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"I could die tomorrow—"
"You're not gonna die tomorrow!"
"But I could, and it would kill me!"
"You'd already be dead!"
"I don't want to die without—mmph!"
Colin blinked rapidly, then plucked Penelope's hand off of his mouth.
"Seriously Pen, she's gonna kill me!"
She scoffed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "No, she won't. She wants you at the altar in a tux, not a casket."
Colin raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"It's Anthony who'll kill you."
His eyes widened. He resumed pacing, cursing repeatedly under his breath while chewing his lip. Penelope rubbed her temples. His anxious spirals weren't helping.
Colin stopped. Then stared, assessing her. "You alright?"
"I'm fine."
"You look...pained. Headache? You should probably lie dow—why are you so flushed? Fuck, what if it's...okay, we're going to A and E right now before you—!
"Stop being such a fucking drama queen, Bridgerton! It's stressing me out!"
He stared, mouth open, frozen, stunned.
Then he embraced her, kissing her forehead. "Hey, It's okay," he whispered. "We...we're gonna be okay."
She didn't realize she'd started crying. "I'm s-sorry...it's..."
"I know, babe. My sisters were far worse."
She chuckled through the sniffles and looked up at him. "Ready to face your executioner?"
Colin snorted. "Well, I can't avoid Portia's wrath forever."
"I meant Eloise."
He paled. Hesitated. Gulped.
"...How long can we hide your pregnancy again?"