Chapter Text
The first Bridgerton sibling whom Michaela Stirling had the honour of knowing was, in hindsight, certainly not her favourite member of the family, yet she wouldn’t dare say she disliked Anthony Bridgerton. In fact, over all the years he worked as an accountant for her restaurant, she had come to see him as an excessively hard-working but surprisingly witty man, whose perfectionism was, unlike that of the other staff, somewhat reassuring. The other staff got on well with him, which was the best a business owner and founder could hope for. There was just one problem.
Michaela hated overly competitive people with a passion.
What she also hated, but certainly couldn’t mention to any of her colleagues, was the bloody bowling every first Thursday of the month. The worst thing about this whole stupid tradition was the fact that she’d been the one to come up with it. Looking back, she’d love to slap herself. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea to organise something to mark the New Year and perhaps (a bit selfishly) come across as a ‘fun boss’. It didn’t take long before she started to get sick of the venue she’d chosen without a second thought, and before she realised with horror that whilst she wanted to end the evening as quickly as possible, the rest of the staff were enjoying the event more and more with every passing hour.
And then (because apparently those three hours of terror - comprising of the stench of spilled alcohol that had soaked into the carpets, flashing lights and loud music - weren’t hellish enough) Anthony Bridgerton began, in front of everyone, to loudly persuade Michaela at the end of the evening that this should become a tradition, whilst the rest of his already considerably drunk colleagues nodded enthusiastically.
So no, Anthony (her future brother in law, though she had no idea of that at the time) really wasn’t her favourite.
To her horror, she realised that tonight’s event was already the sixteenth bowling night in a row. Although not all the staff had ever been present, she, as their official employer, had not yet managed to come up with an elegant way to wriggle out of it. Inside the building, that strange, unidentifiable smell hung in the air again (the one that always made her feel as though it were seeping right through her clothes) and the room was shrouded in an unpleasant gloom caused by the faulty lights. In the background, a tuneless and barely recognisable version of some popular pop song played over the speakers. If it were up to Michaela, she would have chosen a completely different place, but the popularity of this dive bar among everyone else (something she couldn’t understand) was warning enough for her not to even attempt to mention it.
“Alright, everybody!” she clapped her hands and waited until all attention had turned to her. She smiled brightly, hoping that none of her distaste was showing on her face.
A group of about fifteen staff members had gathered in front of her: apart from the manager, both head chefs, the assistant chefs, the waiters, the barman, the hostesses, and then Anthony. He stood right at the front, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Michaela quickly looked away from the madness stirring in his eyes.
“You know how it goes. Split into two groups, I’ll join the smaller one and make sure they win,” she recited her usual line. When everyone laughed politely as usual and slowly began to form into groups, Michaela breathed a sigh of relief and made her way to the bar.
A moment later, she was carrying her Aperol Spritz back to her table, sipping it slowly. She set the drink down on the table and heard a sigh just behind her.
“I should have thought to order something too,” Will lamented, his envious gaze fixed on the glass. “I don’t know if I’ll manage to get through tonight without a drink.”
Michaela turned to the man. Will Mondrich was one of her favourite colleagues, certainly one she could call a friend after all these years. Ever since he’d joined the restaurant with his wife, there’d never been a problem with them, and the bar, which had practically become his, had been thriving ever since his arrival. And if Michaela was to be honest, she was also glad to have more Black colleagues.
Michaela rolled her eyes and laughed. “You think you won’t survive? You’re not the one who had no choice. At least ten people have already apologised for not being able to make it. I’m the one who has to be here.” She raised her drink. “This is just a little relief from the pain that awaits me this evening.”
“Hmm,” Will grumbled, turning his eyes to the groups bickering cheerfully amongst themselves. “If Alice wasn’t having such a good time, believe me, no one would have dragged me here.”
Michaela’s gaze drifted to Alice Mondrich, who was in the midst of a fit of wild laughter with another hostess. Will watched her with a kind look, and Michaela flinched involuntarily. When she spoke, she tried to make her tone sound as light as possible. “The fact that you’re only here because of her is both really sweet and depressing for me at the same time.”
He laughed. “So, since you split up with Elizabeth, still nothing?”
The subject of her love life, which, apart from the occasional one-night stand, was incredibly uninteresting. She could have told Will about that Tinder date that ended after half an hour or told him about the girl in the café to whom she’d accidentally given the wrong number. She could have complained about how terribly isolated she felt when everyone around her was in a couple, with plans for the future and happy.
Or she didn’t have to tell him anything at all.
She shrugged and took another sip. “Nothing worth mentioning.” She shook her head. “But I’m fine, you know? I’ve got my friends, I’ve got John, and what’s more-,” she paused dramatically to emphasise the importance of what she was about to say and leaned towards him conspiratorially, “-what’s more, I’ve got bowling nights every first Thursday of the month.”
Michaela smiled proudly to herself as Will burst out laughing. “Oh, right. That’s the light that brightens up our gloomy days.”
She laughed. “Stirring up our melancholy.”
“Lifting our spirits.”
“Brightening the greyness of our-”
“Michaela?”
She froze instantly, and all her laughter caught in her throat. She looked at Will with one last desperate glance before forcing herself to smile again and turning towards that familiar voice.
“Yes, Anthony?” she asked in the sweetest tone she could muster, trying to keep her lips in the same position.
Anthony stood before her, looking impatient. He smiled briefly, but gave a meaningful nod towards the rest of the staff. “We’ve all been sorted already.”
Michaela raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Do you know which team has fewer-”
“Looks like you’ll be on my team,” Anthony said before she’d even finished her question, pointing to a group which, now that Michaela looked closely, seemed much grumpier than the one Alice and the rest of the participants were in. “We’re one short. That is, if I’m right in assuming Will will want to be with Alice.”
No. No, no, no, no, no!
“That’s wonderful,” her eye twitched. She stood up quickly. Anthony was still waiting impatiently, even though he was trying to smile. She pulled the glass of drink towards her and downed the rest in one go. “I really can’t wait.”
She let him lead her over to her team. The low mood really wasn’t just her wild interpretation, as she soon discovered. Apparently, no one was exactly thrilled to have ended up with Anthony. Another overplayed pop song began blaring in the background, and on top of that, she started to feel uncomfortably warm. She wasn’t sure if it was the whole situation or just a faulty heater. Michaela had zero motivation to take the initiative, so she let Anthony decide the order. What threw her off, however, was when he put her in last place.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked sceptically.
Anthony smiled. “Of course. You’re the best player here.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “No, but really. You always insist on being last.”
He looked a little taken aback by this. Even though Michaela hadn’t said anything untrue. She continued to size him up cautiously, but he eventually managed to compose himself at least a little. “No,” he smiled stiffly. “I’ll be second to last. I believe in your ability. No one is better suited to that position.”
To set the record straight – Michaela was a good player. One of the best in the whole group, and surely no one could possibly mind that she was able to speak so honestly about her abilities. That wasn’t the reason she was so sceptical about the whole situation. The problem lay elsewhere. Anthony was a maniac and a perfectionist, the sort of man who would walk over dead bodies to win. She couldn’t imagine any situation in which he would trust anyone other than himself in the role of the last player. So that meant only one thing.
Anthony wanted something from her. And he thought this was how he’d win her over.
“All right,” she shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “If you’re fine with it, so am I.” Two could play that game.
Anthony was clearly relieved and nodded gratefully. “That’s great,” he breathed, waving his hand towards the lanes. “Right then, everyone! Let’s get on with it!”
The game slowly got going and the teams took turns with individual players. Michaela watched them with barely any interest. When she imagined that without that stupid idea all those months ago, she could be somewhere completely different today. In a real bar without that strange smell and with proper drinks, at the cinema watching some new film, at a concert, or just anywhere else. She swallowed her frustration and wiped her sweaty palms on the fabric of her trousers. The next moment, another old pop song began to play. Michaela looked up at the speakers with furrowed brows, trying as hard as she could to identify it from those first few seconds. The distorted sound didn’t help much.
Unfortunately, she was deprived of even this small bit of distraction.
“Oh, ‘Wrecking Ball’!” came that awful voice, and Michaela turned to her left. Anthony, like her, was staring up at the speakers mounted on the wall. However, there was a noticeable difference in their expressions, as Anthony was smiling enthusiastically.
Michaela looked at him in surprise for a moment, trying to make sure he wasn’t faking his interest, until she decided he probably wasn’t. She wondered for a moment whether the fact that their team was currently winning had anything to do with it, but it didn’t seem to play a significant role in his enthusiasm.
She cleared her throat. “Do you like that song?”
He smiled broadly. “My wife and I had our first dance to it.”
Michaela wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. “Of course you did,” she muttered, watching as Mrs Varley threw the ball down the lane. She knocked down six pins. Michaela would have expected it to be worse.
Anthony laughed. “Ah, I see. You’re one of those music snobs. I reckon you’d get on well with one of my sisters over this. She never said it out loud, but I’m pretty sure she judged me a bit for that choice.”
Michaela’s first thought was Great, there’s more of you, and her second Who wouldn’t judge someone for choosing ‘Wrecking Ball’ as a wedding song?
She hoped Anthony’s turn would come as soon as possible. This conversation was painfully long.
“Well, at least that’s reassuring in a way, isn’t it? Bad taste in music obviously doesn’t run in the whole family,” she smiled brightly at him.
Anthony smiled, but his eyes then darted in panic towards the scoreboard, which he’d clearly forgotten to check over the last few minutes. When he checked that their team was still in the lead, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Michaela. “I almost forgot about our game.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, that would be a tragedy.”
When it was Anthony’s turn, of course he knocked down nine out of ten pins, and of course he was annoyed about it. When he came back from the lane, he stood next to Michaela again. “We’re still ahead, which is good, but as soon as it’s your turn, you have to-”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupted him. “I know how important this game is. And I’ll do my very best.”
Anthony looked her over carefully for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure whether she was just joking, but then he laughed somewhat nervously. “I know, sorry.” He paused for a moment, perhaps lost in his own thoughts, before turning back to Michaela. “Once you’ve had your turn, do you think we could have a word?”
Michaela nodded. “Sure, no problem,” she said in a carefree tone and, without another word, walked over to their bowling lane. One of the attendants handed her a heavy purple ball. Michaela smiled, she could hardly contain the childlike joy at what she was about to do. She turned to Anthony, who was watching her intently. She gave him a quick wave and then threw the ball.
She’d never played so badly before. After a few metres, the ball veered off into the gutter without even coming anywhere near the pins. A smile spread across her face. Perhaps this really was the worst throw of her life so far, but quite honestly, she had never enjoyed the game quite like this before. She tried to put on as composed an expression as possible as she turned on her heel and headed back to Anthony.
The look on his face was priceless. His eyes were wide as he stared at the score on the board, his mouth slightly agape. Michaela stood back beside him and also looked up at the board. “Oh,” she said, as if the score had surprised her. Then she shrugged and looked at the man beside her. “I guess I’m not having a very lucky day today. But anyway – didn’t you say you needed to talk about something?”
Anthony continued to stare at the board in shock until he came to his senses and realised Michaela was speaking to him. He blinked. “What?”
“You said you needed to talk to me,” she said innocently. “So go ahead. I’m listening.”
Anthony’s expression was blank. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, right, I do, just- I’ll be back in a minute, Okay? Don’t forget.”
With that, he went over to the other team members, who were up first, and began explaining something to them emphatically. His voice was a mixture of urgency and poorly concealed panic, whilst he gestured vehemently at the board and the pins, explaining something about the points required to win. If their team had been fed up before, it was nothing compared to the look on their teammates’ faces now. Michaela hadn’t felt such a mischievous mood in a long time and could well imagine dragging the evening out like this indefinitely.
Once Anthony had spoken emphatically to everyone to explain the next strategic moves, he returned to Michaela like a beaten dog. It would soon be her turn again, and she really couldn’t wait.
She raised an eyebrow. “So, what was it you wanted to discuss?” Keeping a straight face was harder now than ever before.
Anthony turned as if struggling to remember. “Oh yes, sorry – you’re right,” he took a breath, using that extra second to check the score again. “I’d like to ask you a favour.”
“A favour?” Michaela tilted her head curiously to one side. “And what exactly would that be?”
“Oh, it’s…,” Anthony waved his hand dismissively. “It’s just a silly little thing.” He watched tensely as the other team’s ball rolled towards the pins. It knocked down all ten, and Anthony’s face fell even further as panic set in.
“If it matters to you, it’s not silly,” she said sympathetically, even though she was aware he was only half listening to her at the moment.
Anthony finally forced himself to tear his eyes away from the board and turned back to Michaela. “I know that tables at the restaurant are booked up months in advance.”
Michaela pretended to think hard and then nodded. “Well, yes, you’re right. They are.”
“Right,” Anthony exhaled. “But I wanted to ask if a table for four might become available sometime in May, around 19:00? My brother has been begging me for ages to get a table, and he and his wife have an anniversary coming up, so I promised them I’d sort a table for us,” he recited, with every last shred of dignity he could muster. Michaela actually admired that. “So- well, do you think you could sort that table for us?”
Michaela took her time. She gave nothing away on her face and then just smiled. “I think it’s your turn.”
Anthony blinked in confusion. “What?”
She nodded towards the lane. “It’s your turn.”
He turned and suddenly ran as if everything depended on it. He knocked down eight pins.
When Michaela took the ball in her hands, she felt better than she had in a long time. Once again, she didn’t hit a single pin.
Anthony wasn’t at their bar table when she returned. Instead, he was flitting about, muttering something to all their teammates again and trying to explain the strategy for the final round with wild gestures.
Meanwhile, Michaela popped over to the bar for another drink.
When she returned, sipping slowly, Anthony was already waiting for her at the table, his gaze fixed on the scoreboard. He was muttering something quietly under his breath. As soon as he saw her, he forced a smile, but Michaela noticed how one of his eyes twitched.
“I’ve thought it all through and I think we still have a chance of winning. Now we’ll all do our best. Last time I messed it up – I missed two, but I’ve spoken to the others and-”
“I think it’ll work out,” Michaela interrupted him.
Anthony looked taken aback, but eventually smiled with relief. “Oh? That’d be great. I know it didn’t work out for you twice now, but if we all give it our all, we’ve got a chance of winning-”
“I think the table at the restaurant will work out,” Michaela corrected him. “A table for four, in May, at seven PM, right? And I suppose the weekend would be best? I suppose those days will suit you best, won’t they?”
Anthony stared at her for a moment. “Um… yeah. Yeah, thank you, that’s great, I really appreciate it,” he mumbled, taking a deep breath. “But… we can still do it now, can’t we? Our game – we’ll give it our all, won’t we?”
Michaela hadn’t even had time to open her mouth when a voice called out from a short distance away: “Anthony! It’s your turn!”
He cast one last desperate glance at her and whispered just one word: “Please,” before running off. This time, he really did knock down all ten pins.
Michaela stood up and stretched. She watched the last player from the other team, who also knocked down all ten pins, and smiled. She took one last sip and headed for the lane. She decided that this time she would make Anthony happy.
She knocked down one pin.
When he celebrated his birthday a few years later, which Francesca had dragged them to, Michaela had prepared her own gift. And when Anthony received the golden statue of pin figurine from her, a forced, raucous laugh escaped him and his eye twitched again. Fran tried to get her to explain what it was all about, but all Michaela could manage to say was: “I was just reminding him of the most beautiful day of my life.”