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Chapter Text

Wedding Day – 7:00 AM

Today was the day I thought I might never get to see—but it was here, now, unfolding before me. I was getting married to Alfred Debling, my dearest companion, and the only boyfriend I had ever had.

We met two years ago, when I was 28. I had just started working for his parents as a content writer for their blog, *Hapnature.com*. That’s where our paths first crossed. He was a content creator, sharing videos and posts about grass and the wonders of nature on social media, while I wrote and edited the accompanying articles.

The dress was ready. My family was brimming with excitement. The wedding venue was set—flowers arranged, food prepared, every detail meticulously handled. And yet...

I found myself lost in thought while bathing. I didn’t know why I couldn’t summon the excitement everyone else seemed to feel. I was nervous, unsettled. Was I truly ready for this? Did I really love Alfred, or was it simply that I deeply appreciated him?

*Come on, Pen. No one else has ever given you this kind of chance. Please, please don’t overthink it.*

“Penelope, hurry up. Genevieve is here to style you,” Portia called from outside the bathroom.

“Coming, Mum,” I replied.

There was no more time for doubt. It was now—or never.

Chapter Text

Wedding Day – 10:00 AM

The car pulled up to the venue. All the guests were already seated inside, waiting. The music would begin soon, and within the next hour, Penelope would be a married woman.

“Pen, open the window,” Sarah, one of the bridesmaids, said, tapping on the glass.

Pen rolled it down. “Hey, Sa! Wow, you look stunning in that dress.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “Thanks... but, Pen, I—uh...”

“Oh my God, Pen,” she whispered, suddenly flustered, fidgeting with her necklace. “You look so beautiful.”

Penelope smiled, but Sarah’s nervous energy made her pause. “Is something wrong? You’re acting strange. Has Alfie called or texted this morning?”

Sarah hesitated, then shook her head. “No... and that’s the thing. He hasn’t. Have you heard from him at all?”

Pen’s heart skipped. “No, nothing.” She turned to Felicity, another bridesmaid. “Felicity, give me my phone.” Quickly, she began sending messages to Alfred—and to David, his best friend and best man.

Sarah stepped closer. “I’ve been trying to reach David too. Neither of them are answering.”

“I have signal,” Penelope said, panic creeping into her voice, “but my messages won’t go through.” She hit the call button. It rang twice—then disconnected.

“What...?”

“Let me out of the car,” she said urgently. “Maybe the signal’s better outside. Sa, help me.”

As Sarah and Felicity helped her out, Sarah’s phone pinged with a new message.

“Wait,” she said, checking the screen. “It’s Alfred. He’s texting.”

Penelope’s voice trembled. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s still typing,” Sarah murmured, eyes locked on the screen.

Alfred: Hi Sarah...

Sarah:Hey! Alfie, we've been trying to call you. Where are you?

A long minute passed. The typing dots appeared... and then came the message.

Alfred: Please, please, please ask Penelope to forgive me. I can’t go through with this. Last night, David confessed his feelings for me. We were drunk... things happened. We're together now. I've decided to give it a chance. I hope you understand.*

 

Sarah’s face went pale. “No... no way. This guy—are you serious?”

“What?” Penelope said, panicked. “Why hasn’t he come yet? Are they stuck in traffic or something?”

“Pen, wait—” Sarah tried to stop her.

“Give me the phone.”

Penelope snatched Sarah’s phone and read the messages. Her hands started shaking. Her face drained of color.

“Sa... please tell me this is some kind of joke. He’s inside, right? He’s waiting at the altar?”

Inside the venue, the atmosphere had grown tense. Guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats, wondering why the ceremony hadn’t started.

Suddenly, the doors burst open.

Penelope ran down the aisle, veil flying behind her, bridesmaids and her parents chasing after her, calling out, begging her to stop.

She froze halfway down the aisle. Every guest turned to look.

Struggling to breathe, she looked ahead to where Alfred’s parents stood, their faces stricken. They had just received the same devastating message.

She approached them slowly, heart pounding.

“Did you know?” she asked quietly. “About him? About David?”

Alfred’s father stepped forward. “My sweet girl... please believe us—we had no idea. This has shocked us too.”

That was all Penelope needed to hear.

She took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “Thank you for being honest with me. I hope you understand... I’ll need to take a few days off work to process all this.”

“Of course, my dear,” Alfred’s mother said gently. “Take all the time you need.”

Penelope turned without another word. As she reached the end of the aisle, she took off her veil and let it fall silently to the floor. Her steps were slow but steady... until the edges of her vision began to blur.

The light dimmed.

And just as she reached the doors, she collapsed.

Chapter Text

Wedding Aftermath – 10:00 AM

The quiet beeping of the vital sign monitor and Penelope’s soft, steady breathing were the only sounds in the room. Felicity sat curled up on a small couch in the corner, keeping vigil through the night.

A sharp pulse of pain behind her eyes and the sterile glow of overhead lights stirred Penelope from her sleep.

“Where… am I?” she murmured, voice hoarse.

“You’re in the hospital, dear,” Felicity said gently, rising to her side. She tugged the cord near the bed to call for a nurse. “How are you feeling?”

“As well as one can be after being abandoned at the altar, I suppose.” Pen rubbed her forehead. “Maybe just a bit hungry. How did I end up here?”

“You fainted at the venue yesterday. We rushed you here as soon as we could.”

“Yesterday?” Penelope blinked. “You mean I’ve been asleep for a whole day?”

“Yes,” Felicity said softly. “But what matters now is that you're awake and okay.”

Just then, the nurse and a doctor entered the room.

“Let them do their job,” Felicity whispered, stepping back.

The doctor ran a series of routine checks, his tone calm but professional. “Miss Featherington, you experienced a severe emotional shock. But with some rest, you’re recovering well. I’ll discharge you later today—but please, take it easy. Walk, breathe, seek counseling. What you’ve been through is no small thing.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Penelope replied quietly.

Once they left, she sighed. “Incredible. I wake up after being left at the altar only to find the whole hospital probably knows I’ve been dumped.”

Felicity winced. “Sorry, Pen. We had to explain what happened. They even ran a pregnancy test to be sure.”

“Lovely,” Pen muttered with a sarcastic smile.

“I’ll go call Mum, let her know you’re awake.” Felicity turned to leave.

Penelope chuckled dryly as she leaned back into the pillows.

Later that day, Penelope was back home. She curled up in the library with the door ajar, hoping for silence and rest. But hushed voices drifted in from the kitchen.

She crept closer, curiosity outweighing exhaustion. Peeking around the corner, she saw her grandmother, aunts, and cousins gathered—whispering.

Grandma (Portia’s mother):

“I still can’t believe it happened. I was so happy that Penelope was finally getting married.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“Me too. Why her? Why now?”

 

Grandma:

“I always feared... she’d end up like her Aunt Anne Featherington.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“Anne? How?”

 

Philippa and Prudence (in unison):

“A spinster.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“Shhh! Don’t say it so loud—she could hear us.”

 

Grandma:

“If I had known earlier, I would never have let Portia marry Archibald.”

 

Sarah:

“Why?”

 

Grandma (lowering her voice):

“Because his family is cursed.”

 

Sarah:

“What?”

 

Grandma:

“After the wedding, I found out more. Archibald is the oldest of three—Anne, his sister, and Aaron, the youngest. None of them ever married.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“Anne never had a suitor. Aaron had girlfriends, but none lasted. Archibald had a fiancée before Portia—but she left him. He only married Portia after a whirlwind year. Sweet on the surface, but... well, we all know what came after.”

 

Sarah:

“This is insane. Is there anything we can do for Penelope?”

 

Grandma:

“I don’t know. The curse has lasted generations.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“But if no one stays married, how has the Featherington line survived?”

 

Grandma:

“Children were never the issue. It’s keeping a partner that’s the problem. The men can’t marry or stay married. Even those who have children—especially sons—don’t live long.”

 

Aunt Petunia:

“What about the women?”

 

Grandma:

“Worse. Those who marry are betrayed or abandoned. If they have sons, the boys die young. Some never marry at all—no suitors, no proposals, not even friends. A few resort to becoming single mothers, but even then, only the daughters survive.”

 

Aunt Petunia (quietly):

“But Archibald’s parents lived long. His brother’s still alive…”

 

Suddenly, a voice interrupted from the doorway:

Penelope saying, “Because to keep the family line going… a sacrifice is required.”

Everyone froze, startled by her sudden appearance.

“I’m not talking about rituals or magic circles,” she continued calmly, eyes scanning each of their shocked faces. “But something was always taken in return—love, loyalty, life.”

Chapter Text

Everyone froze when Penelope stepped into the kitchen.

“Penelope, we didn’t mean to—” Aunt Petunia began hesitantly.

“There’s no need to explain,” Penelope interrupted gently but firmly. “I’ve had my own suspicions about my dad’s side of the family, but now... it all feels real.”

Sarah looked at her with concern. “What did you mean when you said a sacrifice was needed?”

Penelope sighed, gathering her thoughts. “It’s not some ritual or ceremony. The sacrifice is your mental health—the constant endurance. From the outside, you might see my father as a great provider, always kind and caring to the family. He puts on quite a facade. But when it’s just us—Mom, my sisters, and me—the truth is very different.”

“Really? Archibald?” Aunt Petunia’s voice was incredulous. “How is he with you all at home?”

Felicity poured herself a cup of tea and sat down quietly. “It’s complicated. Everyone experiences him differently.”

Prudence nodded. “Yeah. He acts like he’s madly in love with Mom one moment, but then suddenly he loses his temper. Sometimes, when she cooks for him, he makes a disgusted face, pushes his plate away, and just leaves the room.”

“When he realizes Mom is upset, he switches gears completely,” Philippa added. “He showers her with gifts, takes her out to fancy restaurants—it’s like he’s trying to erase the anger.”

“We have to whisper when he’s in a bad mood,” Prudence whispered. “And forget about playing music in the house. Car rides with him are torture unless Felicity’s there—she’s the only one who can calm him.”

Sarah shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like the Uncle Archie I know at all.”

“That’s because those are his true colors,” Penelope said quietly. “Sometimes he’s nice to Prudence and me, but Felicity is definitely his favorite. And I? I’ve always been the target of his fury. We don’t know exactly why—maybe because he always wanted a boy and I was his last chance—but his harshness toward me has been constant.”

“Oh my God... I had no idea he treated you like that,” Aunt Petunia said, her voice thick with emotion. “But Penelope, you’re the third child. Couldn’t Felicity have been his last chance for a boy?”

Felicity shrugged. “I was a surprise baby. Mom wasn’t planning on having another child—she got pregnant in her late thirties.”

Penelope continued, her tone heavier now. “Grandma Alice, née Banks, and Great-Grandma Cheslyn had similar experiences—married, but unhappy. It seems like the only way to keep the Featherington family line alive is through these broken marriages with a Featherington man.”

Chapter Text

After a long family conversation in the kitchen, Penelope took some time to reflect on what came next. There were so many things to sort out—the honeymoon, her job—and she knew she couldn’t continue working for Alfred’s parents after everything that had happened.

“Were you looking for me?” Felicity asked as she entered Penelope’s bedroom. “How are you feeling?”

Penelope hesitated. “I don’t even know how I feel right now. Maybe numb, or just lost. But I want to ask for your help. I’ve decided to quit my job, but I don’t feel comfortable going into the office to collect my things. Could you go and get them for me?”

Felicity nodded. “I think I can do that. But how will they let me into your office?”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll talk to Alfie’s parents—I'm sure they’ll allow it,” Pen assured her. “What I really don’t know is what to do with the honeymoon tickets. It was a two-week trip to the Galapagos Islands. He wanted to go because of all the unique and endemic species of flora and fauna—his passion. I can’t cancel it now; we leave this Saturday. But I don’t want to go either. It would just remind me of him.”

“Well, can I tell you what I think?” Felicity said, and Penelope nodded. “You should take the trip—but maybe not to the Galapagos. Let’s ask the travel agency if you can change the destination or reschedule the dates. Where would you really want to go?”

“Maybe Turkey,” Penelope replied thoughtfully, “to eat by the shores of the Bosporus and visit those incredible Ottoman palaces. Or India—the food there, and I’ve always wanted to see the Taj Mahal. Or Mexico. I’ve heard about these haciendas in southern Mexico that make chocolate from scratch. They have workshops where you can make your own chocolate. Plus, there are archaeological sites nearby and amazing food and scenery.”

“That sounds amazing,” Felicity encouraged her. “Call the agency and see what you can do.”

Penelope sat down and made a to-do list to organize the chaos:

* Submit my resignation

* Cancel or reschedule the trip

* Account for damages and losses from the wedding cancellation

* Make an appointment with a psychologist

* Survive

Taking a deep breath, Penelope called Alfred’s parents. She greeted them politely and explained that she wished to resign. They were sympathetic and accepted her resignation, granting permission for Felicity to collect her things. They also promised to take full responsibility for any financial losses caused by the wedding cancellation—including the honeymoon expenses.

“My dear girl, we are truly sorry for all this. We were so happy to have you as our daughter-in-law. I don’t know how to make up for these inconveniences,” Alfred’s mother said with genuine regret.

“I appreciate your understanding,” Penelope replied. “I wish things had ended differently, but there’s nothing left to do but move forward.”

Pen then called the travel agency and explained her situation. They were understanding and arranged a new destination for her. The only drawback was that she had a spare ticket, as they couldn't cancel the trip because the package was for two people.

So Penelope had the task of finding someone to accompany her.

Alfred's parents promised to cover all the expenses, and Pen made a detailed list of the costs to send to her accountant.

Though it was difficult, Penelope knew she had to commit to seeing a psychologist. She scheduled an appointment for Friday—just a day before her trip.

That night, Penelope decided to start writing a diary again. Writing had always been her way to process emotions and ease her anxiety.

At home - 4:00 pm

I woke up in the hospital today feeling so awful that I wanted to believe it was all a bad dream—that none of this had really happened. It was too good to be true. Is it too much to ask for a good boyfriend, a stable job, a hopeful future... and maybe love?

I was a fool to think it could happen to me. The chubby redhead, not pretty, thin, smart—I was never enough. Always overlooked, always trying my best, always taken for granted.

Am I really cursed? I think I’m a lost cause.

For the rest of the week, Penelope stayed locked in her room. She wouldn’t eat or talk; she just wanted to sleep and forget. When awake, she stared blankly into space. Portia came often to sit beside her, trying gently to coax her into eating.

Friday arrived, and Penelope faced the hardest hour of her life—her first session with the psychologist. The therapist encouraged her to keep a diary and to see the trip as an opportunity to reconnect with herself, to grieve, and to begin envisioning what she wanted her new life to look like.

That evening, after the session, Pen started packing her suitcase for the honeymoon—now, more likely, a mother-daughter trip. She had asked her sisters if they could join, but they were all tied up with their schedules. The only one free was her mother.

The next morning, at 6:40 a.m., Penelope found herself wide awake at the airport, checking in and rushing through the crowded halls. The boarding gate was at the far end of the terminal. The flight left at 7:00 a.m.

“Come on, Mom, we’re almost there,” Pen said, tugging her mother’s hand.

They were close when Penelope suddenly stumbled, landing hard on her backside. Her suitcase, rucksack, and travel pillow scattered across the floor. The hood of her sweatshirt fell over her face.

A voice called out, “Hey, are you okay? Let me help you up. I can see you’re eager to board, but let’s not let you collapse before the adventure even begins, huh?”

She took the offered hand gratefully. “Thank you. I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to knock you over.”

“No problem. What’s your name, Miss?”

“Penelope.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay? You really have to be careful.” Suddenly, Portia’s voice rang out, concerned yet firm: “Penelope, what a shame! We’re late, but you don’t need to be reckless.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the young man said lightly. “I’m fine—just my pride is bruised. That little push saved me—I’ve been up since 5 a.m., so I needed a bit of a wake-up.”

“Next, please,” called the stewardess.

“Oh, that’s me,” he smiled. “See you on board.”

With that, he was off to board the plane.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain, Mark Jones, speaking on behalf of British Airways, first officer Benjamin Smith, and the rest of the crew aboard this Airbus A350-1000. We’d like to welcome you on this flight to Mexico City. Our estimated flying time is approximately 11 hours and 35 minutes. Weather en route is expected to be partly cloudy with some turbulence. For your safety, please keep your seatbelts fastened whenever you are seated, traffic and weather permitting. We expect to arrive in Mexico City at 11:30 a.m. local time.”

“Ready for this, my girl?” Portia asked gently, squeezing Penelope’s hand.

“Do you mean the long flight, or starting over?” Penelope replied with a faint smile.

“Both, my dear. I want you to know you’re not alone. I can’t take away your pain, nor can I change the past—but I can be here with you now, through this whole process. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom,” Penelope said, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll try not to shut myself off like I usually do. For now, let’s try to rest and keep ourselves entertained. I brought a book to read,” she added, reaching into her bag—but her fingers came up empty.

“Oh no! I think I’ve lost it,” she grumbled.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. Don’t you have any e-books on your tablet?” Portia suggested.

“Yes, but I don’t really like reading e-books,” Penelope admitted. “There’s something special about holding a real book, smelling the pages—especially when it’s old.” She hummed thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m going to try and get some sleep,” Portia said. “Wake me when the food arrives, please.”

“Yes, Mom,” Pen replied and leaned back, closing her eyes.   

After the meal was served, Penelope decided to watch a movie. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, startled.

“I’m sorry! You’re Miss Penelope, right?” A friendly smile met her eyes.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. When you fell this morning and I helped you pick up your things in the rush to board, I forgot to give you this,” he said, handing her a book.

“Oh, thank you! May I ask your name, mister?” she said, a little shy but polite, grateful yet still a bit embarrassed recalling the morning’s mishap.

“Colin Bridgerton—but please, no ‘mister.’ Just Colin. That feels too formal—I’m not that old,” he said with a playful grin. “And can I call you Pen?”

Penelope felt a soft blush rise to her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded quietly, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Okay, Colin,” she murmured, her voice gentle and a little bashful.

“Thank you, Colin, for returning my book,” Penelope said warmly, her cheeks still tingling.

“So, you’re a fan of the classics?” Colin said, nodding toward the cover. “Jane Eyre is a solid choice.”

“Yes, I love the classics. It’s been a while since I read Jane Eyre. I thought this flight was a perfect chance to revisit it,” Pen replied. “Are you into classics? I mean, they don’t have to be romantic or gothic novels—men usually prefer Jules Verne or adventure stories.”

“Usually, yes, but not me. I was raised with four sisters who insisted I read to them every evening while we played or had tea with their dolls—Lady Austen, Lady Shelley, and, of course, Lady Brontë. I’d pretend to be annoyed, but honestly, I got caught up in the drama and even got angry at some characters or excited by the scandals,” he said with a chuckle.

“Excuse me, sir, we’re about to enter a turbulence zone. Please return to your seat for safety,” the flight attendant said politely.

“Oh, of course, I’m on my way,” Colin replied with a smile. “Nice meeting you, Pen. Enjoy the book—and don’t fall too easily for Mr. Rochester. I hear he’s got a habit of locking up his wives.”

Penelope only nodded, biting back a laugh.

Chapter Text

The flight landed in Mexico City at 12:00 pm. Portia and Pen were already waiting by the luggage conveyor belt. After a long wait, their bags finally appeared. Pen stepped forward to retrieve them, taking Portia’s first, then reaching for her own—or so she thought.

“I think this is my luggage,” a voice said. “See the little bee tag? I put it on to tell mine apart.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, you’re right. Mine looks almost identical,” Pen acknowledged, handing the bag over. “Here comes mine now, the very last one to show up, like everything in my life, it seems.”

“Come on, dear, we must hurry to board again. I’d love to eat before the next flight,” Portia said, pulling Pen along gently.

“Oh, don’t want to intrude, but where are you headed next?” Colin asked, stepping beside them.

“We’re going south—to Comalcalco and Veracruz. Our flight leaves at 3:00 pm,” Portia replied.

“No way! I’m on that flight too. Looks like we’re traveling companions,” Colin smiled. “Is this your first time in Mexico?”

“Yes, it is,” Pen answered. “And you?”

“No, this is my third visit. I adore this country. The food is incredible, but you have to be careful with the spice levels,” Colin warned with a grin. “Are you both fans of spicy food?”

“I enjoy it, but my mom isn’t quite used to it yet,” Pen said.

“Well then, why don’t you join us for lunch? Portia, maybe you could use a friendly guide to navigate the local cuisine,” Colin suggested warmly.

“That sounds lovely! We could definitely use your advice,” Portia smiled. “I’m Portia Featherington, and this is my daughter, Penelope. We’re so pleased to meet you, Colin, right?.”

“Colin Bridgerton at your service and the pleasure’s all mine,” Colin said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Now, shall we hurry and check in again?

What would you recommend we try here at the airport for lunch?” Pen asked him.

“I’m torn between chilaquiles, tortas, or maybe tacos. But honestly, tacos win every time for me,” Colin said with enthusiasm. “Let’s see what’s on offer here.”

“Can I help you with any bags?” Colin offered politely.

“No, thank you. Mine’s light—I can manage,” Pen replied.

“Let me assist with that one, Portia. Looks like you’ve brought half the house with you,” Colin chuckled, taking one of her heavier bags.

“Oh! How kind of you, Mr. Bridgerton. Thank you so much,” Portia said gratefully.

They finished check-in smoothly and set off in search of lunch.

“What are you thinking of having, Colin?” Portia asked as they browsed the options at a small restaurant in the airport.

“I’m torn between the tortilla soup or enchiladas de mole,” Colin replied thoughtfully. “The mole here is rich and complex—a sauce of chili, chocolate, nuts, spices—it’s like each bite tells a piece of a centuries-old story. But the tortilla soup, also known as sopa Azteca, is another comforting classic. Smoky, slightly tangy, with all these fresh toppings that balance it perfectly.”

“Wait, chocolate in a savory dish?” Portia asked, raising a brow. “How does that even work?”

Colin chuckled. “I know it sounds odd, but it’s not sweet like dessert chocolate. The cacao adds bitterness, depth, and a velvety finish. Mole poblano, for example, has over twenty ingredients. You don’t really taste the chocolate outright—it just rounds everything out, almost like how wine deepens a stew.”

“That’s fascinating,” Pen said, intrigued. “And what about tortilla soup? What makes it different from a regular chicken soup?”

“Oh, it’s miles away from regular chicken soup,” Colin replied, his eyes lighting up. “They simmer the broth with roasted tomatoes, onions, garlic, and dried chilies—usually pasilla for a smoky kick. Then it’s topped with crispy tortilla strips, cubes of avocado, a bit of cheese, crema, and sometimes even chicharrón—fried pork skin. It’s warm, tangy, and deeply satisfying without being too heavy.”

“It sounds like a mix of textures,” Pen observed. “Crunchy, creamy, smooth... all in one bowl?”

“Exactly!” Colin said, nodding. “That’s part of what makes Mexican cuisine so brilliant. They pay attention to texture just as much as flavor. Every bite surprises you.”

“And the chilaquiles you mentioned earlier?” Portia asked. “I’ve heard of them but never really knew what they were.”

“Ah, chilaquiles,” Colin said with a fond smile. “They’re simple but magical. Corn tortillas are cut into triangles—sometimes stale tortillas, actually, which helps them hold their shape—then fried until crisp. After that, they’re tossed in either green tomatillo salsa or a red guajillo-based sauce. Then come the toppings: crema, cheese, chopped onions, refried beans on the side, and sometimes a fried egg or shredded chicken on top.”

“That sounds heavenly,” Portia said. “Are they spicy?”

“Depends on the salsa,” Colin replied. “Green tends to be a bit tangier and milder, while red can be smoky and hotter. But they usually adjust it if you ask.”

“And you’ve tried all of these?” Pen asked.

“Too many times to count,” he admitted, grinning. “I travel a lot for work, and every time I come to Mexico, I make it my mission to explore more regional flavors. I’ve had mole in Puebla, chilaquiles in Oaxaca, and tortilla soup in the tiniest roadside spots. It never disappoints.”

“You really are a foodie,” Penelope said, smiling for the first time in days.

“Guilty as charged,” Colin replied with a wink. “Actually, this trip is partly about food—I’m visiting my friend Cristina, a chef in Comalcalco. She runs a cacao plantation and chocolate hacienda called Ki-Xocolatl. I’ll be learning how to pair chili with chocolate, and maybe even temper my own bar.”

“Hacienda Ki-Xocolatl? That’s our destination too!” Pen said, surprised. “I found it online and thought it sounded like the perfect escape. The workshops sounded incredible.”

“Well then, fate clearly has excellent taste,” Colin said. “Looks like we’ll be tasting chocolate together too.”

The waiter arrived to take their orders. Colin confidently ordered enchiladas de mole, Portia decided on chilaquiles with green salsa, and Penelope chose the tortilla soup. The three of them sat in pleasant conversation, and for the first time in many days, Pen felt something begin to shift inside her—like a curtain being pulled back to let in the light again.

“Well, ladies, how much heat can you handle? Because it’s about to get good,” Colin joked as they left the airport. “We’re just 45 minutes from the hacienda—a quick drive through beautiful countryside.”

Nestled deep in the sultry heart of southern Mexico, where the scent of cacao hangs heavy in the air and cicadas hum softly, lay the charming chocolate hacienda. Time stretched out like the warm, golden afternoons, and the richness of the chocolate matched only by the warmth of the experience.

“Wow, Penelope, this place is incredible—I can already smell the chocolate in the air,” Portia said, eyes wide.

“Yes, Mom. Let’s head to our rooms—I’m desperate for a bath,” Pen said.

“Me too,” Colin added with a grin. “Ladies, how about dinner with me tonight? I’ve got a reservation at 8:00 pm at the hacienda’s restaurant. My friend Cristina is cooking.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Pen demurred.

“Nonsense. I truly enjoy your company. Traveling alone can get lonely, and it’s rare to find such warm, easygoing people. Plus, Cristina might hook us up with a complimentary upgrade,” Colin said with a wink.

“Come on, Penelope, Mr. Bridgerton is being kind. Opening up to new people is exactly what you need,” Portia encouraged.

“Ouch! Oh my God, my back hurts!” Colin exclaimed dramatically. “This morning, I was attacked in the boarding queue by a fierce gothic novel reader. You know, Portia, I might need to press charges. Can you help me find my assailant? She was small, long-haired, curly redhead.”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Drama Queen. We’ll join you—no charges though. I don’t want to be on the world’s most wanted list,” Pen teased with a smile. “See you at dinner.”

When Portia and Penelope reached their room, Pen bathed first. While Portia prepared to bathe, Pen began writing in her diary.

First day at the hacienda - 6:00 p.m

After two long flights, a 45-minute car ride, and battling hunger and heat, we finally arrived at the hacienda. I met a kind, handsome man who surprised me with his cheerful spirit despite the chaos of this morning. Mom insists I should start opening up to new people. I’m not sure if I’m ready after everything that happened with—well, you know who. Colin, the man I bumped into, seems genuinely friendly. It was such a surprise that our tickets shared the same destination. He’s a true foodie, and Mom and I enjoyed watching his passion for food. He even invited us to dinner with his chef friend, with a possible complimentary upgrade to the workshop. Mom’s excited, and I’ll write later about how dinner goes.

Chapter Text

Just arrived at the Hacienda - 7:00 p.m

After a long day of two flights, a 45-minute car ride, hunger and hot tropical weather, we are finally at the hacienda. I bumped into a nice, kind and handsome man. I was surprised by his reaction. After experiencing such an ordeal, no one could be so cheerful.

Mum says I should start socialising more. I don’t know if I am ready after everything that has happened (you know who). Colin, the man I bumped into, seems friendly. It was crazy to discover that we were going to the same place. He's a foodie, and Mum and I witnessed his passion for food first-hand. Both of his recommendations were amazing.

Colin invited us to share a meal with him; the chef is his friend. There is an opportunity to upgrade our tour and workshop for free. Mum is ready and eager to have dinner. I'll write later about how dinner went...

First dinner at The Hacienda- Loved Cristina cuisine

The dinner was great! We had the most delicious mole chicken. Mole is a sweet, salty and spicy sauce — it's an interesting combination, and it was so tasty! We also had the chance to meet Cristina, the chef, who is also Colin’s friend. I told her how delicious the dish was. I know that asking a chef for a recipe is like asking for a top-secret government file, but it was worth the risk.

After some begging from Colin, Cristina agreed to teach us how to make mole, so the day after our chocolate workshop, we are having a kind of MasterChef class. Tomorrow, we have a tour of the cocoa plantation and a visit to an archaeological site near the hacienda, as well as a DIY chocolate experience, of course.

I have mixed feelings. I don't know whether I'm upset, annoyed or depressed. I haven't cried yet. Isn't that strange? I'm so tired; hopefully I can get some deep sleep today. I’ve been having nightmares ever since that day. Hopefully the travel fatigue will help.

Pen slept quite well that night. It seems that travelling all day had tired her out.

Despite her fatigue, Pen woke up at dawn. There was dense fog, but she could see the clouds in the sky starting to turn pink with the sunrise.

She looked back at the bed where her mum was still sleeping. She went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, then took her robe and went outside to sit on a swing hanging from a huge tree.

“Early riser or jet lag?” -a voice asked, startling her. She put her hand on her chest and said.- “Oh God, you scared me!” 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,”-Colin apologised.- “It's OK. I'm afraid I'm an early riser. What woke you up so early?” -She asked.

‘Well, I tend to wake up early on the first day I arrive somewhere new. I mean, I've been here before, but the sunrise is always a good reason to wake up this early,’ Colin said.

“I'm afraid the fog won't allow us to see much.”-Pen pointed out.

“Don't worry, you'll still be able to enjoy the sunrise. Would you like to come? I know a nice place to see it.” - Colin extended his hand to help her off the swing. She took it, accepting his offer, and said - “Please lead the way.”

Colin told her to keep close to him; getting lost in a cocoa plantation was not possible, but with the fog it would be all too easy to lose their way.

They walked through the fog, avoiding tree branches and muddy patches on the road, until the jungle seemed to end. Suddenly, a rock staircase appeared in the middle of the fog.

“Colin, where are we?” - Pen asked, quite surprised. - “Are you sure we’re not doing something illegal?”

“Come up and see for yourself,” - Colin answered, extending his hand to help her climb the steps more quickly. When they reached the top, Penelope could feel her breath being stolen by the sight.

As the sun rose, it illuminated the jungle little by little. Its rays hung between the trees and the fog, creating a magical interplay of light and shadow. It slowly revealed the secrets of this magical place.

Wow! 'Wow!' -was all she could say for quite a long time. Then she became aware of where the stairs were.- "Oh my God, Colin! Oh my God! I’m going to need a lawyer! I can’t believe my luck!" she exclaimed, starting to hyperventilate.

“Pen, Pen! Hey!” Colin told her, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down and breathe. Come and sit with me on the edge of the pyramid. First, we are not breaking the law. I asked for permission to come here early to enjoy the view. Second, this this pyramidal base to be more accurate is one of the few pyramids you can still access and climb. Please forgive me if I made you feel uncomfortable in any way, or caused you to have this panic attack.” Colin apologised.

“Are you sure? Is this safe?” Pen asked him, looking for reassurance.

“Yes,” Colin nodded. “I’m quite sure. This is my second time here, so let’s take a moment to catch our breath and calm down while we enjoy this view. Then we’ll come back for a well-deserved breakfast and start our first day. Remember, we’re touring the cocoa plantation and coming back here to find out more about the city and the importance of cocoa in the pre-Hispanic world. Then we have a DIY chocolate workshop. Something tells me that my friend the chef is going to be tough on our results.”

“Thank you, and I'm sorry for ruining this moment for you. It's quite an experience,” Pen apologised.

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. It’s great to share this view with you. When I first came here, I wasn’t going through the best time in my life. I barely slept that first night, so I started wandering around the hacienda. Cristina found me and offered me hot chocolate and some bread for breakfast. She could see how dispirited I was, so she told me that I needed to rise like the sun. I didn’t understand at first, but then she brought me here and explained that the ancient Mayans believed that the sun died at night and was kept in the underworld, only to rise and birth victorious again in the morning and shine for everyone.” Colin narrated.

'Wow, that's deep,' Pen said.

“This view is what I needed to start again. Cristina was right; I felt lost in the jungle, walking through the cocoa plantation. I was even afraid that a ferocious jaguar could be hunting me, hidden in the trees and fog. But when I saw the stairs and climbed them, I had the same breathtaking experience. As Cristina said, each day is a chance: you can fail today, but there's always tomorrow to rise and shine.” Colin shared this with her, speaking with the hope and conviction that Pen thought was reserved for TED talks.

Pen listened carefully to everything Colin said. For the first time in a long while, she dared to think that there was hope. Hope to keep living, hope to rebuild herself, and hope to find love. Romantic love might not have been written for her, but she was sure there were other ways to love and live a fulfilling life, and she would find it.

Chapter Text

“It´s nice. Being here. Quiet. No one asking questions I don't want to answer” Penelope says quietly.

”That´s fair. Yoúve got that look-like someone rebuilding from rubble. Not my business, but I… know the look.” Colin stated.

Rubble a good word for it. Penelope taught.

Colin holds out a phone and says. “Come on Pen, let’s take a photo. So I don't have to prove to my brothers that I didn’t hallucinate the woman who tackled me at the airport.”

“I don’t love being in pictures.” 

“You don´t have to love it. Just exist in it. Proof we were here. That something good happened.” Colin encourages her. “Besides, I´m going to look like a sweaty tourist. You´ll balance the aesthetic.

Pen phones ring with a message notification. It was Portia asking Pen where was she, the only response she made was a picture of the view on top of the pyramid, and a text attached to it saying: I ´ll be back in a moment.

”It´s better I come back, we must get ready for the tour, and eat breakfast first.” Pen said, standing up and starting to descent from the steps of the pyramid.

”Yeah, you're right, Cristina won´ t forgive us for being late. Wait, let me help you go down, those steps can be easy to climb but going down it´s a different story. Did you know archaeologists say that these steps were designed to make the people who use it to make people bow and show respect to the gods, apparently the best way to survive is going up and down sideways? 

Room 214, Chocolate Hacienda, México, 7:42 a.m 

Mum is in the shower. Today I watched the sun rise from a pyramid with a man who isn’t mine. And It was beautiful. And I felt seen by the universe at least. I have resigned myself to a truth universally acknowledged and that I can no longer deny:

Romantic love isn’t written for me.

Not the fall kind, or the false, or even a lavender love. Not the mutual, tumbling-all-at-once kind. Certainly not the kind that leds you to chapels and name changes. (I don’t think I would be able to try it again or fantasize or dare to think about it.) I was almost married once, but he loved someone else. (At least he had the decency to figure that out before the vows) I don’t hate him. I hope he can find all the happiness in the world.

So while I wait my turn for the shower and pretend the sunlight pouring in isn’t cracking me apart I will try to decipher me and my actual situation.

 

10 Pain point of being a Late Bloomer (If I ever bloom):

By Penelope Featherington, unwed, well-read, and quietly wrecked.

(And now, I must go to face the day like I wasn’t up before dawn confessing hearth break to a journal.)

 

• You carry every cruel word like it was tattooed on your skin.

 

They said I was “the chubby one,” “the quiet one,” “the weird one.” Children are honest, but they are not kind. And it turns out, those things follow you long past the schoolyard.

 

• You learn to make yourself small- in every way but your body.

 

I tried to take up less space in conversation, in hallways, in photographs. But my body never cooperated. It bloomed too early, in the wrong direction, under the wrong light. And the world noticed.

 

• You become the expert at laughing it off.

 

Jokes at your expense, backhanded compliments, “just teasing” - you smile, you shrug. You become fluent in self-deprecation, because at least if you say it first, it hurts a little less.

 

• You want to choose and be chosen-until the waiting defines you.

 

I waited for someone to pick me. Not just romantically, but as a friend, a partner, a priority. It never quite happened. I became the girl who made others feel better about not being me.

 

• You overcompensate.

 

So you get clever. You write. You observe. You become useful, indispensable even - because maybe if they needed you, they’ll keep you. Spoiler: they often don’t.

 

• You assume compliments are accidents.

 

If someone says you look nice, you wonder what they want. If they say you are smart, you think they’re surprised. You never quite believe anyone means it. Because if you did, the whole world fragile system would collapse.

 

• You master invisibility.

 

Not just in crowds. In your own life. At your own birthday. Even in your own relationships. It’s easier to fade than to risk being seen and found wanting.

 

• You internalize rejection so deeply, it becomes a part of your identity.

 

One rejection is a wound. A dozen is a pattern. A lifetime starts to feel like a fact: You are not the kind of girl people fall in love with.

 

• You start to confuse solitude with safety.

 

Because what if someone did choose you - and then realized they were wrong? It’s easier not to try than to be left… again. Somewhere along the way, you also started confusing amability with affection - a smile meant something, a compliment meant everything. You got used to scraps that kindness felt like a feast. Eventually you began to force yourself to read between the lines, to decode every word, every glance, every silence, as if maybe- just maybe - there was more. And when there wasn’t, the ache didn’t lessen. It just learned how to hide better.

 

• You still want it. 

 

You still ache for someone to reach for your hand without thinking, to choose you un a room full of noise, to see all the things you’ve hidden and stay anyway. You still want the softness, the thrill, the ridiculous, red-faced, hearth-in-your-mouth kind of love. Even if you’re afraid you’ve missed your chance. Even if your blooming is more of a slow unfurling under moonlight than a dazzling spring debut. And maybe -  just maybe - that counts too.

Pen 🦋

The open-air breakfast area bustles with soft music and clinking cutlery. The sun is still low, casting gold across the tables. Colin sits across from Portia, hallway through a plate of fruit and eggs. Portia is sipping her tea, eyeing him curiously.

”I must say Penelope is rather full of surprises.” Colin breaks the silence.

Portia arching a brow. “Penelope? People don’t say that often.

”Well she tackled me at the airport, then nearly left Jane Eyre as a breadcrumb trail behind her. I consider that dramatic and literary entrance” Colin said.

Portia chuckling. “That does sound like her. Always has her head in a book or a cloud. Or both.”

”I admire it, actually. Most people are pretending to be more interesting than they are. Penelope doesn’t even realize she is.” He admitted.

“She’s always been… different. Gentle. Observant. A late bloomer, I suppose, but my own precious flower.  Portia soften just slightly. You are kind to see that. Most people don’t bother.”

”I am not most people, not anymore.” He left implied that he once was. “So… this trip- was it last minute for you both?” 

Portia sips her tea, pauses just long enough to consider how much can she say about their traveling status. “Let’s just say it was meant to be something else… and then became this. A change of destination. A change of plans.”

Colin gently probing “Something she needed to get away from?”

Portia carefully says. “Everyone needs a break from their lives now and then. Some people go to the Galapagos… some end up in Mexico by accident.

Colin smiled, sensing more but not pushing. “Fate has a strange sense of humor.”

“So does my daughter” Portia as if changing the subject. “And what about you? Are you always this chatty with strangers you meet at the airport?”

”Only the ones who knock me over and leaves gothic Victorian novels behind.” They both laugh; a warm silence settles. “I like talking to her. Feels easy. Like… I am not performing.

Portia watching him closely says. “Then maybe you are not a stranger after all.” They both look as Penelope appears in the distance, freshly showered and unaware they’ve been talking about her. “Colin dear, could you remind me, What is the book she is reading?”

”Jane Eyre” He replied. “Why?

”Jane Eyre? That’s the one with the governess right?” Portia ask curiously.

”Yes, exactly. A woman who’s misunderstood , underestimated, but fiercely independent. She endures hardship, heartbreak, and betrayal - but never loses herself.” He confirms.

Portia frowning slightly, quietly. “Hmm. That’s … quite the story for Penelope to be holding onto.”

”Is something worrying you?” Colin asked her noticing her tone.

”Nothing in particular dear.” She says smiling into her cup.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Pen, Colin and Portia were eager to start the chocolate tour. Mateo, their designated guide, asked how their breakfast was and hoped that they weren't too full because chocolate isn't the only edible final product of the cacao plant.

The group walks through a lush, green forest. Mateo begins to explain the cultivation process: how cacao pods grow directly from the trunk of the tree; how the seeds are bitter until they are fermented and dried; and how the finest chocolate is made from the harshest raw ingredients.

Penelope walks slightly behind the group, taking notes in her small notebook. When the group makes its first stop, the guide takes a cocoa pod and breaks it by hitting it against the tree bark. He then invites them to taste the fruit in its natural state.

“What you are sampling right now is cocoa mucilage. It is a sweet, white, gel-like pulp that surrounds the cocoa beans inside the pod. You can taste its fruity, tangy flavour, but it is valued for the sugar and acidity it contains. During the fermentation process, it helps to break down the beans. Here at the hacienda, you can find it in many forms, such as mucilage drinks or mucilage ice cream. I recommend both, but my favourite is Chef Cristina's ice cream recipe.”

“I didn’t know this could be so tasty,” said Portia. “I would like to order some to take back with me.” Seeing how much she was enjoying the mucilage, Mateo gave her three cocoa pods as a souvenir. She accepted them excitedly while continuing to eat the rest of the one that was open.

“She really seemed to like it,” Colin told Pen.

“Yes, she really does. Let's hope we're not detained at customs. I can assure you she's already planning how to plant those cocoa seeds in the garden. It wouldn't be surprising if, by the time we get back, there's a greenhouse in the yard.”

Pen told him very seriously that the only response he gave her was, “Don’t tell me she’s the old plant lady. If she is, we're in trouble: one plant is nothing, but two are everything to them.”

That made Pen laugh. "Yeah, hey! It seems like you know one just by looking. Are you an old lady of the plants yourself, or do you know someone like her?"

“Hmm… I like plants, but not to that extent. I prefer orchards or vegetable gardens. But I must say, my mum is an old-fashioned plant lover through and through.”

“Let's hope she gets some self-control. But if she doesn’t, you can be sure she’ll take the entire jungle with her.” She stated.

“Pen and Colin, you’re staying behind. Come on, Mateo is handing out samples of cocoa nibs.” Portia called to them, inviting them to join the group and stay close by.

Mateo explained that cocoa nibs are small, crunchy, bitter pieces of fermented, dried and toasted cocoa beans. They are considered the most natural form of processed chocolate and can be used as an alternative to chocolate chips in snacks, smoothies and many other desserts.

As Pen tastes the nibs, the bitterness of the raw beans mirrors her emotional state, but the guide's words hint at a potential transformation.

“The seeds are harsh. Almost unpalatable. But give them time — warmth, fermentation and patience — and what was once bitter becomes something exquisite.”

“Just like the cocoa bean is covered by sweet mucilage, it needs to be rid of it to become a bitter cocoa nib and transform into an even tastier chocolate bar. Could I be at the cocoa bean stage?” She writes in her notebook to remind herself to write it in her diary later.

With all his curiosity, Colin tries to eye Pen's notebook and says, “You're really into those notes. I've noticed you've been writing almost non-stop since we got here. What is so interesting about cocoa? Or is it something else you’re writing about?”

She deflects, saying that she is “gathering information from the cacao emotional arc”.

He raised an eyebrow and asked her, “Emotional arc?' It sounds more like you’re keeping a record of something. Are you working on a project or doing something academic? Or is it personal?” He was genuinely curious, and there was a hint of warmth in his voice.

Without wanting to open up about her diary or the deeper reflections she’s writing about, she answered, “It's not really a project. Just... personal. I like to keep track of things. You know, for myself.” She hoped this explanation would be enough and that he wouldn't press her further.

“I get it. I actually do something similar. I like to take notes, too — especially when I'm thinking through something or trying to understand how I feel about certain things.” He watches her for a moment, trying to catch her eye. “You know, I firmly believe that writing things down can help you make sense of them. It’s like... a way of unravelling the threads in your head.”

“I suppose it's sort of like making chocolate. You start with raw, unrefined ideas and keep stirring until they come together into something you can understand.” Pen reflects on this, glancing at him briefly before continuing to walk and rejoining the group.

The group arrives at a vast, ancient Mayan city. The guide explains that these are the only Mayan structures in the region built with baked clay bricks bonded with oyster shell mortar, which makes them unique. He also tells the story of how the Mayans considered chocolate to be a divine gift and a sacred food that connected the gods to the people.

Standing in the ruins, Pen is struck by the deep spiritual significance of chocolate to these ancient people. For them, it wasn’t about indulgence; it was about connection, tradition, and something bigger than oneself. Perhaps, she wonders, the life she’s been chasing — one defined by romantic love and societal expectations — isn’t the answer after all. Maybe the love she should seek is self-love, a life of purpose and even solitude. Like the ancient civilisations, she embraces her own sense of spiritual wholeness. She starts to see the path of a “spinster” as akin to that of an ancient priestess, dedicated to a higher calling than romantic attachments.

Pen was whispering to herself: “They believed that chocolate was sacred. A gift from the gods... Perhaps love isn't something we should search for. Maybe it's something we nurture in different ways.”

Portia overheard. “Hmmm? What was that, Pen?”

She hesitates, then explains, deep in thought, “I was just thinking... maybe the way we think about love and relationships is a bit narrow. What if there’s more than one way to live a meaningful life?”

Colin leans casually against a stone pillar. “That's the beauty of it, right?' You don't have to do things the same way as everyone else. I used to think that everything was about love and connection. Now I see it’s about finding balance. Peace. Chocolate helps with that, too.”

I guess that’s why I’m always trying new things – because I believe there’s always more to discover.” Portia says.

Pen smiles, but continues to contemplate the deeper meaning of this as she gazes at the stone ruins. The Mayans built something that lasted centuries — just as she can create something meaningful, even if it's not what others expect.

Looking at the guide’s elaborate description of cocoa as 'divine food', Colin dares to ask, “So, is this where the Oompa Loompas come in?”

Portia laughed. “Right? Imagine if we stumbled upon a secret chamber full of little orange people singing about our bad habits!”

Colin laughed too. “Only, instead of poor kids, it’s tourists who’ve eaten too much chocolate. It'd be us who'd be sent to the spiritual chamber for overindulgence.”

Pen laughs, but part of her appreciates the reference. She feels lighter for a moment, as if there might be more to life than romantic entanglements and the expectations that others place on her.

The group enters a hands-on chocolate-making workshop. Here, each person is given the task of mixing their own chocolates and experimenting with different flavours and textures. Pen watches as Colin blends his cocoa with a touch of chilli to create a sweet and spicy flavour.

As Pen melts the chocolate, she begins to realise how much control she has over the process. She realises that the bitter chocolate can be sweetened and its richness enhanced by the tiniest adjustments. She thinks this is a metaphor for her own life. She has always had a hand in creating her destiny, but now she sees it more clearly. She can 'add' her own flavours and experiences to build something that suits her, whether that's a single, independent life or a different path entirely.

As the sun starts to dip lower in the sky, it casts a golden glow over the sprawling hacienda. The gentle sound of water lapping against the pool’s edge can be heard. Pen dips her feet into the cool water, enjoying the refreshing sensation that grounds her after the intense focus of the chocolate workshop. Portia is lounging on a sunbed with her eyes closed and her face turned towards the sun, soaking up the warmth. Colin, ever the thoughtful one, walks over holding three bowls of brightly coloured mucilage ice cream.

“I thought you might appreciate something sweet after all that chocolate making,” he says. He offers a bowl to Pen and another to Portia.

Pen glanced at the bowl and smiled. “Wow, it’s as delicious as Mateo said it would be. I never thought I’d be eating something so exotic.” She took the bowl, her fingers brushing his briefly. “Thank you.”

Colin grinned and sat down at the edge of the pool beside Pen. “Right. It’s a rare treat. But I thought you both might need a reminder that life doesn't always have to be so serious. Sometimes, you just need to cool down and enjoy the little things.”

Pen takes a small bite of ice cream, its coolness immediately providing relief from the warmth of the day. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the softness of the ice cream melting in her mouth. It is a simple pleasure, like putting her feet in the pool — just a small moment of peace.

The conversation slows as they all savour their dessert, but Portia's sharp gaze hasn’t missed the quiet moments between Colin and Pen, like when Colin shared the story of the Mayan sunrise with her. There's something about it that sticks with Portia — a feeling that their friendship might be more than skin deep. Pen stands up and says she’ll be back. She just needs to use the toilet, but doesn't want to make it too obvious. This leaves Portia and Colin talking at the pool.

“You know, I've been meaning to thank you,” Portia says to Colin. Portia says casually to Colin.

Colin turns towards her, intrigued, still holding his spoon.

“Thank me? For what?” He asked curiously.

“For the story about the sunrise you shared with Pen, the Mayan one. The one about the sun fighting to rise again every morning and always winning. It really got to her. I think it helped her more than you realised.”

Colin looks at Portia for a moment, clearly moved by her words. However, he quickly brushes this off with a modest chuckle.

“It wasn't much,' he says. Just a snippet of something I’ve been thinking about. But I’m glad it resonated with her. She’s not someone you get to know every day, you know? In a good way.” He said.

“Yes, she's difficult to reach. I think that’s why I’m so grateful you shared that with her. You really matched her energy. You gave her something meaningful to think about.” Portia stated.

“I think she’s one of those people who doesn’t need many words to be understood. She’s... different. But in a good way. It’s refreshing.”

Portia watches him, considering his words as the weight of the conversation sinks in. She’s been protective of Pen from the start, especially after what happened with Alfie, and now she’s trying to figure out whether Colin's kindness is genuine or if there's something more beneath the surface.

“I think she needs more of that: More people who understand her without trying to fix her. But I have to ask, Colin, is this kindness... is it really just kindness? Or are you looking for something from her?” Portia asked, leaning forward slightly.

Chapter Text

In the preview chapter…

“You know, I've been meaning to thank you,” Portia says to Colin. Portia says casually to Colin.

 

Colin turns towards her, intrigued, still holding his spoon.

 

“Thank me? For what?” He asked curiously.

 

“For the story about the sunrise you shared with Pen, the Mayan one. The one about the sun fighting to rise again every morning and always winning. It really got to her. I think it helped her more than you realised.”

 

Colin looks at Portia for a moment, clearly moved by her words. However, he quickly brushes this off with a modest chuckle.

 

“It wasn't much,' he says. Just a snippet of something I’ve been thinking about. But I’m glad it resonated with her. She’s not someone you get to know every day, you know? In a good way.” He said.

 

“Yes, she's difficult to reach. I think that’s why I’m so grateful you shared that with her. You really matched her energy. You gave her something meaningful to think about.” Portia stated.

 

“I think she’s one of those people who doesn’t need many words to be understood. She’s... different. But in a good way. It’s refreshing.”

 

Portia watches him, considering his words as the weight of the conversation sinks in. She’s been protective of Pen from the start, especially after what happened with Alfie, and now she’s trying to figure out whether Colin's kindness is genuine or if there's something more beneath the surface.

 

“I think she needs more of that: More people who understand her without trying to fix her. But I have to ask, Colin, is this kindness... is it really just kindness? Or are you looking for something from her?” Portia asked, leaning forward slightly.

Colin shifts slightly, taken aback by her bluntness, but there is no hesitation in his eyes. He meets Portia's gaze calmly and steadily, then smiles gently as if he has been expecting this kind of question.

He shook his head and let out a soft chuckle. "No agenda. No hidden motives. I mean, I'm not saying I don't care about Pen – I do. But not in the way you're thinking. I'm not here to win her over or turn into something else. I'm just being present. I've really come to appreciate her company. In fact, I'm starting to enjoy your company too, Portia."

Portia teased him with a little smile. "Oh? You're starting to like me now? I'm flattered."

Colin laughed and explained. “Well, I didn't exactly expect to find genuine friendship here, but I have.- With both of you, actually. It's refreshing. It's rare. I can't remember the last time I felt like I wasn't just the guy that people wanted something from.”

Portia nods, her gaze softening as she watches Colin. She saw him with Pen, seen the way he's been so patient with her, how he listens without pushing. And now, she´s hearing him open up in a way that feels honest. She may have had doubts before, but now there´s a sense of clarity.

“Okay, I believe you. Just know this… Pen´s been through a lot, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt her again. But if you´re really in this for the right reasons, then I'm all for it.” Postia assured him softly.

Colin smiles,a genuine, warm smile that reaches his eyes. “I wouldn't dream of hurting her or you. You don´t have to worry about that.”

“What are you two conspiring about over there?” Pen asks them with a smile.

“Oh, just making sure Colin is as good as his ice cream choices. You know important stuff.”

“Ok? Should I be worried about any of you? Colin please blink twice if you are or feel threatened, she can be scary sometimes.” Pen stated with amusement.

Later that night, back in their room, Portia sends Felicity a message with updates about their day and photos she took while touring. 

📲Portia → Felicity

She sends a photo of the group: She, Penelope, and Colin standing in front of cocoa trees. Penelope is holding an open cocoa pod, Colin is mid-laugh, and Portia's smiling brightly. It´s casual, sunlit, and unguarded.

“Today´s highlight: we learned how to break open cocoa pods like pros 😎🍫 This place is insane. Pen actually laughed. A miracle. More pics coming later.”

📲Felicty → Portia

“Hol up.

Who. 👏 Is. 👏 That.👏 GUUUUUY.? 🔎

The tall one next to Pen with the dumb laugh and the hot hair?

📲Portia → Felicity

“Ohhh, That is Colin. We met him by accident (literally)  at the airport. - long story involving Pen tackling him in line 😂.”

📲Felicty → Portia

“😱 No waaay!”

“You are joking.

And now you´re just casually touring plantations with the airport man?? 

What else have you been hiding from ME? 🤯

Is he single?? Is he cute IRL or just photogenic cute??

📲Portia → Felicity

“He is actually nice. Too nice. Weirdly decent. Pen kind clicked with him. But not like that.

🤷‍♀️ (I think)”

📲Felicty → Portia

“Mum. I've known Pen my entire life and I can count on ONE HAND the number of guys she's clicked with, and that´s 0.

Tell me everything. Does he have a job or is he one of those fake-deep wanderer types?”

📲Portia → Felicity

“He is an editor. British. Thoughtful. Not pushy. Pen keeps trying to keep a distance but he's gentle… circling?

He told her this poetic Mayan myth earlier and I swear I saw her feel something when she came back this morning to our room.”

📲Felicty → Portia

“ OMG! 😲 I´m flying down there. Don't tempt me. I will absolutely stir this pot.”

📲Portia → Felicity

“Stand down, Cupid. Let´s not rush anything. She´s still healing. But yeah… I´m keeping an eye on him. He doesn't know about Pen's situation.”

We still have one day left here before leaving for Veracruz.Just me and Pen this time. Beach, breeze, seafood, ocean energy all that good healing stuff. 🌊🍤☀️

Colin's heading to Mexico city. His next stop apparently.”

📲Felicty → Portia

 “Waiiit, WHAT?

Why aren't you inviting him with you?? You're going to literally the coast and letting a man like that go that easy?”

📲Portia → Felicity

“Because it´s not like that, remember?

It´s just a coincidence we ended up here together. 

He was never meant to come to Veracruz.”

📲Felicty → Portia

“Mum, MUM

Invite. THE MAN

I don´t care if he was meant to go to the moon.

This is ✨ fate-adjacent✨.

Look me in the eye and tell me Pen hasn't been lighter since he showed up.”

📲Portia → Felicity

“I can´t see you in the eye, we are messaging…

She has. But I don´t know if that´s him or the chocolate.🍫”

📲Felicty → Portia

“Maybe it's both. Either way, she's not isolating like she was before. She's engaging. Laughing. Wearing colour again!

You saw how she looked- standing by those cocoa trees, actually alive again.”

📲Portia → Felicity

“You think I should just say…what? 

Hey, ditch your plans and come swim in Veracruz with two women who won´t tell you the full story of one of them being jilted at the altar?”

📲Felicty → Portia

“Exaclty. 

Say it just like that. But in a cute way.”

📲Portia → Felicity

“🤦‍♀️ You are such a menace, go back to sleep.😴”

📲Felicty → Portia

“I can not sleep when the ☀️ is out  here, remember? 

But I am a menace who loves you and loves her sister. And now when a man with good timing deserves a second chapter. Doesn´t overthink. Invite him.”

📲Portia → Felicity

“Okay. I´ll float the idea. No promises.”

📲Felicty → Portia

“I want pictures. And sunscreen. And updates. And maybe his phone murmur or insta 😏.

You know, research him.”