifting as she pulled back and cradled his face in her hands. She squeezed, squishing his cheeks together almost like she did when they were kids.
He would have laughed if it weren’t for the look in her eyes. Her bright blue gaze was somber, glistening in the pulsing lights.
When she spoke, her voice trembled. A desperate whisper barely breaking above the cacophony of the party.
“Now, you’re mine.”
Colin scrutinized the familiar planes of her face. His confusion at the severity of her expression slightly dampened the spike of excitement and joy that flooded his chest at her words.
Perhaps she meant it as a question? Clearly, she had been drinking, though Colin didn’t think she was drunk drunk, exactly—he had seen Penelope drunk far too many times to miss the signs. Maybe she was waiting for an answer. If that was so, then he would happily oblige.
Leaning down to her level, Colin pressed another kiss to her lips. This one was firm, tender. A promise.
He pulled back only far enough to lean his forehead against hers, pouring all of his love into his gaze as he met her watering eyes. “I am, Pen. I’ve always been yours.”
Her brows lifted in shock, her mouth falling open in the most adorable gasp. Colin was about to kiss the surprise off her lips when she spoke again.
“It worked.”
Colin leaned back slightly, beginning to doubt his earlier assumption that she wasn’t drunk. “What worked?”
Penelope took a breath as if to answer, then, to his horror, she burst out in tears.