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weepingfromacedartree · 11 months

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Ten Milestones: Travelling Together

Hi friends!!!

New chapter up for anyone interested! (It's a big one.)

CW: alcohol // drinking to excess

In an instant, Penelope knows that this one will be good. (Or even more likely — bad.)

Colin’s smile gleams with the reflection of his phone screen. He’s practically giddy when he recites the text in front of him.

“Number Five: Travelling Together. Nothing tests a relationship quite like taking it out of its typical environment. Just like marriage, there will be many highs and lows on your first trip as a couple. For as fun and exciting as a vacation may be, there are a million things that could go wrong during your time away from home. A holiday away with your partner will test how you handle communication, problem-solving, compromise, and more. If you are with the right person, even the most disastrous trips will be worth it.”

At those last few words, Penelope cannot help but laugh.

“Too bad I’m dating a seasoned traveller who always handles our holiday plans perfectly. If only something went wrong on one of our trips; now, we’ll never know how we react to disaster abroad.”

“Yeah.” Colin rolls his eyes, giddiness already abandoned. “If only.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Five Years Earlier: June 6th, 2018

Relationship Status: Not Dating

꙳

Day 0

Over the course of the last three years, finding Colin Bridgerton in a London pub has become an exceedingly rare feat. He spent most of that time in cities with different time zones than this one, and even his brief trips home left him little time for leisurely activities. This particular break from his travels, though longer than usual, has been as busy as ever.

He arrived back in London on April 7th. He was actually meant to remain in New York for two more weeks, but changed his plans at the last minute. This choice was fueled by a variety of reasons, one of the most salient being his fears of missing his first nephew’s birth, had he come early. In the end, Auggie showed up two days late, but Colin couldn’t complain about having the extra time at home.

The last two months were busy. Colin and Benedict found a flat together in Bloomsbury. (Colin needed somewhere other than his mum’s place to stay during his trips home. Benedict needed out of a toxic roommates-with-benefits situation he had found himself in.) Francesca graduated from Edinburgh. Penelope completed her postgraduate degree at UCL. Colin signed a freelance contract with a local travel magazine. Simon announced his upcoming Parliament campaign. Hyacinth starred in a surprisingly bloody musical production of Carrie. Just last night, Anthony informed Colin and Benedict of his plans to propose to his girlfriend Kate later this summer. (Gregory had been excluded from that conversation due to his abysmal track record at keeping secrets.)

Life in London has been so busy these last two months that this particular trip to the pub had to be rescheduled three times. But they’re here now, and Colin supposes that’s all that matters.

“I don’t have to get a beer, do I?”

Penelope is standing right beside him, and yet she has to practically scream in order to be heard. For noon on a Wednesday, the pub is surprisingly packed.

Colin looks around, taking in the pub’s antique style and limited selection of bottles and taps on the back wall.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Even water might be out of the question.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, she pulls a face expressing her disappointment. A distinctive “V” forms in the centre of her forehead, at which Colin can only laugh.

“Why would you choose this place if you loathe the taste of beer? We’re celebrating you, in case you forgot.”

Penelope keeps her eyes trained forward, as though she’s searching for something in the darkest corner of this room. With a deadly serious tone, she tells him, “They have the best fish and chips in Mayfair. If I go thirsty, so be it.”

Colin laughs again, but nods in agreement. She has a point.

While away on his travels, he misses his family and friends more than anything else. He would be lying if he said proper fish and chips wasn’t a close third.

Penelope opens her mouth to say something else, but shuts it when she sees the hostess re-emerge before them. She beckons them to follow her, then leads them to a particularly dimly lit booth in the back of the room.

“What can I get ya both to drink?”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Colin clears his throat.

“Do you have anything other than beer available? Sorry — I know. I just loathe the taste of it. It always tastes like grass to —”

His words stop short when the tip of Penelope’s trainer collides with his shin. When he looks over, he finds that her eyes are verging on vengeful; he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from giggling.

“We got vodka,” the waitress supplies skeptically. With knitted eyebrows, she looks to the bar over her shoulder. “I think.”

“Brilliant. Two vodka sodas, then.”

Penelope still appears cross when he looks over to her again. Thankfully, her frown is all but abandoned by the time the waitress returns with their drinks.

“To UCL.” He raises his glass. “And to those determined and lucky enough to survive it.”

After huffing out a single laugh, Penelope rolls her eyes.

“I graduated. I didn’t survive the Great War.” Before he can think up another quip, she taps her glass against his. “But thank you.”

“So, now that you’re free from the constraints of higher education… Any plans for the summer?”

Penelope shrugs, raising her glass to her lips.

“Not really. Just figuring out what to do next, now that uni’s over.”

“Next?” Colin echoes, genuinely confused. “What happened to working at Danbury’s magazine?”

“That’s not a done deal.” She shrugs again. “My final interview was yesterday, and I haven’t heard back from them yet. If I don’t get it —”

“You will. Obviously.”

Penelope picks up her glass, and Colin watches as her eyes roll from over the top of it. She takes a sip that drains about half her cup.

“Not necessar—”

“Pen, they would be mental not to hire you. The job is yours for the taking.”

Something new passes on Penelope’s face for a moment. Doubt, maybe. Or maybe it’s curiosity. In a brighter light, maybe Colin would be able to read her better.

“And what makes you so confident in that conclusion?”

“Because you’re accomplished, brilliant, and perfect for the job.” He takes a sip of his own drink, short and syrupy sweet. “Plus, you’ve known the CEO since you were born. That always helps.”

Penelope snorts in spite of herself.

“I pray nepotism is not the determining factor in their decision.”

“We both know you’re more than qualified. Does it matter what the determining factor is in a foregone conclusion?”

Penelope answers his question with nothing more than a simple shrug.

“And what of your plans for the summer?” she asks in a shameless attempt to change the subject. To take the spotlight off herself. “It’s unlike you to stay grounded at home this long.”

“Disappointed in the sudden lack of content on my blog?”

That statement was meant to be lighthearted, but when spoken aloud, Colin can’t help but detect an edge of bitterness to his own voice. If Penelope hears it too, she doesn’t let on. She laughs.

“No. As much as I love your updates, I can’t say I’m ‘disappointed’ in having you home a little longer than usual. I just thought you would be restless by now.”

“A bit. But you know… That’s inevitable.”

Penelope’s face shifts again. Even in the shadows, Colin can tell she does not know what he means.

“After three years of doing it nonstop, I’ve come to realise that the best parts of travel are the coming and the going. Arriving in a new location is always exciting and full of a million different possibilities, but inevitably that excitement fades away. No matter how fulfilling your experiences are in that place, there will always, inevitably come a time when you’re ready to leave. When you’re reminded that the place you’re in isn’t home — that your time there is up. Then you return home, and it’s refreshing and comfortable, and then it’s not. Life gets tedious and you grow restless and that inevitable cycle starts anew.”

Colin looks down at his drink, already growing watery due to the surplus of ice cubes in the cocktail. When he looks back up at Penelope, her eyes have grown even softer than usual.

“But I have spent far too much time away from home these past few years. I can stand a bit of restlessness for a little while longer.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Especially if it means having these sorts of conversations with you in a pub instead of over voicemail.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything in response to that. Her lips twist into a sort of smile, scrunched together and pulled to the side. When her lips finally part, she asks, “So when are you going again?”

Colin grimaces, suddenly struck by the fact that the date of his next flight is not all too far away. And due to the new contract, he couldn’t delay it even if he wanted to.

“About two weeks. Venice first, then I’ll be travelling around Italy for the rest of the summer.”

“That sounds exciting,” Penelope offers. There’s a far less complicated, albeit noticeably reserved smile on her lips.

“Yeah. Of course.”

It grows quiet between them for a second longer than Colin deems comfortable. He jerks his head to the side, glancing around the increasingly overcrowded pub. Though the room around them remains quite loud, he can clearly hear the growl of his own stomach above the chaos.

“Where the bloody hell is our food?”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Thirteen minutes later, two orders of fish and chips arrive at their table in the back of the pub. One minute after that, Penelope nearly chokes on a piece of beer-battered haddock when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket. Seven minutes after that, she hangs up and looks over to Colin. His smile is even bigger than hers.

“I fucking told you, Featherington.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, an unconscious attempt to wipe the grin off her face. Her happiness is so overwhelming that it feels as though it’s pouring out of her.

“When do you start?”

“Two weeks,” she barely manages to get out between taut lips.

“That’s —” Colin lets out a shaky, happy breath. “We should celebrate,” he tells her after a moment.

Penelope barely registers his words before letting out another laugh and raising her empty glass.

“We’re already celebrating, in case you forgot.”

Colin raises his own drink (also empty and awaiting a refill) and clinks it against the one aloft in her hand.

“In case you forgot, we’re celebrating your graduation. Landing your dream job deserves its own celebration.”

Finally, Penelope’s smile begins to drop. Her eyes dart to the bar on the other side of the room.

“We already ordered another round. We can make another toa—”

“No, Pen. A proper celebration.”

“Wha—”

“You’re the newest columnist at Queenmaker Magazine. This is amazing — fucking massive, Pen! We should do something big to honour it.”

Penelope looks away from him again. This time, to the phone that has been gripped in her right hand ever since she accepted her dream job. She sets it face down on the table before meeting his eye again.

“And what ‘big’ thing do you have in mind?”

A few seconds pass before Colin answers her question. In that time, his lips form into a troubling smirk.

“Let’s leave. Take a trip out of the city. Or better yet, the country.”

Penelope also takes a few seconds to respond.

“What?!”

“I said, w—”

“I heard you, Colin,” she interrupts. “I just don’t understand. Didn’t you just say you want to stay rooted in London until your Venice trip?”

Colin considers her words for a few seconds, breaking her gaze to stare up at the ceiling in recollection.

“That’s not what I said at all,” he eventually replies. “Do —”

“Colin, I —”

“— you want me to call up Danbury and tell her how unfairly her promising new journalist just misquoted —”

“I’m being seri—”

“I’m being serious, Pen! You’re willfully ignoring my po—”

“There’s no time to plan a —”

“You just told me that you have no plans for the next few weeks. You know, save for landing the job that you just landed. Now that your summer is free, you can finally —”

Penelope has argued with Colin before. Not as often as she does with Eloise, but this is far from their first dispute. Usually though, he will at least let her get a full sentence in before interrupting. Usually, he is not quite this vexing.

“Good god, Colin! You’re leaving for Venice in two weeks. Which — in case you forgot — also happens to be the same time I start working at the magazine. Temporarily ignoring the fact that you just told me you want to stay in London in the meantime, there is no time for us to plan out — or actually go on — such an impromptu trip. It’s impossible.”

It’s only after Penelope successfully gets all her intended words out that she realises Colin’s demeanour has completely changed. The tips of his ears are tinged red. His left hand is covering the lower half of his face. He’s barely holding in a laugh. His eyes are round and darting to the side.

When Penelope follows his gaze, she finds that their waitress has returned. Wide-eyed, she silently sets down two glasses (a Guinness for him and another vodka soda for her), then disappears back into the crowd. Once she’s out of sight, Colin bursts out laughing and Penelope takes a generous gulp of her cocktail.

“As I was trying to tell you,” he continues, once the laughter has left his system, “I did not say I want to remain planted in London for the next two weeks. If anything, I was torn between my desires to stay and to go.”

Colin’s lips stop moving. It takes Penelope a few moments to realise that means he has graciously given her the floor to speak.

“I understand that,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I also understand that you decided to stay in the end. That you’ve spent too much time away from your family as it is.”

Colin laughs — short and sharp.

“Wrong again. Given your line of work, I would expect you to pay closer attention to people’s words, Pen.”

Penelope opens her mouth, then shuts it just as quickly. If she says anything, it will undoubtedly be delivered through a scream; she doesn’t have enough alcohol in her system to justify doing so in such a public setting.

“I didn’t say anything about my family,” he reminds her. “The only person I mentioned wanting to stay in London for is you.”

And just like that, something new rises in Penelope’s chest, swiftly killing the annoyance that burned inside of her. She doesn’t have the words to try and name it. She feels at a loss for words entirely; her lips remain paralyzed as Colin watches her in wait.

It only takes him a few seconds to realise she has nothing to say.

“At some point in the last hour, the scales have tipped towards leaving. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you have any plans tying you to London over the next few days. So, if I am correct and there is nothing stopping us from leaving… Let’s go.”

Penelope doesn’t think there is a single person on this planet that she knows as well as Colin Bridgerton. After all, she spent the first sixteen years of her life studying him with the same insistence and fervour that a nun does a bible. (And the last seven inspecting him with the same shame and compulsion that an addict does their vice.) And yet, there are still times when he surprises her.

No. ‘Surprises’ isn’t the right word. She knows Colin has a talent for making the world around him appear far simpler than it really is. To bend the light in such a way that makes you see the world that way too — even if just for a moment.

There are still times when it overwhelms her.

“You make dropping everything and skipping town sound easy,” she eventually manages to say.

“Because it is. Do it once and you’ll realise just how easy it is. Especially when you have an expert like me involved in the planning.”

Something about that last sentence sparks a realisation in Penelope’s brain.

This is a game. Or, it could be.

Penelope sits up and sets her shoulders squarely.

“Fine. But I have a few rules.”

“Go on,” Colin encourages, clearly intrigued.

“1) I can’t be gone for the next two weeks. I need to be back by early next week. 2) I don’t want to leave the continent, so no surprise trips to Antarctica. 3) You have a max budget of £500 for transportation and housing — for each of us. If you can find something that fits my requirements, we can go on a trip together.”

Wasting not a single second, Colin whips out his phone from his back pocket. His smile gleams with the reflection of his screen. Excitedly, he mutters, “‘If’ I can meet your requirements? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

But Penelope does know Colin. She knows he loves these sorts of challenges. That he thrives under this sort of friendly pressure. And while she could certainly afford to spend more than £500 on travel and a hotel, she’s intrigued to see what he can come up with when given such a budget. (And fears what he might come up with when given anything more.)

As Colin stares intently at his phone, Penelope feels her own demeanour start to shift. Before, she had been too distracted by the perceived impossibility of the offer to give it a second thought. But when she does…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but it’s tempting for all the same reasons.

Though they speak on a daily basis, Colin and Penelope have spent so little time actually together over the last seven years. Even during his hiatus at home over the last two months, they spent more time talking on a phone than they did in person. To spend a few days with Colin and only Colin…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but —

“Booked,” Colin announces, maybe 30 seconds after picking up his phone.

“What — already?”

“Yup. £497 each. We leave tomorrow and fly home on Monday.”

“‘Fly?’” she echos. Unsure if she should be more excited or scared, she asks, “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Costa Brava.” Colin says these words casually, in the same way Penelope would expect him to say “Brighton.”

“Costa Brava… as in Catalonia?”

“No, the Costa Brava in Wales.”

He laughs sarcastically. Triumphantly.

“Yes, Catalonia.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Penelope Featherington doesn’t have much experience with airports. She flew to Ireland a few times when she was a kid, but those trips fell off right around the time she started secondary school. She’s met or dropped off Colin at Heathrow a few times over the last three years, but rarely stepped inside on any of those occasions. She could count the total number of times she’s been in or around an airport on two hands.

Well, usually she could. Right now, her hands are too occupied wringing together incessantly to count imaginary numbers.

She is standing by a wall of windows, body facing the planes taxied outside. Her head is turned to the side, towards the man who dragged her here today. (Metaphorically. Literally, he got them both an Uber.)

Colin is by the stewardess desk, talking to the two women stationed at the gate. He’s just out of earshot, so Penelope can’t tell what it is that he’s saying. But whatever it is, it’s charming. She can tell by the way both women’s lips curl as he speaks to them.

Penelope doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. She’s flown on planes before — a decade ago, but still.

She shouldn’t be nervous about a two-hour plane ride. She shouldn’t be nervous about a few days in paradise. She shouldn’t be nervous about how so much can change in — she checks her phone — 22 hours.

She should be more like Colin; he’s never nervous about anything.

“Good news,” he tells her, walking up with two freshly printed tickets. “I got us a free upgrade.”

“Really?” she asks. Although really, she should have known. He got them two roundtrip tickets at the last minute for £97 each. Suffice to say, they were not very good seats. Penelope couldn’t have cared less, but Colin…

Before he can so much as nod, she steals one of the tickets from between his fingers. She gasps.

“How the hell did you manage to turn two middle economy seats into two first class seats?!”

“Jesus Pen, calm down,” he orders through a laugh. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

Before she can let out another huff, Colin mumbles something about being a “frequent flyer,” then turns his attention to the phone in his hand. Though Penelope would love to press him further on the subject, he magically receives a phone call from his mum and steps away to take it. He only hangs up when the flight attendants announce that it is time for them to board.

“Did your mum —”

“Come on. Don’t want to miss our flight, now do we?”

“Wha—”

With that, Colin puts away his phone and grabs the carry-on at Penelope’s feet.

“You don’t have to —”

“I got it, Pen,” he says nonchalantly. Then, without warning, he grabs her left hand and drags her towards the gate.

This is far from the first time that Colin has grabbed her hand over the course of their friendship, but this specific occurrence strikes Penelope as strange. His whole demeanour suddenly seems off; she would ask him about it, if he weren’t hauling them towards the plane like it’s threatening to take off without them.

His strange behaviour doesn’t cease as they continue forward. He practically pushes her past the flight attendant as soon as their tickets scan. His grip on her left hand only tightens as they walk down the boarding bridge. She tries to pull out of it when they step onto the plane and make their way through the cramped corner with the other flight attendants, but he just won’t let go. Through it all, she feels like a dog on a leash.

Colin only drops her hand after they find their seats, requiring both his hands to place their baggage in the overhead bins.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Penelope hisses once they settle in. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, out of Colin’s reach.

“Hmm?”

He shoots her a pleasantly oblivious expression, as if he genuinely cannot fathom why she would question his behaviour.

“You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m acting excited. We’re on hol—”

“Holiday,” she interrupts. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good.” He smirks. “I was beginning to think you forgot.”

Penelope almost makes a kidnapping joke, then remembers that she’s currently sitting in a first class cabin and thinks better of it. Instead, she pulls a book out of her purse and ignores Colin completely. She reads three pages before he starts acting weird again.

Keeping his eyes suspiciously pointed at the front of the plane, Colin leans over and whispers, “Okay I may have lied a little bit.”

“What —”

“Well, a little to you. I lied quite a lot to the flight attendants.”

Penelope remains quiet for a moment. She really, really doesn’t want to ask, but…

“What the hell did you do?”

He meets her gaze again. His eyes look just as guilty as they do blue.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, he says, “I may have implied that we’re on our honeymoon.”

For a moment, Penelope doesn’t know if she heard him right. There’s a sudden ringing in her ears, but surely —

“What?!” she practically yells. “You ‘implied’ that we’re married?!”

“Yes.” There’s a sudden edge of annoyance in his voice and in that look in his eye — a reaction Penelope cannot even begin to fathom is warranted from him under the circumstances. “Then I remembered that I’m not wearing a wedding ring and that our two random middle seats in the back of the plane might be a bit of a red flag. So —”

“You think?!” Penelope cannot help but interrupt.

“Yes. So I clarified that we’re technically on our way to Catalonia to elope and —”

His words stop short and his eyes cast downward. They land on her left hand. Just as one could expect from a chronically single 23-year-old, it is quite bare.

“You don’t happen to have anything that could pass for an engagement ring, do you?”

“No, Colin. I do not happen to have an engagement ring on me. Seeing as I am not engaged!”

Though she tries to keep her words at a relatively low volume, she can tell that the boarding passengers to their left are not allowing their argument to go unnoticed. A small child snickers at them as he walks past.

“I’m sorry,” Colin whispers, but there’s a petulance in his voice that undermines any attempt at an actual apology. “I just wanted to see if they could switch our seats so we could sit together. I didn’t expect them to upgrade us — certainly not to first class. But apparently there was an actual newlywed couple that cancelled at the last minute. Now…”

When his voice trails off, Colin’s eyes shoot to the front of the cabin again.

“Now I fear they’ll kick us off the plane if you don’t go along with the bit.”

Penelope, who has apparently lost all ability to whisper, shrieks: “The ‘bit?!’”

Another small child passes them in the aisle. This one looks more scared than amused.

“We’ve come this far, Pen,” Colin whispers, seemingly unperturbed by her increasing panic. “Let's not risk it all now.”

Penelope bites down on her lip. She fears what she might say if her teeth ever unclench.

All of this is risky behaviour — starting with his proposition at the pub and ending with this fucking “bit.” And Penelope has gone along with all of it up until now. After so many years of carefully keeping him at a distance (both physically and emotionally), she had agreed to a trip she knew would entail more time by Colin’s side than she could handle. She knew this was risky from the start. She had braced herself for disaster. But this…

This is overwhelming. Pretending to be engaged to the person she loved, let go of, then — despite her best efforts — continues to love so ardently…

It’s too much for her to —

“Shit.”

Colin’s whispered expletive brings Penelope out of a thought spiral of massive proportions. Her teeth unclench. Her eyes look to him, then to the spot where his are pointed. The flight attendant who had scanned their tickets at the gate is walking over with two champagne glasses in hand.

“Shit.”

“Just follow my lead,” Colin whispers, then covers her left hand with his right. It takes everything in her to resist the urge to interlock their fingers and sink her nails in deep.

The flight attendant congratulates them on the wedding and hands them the little plastic flutes. Penelope (who had taken Colin’s instructions to mean “just sit there and let me do the talking”) extends her right arm across her body and silently accepts the champagne. If the flight attendant notices the awkwardness of her gesture, she doesn’t let on; she’s likely too distracted by whatever charming nonsense Colin is currently feeding her to push them past any remaining red flags in their story.

Penelope pours the entire flute down her throat before the woman disappears down the aisle.

“I’m going to kill you,” Penelope promises through a whisper. Her words don’t have any bite left in them, though. She simply sounds tired.

Before Colin can say anything, Penelope tunes him out with the headphones she had stashed in her purse. She doesn’t make it through the first verse before he pinches the little white cord and tugs the left bud out.

“Why are you so mad at me?” he asks, his voice equal parts annoyance and concern. “I apologise for putting you on the spot, but I don’t see why it is such a big deal. Am I really so awful that just pretending to be my wife could warrant this level of disgust?”

Penelope’s teeth sink down on her bottom lip yet again.

She wants to scream. She wants to point out his hypocrisy — to say it out loud. That he can announce to an entire party that he would never date her in a million years, but she can’t complain about being forced to play his pretend wife for the sake of a stranger.

But she can’t say any of that out loud, now can she? Not without unravelling everything else — the fragile net she has spun to maintain their friendship these last few years.

Pouring all of the willpower left in her body into a single smile…

“Don’t you mean your pretend fiancée? According to the backstory you crafted, I am not your pretend wife yet. I could still leave you at the pretend altar and live the rest of my life with a prince in the Catalonian mountainside.”

Thankfully, her facade seems to work. Colin laughs.

“I suppose that’s your prerogative. I don’t know how many princes are left in Catalonia these days, though.”

“Plenty of pretend princes, though.”

Penelope puts her headphones back in. She doesn’t hear the flight attendants’ instructions on what to do in the case of disaster. She ignores Colin’s sidelong glances when they begin to taxi. She closes her eyes when the engines rumble to life and the wheels below them pick up speed. She feels the plane lift into nothingness and tries her hardest to forget where she is. She moves her hand, intent on wrapping her fingers around the cool, silver divider between her and —

Suddenly, Colin’s hand is in hers again. Not covering it. Just holding on.

Any anger left in Penelope melts away. She squeezes the palm in hers gently.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 2

“I never knew the ocean could be this blue. Not in real life.”

In the past 24 hours, Penelope has made some variation of this comment to Colin at least a dozen times. In fairness, the water is insanely blue here. The weather is perfect. Everywhere you look, there’s something breathtaking and unimaginable to comment on. And like he always does when they’re together, Colin hangs on to her every word.

Right now, they’re walking along the edges of the Ruins of Empúries — a site Colin recommended they visit due to its history and beautiful views. To their left lies the ocean, as blue and breathtaking as it ever was. To their right lies the ruins — the archaeological remnants of two ancient cities. For the last hour, Colin has been playing the part of tour guide, filling the air with random pieces of trivia on the Greek and Roman settlements.

(Thankfully, Penelope doesn’t seem to mind the noise.)

“The name comes from the word ‘emporium,’ which means ‘market.’ Before the Second Punic War, the Greek traders thrived here. They set up ports on the beaches, then sold all sorts of goods here for about 300 years.”

Penelope stops walking and pulls out her phone. She points the camera in the direction of a nearby stonewall, then chuckles.

“What?” Colin asks after a moment, desperately wanting to be let in on the joke.

“Nothing.” She places her phone back in her pocket. “It’s just crazy to think about all that time. In 200 BC, someone laid these stones down in this particular way, just so I could take a picture of them with an iPhone two thousand years later.”

Very suddenly, a laugh hits Colin so hard that he has to place a cautionary hand on Penelope’s shoulder, so as not to risk doubling over and destroying this piece of history forever.

“Thank god for the Greeks,” he says through a giggle. “Building such an innovative, thriving marketplace, just so Penelope Featherington could take a picture of its carcass two millennia later.”

Penelope laughs too, though hers is more embarrassed than unrestrained.

“That came out wro—” she starts, but her words are interrupted by the sound of something high-pitched behind them.

Colin turns around. Penelope jumps. A teenage girl with hair the colour of butter stands behind them, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

“Oh Christ, sorry! I just —” The girl’s eyes settle on his, squinting. “Are you Colin Bridgerton?”

Thoroughly confused, Colin gives the girl a quick once over. She has pink-tinted Ray Bans resting on the crown of her head. She has a gold chain around her neck with the letter “L” dangling off it. She’s wearing a burgundy “Oakham Hall” t-shirt, which is tucked into her jean shorts. He’s searching for any little detail that might clue him in on this girl’s identity; he comes up empty.

“Um, yes. And, sorry — who are you?”

“No one. I mean —” She laughs. “My name is Hermione. I just meant that you don’t know me. I’m a huge fan of yours, though. I, like, love your Instagram.”

Instantly, Colin’s eyes glance down and to the side, because of course this would happen with Penelope standing right next to him.

Over the last three years, Colin’s work has accumulated more of a following than he could have predicted at the start. Between his blog, Instagram, and occasional freelance work, he has built somewhat of a recognizable name for himself. However, given the type of content he produces, his face is not quite so recognizable.

Not once in three years has a fan picked him out of a crowd in public. Until now, of course.

“Lovely to meet you, Hermione.” Colin leans forward and offers his hand for her to shake. Though he is thoroughly baffled by this encounter happening in the first place, he does his best to not allow such skepticism bleed through to his voice. “It’s so nice to hear you enjoy my stuff.”

“Oh, I do! You go to the most wonderful places and write about them so beautifully! I never get to travel. Well —” She laughs. “Except now, of course. But usually, I just live vicariously through your posts.”

Colin, suddenly filled to the brim with an emotion he can’t quite name, does not know how to respond to the teenager’s words. His first instinct is denial, but Penelope speaks up from beside him before he can open his mouth to express such a thing.

“I’m the same way. I’m not sure I would have made it out of uni with my sanity intact if it weren’t for his blog. Sometimes, a bit of escapism is key.”

Hermione smiles at Penelope’s words, but as soon as she stops speaking, the girl’s eyes go wide.

“Oh! How rude of me. I just realised I never asked for your name.”

“Oh, please,” she chuckles softly. “Don’t apologise. My name is Penelope.”

The smile returns to Hermione’s face. Her eyes dart back and forth between him and Penelope. Before she has the chance to ask…

“Pen and I have known each other forever. She edits all of my posts, actually. So if you enjoy my stuff, you should really be thanking her. She’s more miracle worker than editor. I mean — you should see the bullshit I type up before she spins it into something readable.”

Penelope glances up at Colin with a wry smile on her face. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I’ve never known you to be so humble.”

Colin laughs just as Hermione asks, “Oh! Do you two always travel together? I never really thought about it, but I suppose I assumed that you travel solo.”

“No,” Colin answers. “I’m always trying to get Pen to abandon her responsibilities and run off with me somewhere, but you know…”

When he looks down to Penelope, there’s a very confusing look on her face.

“I, um —”

“You assumed correctly,” Penelope cuts in, setting her gaze back on the girl in front of them. “He always travels alone. This trip is an exception.”

Before Colin can say anything else, Penelope steps away from him and towards Hermione. “I can take a picture of you two together,” she offers the girl. “If you like.”

“That’s so nice, thank —” Hermione cuts herself off and looks back at Colin. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“Yes. Of course.”

He nods his head to indicate that Hermione should stand next to him. She does, and just as Penelope lifts the phone to take their picture, she chuckles nervously and says, “Sorry for being so weird. I live in the middle of nowhere; I never see famous people out in public like this.”

At the same exact moment that Penelope presses down and takes their photo, Colin unwittingly pulls a face. (How else is he supposed to react to someone saying that?) Thankfully, Penelope notices and, stifling a sudden plight of laughter, continues snapping photos until she gets something acceptable.

When Hermione receives her phone back, she seems pleased with the results. Smiling, she looks over to Colin and thanks him for the photos. Then, without a single ounce of hesitation…

“Do you want me to take one of you and your girlfriend?”

Though that last word may be incorrect, Colin doesn’t see the point in correcting a random stranger on such minor terminology. But at the very same moment that he answers “Yes” to the question that was asked, Penelope answers “No” to the one that wasn’t.

“We are not dating,” she clarifies at the very same moment that he says, “We would love a photo, thanks.”

Before she can say another word, Colin hands Hermione his phone and pulls Penelope into his side.

After so many years of friendship, there are certain routines that naturally form between two people. Movements that flow between them, automatic from so much practice over time. For example, when Penelope and Colin take a picture together, his hand always goes to her side while hers always goes to his back. Always.

Until now.

While Colin’s hand does land on Penelope’s waist, both of hers twist together down her front. Where she usually leans into him, she stands straight. And while she technically has a smile on her face, it’s not the one he’s used to seeing in their photos together; it’s strained at the edges.

When it’s all over, Penelope removes herself from the embrace, Hermione says goodbye, and Colin wonders what the hell just happened. He briefly considers brushing it all aside and just resuming his tour guide responsibilities, but can’t seem to find the words.

He’s too annoyed.

He’s been annoyed since the moment Penelope said “No.” Since she said that word in that emphatic, decisive way — as if clarifying the true nature of their relationship to a stranger was the most important thing in the world to her. As if being mistaken as his girlfriend was a fate worse than death. As if —

“So…” Penelope says suddenly, her voice noticeably lighter than it had been a moment ago. “How does it feel to be ‘famous?’”

With that, she steps back onto the path and resumes their trek forward. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind.

“Don’t start with me, Featherington,” he warns, trying his hardest to match her tone of voice.

“Oh, come on. She was sweet.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t sweet. She simply misspoke about the ‘famous’ bit.”

“Well —”

“I’m serious, Pen. That has literally never happened before. Not once in three years has anyone ever recognised me in public. I mean — she probably only noticed me because of you.”

Still walking right beside him, Penelope cranes her head and throws him a confused look.

“What are you talking about? She didn’t know who I was.”

“Well, no. But…” Smirking, Colin reaches over and flicks a strand of red hair off her shoulder. “This tends to get people’s attention. I, on the other hand, am rather unassuming. It’s —”

Penelope scoffs, interrupting him.

“You are not ‘unassuming.’ You’re so… tall. I find it hard to believe you go unnoticed in a crowd.”

Colin shrugs. He tries to examine another strand of her hair, but Penelope swats his fingers away.

“Agree to dis—”

“Regardless of how she noticed you — she still recognized you. Even though your entire Instagram feed is sunsets and food. It’s —”

“Hey, that’s not strictly —”

“— cool that she recognized you,” she interrupts, looking up at him again. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he supposes. “It’s nice to know my work has had an impact on someone. You know…” He looks down to her again. “Someone who isn’t biased because they’ve known me their entire life.”

“I can be unbiased,” she claims with little confidence in her voice.

“You —”

“Have you decided on a narrative for your story yet?” she asks him, providing no context for the swift change in subject.

“What story?” he asks after a few seconds.

“The Catalonia story.”

“Oh,” he says after a few more seconds. “I’m not writing one.”

After throwing him a bewildered look, she asks, “What wouldn’t you write a story about this place?”

“I’m on vacation. Why would I work?”

“Well… That logic might apply to someone whose job doesn’t require them to go on vacation, but —”

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, mock offence heavy on his tongue. “My profession requires me to travel. Even travel writers need a vacation every once in a while. A break from having to spend each waking moment of my day constructing narratives and meeting deadlines and memorialising every little detail of my experiences.”

Penelope nods sympathetically at his words, but is quick with her response.

“What about your two-month hiatus at home? Wasn’t that supposed to be your break from paradise?”

“Yes — but this is an extension of that break. And in case you forgot, we’re only in Catalonia because of you and your accomplishments.”

A scoff that nearly sounds like a laugh escapes her mouth.

“I seem to recall the planning of this trip very differently than you do.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Getting back to the point… Don’t you owe it to your readers to write about this place? To memorialise just a little bit of paradise for those who aren’t lucky enough to experience it themselves?”

Feet still propelling him forward, Colin takes a moment to consider her words. He thinks of Hermione. He thinks of the little black and white follower count attached to his Instagram. He thinks of his dreams. He thinks of Penelope on that night in December.

Something to propel me forward and set me free.

“No,” he tells her. “I think that’s bullshit.”

Penelope gapes at him, clearly caught off guard by his bluntness.

“Pardon?”

“The more time you spend worrying about what you ‘owe’ the world, the more you risk losing sight of what matters to you. I’m elated to know that people enjoy my work, but I can’t let that pressure me into becoming a slave to my purpose. I can’t let it stop me from running off for a weekend with a friend just to enjoy myself.”

A moment passes by with no words between them. It’s not silent, though; the ocean is too loud. When Penelope finally speaks, the crashing waves nearly drown her words out.

“I thought the only reason we came here was for me. I don’t remember your enjoyment being a factor in this at all.”

Colin can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, well… I suppose my pleasure is an added bonus.”

Penelope laughs, too.

“Even then… What if you wrote something just for yourself? So twenty years from now, you can remember how the water reflects the sun here . Or how you spent an hour describing the differences between the Greek Empúries and the Roman Empúries.”

Stifling a laugh…

“Technically, the Roman settlement was called ‘Emporiæ.’”

“Regardless,” she murmurs. “Maybe you can write a different kind of story. One that isn’t meant for anyone’s eyes, except your own. I mean — twenty years from now, wouldn’t it be nice to have a written account of this stunning place? To hold onto moments like these,” she raises her hands towards the scenery around them, “long after our feet carry us away from them?”

Colin considers her words for a moment. A very brief moment.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary for this trip.” It’s only after Penelope throws him a questioning glance that he continues, “If I were alone, then sure — I might worry about forgetting certain details about this place and be tempted to jot them down. But I’m not alone. If I want to come back to this moment twenty years from now, I’ll just talk to you about it.”

When Colin looks over to Penelope again, he finds that her cheeks are burning a bright shade of pink. He would blame the sun, if it weren't for the colour’s rather sudden appearance on her skin.

“Are you —” he starts, at the very same moment that she blurts out, “Do you ever get lonely on your trips? It just — it seems like a lot of time spent by yourself.”

Involuntarily, Colin’s lips twist together — as if his body is preventing him from answering such a complicated question too quickly.

In truth, he does get lonely on his travels, but that word doesn’t have the sting it once did. There’s an inherent loneliness to this job — especially for someone like Colin, who cannot focus on things like narratives and deadlines and details unless free from distraction. This particular trip has made that abundantly clear; he hadn’t even thought about writing until Penelope brought it up just a moment ago.

For Colin, finding success over the last three years also meant finding a way to live with the loneliness. To turn it into something good.

“Sometimes,” he finally answers. “But it’s a necessary evil. Writing, travelling, returning home — those things make the loneliness easy to live with. For now, at least.”

“For now?” Penelope echoes, suddenly sounding far away.

Colin shrugs.

“A man can’t travel forever.”

Just as those words leave Colin’s lips, the two of them reach a fork in the road. They could turn to the right, towards the ocean. They could turn left, towards the ruins. They could even turn around, back to where they began.

Penelope decides for them both in the end, her feet walking to the right. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind.

Their footstops halt when the pavement meets the sand. Both sets of eyes point forward, towards the breathtakingly blue water.

“You know, if you’re so worried about our feeble human memories being unable to do this place justice, you could always write about it. Last time I checked, you’re also —”

“No,” she interrupts. “You were right. I’ll remember this.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

The most difficult part of being in love with your dearest friend, Penelope has come to realise, is having to look at them. When she and Colin are apart — separated by school or a job or Penelope’s better judgement — being his friend is easy. It’s easy for her to be his friend over an email or a voicemail or even a Skype. It’s easy to keep her true feelings below the surface when their only connection is through a screen. There are times when it’s easy to trick herself into thinking friendship is not so different from (or inferior to) a romantic relationship. But when they’re separated by nothing more than a bit of air…

It’s difficult. Especially on days like today.

Today was a beach day. They’ve been here since breakfast. Penelope spent much of that time hiding from the sun under the safety of a giant beach umbrella, unwilling to risk showing up to her first day of work with a sunburn the same shade of red as her hair. But (unsurprisingly), Colin had coaxed her out of the shadows more times than she could count today.

Today was a test of Penelope’s strength of will. And her ability to keep her eyes trained upwards (an especially difficult task, given that her eyeline just so happens to fall directly on his bare, tan, surprisingly hairy chest).

Now, she is back in the shadows, pretending to read a book while Colin is a little further down the beach. He’s playing volleyball with a group of strangers who just so happened to need a sixth player. He’s shirtless, just as he has been all fucking day. He’s serving the ball. He’s laughing with a teammate. He’s running a hand through his hair, his —

Fucking hell. Are his biceps larger than they were yesterday?

Shaking her head, pushing her oversized sunglasses even closer to her skull, she looks down at the book uselessly sitting open in her lap. In hindsight, The Scarlet Letter was far from an optimal choice for a beach read. But still…

She should be able to get through a single line without her eyes wandering off to places they shouldn’t go.

When she looks back up, she finds Colin scoring yet another point in his impromptu game. He’s laughing with that familiar, carefree refrain that always falls so naturally from his lips. He’s flexing muscles she didn’t know he had. He’s shining like gold beneath the sun’s reflection. He’s looking up towards the sky, a frown suddenly marking his otherwise pleasant face. He’s walking away from his new friends.

He’s six metres away. Five metres. Four —

Fuck.

Once again, Penelope tilts her head down and pretends to be enthralled by the book in her lap. If Colin had noticed her staring, he doesn’t say anything about it when he closes the distance between them.

“It looks like it’s about to rain. You want to head back to the hotel?”

Suddenly struck by just how dry her throat is, Penelope only manages to smile and nod in response. It isn’t until she and Colin are halfway back to the hotel that she realises how long it’s been since she’s said anything at all.

“I can’t believe I slept through sunrise again this morning.”

Colin laughs in that easy, reassuring way that practically makes Penelope’s blood boil after her day under the sun.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says. “Under normal circumstances, a 6 AM wake up call is difficult for an insomniac such as yourself. Taking into account that your body still thinks it’s an hour behind back in London…”

You have no idea what my body thinks, she wants to say. But she doesn’t say that. Obviously.

“Perhaps,” she says instead. “But we have such a prime view of it from our rooms. It would be a shame not to see it with my own eyes at least once.”

“Well, I have faith that you can manage it.”

“Thank y—”

“And when you do, perhaps you can bang on my wall a few times so I can enjoy the sunrise too.”

Feeling much lighter than she had just a moment ago, Penelope giggles. “Perhaps,” she says, picking up her footsteps. They remain light the rest of their trek, even when the rain inevitably pours down around them, transforming their walk into a run.

When they arrive back at the hotel, Colin immediately turns left towards the elevators. But Penelope, suddenly brimming with a very good idea, turns right towards the reception desk.

“Good afternoon,” she says to the woman behind the desk, an older lady with a cherry blossom tucked behind her ear. Isabella, her name tag reads.

“Hello,” the woman says brightly. “What can I help you with, dear?”

“Can I order a wake up call for tomorrow morning, please?”

(If ten alarms can’t wake her at the crack of dawn, perhaps the terror-striking sound of a phone call will.)

“Certainly! I just need your room number.”

“Of course. It’s 301.”

As the woman types away at her computer, Penelope turns towards Colin. He’s leaning against a pillar, a few feet back. He’s smiling. There are undoubtedly puddles forming in the soles of his sandals at this very moment, but still, he’s smiling.

Penelope can’t help but smile back.

“There you are,” the older woman says beneath her breath, just loud enough to bring Penelope’s eyes forward again. “So Mrs. Bridgerton, what time should I schedule your call for?”

Penelope doesn’t register the second half of Isabella’s question, her mind suddenly overcome with the sounds of alarm bells.

Mrs. Bridgerton.

Mrs. Fucking. Bridgerton.

“What?!”

The word shoots out of her mouth before she can stop it. She regrets it immediately. This kind woman doesn’t deserve such displaced aggression. That aggression should be aimed directly at the man standing behind them both.

“I’m sorry, dear. I was saying —”

“No, I’m sorry, truly. I just —” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not Mrs. —”

She takes another breath. She says a prayer. She pretends to be a normal person — one who would have no reason to crack under the sheer irony of being mistaken as Colin Bridgerton’s wife.

“I don’t need that wake up call anymore, but thank you so much for your time. Sorry again.”

When she turns around, Colin isn’t smiling anymore.

“A word?” she hisses as she stomps past him on the way to the elevator.

“Pen, what are you do—”

She stops short in the middle of the lobby. So short, in fact, that Colin nearly runs right into her. Thankfully, Penelope has a lifetime’s worth of practice getting out of other people’s way; she dodges him at the last second.

“What did you do, Colin? Did you tell them we’re on our honeymoon, like you did at the airport?”

She tears her eyes away from his to quickly glance at the room around them.

Their hotel is gorgeous. It used to be a historic Spanish villa, but was renovated and transformed for lodging just a few years ago. It is not the type of place you can snag for just £100 a night (especially with the views they have from their rooms upstairs). Penelope realised this fact the very moment they walked into this lobby Thursday night, but after the stressful flight and initial pretend wife debacle, Penelope had chosen to overlook it then. Suffice to say, that instinct has long since left her body.

“Is that how you were able to get us this place for so cheap?”

“No. I didn’t do that.”

Colin’s eyes don’t look away from hers as he speaks. She knows that he isn’t lying, but…

“How the fuck did you, then?”

She doesn’t yell, but she doesn’t disguise her words with a whisper, either. Colin doesn’t make any attempt to disguise his emotions, either. He’s looking down at her with a disbelieving, bitter look — as if he is the wronged party here.

“I —”

“And why did she call me ‘Mrs. Bridgerton?’” she interrupts. Her voice is neutral in volume, but biting in its tone.

Colin takes a breath and wipes that bitter expression off his face. (For now, at least.)

“I know the owner,” he admits. His tone reeks of a nonchalance that Penelope feels is unwarranted, given the present circumstances. “I didn’t even make the reservation. He probably put my name down on both rooms and the receptionist got confused.”

“You know the owner?” she asks, incredulous.

“Family friend,” he clarifies, stunning Penelope back into silence.

After twenty-three years of living in such close proximity to the Bridgertons, she should be used to this by now. She doesn’t need to be reminded of the family’s seemingly infinite web of connections or be surprised at their ability to pull from them to get whatever it is that they want or need. But even now, it’s difficult for her to fully grasp.

At her silence, Colin decides to change tactics. Smirking, he continues, “I mean — how would I even pull that scheme off? We have two adjoining rooms. That would be a rather large red flag for a supposed honeymoon.”

Much quieter than she was a moment ago (but just as vexed), Penelope tells him, “I have faith in your ability to get around such minor details. If it means getting what you want.”

“Hey — if you didn’t want me to use any special discounts on this trip, you should have stipulated that in the rules of the game.”

After cringing at his use of the term special discounts, Penelope decides to give up. Turning her body towards the nearest elevator, she tells him she’ll “remember that for next time.” Before she can step away though, Colin stops her with a hand gripped tightly around her elbow.

When she looks up, she finds that bitter expression has returned to his face.

“Tell me, Pen,” he whispers, leaning in close. “Which has been the most painful blow to your ego — being mistaken as my girlfriend, my fiancée, or my wife?”

“Excuse me?”

Penelope feels as though she’s outside of her own body; she isn’t sure if she whispered those two words aloud or simply screamed them into the deepest caverns of her mind. It must have been the former, though. Colin’s eyes are wide.

“Honestly, Pen? It’s a bit upsetting to know that my best friend would raise hell before allowing a random stranger to think that we might be —”

He pauses for the briefest, longest second of Penelope’s life.

“Involved.”

Penelope stands silent for several seconds. What is she supposed to say to that? What platonic explanation is there for that?

You’re being a hypocrite. You’re being cruel, she wants to say. But she can’t say that. Obviously.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles instead. Then, she slips her arm from his grasp. “I — I’m just in a bit of a mood. I think it’s the sun.”

Her words reek of utter bullshit. They both know it. But at least Colin has the grace to let the issue go.

“Come on.”

His hand quickly finds its position around her elbow once more. This time, his grip is loose. Five tentative fingers tethered to her skin.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 4

“What the hell are you doing?”

Given the notable height difference between them, Colin always has to be mindful of where his eyes land when standing right beside Penelope. But when crammed into small spaces like the elevator they’re currently sharing, his eyes inevitably start to wander. Now, they’re pointed at her phone screen. (Which is an invasion of privacy. Which is bad, but the lesser of two evils, given his current perspective in relation to his best friend’s shirt.)

She looks up at him, but only after setting a 25th alarm.

“Tomorrow is our last morning here. I am not missing that sunrise.”

She looks down again, resuming her all-important task. By the time they reach their destination and the elevator doors swing open, she has set at least ten more alarms. Her eyes remain locked on the screen as she steps foot into the lobby.

They’re on the way to the hotel bar, a suggestion Colin made after an unusually tense 24 hours between them in paradise.

Well, tense might be too strong of a term to describe the atmosphere between him and Penelope. But still, the atmosphere has been different ever since he let his ego get the better of him in the hotel lobby yesterday. Different enough to scare him. Different enough to prompt him to call in the big guns to set things right again.

(Alcohol.)

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Two tequila shots into the night, Penelope is not having a good time.

She had spent the entire day trying her hardest to force a smile on her face and keep her bad mood at bay until they land back on English soil. This had proved to be difficult — not just because of the insistence and intensity of said bad mood, but also because of Colin’s not-so-subtle attempts to uncover the true reason for her outburst the day before. (And the day before that.) (And the day before that.)

His line of questioning has only become less subtle since walking into the bar. Logically, this realisation should have prompted Penelope to make one final toast then go hide in her hotel room, but…

Alcohol has a tendency to make good ideas sound bad and bad ideas sound good. The latter is why she’s currently standing at the bar waiting for another round.

Maybe another drink will make us both forget what happened.

“Here you go, miss.”

On the other side of the bar, the handsome bartender slides two clear glasses with lime green liquid sloshing inside. Penelope unconsciously licks her bottom lip at the sight.

Only after securing the glasses in each hand does she realise that she never technically paid for either drink.

“You can put these on 301,” she shouts over the music.

“No need,” the bartender answers in a low voice that somehow cuts clear through the chaos of the room. He winks at her. “Those are on the house.”

“Oh! Um. Thanks!”

With that, Penelope turns on her heel. The abrupt motion causes one tiny stream of syrupy tequila to trickle down her fingers and onto the floor.

Determined not to spill any more of her free drinks, Penelope walks to the table in the back of the bar with an abundance of caution. During the treacherous journey across the room, she keeps her eyes pointed intently on the glasses in her hands. When she finally looks up, she’s shocked by what she finds.

In the chair beside Colin sits the most beautiful woman Penelope has ever seen with her own two eyes. The two of them are turned towards each other, talking about something Penelope can’t hear from where she stands not four feet away. She stands there awkwardly hovering above the table for a few seconds before Colin notices her return. When he does, he shoots her an aggravatingly endearing smile.

“There she is!” He turns back to the girl on his right. “Paris, this is Penelope. Pen, this is Paris.”

God. Even her name is beautiful.

“Lovely to meet you, Paris,” Penelope says, taking the seat directly across from her instead of the one facing Colin.

Paris, in turn, throws her a smile that could rival Colin’s. Even in this dim corner of the bar, it manages to catch the light.

“You as well, Penelope! Colin and I were just bonding over our most harrowing solo travel stories.”

She’s American, her voice betrays.

“Do you travel much?” Penelope asks after taking a long, greedy sip of her drink.

“Not as much as I’d like to,” she admits, sighing a little. “But I had a few weeks free before my grad program starts, so I decided to say ‘fuck it’ and booked a flight over here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees Colin open his mouth to say something. Before he can manage to, she leans towards their new, very beautiful friend and says, “That’s amazing. Where else have you been?”

Over the course of the next few minutes, Penelope practically forgets about Colin and the unresolved tension between them. She’s too busy listening to their new, very beautiful, remarkably interesting, extremely funny, perfect friend Paris. (While also finishing her two free drinks.)

“Enough about me,” Penelope’s new favourite distraction eventually orders. She flicks her eyes from Colin to Penelope and back. “I meant to ask before, but how did you two meet?”

Penelope opens her mouth to answer, but Colin beats her to it, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. Still grinning…

“You know, that question is surprisingly hard to answer. We’ve always just known each other.”

His response is the most infuriating string of words Penelope has ever heard uttered aloud in her life. Across the table, Paris looks as though she’s about to melt.

“Awwww, that is so —”

“I believe what Colin meant to say is that we grew up across the street from one another,” she interrupts, just barely able to keep her tone pleasant enough to not scare away Paris. “His sister is my best friend.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope watches as Colin’s grin finally drops. She nearly looks at him for the first time since sitting down, but then her new friend says something that immediately dislodges the impulse from her mind.

Specifically, Paris delivers the funniest joke Penelope has ever heard in her life.

“You two are childhood sweethearts? That is so sweet!”

Penelope snorts. Her reaction is so loud and unladylike that she fears her mother will be able to sense it all the way back home in London.

“No! We’re —”

She snorts again. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears someone say her name like a warning, but it barely registers.

“We are not dating,” she continues, just barely able to keep in another round of giggles. She keeps her eyes trained on Paris, who suddenly looks rather wide-eyed in her seat across from Penelope. “I mean — my god! Colin would never.”

She hears her voice called out in the distance again, but refuses to heed its warning. She can’t stop now. She’s too close to the punchline.

“You know, he said that once. Literally. That he would never date me. Not in a million years!”

“Pen!”

Finally, she hears him. Her eyes snap to Colin. His face is made up of an emotion she’s never seen there before.

Betrayal? No, that’s not —

“A word?”

Before she can even register that he has moved from his chair, Colin stands above her. His hand is on her elbow. He’s pulling her out the nearest door.

The breeze outside is bitter. Though the nearest beach is at least a half-kilometre away, Penelope swears she can feel little bits of the sea spraying on her cheeks. Neither of those sensations are cold enough to distract her from the warmth wrapped around her elbow.

“What was that, Penelope?”

“I…” she starts, with no intention of finishing the sentence.

“What were you talking about at the end?”

The first question had been delivered to her with fury. The second, concern. The next one that falls from his lips…

Misery.

“What did you — what did I say? I don’t — I don’t remember…”

All night, knowingly or not, Penelope had been using alcohol to fuel the pyre of her own misery. But seeing it reflected on Colin’s face now…

“It was nothing,” she lies. “Just forget —”

“No. Whatever it is, it is not ‘nothing.’

“Colin —”

“Pen, please,” he begs. “Just tell me.”

Penelope wants to summon the strength to be honest. She wants to destroy her disposition towards bullshit and tell him the truth. She’s not certain if that’s a strength she possesses, but she knows for a fact that she won’t be able to summon it with Colin tethered to her skin.

Stepping backwards, Penelope untangles herself from his grip. She crosses her arms in front of her chest before he can attempt to take hold again.

“Honestly, Colin, it was nothing. It happened years ago — before you even left for Cambridge. At that party at Fife’s house, I overheard you talking with some of your friends. They must have seen us hanging out all night and got the wrong idea about us. They — they asked if we were dating and you told them we weren’t, that we would nev—”

She sucks in a breath. She chances a prayer. She tries her hardest not to bullshit.

“You were just correcting them. That’s all.”

Colin doesn’t say anything for several seconds. He stands before her with twisted lips, like he’s desperately trying to hold something in. Then, he parts them.

“Kind of like how you were ‘just correcting’ that girl inside?”

“Yeah,” she says, speaking 100% truthfully for the first time since they stepped outside. Honesty is hard, but his comparison is too apt to even try to deny it.

When Colin takes a step towards her, Penelope takes another step back. The motion is enough to make her dizzy and, thus, remind her of the tequila currently sitting in the depths of her stomach.

“Pen, I’m so sorry. I —”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice definitive. “Don’t apologise. For anything. I was being rude inside, but you — you were just being honest that night. You didn’t even know I was there — that I could hear what you said. You —

“I hardly think that mat—”

“You should not have to apologise for simply speaking your mind.”

“That’s bullsh—”

“Colin! It was forever ago, can we please just leave it be?” She takes a breath. “Can we forget about this whole mess?”

“How can you say that? It’s been —”

Raising his hands into the air between them, he uses his fingers to count off imaginary numbers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…

“Seven years! Seven, Penelope. I can’t even remember saying it, but I —” He takes a breath. “I wish I could. If for nothing else, just to properly apologise to you for being such a dickhead.”

“Col—”

“But you remember. And after what just happened in the bar — after what’s been happening all week — don’t you dare try and pretend like it’s nothing. If it was truly nothing, you would not be holding onto it seven years later.”

That look — the one that appeared out of nowhere following her outburst inside — appears on his face again. The lighting is a bit brighter out here due to a nearby streetlamp, but it doesn’t make it any easier for Penelope to identify that emotion. It’s not betrayal. It’s not quite guilt. It’s —

It doesn’t matter.

Resisting the urge to drop her gaze from his, Penelope finally accepts that there are some things in life that defy definition. One of those anomalies is currently staring right through her, and there’s nothing she can say to make him see her. Bullshit or otherwise.

“Fine. Apology accepted.”

She turns to leave, needing the conversation to be over. But yet again, Colin’s hand wraps around her elbow.

“Can we please just talk about this like adults?”

“What is there left to say?” He opens his mouth, but she isn’t done. “You were right. I was hurt, but now I’m choosing to let it go. Seven years is far too long a time to take issue with a few words overheard at a party.”

“That is not what I meant, Pen.”

“I know. But it’s the truth.”

“Pen —”

“It’s late, Colin,” she interrupts, turning her back to him as she begins to step away. “Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” He’s already beside her again, footsteps in line with hers.

“Back to my room,” she huffs. “I wish to be alone.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting I let you run off by yourself right now, are you?”

“Yes —”

“Pen, you’re drunk.”

He certainly has a point but…

“You say that like you are not also drunk.”

“Yeah, well…” He runs a hand through his hair, then promptly finds her elbow again. “At least I’m not as drunk as you.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

On the way back down to the bar, Colin takes the stairs.

After ensuring that Penelope got back to her room safely, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his own bed and end this cursed day once and for all. But when he fished out his wallet to retrieve his roomkey, he realised that a different card was missing. That his credit card was sitting behind a bar downstairs, along with an unpaid tab.

He takes the stairs slowly, step by reluctant step. His mind is elsewhere, unwittingly replaying the night over and over again. He’s trying to make sense of it all. Of any of it.

Not in a million years!

He said that once.

He doesn’t doubt it. But god — he doesn’t remember it either. He remembers that night. He remembers sitting on the roof with Penelope, then dancing with her in the back garden. He remembers laughing. He remembers drinking. He remembers being eighteen. He remembers what a massive arsehole he could turn into when surrounded by other arseholes like Fife.

He doesn’t doubt that he said it — but he can’t quite explain it either. Lord knows he can’t justify it. The words just sounded wrong, especially when repeated back to him from Penelope’s lips.

That he would never date me.

Not in a million years!

Even in his own head, Colin struggles to explain why those words feel so wrong to him — why they reek of such potent bullshit. His dilemma is not made any easier by Penelope or anything she said tonight.

Fine. Apology accepted.

The way she looked at him when those words left her lips…

It was like she disappeared. Her eyes didn’t leave his, and yet it looked as though she was suddenly staring at something far in the distance. Like she was staring through him. Like —

“Can I help you, mate?”

Colin blinks three times, taking in his surroundings as he comes back to reality. His feet must have been on auto-pilot the last few minutes; he’s back at the bar.

“Mate?” the smug bartender repeats.

Not in the mood to dignify that with a response, Colin mimes a pen squiggle in the air. Thankfully, the man takes the hint and disappears down the bar to retrieve his check. Before he can return, someone on a barstool clears their throat.

It’s the girl from before. The American. The one who sat at his table to make small talk, then unintentionally fucked up his entire night. (And possibly his entire friendship with Penelope.)

Brooklyn? No, that wasn’t it.

“So… What the fuck was that before?” she asks, her voice teetering somewhere between faux-enthusiasm and genuine annoyance. “Some weird foreplay between you and your girlfriend?”

“No. We’re not…”

He could finish that sentence, but he doesn’t see the point. This stranger has already received a lecture on the true nature of his and Penelope’s relationship — what else needs to be said?

The girl rolls her eyes, dropping the fake enthusiasm entirely.

“If you two aren’t dating, why did you tell me your ‘girlfriend Penelope’ was grabbing drinks from the bar when I first sat down?”

“No, I —”

His voice trails off again. This time, his mind is kicking into overdrive, desperately attempting to relive that moment of the night. Surely, he didn’t —

“No,” he says again, this time more sure of himself. “I said she was my ‘good friend,’ not my ‘girlfriend.’” But as the words leave his lips, Colin’s short-lived confidence crumbles.

Good friend. Girlfriend.

The bar is loud and he’s consumed quite a bit of tequila tonight. Maybe he did misspeak.

Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend.

“Whatever,” the American says, pushing herself off of the barstool. “I hope you and your good friend can work out your issues.”

Colin gulps, because Lord knows that he hopes for the same.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

The first alarm goes off at 5:50 AM. Colin was technically asleep before it wrung out, but restlessly so. His body never fully settled into sleep that night, so it’s quick to wake when those artificial bells drift over from the wall behind him.

Another alarm starts at 5:51, then stops just as quickly. From his own bed, Colin can’t help but picture Penelope muting said alarm with her eyes scrunched shut, hungover and still 90% asleep. For the first time in what feels like ages, he smiles.

At 5:52, another alarm rings out as Colin sits up, wide awake. He runs a hand across his face as memories and realisations from the night before come back to him with startling clarity. They fit together in his mind like evidence for a cold case he didn’t realise was a mystery until yesterday. A few more alarms ring out as he pieces everything together.

Seven years ago, Colin left for Cambridge and Penelope left for Cheltenham and, for two years and three months thereafter, their friendship wasn’t the same. In those two years and three months, he lost the one person he could always and truly be himself around. Throughout those two years and three months, he assumed the shift between them had been an inevitable part of growing up and growing out of their younger selves. But now…

Now he can see it all clearly.

Seven years ago, Colin invited Penelope to a party, occupied her time all night, then claimed that he would never date her in a million goddamn years. He said those words in a crowd full of people — so crowded, in fact, that he couldn’t tell that she had been there to witness it all firsthand.

It all seems so obvious now. Of course she heard him. Of course the shift had been intentional — on one side, that is.

At 6:05, another alarm rings. Colin barely hears it, his mind occupied by the question that had been plaguing him all week.

Why is Pen so put off by the prospect of us being a couple?

He knows the answer now, but it’s of no comfort to him.

At 6:06, a new question rises to occupy that space in his mind.

Why aren’t I put off by the prospect of Pen and I being a couple?

Perhaps that is the question he should have been asking himself from the start. At no point during any of the many misunderstandings that occurred this week had Colin ever been put off by the titles others had thrust upon them. Strangers seeing Penelope as his girlfriend, his fiancée, his wife…

None of it put him off.

The 6:07 alarm seems to rewire his brain. More questions come to him.

Is it normal to be enraged by the idea of dating your best friend? Is it more or less normal to find the idea… nice?

At the 6:08 alarm, Colin asks himself another question. One he should have been asking himself for several years now.

Is it normal to be so preoccupied by the sight of your best friend’s cleavage?

At the 6:09 alarm, long after assuming Penelope would miss her final chance at viewing the Catalonian sunrise, he hears something new from the next room over.

“Siri, cancel all alarms.”

After that, he hears the faintest evidence of movement from her end. Rustling sheets. Footsteps. A barely audible “Fuck.”

By 6:10, Colin stands stiffly, inches away from their adjoining door. By 6:11, he actually knocks on it.

It only takes a few seconds for her to swing it open.

“Hi.”

Penelope is looking up at him with the eyes of someone who had four shots of tequila last night. Her hair has been twisted into a long red braid down her side. She’s wearing a matching set of pink and white chequered pyjamas and slippers in the shape of little white rabbits. Colin can’t help but smile.

“Morning.”

Without another word, she nods her head to the side, signalling for him to follow her out to the balcony.

The sky is navy blue, save for the thin streak of maroon rising up from the edge of the world. It’s still dawn. It will be dawn for another few minutes, until the sun inevitably rises.

Colin and Penelope stand side-by-side, hands on the railing, pinkies inches apart. Without a word spared between them, they watch as twilight bleeds into daybreak. As red turns to pink. Pink to orange. Orange to yellow.

The sea reflects it all like a mirror. Colin sees it all with his own two eyes.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“More.”

When quiet falls between them again and yellow bleeds into blue, Colin can’t stop himself from asking and answering a new question. It’s the one that’s been hiding in the shadows of his mind for most of his life.

Am I in love with Pen?

Yes, you fucking idiot. Of course you are.

The realisation doesn’t come with any amount of shock or denial. It just feels…

Inevitable.

This was always going to happen. He was going to reach this conclusion sooner or later.

Tempting fate, Colin lifts his left arm and places it across Penelope’s back, hand settling gently on her shoulder. Both of her hands remain locked on the railing.

As much as it consumes him inside, Colin cannot bring himself to voice his inevitable revelation aloud. Not after last night — after realising the pain he has obliviously inflicted on Penelope over the years. Not after this week — which had been planned in celebration and is currently teetering on disaster. Not after an entire lifetime of getting it all wrong.

He can’t bring himself to voice his revelation aloud. Instead he asks a simpler, albeit similarly difficult question.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Penelope says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Of course.”

Colin isn’t sure he believes her. He isn’t sure things will ever be the same.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know, Catalonia is beautiful this time of year. Perfect destination for a honeymoon.”

“Don’t skip ahead,” she orders, while also making a mental note on the topic in the back of her mind. “What’s next?”

#I thought this chapter was going to give me a hernia #right now there are THREE 10K+ chaps in this fic #and that’s three too many #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #weepingfromacedartree #ao3 #fanfic #ten milestones #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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