Chapter Text
•I Have Died Every Day Waiting for You•
Penelope Featherington had loved Colin Bridgerton for as long as she could remember. Longer, perhaps. It felt as though her heart had been shaped by him, its every beat attuned to his laughter, his voice, his very presence. She had long since resigned herself to being invisible to him in the way that mattered most. He saw her, of course—smiled at her, teased her, spoke to her with the warmth of an old friend. But never had his gaze lingered the way she wished, never had he looked at her as if she were the one his heart longed for.
"One step closer…"
The words drifted through her mind like a whisper in the wind as she stood at the edge of the Bridgerton ball, watching Colin from a distance. He was surrounded by a group of young ladies, charming as ever, his smile easy and effortless. It was a sight she had witnessed countless times, and yet, the ache in her chest never lessened.
"Pen, why do you do this to yourself?" Eloise's voice cut through her thoughts, filled with exasperation.
Penelope turned to her dearest friend, forcing a smile. "Do what?"
"You know what." Eloise sighed. "You stand there and torture yourself. You are worth more than waiting for a man who cannot see what is right in front of him."
Penelope swallowed. "He is my friend."
"And yet, you look at him as though the sun rises and sets in his eyes."
If only Colin would look at her the same way.
•Darling, Don’t Be Afraid, I Have Loved You
For a Thousand Years•
Colin Bridgerton was not blind.
He was many things—reckless, restless, and too often caught up in his own wanderlust—but he was not blind. He had always known Penelope Featherington was extraordinary. He had always known she was clever and kind, sharp-witted and loyal to a fault. But he had never let himself dwell too long on what it might mean.
Lately, however, something had changed.
It was in the way she smiled—hesitant, as though she no longer trusted him to see her. It was in the way she avoided his gaze, the way she no longer sought him out first in a crowded room. It unsettled him. Penelope had always been a constant in his life, unwavering and dependable. He did not like the distance growing between them.
And then, one evening, he saw it.
She was laughing—truly laughing—at something another man had said. Lord Debling to be precise. Colin had never particularly cared for the man, but he had also never cared whom Penelope spoke with before. Yet, when he saw her hand rest lightly on Weatherby’s arm, when he saw the man lean closer to whisper something in her ear, an unfamiliar feeling clawed at his chest.
It was jealousy.
It hit him like a revelation. Like a storm breaking after years of calm.
He found himself moving before he had fully formed a thought. "Penelope," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. "May I have this dance?"
She looked startled, her amber eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, she hesitated, glancing toward Debling.
"Of course," she said finally, placing her hand in his.
Colin led her onto the dance floor, his grip firm, his heart hammering.
"Are you enjoying the evening?" he asked, though the words felt hollow.
"I am," she said simply.
His jaw tightened. "You seem to enjoy Lord Debling’s company."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "He is kind."
"And I am not?"
She exhaled softly. "You are my friend, Colin."
The words should not have stung as they did.
The music swelled around them, and he felt the weight of years pressing down on him. Years of not seeing. Years of ignoring what had been in front of him all along.
"Time stands still, beauty in all she is," the singer’s voice murmured through the ballroom.
Colin looked at Penelope then—truly looked at her.
And suddenly, he understood.
•All Along, I Believed I Would Find You•
Penelope had spent years dreaming of a moment like this, but never had she thought it would come with such agony.
Colin was looking at her differently now. As if he had just realized something, as if he had been blind for years and was finally seeing.
But it was too late.
She had spent too long waiting, too long hoping for something that would never be. She would not do it anymore.
"Penelope," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, gathering her strength. "Colin, please—"
"No," he cut in, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. "Do not dismiss me so easily."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the music stopped, and she was forced to step away from him.
"I should go," she said instead, curtsying before turning away.
But Colin was not done.
•I Will Not Let Anything Take Away What’s
Standing in Front of Me•
It was raining when Colin found her.
She stood beneath the canopy of an old oak tree, her hands clenched at her sides.
"You are avoiding me," he accused.
"I am protecting myself," she countered.
He exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Penelope, please. I need to talk to you."
She shook her head. "Do not do this, Colin. Do not say something simply because you fear losing me."
He caught her hand. "But I have lost you, haven’t I?" His voice cracked. "Somewhere along the way, I was so blind, so foolish, that I did not see you slipping away."
She looked up at him then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I have loved you for so long," she admitted, the words trembling on her lips. "And you never saw me, Colin. Not in the way I needed."
"I see you now," he whispered, lifting a hand to cradle her cheek. "I see you, and I am terrified because I do not know if I have lost my chance."
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch for a fleeting moment before pulling away. "I cannot be your second choice."
"You are not," he said fiercely. "You are my only choice."
She hesitated.
"Every breath, every hour has come to this," he murmured.
And then, slowly, cautiously, he leaned in.
She did not stop him.
His lips met hers, soft yet urgent, filled with the weight of years lost and the promise of what was to come.
When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "Give me a chance to prove it to you."
Penelope searched his face, looking for doubt, for hesitation. She found none.
She exhaled shakily, a small smile ghosting her lips. "One step closer."
And just like that, Colin knew—this was only the beginning.