Chapter Text
Penelope Featherington would look astonishing in emeralds.
He doesn’t know why he thinks it. It’s not as if Colin Bridgerton has any real knowledge or proclivity for fine jewels, but all he knows is this moment:
The alabaster expanse of her neck as she turns her head to speak to Eloise–
(or in any direction that doesn’t include him)
–and the image of vibrant green against peaches and cream–
The problem is that Penelope Featherington would never accept emeralds from him.
That snag doesn't catch in his brain though. Not while he’s swimming in a sea of emeralds….emerald earrings brushing the soft line of her jaw….emerald charms nestling in the valley of her breasts….emerald rings settling on the knuckle of her dainty fingers….emerald silk draping gently over the curve of her hip….
Those masterpieces shift and transform in his mind’s eye until all he really knows is that he wants to make memories in the pull of the corner of her mouth, to cradle the celestial fragments in the glimmer of her eyes.
Colin Bridgerton is not a poet–that was always his brother Benedict’s forte–but for Penelope in emeralds?
Colin would write a novel.
“Did you enjoy Singapore more or less than Indonesia?”
Penelope’s question from across the plush red velvet booth snapped Colin out of opulent reveries of her, surprise coloring his features. She’d barely said two words to him all night, a fact he surely noticed, and–given the way his insides twisted at the thought–resented.
Eloise jabbed one bony elbow into his side, and he cleared his throat. “I–uh, yeah, Singapore was great.”
He didn’t miss the way Penelope narrowed her eyes at him as if she were sussing out whether he was going to continue. Little did she know, he’d forgotten the question in favor of watching the corner of her mouth turn up slowly, the fullness of her cheek becoming one more curve he could trace with his gaze.
Shaking her head, Penelope scoffed, none too kindly. “You’re being weird, Colin.”
Colin.
He caught that too.
For years, practically his entire childhood, he’d grown accustomed to the soft lilt of her voice rounding over a simple ‘Col.’ Instead, “Colin” held a note of disappointment, her voice pitching down on the second syllable in a way he didn’t much appreciate; it felt like they’d turned a page, but he wasn’t yet ready to read the next chapter.
Eloise's dismissive side-eye landed on Colin before she moved on, much to Colin’s silent gratitude. Putting a hand up between their bodies to demonstrate that she was ignoring him, Eloise addressed Penelope. "Did you manage to snag any furniture for your living room yet? I wouldn't want to abandon you to nothing."
“No. I’ll need to save up for it, I’m afraid.” Penelope had the straw of her drink dangling between her plump lips, and Colin gulped as she spoke around it. "Who knew matching sofas and sectionals could bleed you dry? My bedroom's good, though. That’ll be enough for a while."
“Wait, what’s going on?” Between being gone for ten months and Penelope’s gravitational pull all night, simple details fell through the cracks of Colin’s one-track mind. “You and Eloise aren't living together anymore?”
Eloise let out a long, exasperated breath. "You are at my going-away party, brother. Do try to use that brain for something besides plotting your next meal."
Penelope’s response landed much softer than his younger sister’s, and she filled in the gaps. “Eloise graciously waited for our lease to end before going off to help the world with VSO. Which, as it happens,” she checked a watch that was not on her wrist, “is tomorrow. Hence, the new flat and the new furniture. It’s my first time living on my own and I just…”
As Eloise reached across the table to pat her friend on the shoulder, Penelope let out a soft sigh, “I hadn’t budgeted the hefty expense of so much needed furniture. My sitting room is about as bare as the first page of my novel.”
Colin saw his chance. Penelope only stayed at the table with him because it was her last night with El. But if he could wiggle his way back into her life and her friendship through this, then so be it.
“I’ll buy it for you," he offered.
Penelope choked on air, her luscious lips parting in surprise.
“You should let him,” Eloise said easily with a wave of her hand. “He’s got more money than any of us. Except maybe Anthony.”
"I—I couldn't!"
He hoped she would. It was a perfect opportunity to win her back, and there was no limit of money he would spend for her. “How much could one sofa cost? Five thousand quid? Ten?”
Eloise rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s never lived in the real world. Or even stepped foot in an Ikea.”
"W–what?" Penelope sputtered. "Your mum throws a farewell soiree on the mezzanine of Bacchanalia for sixty of your closest friends, foots the bill like it's nothing, and Colin still has more cash to frivolously throw around than that?"
Eloise shrugged, deadpan. “Unfortunately. It was luck, really. Dad had started trusts for each of us when we were born, but the eggs Anthony moved around for Col happened to be spread out in better baskets by time he inherited. Gregory is praying the same can happen to him by the time he’s eighteen.”
Colin turned back to Penelope, his voice cocky. "I can do better than Ikea. Say yes."
Penelope hesitated, clearly uneasy about his offer, but at least now she would look him in the eyes. “I’m–I’m not sure…”
"Please?" Colin pressed, his hope hanging in the balance.
“Mother has reached a new peak of insufferableness tonight.” Benedict declared, sprawling beside Penelope on the velvet chaise. “Is this a party for Eloise or just a thinly-veiled excuse to force ten hand-picked women into conversation with me?”
Colin nearly let out a low growl of frustration. He had almost convinced Pen to let him back into her life, nearly one step closer to his emerald dreams, only for Benedict to barge in, complaining loudly and poking at the canapés in the center of the table with a distrusting curiosity.
He caught Penelope’s gaze, almost losing himself to another daydream of gemstones catching the firelight on her porcelain skin. He needed her alone, away from this endless barrage of people coming to bid farewell to Eloise, if he ever wanted her to bridge her icy separation. With a subtle tilt of his head, he issued a silent invitation.
She nodded just as three school chums descended on his sister, and he led the way down the marble staircase to the first floor of Bacchanalia. When he whisked her down a dimly lit corridor towards the back of the restaurant, her eyes widened.
“Where are we going?” Penelope’s heels clicked against the marble floors, taking two steps for every one of his.
Colin smirked. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “A members’ only section that Anthony and I frequent. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
There was a brief exchange of financially convincing the host to grant Penelope entrance–really, bribery could get him anywhere. Annoyed that their initial refusal was clearly aimed at Penelope not being clad in Armani like himself, Colin gave the bouncer a blank smile as he ushered Penelope inside with a hand at the small of her back. She gasped.
Inside, an opulent, Greco-Italian oasis unfolded in the form of a bar spanning the length of the room. Floor-to-ceiling marble glistened with uplighting and was adorned with genuine ancient relics of Greek artwork and Roman sculptures.
He guided her by her waist beneath a Venus statue with knowing eyes, settling her on a velvety moss-green sofa beside a mirrored table. Her gaze danced across the intricate ceiling, absorbing the artistry and details etched into every inch.
“Do you like it?” He asked with a tilt of his head. “It’s named Apollo’s Muse, after this statue.”
Her eyes, which were still glued to the decor, finally met his. “It’s…breathtaking. I can’t believe this exists, let alone find myself amidst it.”
“It pales in comparison to you,” he stated plainly, holding her gaze and meaning every word.
Penelope’s eyes widened as she gave a soft shake of her head. “Colin…”
A member of the wait staff materialized at their small table, and Colin cut off Penelope before she could deny her beauty, or use his full name again without the hint of adoration ‘Col’ once held. “May I order you a drink? Are you still a devotee of gin?”
She nodded, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks from his prior compliment.
“One Apollo’s Martini and a single Bushmills 30, neat.” He quickly scanned her vest for the waitress’ name tag. “Thank you, Amara.”
Penelope settled back against the velvet pillows, taking in his smug smirk before allowing her eyes to roam over his full form. She had spent so much time today with her icy demeanor, barely responding to him, she refused herself the opportunity to notice how much he’d matured on his travels.
But now, with no Eloise to assist in distracting her, how could she not see him? He was sun-kissed, strong, and sultry, with the faint air of the boyish charm she knew so well. The former Adonis of her fantasies shrouded in a halo of golden light sat just before her, surrounded by artwork barely mere tributes to his beauty, and yet she felt cold, her hackles rising in defense.
He may not remember what he said, but Penelope’s mind was a steel trap, and she surely did.
Penelope observed Colin steadily as he slid his palms over his thighs. He’s nervous, she noted with some degree of satisfaction. Even better, she could see his attempt at playing it cool–in the way he resolutely locked his gaze with her, in the subtle tick of his jaw, in the slight upturn of his mouth….
Low bass filtered through the sound system, and whether he knew it or not, Colin’s chin bobbed slightly with the beat. Penelope almost smiled.
She wouldn’t be the one to slice through the tension. Colin brought her here.
Fortunately, the server chose that moment to bring their drinks, a welcome distraction from any friendlier thoughts she might harbor towards the man who’d decidedly proclaimed himself not her friend. As the first sip of whiskey passed his lips, she watched as the muscles in his shoulders settled, his back relaxing against the plush of the seat.
“You do look beautiful tonight, Pen,” he finally broke the silence between them, and an acid anger bubbled in her chest at his nonchalance. “I–uh, well, I’ve missed you.”
Colin’s eyes stole down to his lap. She couldn’t see what exactly his eyes were drawn to underneath the table, but his nerves were getting the better of him once more. He was fidgeting, like he always did when he was anxious, like an animal caught in a trap, like he was begging to be out of this situation…
Was it the Penelope of now with her simmering indifference making him like this, or was it just her, Eloise’s little friend, making him want to flee?
Penelope gave him a soft but distant smile as she took the first sip of her martini, the bite of gin dancing cordially on her tongue. “I can imagine you would miss home quite a bit, traversing the world like you’ve been. The leaving and the coming back are the best parts, right?” she leveled him with a cool stare as she referenced something he’d said once to her. Only to her.
Shifting back onto the sofa, Penelope looped her arm over the cushion, allowing a fingertip to trail idly over the soft scrape of the velvet. Colin followed her, pushing his posture toward her and resting his forearms on his knees. Glancing down, she followed the movement of his Adam’s apple in the reflection of the mirrored table below.
“I mean, of course I missed my family,” he noted casually, his shoulder rising in a shrug, “but I mean you. We’ve barely spoken a word since I left.” An imperceptible shake of his head followed by the most earnest gleam in his eye left Penelope reeling. “I didn’t like that. Having to miss you. I want to fix it.” His eyes were steady as he added, “Whatever it is that I did.”
She didn’t know how he could sense her pulling away, as if an invisible tether binding them strained tightly against each of their chests. But it was just like him to tug right back.
His persistence incensed her.
Of course he wouldn’t realize how upset he’d made her. Of course he wouldn’t realize how he’d stomped on the foundation she’d been building with him, the one she knew he’d helped build brick by brick, even if he was blind to it. Of course he’d expect her to always be crawling back to him.
That’s what he thought of her–what she’d always been to him–wasn’t it? Following the great Colin Bridgerton around everywhere he went. Looking up at him with her whole heart in her eyes. Hell, she’d even followed him into this den of opulence and grandeur, a place she most certainly did not belong.
Feeling sick with herself, Penelope scoffed, straightening up in her seat and adjusting the slim-fit fabric of her skirt. “You don’t have to lie, Colin,” she snapped, the acid in her throat bubbling over. One of his eyebrows rose in question, the only fracture in his composure at her response. Colin had a knack for going from charmingly-abashed-and-unsure-of-himself to confident-yet-endearingly-arrogant-asshole in a millisecond.
“Explain, Pen,” he demanded softly, and she hated the way her insides twisted at the tone of his voice. In the ambient lighting, the depths of Colin’s familiar eyes churned like the ocean in a storm.
She took a breath to steel herself, fingers gripping her seat and pressing down into the fibers of green velvet. In spite of the war inside her head, she had to appear unbothered–that was the only way she’d get out of this semi-unscathed. “I’m just Eloise’s little friend, Colin, I know,” she paused as his jaw dropped open in question. “You don’t have to tell me you missed me anymore when you don’t mean it.”
“Hey, hey,” he soothed, concern furrowing his brow as he reached for her. Penelope closed her eyes at his feather-light touch to her forearm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I know I haven’t lied.”
When her lashes fluttered open, the first thing she saw was that he had taken the opportunity to slide closer to her. The second was the way his gaze searched for hers, locking on and following as she peered down to where his fingers looped gently around her wrist. “I was there, Colin,” swallowing down the nerves ricocheting in her throat, she continued. “I heard you that night. Last year at Benedict’s birthday party.”
Her words clearly didn’t register with him; she felt him imploring her to continue in the slight pressure he placed on her wrist with the tips of his fingers. The room suddenly became overwhelmingly warm, and she pulled her arm free from his hand.
Picking up the nearest table card to fan herself, she assumed her mask of nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter. You were very clear that there are no feelings of friendship between us when you were talking with the lads.”
Wincing at the snipe in that last word, Penelope finally looked away from him, feigning a sudden interest in the barkeep making a show out of pouring a mixed drink.
Colin cleared his throat. “I must admit, I have little memory of what you’re referring to.” She noted the tremor in his voice. “But I also don’t think that whatever I said was an insult to you.”
Penelope’s gaze snapped back to him. “How would you know what insults me if you don’t remember?” She swallowed down her pride. “You told them–,” she paused, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, “You told them I was just ‘Eloise’s little friend’, that the only reason we were around each other was because I was your sister’s best pal,” she spat the word, “–that you didn’t really care about being around me. How is that not an insult?” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his lap.
Penelope took the opportunity to continue, “We were friends, Colin. By that point, we’d spent nearly every day hanging out, even when Eloise wasn’t there. So either way, you did lie, whether to me about actually wanting me around, or to them, just because you were too proud to tell them the truth.”
His face was drawn, shuttered, and she realized she didn’t have to be there anymore. She had no further obligation to him, so she inhaled deeply and offered, “And now, you should tell me why I should let it go. Or I will leave.”
Colin’s head shot up. “Don’t,” he placed his hand lightly on her forearm. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry.” Penelope closed her eyes against the weight of his tone. “I did lie,” he continued softly. “But it wasn’t to you, and I don’t even think it was to them.”
Against her better instinct, she cautiously opened her eyes, revealing an earnestness in his face that she wasn’t sure she’d ever been witness to. Her teeth caught on her lower lip, and Colin’s gaze followed down. “I can be myself when I’m with you, Pen, and it’s different to how I am when I’m with anyone else. Your company is so real and grounded. Unmatched, really,” he shook his head. “I don’t know that I’m explaining myself well, and I feel like I fall short in so many ways–”
Penelope’s heart gave a slight pang for the boy looking so lost in front of her, so far from the Adonis she had entertained thus far in this bar, and her fingers landed lightly on his hand. “You don’t fall short, Colin. You’re genuinely–” she paused, searching for the correct word.
“Roguishly handsome,” he preened, and she fought a giggle at the goofy smirk plastered on his face.
“–astonishing,” she finished. “Truly.” And she realized she meant it.
Even if he’d hurt her, even if she wished it weren’t so, Penelope Featherington would always come back to Colin Bridgerton. He was just so nice. He made her feel seen.
Colin’s expression settled into something resolute, something hopeful. “I’m really sorry, Pen. I shouldn’t have said something so careless and–”
“Stupid?” “–stupid,” they finished at the same time. Matching grins broke out on each of their faces, and then they were laughing, Colin’s forehead tipping against her shoulder as their bodies shook in harmony. She doubted that either of them even found it particularly funny. But that didn’t stop her from reveling in the indescribable lightness of relief in their shared joy.
When both their laughter subsided, soft smiles still lingering on their faces, Colin took a sip of his nearly forgotten drink, expression growing thoughtful. Clearing her throat, Penelope realized her hand still lingered on his, and she deftly pulled it away, reaching for her martini as a cover to end the contact. His fingertips still formed a link, steadfast around her wrist. A ground? Or a cuff?
Penelope’s brow furrowed as she brought the glass to her lips. “What is it Colin? Suddenly so serious?”
“What if–” he closed his mouth, shook his head, and started again. “What I mean to say is, I know that I messed up, and I don’t really think that an apology is quite enough.” His gaze grew intense, and she noticed how he ran the pad of his finger over the rim of his whiskey glass.
“Colin,” Penelope groaned, tipping her head back in exasperation, “it’s fine. Can we just move forward?”
When she righted herself to peer dramatically at him in an effort to make him laugh, she caught his eyes focused intently on her neck instead. Bringing her hand up, she rubbed subconsciously at the nape of her neck, and Colin glanced up quickly and nodded.
“Yeah–of course, Pen. Forward.” He tapped his fingertips gently against the table top. “Speaking of forward, I meant what I said about the sofa.”
Penelope sputtered at his casual tone, “C-Colin.” She began to shake her head until she caught the look in his eye.
Resolute. Stern.
“Pen,” he echoed her with so much more confidence than she could find in that moment. “Let me fix this, not just in words, but in actions too. Let me be as good of a friend to you as you were to me.”
Scratching her nails against the mossy velvet below her palm, she watched as his eyes lowered to where their hands met. His thumb caressed the skin atop her veins. She inhaled softly.
Penelope would have given anything in that moment to know what he was thinking about, his focus locked on her hand against the cushion, blush on pine.
“Please, Penelope.”
When his gaze collided once more with hers, she gave a slight nod, and his fingers tightened imperceptibly around her wrist as a confident smile worked its way over his face. “Truly?” he pressed.
A storm raged inside her as she contemplated her confirmation, knowing she was about to step through a door to a world she didn’t fully understand. But the pull was immense, and she was exhausted from pretending as though she didn’t miss being caught in his gravity.
Colin’s expectant expression implored her until she relented.
Working her palm through the hold he had on her, she met resistance at first as he held firm. Then, he became pliant, soft, smooth as she turned her palm to meet his, intertwining their fingers together.
“You can buy me a sofa.” A soft smile pulled at her lips, and the loyal, bright Colin she knew so well burst through his immodest façade.
Something within her lit up as well, a warmth cradling her insides as she realized the unfamiliar feeling she was fighting–someone else taking care of her , for once. It wasn’t as though the finances mattered all that much. She would have found a cheap couch eventually. Plus, it’s not as though she was destitute. But just the thought that someone cared–
–that Colin cared.
Oh, how good it felt to be taken care of by Colin Bridgerton–
–which is why the next thing he said didn’t really click in her brain until two seconds too late.
“Good girl.”
Penelope sputtered, dropping his hand immediately. “What did you say?”
Colin was moving closer. His arm slid across the back of the booth behind her shoulders. He was boxing her in, and–
Penelope was moving closer? Her breath grew shallow at the proximity, the resolution in his storm-blue eyes.
“I said,” his breath a whisper against her cheek, “good girl.” She closed her eyes against the current crushing her heart. When her lashes fluttered open, he’d moved back. He looked like Colin again, and a flicker of insecurity washed over his face. “Is that okay?”
She pushed away from the boy she thought she knew so well, bracing both hands against the glass of the table. “What is this, Colin?”
Such a rare occurrence it was, she didn’t need too much prior experience with body language to know when he was at a loss for words. But she was having a hard time not being completely repulsed by what hadn’t yet been said.
Worrying his lip between his teeth, Colin took a breath, allowing the space between them to fill with his sincerity. “What I offer you, Penelope, you already have. I’d give you anything you needed–everything you ask for.”
“However,” he continued after a beat, “I do have a request.”
Swallowing down bile at what she knew was coming–that anyone would see her as anything human was of course too much to ask–Penelope shook her head. “Colin.” His name physically hurt her as it tore from her throat. “I am not your– your concubine. ”
Colin’s eyes widened. “Woah.”
“I don’t need to be a mind reader to know what your request is, Colin Bridgerton,” she said shakily, the part of her that loved him at war with the part of her that loved herself. “I am not an object.”
Colin flushed red, though whether in embarrassment or anger was unclear. “What world do you think we’re living in, Penelope? Moulin Rouge?” he shook his head.
“God,” she laughed incredulously, against her own will, “you are such a Ewan McGregor fanboy.” In the face of countless lazy summer afternoon memories spent watching Star Wars, she blinked away hot tears.
Scoffing, he muttered, “Anakin sympathizer.”
“Vader enthusiast,” she corrected. “Anyway.” Penelope adjusted herself so that she sat up to her full height, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “I’m not the one who just asked for money in return for sexual favors.”
Penelope watched Colin’s jaw nearly dislocate from the force of a drop. “That’s not– I didn’t– God, what?”
She almost felt pity; she’d never seen him so flustered.
Smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt, Colin took a breath. She watched as the tension melted away from his shoulders. “That’s not what I was asking for, Pen.”
Cocking an eyebrow, she waited.
“I like– I like feeling in control,” he said quietly. “So much of my life is changeable, and there’s so much just beyond my reach.”
Blinking at him, and not unkindly, her patience prompted him to continue.
Colin reached out, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against the back of her hand. “I’m sorry for how that made you feel. I promise I don’t think of you like that–” he closed his eyes, as though it was too much to make eye contact and say what he needed to say. “In fact, it’s the opposite. Your presence is so calming and uplifting, that being around you allows me to feel in control.”
Inhaling sharply, she sought his gaze as his lashes blinked open.
“I like that feeling. I’d like more of that feeling,” he shrugged with finality.
Glancing down at the stem of her glass, Penelope grasped her martini just for something to do. How was she supposed to respond to that? After several moments of silence, she felt Colin pull away from her.
“I’m sorry, Pen, I shouldn’t have said any of that,” his voice was strained. “Of course, I’ll still help, I meant that I wasn’t going to force–”
Penelope stopped him by turning fully to face him, pushing a fringed pillow from behind her back to make room. He stared at her through his lashes, and she felt his disappointment in her gut. “No, Colin, make your request.”
“I just want someone to listen to me,” he said, almost helplessly.
She nodded. “Someone to obey?”
Colin’s “yes” was soft but firm. Penelope nodded once more.
“Yes, sir,” the corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk as his gaze bore into her. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a partially filled-in Post-It Note and ripped off the bottom. After wrestling with her bag to find her favorite pen, she jotted down her address and slid it towards him. “Help me pick out a sofa next week?”
Barely waiting for his affirmative, she threw back the rest of her martini, gulping down the liquid courage and placing a soft kiss on Colin’s cheek before she could change her mind.
“Ground rules,” she declared, rising to her feet. Because if she was going to do this, she needed boundaries.
For Colin.
And maybe a teensy bit for herself.
He looked up at her expectantly. “Actually, one rule,” she clarified. Looking him straight in the chest, she said, “Nothing about this can be sexual. Ever.”
After everything that had just transpired, Colin had the nerve to look offended. “I don’t need to be reminded that you aren’t an object, Pen.”
Shaking her head, she replied, “No no, not that.” Was she really about to say this? Out loud? To Colin? To herself?
Penelope took a breath to steel herself, focusing on anything but his eyes. “I don’t want to do anything sexual with you because I’ve never– I’ve never had sex. And I want my first time to mean something.” She wasn’t ashamed of it, she was just always waiting for the right time, the right person. Ironically, she was staring straight at the right person, the only person, at what could have been entirely the right time.
But everything about this agreement ending in sex was wrong.
Colin nodded pensively. “Understood.” And she let out a breath of relief at his respect for her wishes. A little voice in the back of her mind silenced, the one that told her she’d only be worthy of sex from someone who would eventually leave for the better option.
In her heart, she’d come to terms with the fact that the only constants in her life would be Eloise Bridgerton…and herself.
“Oh,” a realization dawned on her, “scratch that–two rules. Eloise can not know about this.”
Tipping his head back, Colin groaned. “She was the one with the idea! What would she even say?”
Penelope leveled him with a look. They both knew exactly what she would say.
Colin sighed. “Yeah, yeah, no, I get that,” he affirmed, glancing down at his hands in his lap. “She can’t know.”
She nodded once more, satisfied. Then, she was walking the way she came towards the bouncer who’d dismissed her earlier, closing her eyes against the feeling that maybe she had just made a very unwise decision.
As Penelope made her way toward the exit, Colin found himself mesmerized by the sway of her hips, the enticing jostle of her unruly vermillion curls.
Had he even considered sex when he came up with this haphazard plan? He supposed he hadn’t not considered it. But she was Penelope. Was it a problem that he just liked how it felt to be around her again?
He may not be able to offer her anything of value other than his money, but if that’s what she’ll have from him, he would offer it freely.
While his vantage point deteriorated, he rolled the ripped sticky note between his fingers. And slowly, he smiled to himself.