take me like you do in your dreams

by missparker

Summary:

Colin convinces Penelope to share custody of a dog. It's purely platonic. Just best friends, raising a dog. Nothing to worry about at all.

Notes:

Happy Polin Week day 5! A super special thank you to gildedruin for drawing the most beautiful, yearning companion art piece for this fic.

Pull me by the ankles to the edge of the bed
And take me like you do in your dreams
I'm not gonna stop you
I'm not gonna stop you this time, baby

Ankles - Lucy Dacus

*

I. Marceline

The problem happens when they’re out getting coffee on a Saturday morning and they pass someone in front of Waitrose with a box of puppies. They’re so cute, just four or five little mutts writhing around in the cardboard. Colin stops so abruptly that Penelope nearly shoulder checks him which would hurt her a lot more than him. He’s so solid, tall and broad, especially so after returning from his latest trip to South America where apparently all he’d done was hike and climb mountains and get tan.

He’s always been fit, so for him to come home even fitter is cruel and makes her feel especially doomed to be his sidekick and friend and nothing more. Round, short, pudgy little Penelope Featherington, that’s her. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride as her mother so pointedly put it when Pip got married last spring. (Pip hadn't even wanted Penelope to be a bridesmaid, but her mother forced her to have both her sisters in the bridal party and Penelope wonders if it was so Portia could make that exact barb.)

“Pen,” Colin says. “Look at them!”

“I know. So cute,” she says. But then, he doesn’t keep moving. They’ve nowhere to be, really. The coffee has been secured. He’s been home for eight days and she’s seen him at least every other day. He’s between assignments and she’s been remote ever since the pandemic, so it makes sense that she’s the only one around to hang out with. They’re just meandering back toward his flat, enjoying the crisp fall weather.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” he says.

“They’re free!” offers the teenage boy who is minding the box. “We can’t take care of them all. Please take one. Take two!”

“Colin, you can’t adopt two dogs,” Penelope says, laughing. But he’s not laughing. He looks serious and thoughtful. “Colin, you can’t adopt two dogs.” She’s not laughing anymore either.

“No, but I could adopt one,” he reasons.

“I mean,” she says helplessly. “You’re like gone half the year. Are you gonna bring it with you?”

This seems to snap him out of it a little and he sighs, disappointed. “That’s true.”

That should be that then, but it’s not because he leans over to pet them and one jumps up, its little paws on the edge of the box.

“She likes you,” the boy says. “She’s the only girl in the litter.”

“Pen, she’s the only girl in the litter,” he says, pleadingly.

“Why are you… I’m not in charge of if you get a dog or not,” she sputters. “But you’re never home to take care of a dog.”

“I am sometimes!”

“You can’t sometimes take care of a living creature, no matter how adorable.”

“What if we split it?” he asks, his eyes bright.

“Split a puppy?”

“Yeah, like shared custody,” he says. “When I’m in London, I’ll take care of her, and when I’m out of town, you take care of her.”

“I don’t even… I don’t even know if our building allows pets.”

“Anthony owns your building,” he says. “Why do you think Eloise bought that flat?”

“Okay, but I rent a room,” she says. “So really it’s up to Eloise.”

Colin is already pulling his phone out, leaning over to scoop the girl pup out of the box. The teenage boy shoots Penelope what she considers to be a very premature look of victory.

“Hi,” Colin says into his phone. “Penelope wants to get a dog. You cool with that?”

“I do not!” she starts to say and then gets louder. “This isn’t my idea!”

Now she’s hollering in front of a busy Waitrose on a Saturday morning. She sighs.

“Uh huh, yep. Yeah. Okay, cool. Yeah, see you in a bit,” he says and hangs up. “She said as long as she doesn’t have to touch poop or feed it, it’s fine.”

“Colin, a dog is a big responsibility!”

“You think I’m not up for it?” he asks. And she can tell he really is asking.

She’s not sure he is. She doesn’t doubt he can be successful at anything he puts his mind to, that’s simply a Bridgerton genetic trait, but she doubts he realizes how much work and expense a pet really is. “I am not sure I am,” she says. “Or that I can afford it.”

“We’re in it together,” he promises. “I will foot all the vet bills. Come on. Come on!” He lifts the puppy so she can gaze into its adorable face. He brings it close enough that the puppy licks her right on the nose.

She feels the moment she caves. She always caves to Colin, but this is a big cave, admittedly. Still, has she ever told him no and stuck to it?

“Okay,” she says. “Puppy it is.”

She holds the sweet little thing while he runs into the shop to buy some basic necessities to tide them over. A collar and lead, some puppy food, a few toys and some pee pads. The puppy gnaws at the sleeve of her coat for a bit before falling asleep in her arms. When Colin comes out, shopping bag in hand, he gives her a grin.

“Come on, pretty girls. Time to go home.”

She groans inwardly, knowing this is going to be a disaster, but also knowing she’d rather have a Colin Bridgerton disaster than no Colin at all.

***

They name the dog Marceline. Colin likes it because it means ‘fierce warrior’ and he wants the dog to grow up to be smart and tough. “Like Mars, the god of war,” he announces, as if she’s not a tiny fur ball asleep in his lap. Penelope just likes the name, like she’s a posh lady fit for the pretty pink collar that Colin had picked out. They can’t tell whether she’ll be big or small, but right now she’s a fluffy angel.

Penelope has been in Colin’s flat for the last hour while they coo over her. The first thing they’d done is give her a proper bath in his kitchen sink and she’s drying soft and golden. But now, the puppy is knocked out in his arms and Penelope realizes that this is the most amount of time she’s ever been in Colin’s personal space. They hang out a lot, but they’re usually doing something. Getting coffee or dinner or hanging out at the pub or watching a movie at the flat she shares with Eloise. Sometimes, it’s at his brother’s house when there is a party or weekly brunch.

But rarely has Penelope done more than pop into Colin’s flat. Now she finds herself looking around. It’s a bachelor’s pad. Minimal furniture, a television much too large for the space, and no décor other than piles of books on a table where a bookcase ought to be. It’s just a one bedroom, one bathroom landing pad that he’d purchased to be a storage unit with a bed and toilet. But still, it’s nice. It’s got tall windows and pretty floors and though she’s never seen the bedroom, she imagines it’s just as cozy.

Not that she’s imagining his bedroom regularly. (Though she will now.)

“You okay?” he asks, startling her enough that she flinches. “Pen?”

“Yes, fine.”

“You went so quiet.”

“I was just thinking,” she says. “Maybe I should head home.”

He frowns, like actively frowns, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Do you have plans?”

“Um, no,” she says. “But we were just going to get coffee and it’s been two hours and I didn’t want to take over your whole morning.”

“You can have my whole day, Pen,” he says. “We can order some lunch if you’re hungry.”

This is why she just can’t quit Colin, and why she can never seem to shake her evergreen crush. Even though spending so much time with him while he’s in town is ultimately detrimental to both her heart and her sense of self-worth (he doesn’t want you Featherington, he never has and he never will), when she’s with him, he makes her feel like the center of his universe.

And when he’s gone, she spins out, orbiting around nothing, wobbly and alone.

“Sure,” she says, unable to resist his thrall. “Lunch sounds nice.”

When Marceline wakes up, they practice getting her to walk on the lead, which is hit and miss. She has an accident, squatting to pee on the hardwood next to the wee pad, so they take her out to the courtyard garden of Colin’s building and walk her in circles until she does her business.

It’s not until they’re staring at the little pile of poop that they realize they didn’t get bags for it, so Colin rushes upstairs to find something to collect it with. She stands with Marceline in her arms basking in the rare sunny autumn day, birds singing and the still breeze warm enough to enjoy.

Colin returns with a grocery bag and cleans up the mess.

“I should probably go to a real pet store,” he says, glancing at his phone. “And we’ll have to get her shots before she can be around other dogs.”

“How old did the boy say she is?” Penelope asks. “Did we ask?”

“I think eight weeks,” he says. He searches on his phone and nods. “She’s old enough.” And then he rings someone. Penelope puts Marceline down on the grass and she rolls around, tangling herself in the lead. “Hi, it’s me. Can you send me the name of Newton’s vet?”

Penelope is watching him, trying to determine if he’s talking to his brother or to Kate and Colin catches her studying him and gives her a wink. It’s so charming and handsome that she feels like it hits her right in the gut. She wants to double over but instead, she eases herself down onto the grass next to the dog and lies on her back, allowing Marceline to lick her face. She has sweet puppy breath but sharp little teeth that snag her ear. “Ouch.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Colin is saying. He leans over and says, “Newton is great with puppies, apparently. He can help socialize her.” He pauses. “No, it’s Pen. We agreed to share custody.”

Penelope winces, wondering what Kate will think of this insane arrangement.

“It’s not strange! It’s perfect, actually. I’ll have her when I’m home and Pen will have her when I’m out of town.” He frowns. “Of course she agreed. No. Why would you need to talk to her?”

Penelope silently extends her hand for the phone which Colin hands her.

“Hi,” she says.

“You got a dog? With Colin?” Kate asks, mirth in her voice.

“It was… spontaneous,” she says. “The dog is very cute.”

“Puppies are cute,” Kate agrees. “Did he force you?”

“No, of course not,” Penelope says with a sigh. “We even checked with Eloise first.”

“You know most people start with a plant.” Kate is fully laughing now.

“You know how convincing he can be,” Penelope says, softer, like maybe Colin won’t hear that part. And she’s lucky, because he’s now running in circles with the dog a few meters away. “Charming or whatever.”

“It might be a good thing,” Kate offers. “Maybe he’ll want to be home more often. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah, it would,” Penelope agrees. The phone beeps twice. “Oh, Daphne is ringing him.”

“Get it,” Kate says, “Tell him I said bye!”

Penelope answers the other call. “Colin’s phone, this is Penelope, how may I direct you?”

“Cute,” Daphne says. “I hear you two got a dog?”

“Boy, that news traveled at light speed.” Kate must have told Anthony and he texted Daphne while Kate and Colin were still on the phone. “We walked by a box and Colin practically melted into the gutter.”

“He’s a big softie, always has been,” Daphne says. “And I imagine you got roped in by proximity.”

“He’s gone a lot. It’s fine to watch his dog while he’s gone.”

“I thought it was your dog, too,” Daphne teases. “Anyway, you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“I work from home, and you guys are all so busy. Colin doesn’t like to be alone.”

“Colin is alone all the time! His job is solitary. He can be alone.”

“I mean when he’s home,” Penelope says. “Anyway, she’s very cute, I’ll send you a picture.”

“Bring her to brunch!”

“We will when she gets her shots,” Penelope promises.

“Okay, okay,” Daphne says. “Bye, Penelope.”

“Bye.” Penelope ends the call and then takes a picture of Colin and Marceline frolicking around with Colin’s phone and then opens up his group chat with his siblings to send the picture.

Penelope can see, however, that Anthony hadn’t texted Daphne, but all the siblings at once.

Anthony: Colin and Penelope adopted a puppy today, according to my wife

Hyacinth: Cite your sources!!

Anthony: Kate is on the phone with Colin right now, the information is pure.

Eloise: Seconded. C & P rung me to make sure it was okay to have a dog in the flat.

Francesca: Oh my god, this is huge

Daphne: Does this mean what I think it means?

Benedict: Don’t jump to conclusions. You’ll break our hearts again.

Daphne: You’re right. I’ll ring him.

Penelope frowns, reading the thread again. What do they think it means? Maybe what Kate had speculated, that the dog would encourage him to be home more often. She knows how much his siblings miss him, Eloise especially resentful of watching the majority of his life through a screen. All of the Bridgertons are successful in their own way, but Colin has achieved it more uniquely than the rest of his siblings. Most took a traditional path of university and high paying professional jobs, or Benedict and Francesca who went into the arts, though still got a degree to support their more creative lifestyles. And Daphne and Francesca both married extremely well, something their mother seemed particularly proud of. Gregory and Hyacinth both seemed poised to follow suit—Gregory to Cambridge and Penelope wouldn’t be surprised if Hyacinth went into the fashion industry. She’s tall and chic, already with a few modeling gigs under her belt at the tender age of sixteen.

But Colin didn’t go to university and Colin has never worked an office job or waited tables or taken a humbling internship. Colin used his trust fund to start traveling young and parlayed it into a career of his own. He writes guest articles for travel blogs, he partners with luggage companies and airlines, and hotels often give him free accommodations in hopes that he talks about them positively on his social media.

And then, while the thread is still open, another text from Daphne.

Daphne: I talked to Penelope. Shared custody of the puppy. Seemed devastatingly platonic.

Eloise: Of course it is, she’s married to ME

Benedict: Piney the Elder earning his nickname once again.

Francesca: Maybe it’s first comes puppy, then comes cohabitation, and then maybe he’ll pull his head out of his arse and make a move on the poor girl

Eloise: No, stop it, not this again

Anthony: Colin is IN this group chat, he can see this, Fran

Francesca: Good. I’m tired of him stringing her along. If he doesn’t do something about it, I’m gonna have to show her a good time.

Eloise: hey, not before me you won’t

Daphne: Francesca, you’re married, and Eloise, you spend more time with Phil than at your own flat these days.

Francesca: Penelope deserves orgasms!

Gregory: I’LL DO IT

Penelope quickly swipes away from that thread and then locks the phone, sending the photo totally forgotten. Her crush on Colin is so old it can practically drink now. Living with it and trying to ignore it has become her everyday burden, but a weight she’s grown accustomed to. She hadn’t realized, however, that the rest of the Bridgertons knew about it. Eloise, perhaps, not that they discussed it. But surely she had to have some sort of inkling. Knowing the other Bridgertons speculate on it is a new kind of humiliation. Poor, pathetic Penelope, can’t even find a date to get her off. So helpless that half of them are offering to pity fuck her.

Penelope is used to pity, but not like this. Colin is the only Bridgerton she’s ever wanted like that and it’s not like she never dropped hints or made herself available over the years. But nothing has ever come of it. Colin doesn’t like her like that, because if he did, he would have made some sort of indication by now. They see each other almost daily. He’s had countless chances to make a move. It’s not going to happen. Someone should tell his family that.

Marceline comes bounding toward her, collapsing into her lap and panting, her little pink belly exposed.

“You have my phone? I’m gonna ring the vet,” Colin says, his hair thick and tousled, his cheeks pink.

Penelope dutifully hands him the phone and says nothing of what she saw.

***

Colin has Marceline for two weeks before his next trip arrives. He takes her to get her first round of shots, though the second round will fall to Penelope while Colin is in Sweden for two weeks. A few other surprising things come along with custody of Marceline: a key to Colin’s flat and a joint checking account.

“This way, if something happens, I can just put money in for you to use on her.”

“I don’t mind putting money toward my dog,” Penelope says dryly, but she accepts the debit card nonetheless and the key.

“I’m surprised you didn’t already have a key,” Colin muses as she twists it onto her keyring.

“Why?”

“What if I needed someone to check on the flat while I was away?”

“You have seven brothers and sisters. And your mum.”

“Yeah but,” Colin shrugs. “You’re who I trust not to screw it up.”

“How flattering,” she says, pretending like she’s not flattered, though she is.

Penelope is used to Colin leaving. It’s a pretty reliable constant in her life. When Colin is in town, she sees him a lot. Several times a week. When he’s gone, she becomes one of his standard, everyday fans watching his curated life through the screen of her phone or laptop. But usually, they don’t talk much. He is working, after all, when he’s away. She’s not forbidden to talk to him, but usually if they interact it’s on some planning group chat spearheaded by Daphne for some Bridgerton milestone coming up in the next year, or Eloise needs to get a hold of him, so she’s asks Penelope to text him because he’s more likely to ignore Eloise and answer Penelope for whatever reason.

Sometimes, if he’s been gone for a long time, she’ll break down and send him a meme that made her think of him and laugh and they’ll have a couple days of goofing over text, but it always peters out into nothing, and that’s fine, because when he comes home again it’s brunches and family parties and coffee dates and late night takeout. One time they went to Karaoke with Sophie and Benedict and that is, to this day, the drunkest she’s ever been.

Colin told her the next morning that he’d had to carry her up the stairs to her flat on his back.

Somehow, the dog nukes this very established dynamic and she finds herself talking to him every day. He wants pictures. He wants updates. He rings her in the evening, not just phone calls but facetimes.

“Hi mama,” he starts calling her. “How’s our girl?”

She doesn’t want to like that. She wants to think that’s very, very stupid. Maybe a sliver of her brain does think that’s stupid but the rest of her body reacts like Colin just saved her from a burning building. The nickname pumps her so full of adrenaline that she could jog to Aberdeen and back.

She slips into it, too. When her phone rings, she looks at Marceline and says, “Daddy’s ringing.”

Her fatal mistake is saying it when Eloise is home and the absolutely appalled look on her face is like a bucket of cold water to Penelope’s nervous system.

“Literally what the fuck did you just say?” Eloise asks, fake retching.

“Oh shut up,” Penelope says, too embarrassed to function. She has to swipe to answer three times before her phone acknowledges her humanity and connects the call. “Hi.”

“Hi mama,” he says. “How’s our little girl?”

“No!” Eloise yelps. “No, no, no! I am traumatized by that. I demand financial compensation!”

“Oh,” Colin says, faltering and he does, for a split second, look embarrassed which makes Penelope feel embarrassed and ashamed and then suddenly, this whole arrangement seems ill-fated. Like Marceline isn’t even her dog, she’s just babysitting Colin’s dog. “She’s there.”

“She does live here,” Penelope says. “Marceline is fine.”

“Marcy is chewing holes in every one of my socks, by the way,” Eloise calls. Penelope turns the camera around so Colin sees his sister and not Penelope’s pink cheeks.

“Have you tried not leaving them on the floor everywhere?” Colin shoots back.

“It’s my flat, I should be able to leave my socks where I choose,” Eloise mutters.

Penelope flips the camera again and Colin makes a face. “Marcy?”

“They actually do get along quite well,” Penelope reasons.

“I thought you were shacking up with Phil all the time now,” Colin shouts.

“Do you just want me to give her the phone?”

“No. I want to talk to you,” Colin says. Eloise pops out of her seat and snatches Penelope’s phone anyhow.

“I’ll have you know that Phil rents and I own, so it would be quite stupid to move into his place.”

Penelope stills, goes cold, and feels the first flutter of panic lodge right between her ribs. Colin must understand the implication as well because he says, “Are you kicking Pen out?”

“What?” Eloise says. “No, of course not. I mean not… Like eventually, one day there will come a time when we probably won’t… We haven’t discussed it.” Eloise points the phone at Marceline who has been asleep on her dog bed next to the couch for the whole conversation. “There’s the dog.” Then she thrusts the phone back at Penelope who takes it.

“We went for a long walk in the park, so she’s pretty tired,” Penelope says, her own voice sounding tinny in her ears.

Colin is looking at her with concern, a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. “Pen.”

“I’m taking her to the vet first thing tomorrow for her second round of shots. I’ll schedule the third. I’m not sure which one of us will take her. How long will you be home after Sweden?”

“Twelve days.”

“Okay.” Penelope swallows. “So, I’ll ring you tomorrow?”

“We don’t have to… I mean, yes, that’s fine.”

When the call is over, Penelope stands and Marceline pops up, keen on following Penelope to bed. She’ll need one more walk before they settle in for the night, but she has time. All the websites about dog training suggest kennel training them from a young age, but Penelope tried it for one night and the whimpering from the crate broke her heart. She caved pretty immediately, tucking the dog in next to her.

Now, she lifts her onto the bed because she’s not quite big enough to make the jump herself. Marceline circles a few times before settling down, her big brown eyes watching Penelope move around the room.

Her phone rings again. She knew it would. It’s just a phone call, not a facetime.

“You okay?” Colin asks.

“What? Yes. Of course.” She’s not a good liar, everyone knows that. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess.”

“They do seem pretty serious,” he says. “You know, if you ever want a night to yourself or to get out for a while, you do have the key to my flat. You could go there. That’s Marceline’s home, too.”

“And what, sleep in your bed?” she asks, the words slipping out before her brain can quarantine them and tuck them away. She clenches her eyes shut hard, embarrassment crashing over her in a big, raging wave.

He chuckles. “I mean sure, why not? I’m not using it and that poor bed deserves to have a beautiful woman sleep in it at least once.”

“Colin!”

“What?” he says. “Maybe I meant Marceline!”

What she wants to ask is if he really thinks she’s beautiful, but she doesn’t dare be that pathetic. She’ll take the compliment. He’s not stingy about them, which she likes, except he’s not stingy with anyone so she knows he means it in the way generally kind, positive people mean kind, positive things.

“I might work there tomorrow,” she says, because he offered and that was nice of him. “A change of scenery would be nice.”

“Pen, you’re the mother of my child now. I won’t let Eloise turn you out into the street.”

“Oh man, we gotta stop calling each other her parents,” she says, laughing, her uterus practically fluttering at the mention of her mothering his child, even though she knows he’s talking about the dog. “Your siblings with real children are going to be offended.”

“How dare you imply Marceline isn’t our real child. What kind of mum are you?”

She giggles, forcing it as a courtesy to their long friendship and this predicament they’ve found themselves in.

“You’re okay? Really?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s going to be fine, I’m sure.” She’s telling herself as much as she’s trying to convince him.

“All will be well,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

***

At the vet, the receptionist calls her Mrs. Bridgerton and it throws her off so completely that she nearly trips over the lead as she’s led into an exam room. The moment they’re alone, she texts Colin and asks why the vet thinks they’re married.

Colin: Dunno, seemed easier than explaining the truth. It just means there won’t be any hassle for either one of us to bring her in.

He seems completely fine about it. She thought maybe it was a mistake on the part of the vet and she’d have to gently correct it and it would be awkward and weird both with the staff and then later, when she explained it to Colin but no, he’d done it on purpose.

She tells Francesca about it later at the pub to celebrate Hyacinth’s half-birthday, which was last month, so they’re really scrounging for reasons to have a pint, and instead of laughing, Francesca looks like she’s going to blow a gasket and whips out her phone.

“Fran?” Penelope asks. “You okay? It was just for a laugh. You used to like my embarrassing stories.”

“It’s fine, very funny,” she says through a clenched jaw. She’s obviously texting somebody but she keeps the phone close to her and Penelope can’t see the screen.

Penelope has two drinks and doesn’t finish the second one because she has work in the morning. She says her goodbyes fairly early.

“You want to share a cab?” Francesca offers. She and John have a London flat that isn’t far from where Penelope lives with Eloise.

“Oh, I’m going to tube it, I think,” Penelope says. Francesca frowns and Penelope can tell she’s going through that travel journey in her head and coming up short because the worst thing about Penelope and Eloise’s flat is how inconveniently far it is from a tube station. “I’ve been staying at Colin’s.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Francesca says, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh no, it’s fine, he gave me permission.” Penelope fishes a few pound coins out of her purse to leave in the tip jar on the bar on her way out.

“No, I don’t doubt that,” Francesca says. “For the dog, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” What else would it be for? Francesca doesn’t seem particularly chatty so Penelope squashes down her urge to be snotty.

“Is there even a dog, Penelope? I haven’t seen any dog.”

“She doesn’t have her last round of shots yet,” Penelope reminds her. “I’ll bring her to brunch when she does.”

Francesca tosses her hands in the air with some exasperation.

It’s not Penelope’s fault that Colin doesn’t want her back and Francesca must know that, so Penelope gives her a look but decides to let it go, dropping her tip into the half full jar and exiting the pub. The tube station is only a block away. She hasn’t been out that long, but she and Marceline are in the thick of potty training, so she doesn’t like to leave her alone for too long. She’s good at hitting the wee pads now, but ideally there will be a time when they are not wee pad reliant.

Colin’s flat feels more and more comfortable. Eloise has been avoiding her somewhat because they both know they need to talk about the future now that the lid has been peeled off that tin of worms. But Penelope isn’t that keen to have it either, so she’s been sleeping at Colin’s and Eloise has been sleeping at Phil’s and their own flat is a no man’s land until Colin gets home in a couple of days. His place is small but quiet and there’s less to distract her so working there is nice. She’s a copyeditor and having a quiet, comfortable place to work is essential.

Marceline is excited to see her when she lets herself in with Colin’s key. She changes out of her real clothes into a pair of leggings and the Yosemite t-shirt of Colin’s that she’s been sleeping in. It’s just really soft and it smells like him. She’ll wash it tomorrow and replace it in the drawer she nicked it from and he’ll never know.

Once she’s changed, she puts her puffer coat back on and picks up the lead. At the sight of it, Marceline spins three times in excited circles and finally settles down enough to let Penelope clip it on and then they go down the elevator and out to the street. She always squats right next to the tree closest to the building’s entrance, but Penelope still walks down the street to a bigger patch of grass and gives her another chance.

Penelope is leaning over, maneuvering Marceline’s little pile of poop into her plastic covered hand when Marceline barks and starts pulling at the lead.

“Hang on, Marce,” she says. When the pulling doesn’t stop, Penelope glances up and sees a man coming toward them from the other direction. Wonderful, she thinks sourly. Nothing more dignified than a perfect stranger witnessing her picking up dog shit. Marceline is still pulling, her tail wagging. She barks at strangers but this level of excitement is unusual. Until—

A sharp whistle tears through the night and it startles Penelope enough that she drops the lead and Marceline takes off like a shot toward the man. The man who is undoubtedly Colin Bridgerton.

He crouches down petting her, his bag on the sidewalk next to him. “I thought that was you guys!”

She ties off the poop bag quickly and looks down at herself. Schlubby and a thief, to boot.

“You’re early,” she says, trying not to sound guilty. She is quite happy to see him, as always, but she's never taken liberties quite like this before and the fear that he'll yank them back is all too real. Nothing stings like the reminder that she's not a Bridgerton, no matter how close she is to the family.

“I caught an earlier flight,” he says. “I was supposed to do this other thing but the weather was shit, so it got called off.” He grins at her. “How are you?”

“We’re fine. I hope you don’t mind that we’re here. I was going to… I wasn’t planning on still being here when you got home.”

“Are you kidding me?” he says. “It’s aces. Ideal, even.”

“It’s not a big deal, I can be out of your hair in like twenty minutes.”

“Pen,” he says. “Please stay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. Yes. It’s nice to have you home.”

“Thanks,” he says. “She looks bigger, I think.”

“I’ve been feeding her pretty regularly.” The joke makes him grin and the tension eases slightly. They head back toward the door and she drops the bag of poop in a rubbish bin, gratefully. At his door, she hesitates, feeling strange about letting him into his own flat, but he’s got his bag and the dog lead and Marceline is still hyped to see him, jumping onto his shins, so she reaches for the key.

“Thanks,” he says. Inside, he drops his bag and the lead and wraps her into a hug that surprises her so much she lets out an embarrassing squeak. She likes it, of course. Being touched by him is… It falls into a category unto itself. He could do anything to her, she knows. He could have every liberty, if he wanted it. A hug is scraps, but scraps she takes willingly. “God, I missed you guys.”

“We missed you too,” Penelope murmurs because it’s the truth and this much full body contact with him makes her drunk. The moment he pulls away, she’ll regain her faculties but until then, she’s lost to him.

“I thought about you every day,” he says. “I don’t usually want to come home but that was all I could think about this time.” He pulls back.

Common sense starts seeping back in.

“I think he’s talking to you,” Penelope stage whispers to Marceline, who has retrieved her favorite stuffed toy and brought it to their feet to show Colin. Colin rubs the back of his head though he doesn’t laugh. “Well, anyway. She definitely missed you. She likes it here way better than my flat.”

“That place is nicer than this,” Colin says, looking around the lackluster space. “You have little rugs and flowers and curtains and stuff.”

“Puppies famously go head over heels for curtains,” she says. “No, I think it’s because it smells like you here.”

He picks up his bag and carries it into the bedroom. Penelope winces, realizing she’d left so much stuff in there. Her laptop on the bed, her phone charger plugged in, her weekend bag and toiletries are kind of all over the place.

“You know, I really am sorry. I would’ve been out of here if I knew you were coming back tonight,” she calls after him.

“You don’t have to leave,” he says. “I can sleep on the couch or whatever.”

“It’s your bed,” she says. “Anyway, if you give me a few minutes I can change your sheets and pack up and go.”

“Don’t worry about the sheets,” he says, his thumb dragging along his bottom lip. “I’ll take care of it.”

“And uh, obviously I need to change.” She’ll just barrel ahead through this unending obstacle course of embarrassment. She should have never taken him up on his offer to come here. He’s clearly too unpredictable. She should have never let herself get comfortable.

“No,” he says, suddenly and loud enough that she jumps. “No, don’t worry about it. It looks really cute on you.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Better than on me.”

“Colin,” she says, wary but still falling for his charm. She can’t help it. If Colin is the bell, Penelope is the sound, the vibrations pealing out through the valley. The bell exists whether it is ringing or not. Penelope only feels like herself, truly herself, when Colin is around.

But she can’t have him because he doesn’t love her like that. So she removes herself, over and over again. She packs up things haphazardly, throwing them into her bag. She says goodbye to Marceline, petting her ears and kissing her head and rubbing her belly.

“You’ll see her tomorrow, right?” Colin asks, walking her to the door. She hasn’t even ordered a car yet.

“Maybe,” she says, yanking the door open. “Have fun you two.”

“Pen,” he says. She pauses but doesn’t turn around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice is firm.

She nods, but flees all the same.

***

Eloise is in the flat which is fitting, because Penelope is having the worst evening ever. What was supposed to be a quiet night in has turned into her tucking tail and coming home alone. Not even the dog to keep her company.

Eloise looks up from the couch where she’s watching the television and mutes it. “Where’s Marcy?”

“Um, Colin came home early,” she says.

“So that is where you’ve been hiding!”

“I’m not hiding, I was just doing what was best for Marceline.” She doesn’t know why she’s being so defensive because she was absolutely hiding.

“Sure.” Eloise looks her over. “Are you wearing his clothes?”

“No! I mean, sort of. It isn’t… It’s not like that.”

“What is it like, Penelope? What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing! We’re friends.” Penelope goes into her room so she can set her bag down and angrily pulls the shirt over her head, leaving it on her bed.

Eloise follows her in, seemingly unphased by seeing Penelope in joggers and a black bra. “You’ve been friends for a long time without co-parenting or cohabitating.”

“It’s a dog, not a baby, and I was only ever there when he wasn’t,” she snaps, tired and on edge and feeling exposed like a raw nerve. She hates when people perceive her too accurately, doubly hates when it’s the Bridgertons.

“You’re wearing his shirt!”

“We’re just friends!”

“You don’t wear my shirts!” Eloise accuses.

“You’re tiny!” Penelope shoots back.

The corner of Eloise’s mouth twitches. Which makes Penelope smile and then she laughs at herself.

“I can’t believe he let you take that, it used to be his favorite shirt,” Eloise says. “He stopped wearing it because he was afraid washing it too much would ultimately disintegrate it.”

“Oh,” Penelope says, realizing she’s just standing in her bra. She reaches into her own drawer and puts on a plain white t-shirt she only wears to bed now because there’s a soy sauce stain on it. “I just picked something I thought he wouldn’t notice.” She picked it up off the bed. “I was going to wash it and return it.”

“He really lets you get away with murder. He’s so fussy about his things. One time Daphne borrowed a book from his shelf without asking and it was like world war three. He cried.”

“He cried? How old was he?”

“Eight,” Eloise says with a laugh.

Penelope giggles. But then it tapers off. “El, if you want me to move out—”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to move out!”

“No,” Penelope acknowledges. “But if you do, you can tell me, you know. I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me.”

Eloise sits on the edge of the bed, slightly on top of the shirt and Penelope wants to yank it away like it’s precious, like Eloise will taint it. She understands why Colin was stingy with his things. She only has two sisters but they were never shy about taking the best of what Penelope had and leaving their trash for her in return. While the Bridgertons were a much more well-adjusted family, she can’t imagine what having seven siblings would be like when it came to feeling like anything was your own.

“I love living with you,” Eloise says. “And I really thought we could just do this forever, you know?”

“I know.” Penelope takes her hand and squeezes it. “Change is inevitable, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to move out, you know. Phil could just move in.”

Penelope snorts. “I like Phil well enough, but…”

“Yeah.” Eloise blue eyes fill with tears. “It’s not immediately. It’s not now. It’s just someday.”

Penelope nods, panic skittering in her chest like an animal in a trap. “All will be well,” she promises.

 

II. Built in 1820

Marceline makes her brunch debut on a rainy day which is a shame, because she doesn’t get a lot of chances to run around off the lead and the Bridgerton House garden is expansive. Still, she has a wonderful time being doted on by so many of the Bridgertons and sniffing Newton who is only mildly annoyed but very patient at her young enthusiasm.

Colin has been home more, doing shorter trips and staying in London for longer in between.

“So you’ll be home for Christmas?” his mother asks hopefully.

“Definitely,” he says.

Penelope likes Christmas in theory. She likes the lead up to Christmas when the weather turns frosty and the twinkling lights start appearing on houses and in store windows and across lanes. She likes the music and the food. It’s the day she can’t abide. She doesn’t go home very often anymore, but Christmas day with Portia is usually expected. Over the years, she’s whittled it down to a half day, because her sisters have to spend part of it with their husbands’ families. She keeps hoping one of them will take Portia in for the day instead of everyone being expected to come to her, but as nice as both Harry and Al are, they’re cowards when it comes to their mother-in-law and she can’t actually blame them.

“Are we doing London or Aubrey this year?” Anthony asks.

“London,” Colin says.

“Aubrey,” says his mother at the same time. “London? Why?”

“Well, I was thinking about trying to buy a house before the new year,” he explains.

This brings the usual Sunday festivities to a screeching halt.

“Doth my ears deceive me?” Francesca demands. “Colin Bridgerton, putting down roots?”

“I own my flat,” he reminds her.

“Yeah but that’s like a storage unit. A house is…” Ben trails off, his eyes darting over to Penelope. This is the first she’s heard of it and she sees Colin more than anyone, thanks to Marceline. Marceline is currently being held by Hyacinth who glares daggers at anyone who dares approach them. “It’s different.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Anthony says. “Though the market is good right now.”

“We want a yard for Marceline,” Colin says. “People have bought houses for less.”

Now every head swivels to Penelope. It’s awful and humiliating and she knows he doesn’t mean to embarrass her like this, but he has. She didn’t even know he was seeing someone until right this moment and now she must bear the heartbreak publicly and while being scrutinized by his entire family in real time. She’ll cry in the shower later. She imagines penciling it into her calendar.

“He doesn’t mean me,” she says softly.

“What?” he says. “Of course I do.”

Now she’s just as confused as the rest of them. “A house? What would I have to do with your house?”

“Because, I mean, because of Marceline and I just thought, you know. It makes sense. Doesn’t it make sense?”

“Doesn’t what make sense?”

“Well, because of Phil.” He points to Phil and Eloise.

“Whoa, hey now,” Phil says.

“What about Phil, Colin?” Eloise asks dangerously.

“Pen said you said he was going to move in.” Colin seems seriously confused now.

“We need to talk about this later,” Penelope says softly but with no small amount of urgency. Because Kate is watching her with sharp, dark eyes and Daphne keeps inching toward her like she’s about to snatch her away for an interrogation and Penelope still isn’t sure what’s happening.

“I said someday!” Eloise says.

“We’re together all the time anyway,” Colin says to Penelope, his blue eyes searching hers. “Aren’t we?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Francesca says, rising from the armchair she’s been in. “I can’t watch this anymore!”

“Penelope, love, will you come help me in the kitchen?” Violet is standing now too and while it was phrased as a question, everyone knows it is not a request. “Kate, Daphne, Francesca, you too.”

Daphne’s hand curls around her forearm and she is being snatched, as suspected. She’s hustled into the kitchen and then completely encircled by Bridgerton women, save for her back against the closed door of the pantry.

“Are you and Colin dating?” Daphne demands.

“No!”

“He wants to buy you a house!” Daphne accuses. “Who does that?”

“I don’t know!” Penelope can feel her eyes filling with tears. “He hasn’t said anything to me about this.”

“Penelope,” Kate says, glancing at Violet. “You two are together a lot. Are you certain?”

“Am I certain?” Penelope sniffs. “Don’t you think I would know?”

“Frankly, I’m not sure,” Francesca says. “Though, I think you might know before he does.”

“He’s really serious about the dog,” Penelope says. “That’s all.”

“My love,” Violet says, brushing a lock of Penelope’s hair away from her face. Her fingers are cool and soft and Penelope tries not to lean into the comfort of her touch. “It seemed as if he wanted you to live in the house.”

“He feels guilty because I’m going to have to figure out my own place,” Penelope says. “I think he’s just confused.”

“Well, but would you want to date him?” Daphne asks. She just asks her, point blank. No beating around the bush, no soft language, no silencer on the muzzle of the gun. Just a single shot, through and through and now they stand around her, watching her bleed.

“I… He doesn’t want… He’s never indicated any sort of, um, interest in me,” Penelope manages. “It isn’t like that. It’s never been like that.”

They’re all just staring at her.

“And he’s gone all the time.” She adds lamely.

“She didn’t answer the question,” Francesca says. As annoying as her astute observation is, it’s better than the look of pure pity on the rest of their faces.

“I’m actually… I need to go home.” Penelope isn’t a part of this family and she doesn’t have to stay here and endure this if she doesn’t want to. “I have to leave.”

“No,” Kate says. “Wait, don’t leave now.”

“Kate.” Penelope forces herself to sound calm, and inches away. “I’ve had about as much humiliation as I can physically withstand today. I have to leave.”

“Why should you feel humiliated?” Francesca asks. “Colin is the one that just stepped in shit and then smeared it all through the sitting room.”

“Good Lord, Francesca,” Violet says, hand to her chest. “What colorful imagery.”

“You do like him,” Daphne says, her face triumphant, her eyes piercing like she’s solved a centuries old mystery and not a puzzle meant for children. Penelope is practiced at suppressing her feelings for Colin, but she doesn’t kid herself that she’s much good at it. She can fool Eloise, sort of, because she knows her so well and because Eloise doesn’t want to see it, but Francesca and Daphne particularly are wily and perceptive.

“Of course she does,” Francesca says. “She always bloody has.”

“Enough,” Violet says, glaring at Francesca.

Penelope’s breath catches in her throat and then catches again and on the third time she realizes she actually can’t take a full breath in. She’s struggling for oxygen, unable to fill her lungs, blood rushing in her ears, tears falling.

“Honestly, what is the matter with you?” Kate is saying now. “Look at her!”

“I… I can’t—” Penelope tries, but she can’t get the words out. She can’t breathe! No one seems to be as worried as she is about that.

“I’m not wrong,” Francesca complains. “I don’t know why we tiptoe around these two! They’re always like this, circling each other. Someone ought to give them a shove, right? Get the show on the road? They’re not children anymore.”

Penelope tries again to say something but the only sound she can manage is a garbled sob. She’s starting to feel lightheaded.

“Guys? I think she’s having a panic attack,” Daphne says.

“Get an ice pack,” Violet orders and Kate is the one who complies, leaving the tight circle. Penelope should try to escape through the hole where Kate once stood, but she just stands there, gasping and crying. “And you should apologize, Fran.”

“I’m sorry that Colin is a twat,” Francesca says.

“God, why are you like this?” Daphne complains.

“You all begged John and I to spend more time in London, you’ll recall,” Francesca says, with a sniff. “You get what you get.”

Kate hands an ice pack to Violet.

“Hands down, Penelope,” Violet instructs and then presses the ice pack firmly against her chest.

She gasps at the cold but it’s a real gasp and she gets some air in at least.

“Good girl,” Violet murmurs.

From outside the door, she hears Colin call, “Pen?”

She looks at the women, staring at her in concern and shakes her head.

“You in there?” he calls.

“Go,” Violet says to Daphne, who rushes out to head him off.

“Penelope,” Francesca says, reaching out to hold both of her cheeks with her cold little hands. “He likes you too.”

“Of course he does,” Violet says soothingly. Kate nods with too much enthusiasm.

Penelope knows that Colin likes her but he’s not attracted to her. It’s not the same thing by a mile.

“No, I mean, he likes you, but you’re his best friend. He’s too scared of ruining your friendship to do anything about it, so he keeps putting you in these weird little situations where you can play house without anyone getting hurt.”

“He said that?” Kate asks.

“Yes,” Francesca says. “Not the situation part. That was my observation. I really thought the dog thing was beyond the pale but a house? Just moving you in as his live-in whatever while refusing to give you what you deserve? I can’t live with that. Penelope is family. Why would we let that happen?”

Penelope finds her voice. “What do I do?” It’s a whisper, but it’s hers. The ice, while uncomfortably cold, has seemed to help calm her down. She wishes she could absorb it into her sternum and become cold and indifferent to Colin and to this whole family. To her own family, even. She wishes violently that she didn’t need a soul and could move through this world completely solitary, relying on only herself.

But she can’t, of course. She would miss them too desperately. A world without Colin seems bleak and impossible to navigate. What would she have to look forward to? She’s always waiting for him to return, like a woman at the window, waiting for her lover to come back from the sea. But instead of her lover, it’s her friend. Handsome, but distant. Alluring, but impenetrable.

“Move in with him, I say.” This from Francesca, who has an abrupt change of heart. “At this point, do it backwards. As long as it gets done.”

“These Bridgerton men are always so lost,” Kate adds. “I think Fran is right. Perhaps he needs a push.”

It’s so bizarre talking about this in front of Violet, a woman she’d wished was her own mother for the majority of her childhood. Now, to be discussing her son like this? As if Penelope had a chance in hell of having that happy ending? It’s surreal.

“Colin is my most elusive child.” Violet eases the ice pack away, but holds it to the back of Penelope’s neck instead which brings her quite close. The ice pack is not as cold as when it first touched her, so it’s soothing. Violet practically whispers in her ear. “He’s sensitive and scared of being hurt.”

Who isn’t, Penelope thinks to herself. She’s not brave enough to say it out loud.

The door to the kitchen opens just enough for Marceline to slink through. She’s got her nose in the air, clearly following a scent and when she spots Penelope, her tail starts wagging so hard her whole body sways back and forth.

“You found your mummy,” Kate says. “What a good girl!”

Penelope scoops the dog up, pressing her face into her golden fur.

Colin, however, is not far behind. There’s a scuffle where Daphne is obviously trying to keep him out of the kitchen, but he overpowers her easily and trips into the room through the swinging door.

“Pen, there you are! They said you weren’t in here but then I saw Marceline come in and—” He stops rather abruptly, looking her over and then says so softly, “Are you crying?”

“No,” she says, muffled by the dog. She glances at Daphne who winces which means she must have mascara all down her cheeks. “I’m finished, actually.”

Francesca snorts.

“Everyone get out,” Colin says, still in that soft tone but commanding now. Kate is the first to go, pulling Francesca along with her and then Daphne must back out because it’s just Penelope and Colin and Violet after a few moments. And Marceline who is getting heavy and wiggly in her grasp.

“Perhaps the puppy would like to go outside?” Violet offers, taking her out of Penelope’s arms. “I’ll wipe her paws before we come back in.” And off she goes.

Penelope and Colin alone.

“What happened?” he asks, still studying her intently. “Who made you cry?”

“You Bridgertons are always making me cry.” Perhaps if she plays it off as some sort of unimportant joke, they can drop it.

“I hope that’s not true,” he says. He grabs her arm and pulls her toward the sink where he dampens a paper towel and pats it against her cheeks. It comes away with peach and black. Foundation and mascara. “That might have made it worse.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “I was going to go home.”

“Without me?”

“We don’t live together.” She’s offering him an opening to explain himself.

His eyes are so blue in the dull light of the kitchen. Can a color be earnest? He’s managing it. “We could.”

“Could we?”

“Why not?”

“Colin,” she scoffs. “It’s a bit unorthodox, don’t you think?”

“What, housemates?”

“No, of course not.” She looks down at her shoes.

“It would just be like… We hang out all the time. And you go to mine when I’m gone anyway. It would be hanging out all the time.”

“That does sound nice,” she concedes. Though, he could ask her to jam toothpicks into her eyeballs and she’d consider it. “But I think we both know that living with your friends doesn’t always work out how you think it might.”

“Says the woman who has been living with Eloise for the past six years?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not saying I’m the authority, but you know. I read!”

He barks out a laugh and reaches out to tuck her hair back, just as his mother had done.

***

She tells him to buy a house if he wants to buy a house and if the house exists, she might consider living in it, thinking that would buy her loads of time, but he goes away to Thailand for sixteen days and comes back a homeowner, somehow. He must have started the process sooner than she thought.

“You’re going to like it,” he whispers in her ear, her phone against her shoulder. He rung her first thing, so early they’re both still in bed. “It’s three stories and has a garden. The main bedroom is on the second floor but the third floor has two rooms, so I thought it could be like a suite for you. A bedroom and an office.”

“Colin, have you even slept?” she asks.

“Two and a half hours, I think. I set an alarm to ring you.”

She grins into her pillow despite the dangerous road they seem to be going down. She’s going to get hurt, that’s inevitable. It will be devastating. He might ruin her whole life.

“A suite?” she asks. Beside her, Marceline perks up and then shimmies toward Penelope so she can lick her arm. “I think Marceline can hear your voice. She seems very happy.”

“Will you come see it with me?” he asks. “I should get the keys this weekend.”

“I can’t believe you bought a house,” she says, peeling her warm covers back. As soon as Marceline wakes up, she always wants to go out. “You know, Eloise hasn’t booted me out yet.”

“She never will,” Colin says. “I’m doing her a favor.”

“Oh, I’m a burden,” Penelope says, laughing though that is the root of her fears. She’s so intertwined with the Bridgertons that none of them know how to be rid of her, so they will just pass her off onto one another forever. Maybe she should move away. She can work from anywhere. She could move to York or Bath or Brighton or Plymouth. Do the untangling for them, as her final act of kindness and thanks for letting her tag along for all these years. “Good to know.”

“No! God. Pen, no. Never.” He sounds so genuine. She almost believes him.

“I’ll come see it because it’s Marceline’s house too.” The dog ties them together, but she also gets between them. She can be a buffer. Penelope puts on a hoodie and her hard soled slippers. “Come on, baby.”

Colin groans. “Call me baby and you can have the whole house, if you want. I’ll sleep in the street.”

“I was talking to our dog,” Penelope says. “We’re going for her morning walkies.”

“Do you want me to come over?” he asks. “We could have breakfast.”

“You need to sleep! And I have to start work in an hour. Why don’t you come get her this evening, if you want her so badly.”

“I just miss you both.” There’s a long pause where Colin listens to her get the lead and clip it to Marceline’s collar and then they get themselves out the door and down the stairs. “I want to travel less, Pen.”

“So you’ve said for the last three years.” They get onto the street and Marceline squats and wees an impressive puddle. “But now you’ve got a house to pay for! A mortgage! And a daughter to raise!”

He chuckles.

“We’re going to have to put her through university someday.”

“Pay for her wedding,” he says, and now he’s yawning.

“Get some sleep. We’ll see you later.”

“Count on it,” he says through the yawn. At least, that’s what she thinks he says.

***

She wants to be unimpressed by the house, but it’s adorable on a tucked away street with mature trees still clinging to gold and orange leaves. It’s close to a park, walkable to the tube, and the garden is to die for.

She stands outside of it and says, “Fuck.” She’d come here with the intention of formally declining his very kind offer. She’s been looking at flats to rent online, her search extending to outside of London proper so the price can go down a bit. There’s one that she could apply for today. It would take her at least an hour to get to Colin’s new house from this proposed flat, but if she wants to live any closer, she’d have to rent a room or find a flatmate.

Now, face to face with the cozy ivy covered brick house on the corner on the road, she’s too charmed to think straight.

“Pen!” Colin calls from down the road and he lets go of the lead so Marceline comes bounding toward her, easily triple the size of when they found her in a box. “What do you think?”

“It’s…” She shakes her head, wondering if she might cry. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Before you make a decision, I know the kitchen is kind of dark and small, but I thought we could redo it before we move in. Eloise isn’t rushing you out, so we have time for that.” He reaches into his pocket for the keys and she picks up the lead, rubbing Marceline’s sweet head as she pushed her whole body excitedly against Penelope's legs in greeting.

“You really bought this place?” she asks, following him to the front door.

“It’s Georgian,” he says. “Built in 1820.”

Bridgerton House is older than that, built in the 1700s, so this might feel modern to Colin. To Penelope, it feels like being a caretaker to history. Inside the details are beautiful. The light shines in through curved sash windows, the fireplaces are in working order, and the parquet floors are original and gleaming. He shows her the large bedroom and bath that would belong to him and then they climb to the third floor and she peers at what would be her bedroom and then the office.

It’s got built in bookshelves that are painted a buttery yellow and the windows look out onto the garden.

She starts to cry.

“Oh shit,” he says. “You hate it.”

She shakes her head, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “I really love it, actually.” It’s like he’d reached into her brain and plucked her ideal house right out of it. She can see her desk and what kind of rug she’d like. She can picture carrying tea up the stairs with the dog at her heels. She can imagine what kind of drapes she’d want in the bedrooms and lying in the large tub in her bathroom with nothing but a single candle flickering. She can see her life here so clearly. The house they share, Colin and Penelope, and Marceline too.

But he’s not in love with her. She’d be his tenant, paying rent, likely an amount she can’t afford, and while the fantasy is close to perfect, she worries that being with him everyday will shred her heart like taking a cheese grater to it, one sliver at a time until the whole thing is a pulpy mess that will never function again.

“You do?” he asks. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m overwhelmed I guess,” she sniffs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, coming to stand next to her and bumping her slightly. “Just say yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll live with you, Colin,” he says. “That’s what I want to hear.”

She studies him. His dark blue eyes, like a stormy sea. His slight stubble, his pouty bottom lip, his perfect jaw.

“Yes,” she says, a moth bashing into the bulb.

His grin is more like the sun. It shaves off the first sliver of her heart for certain.

***

Coordinating the move seems like it’s going to be a headache, but the reality of it is, she moves quite slowly. He sends her a million options for furniture and she tells him what she thinks will look best and then he buys everything she suggests. The sofa, the end tables, the dining chairs, all of it.

She comes over to check on the progress of the kitchen remodel with him, and upstairs she finds he’s purchased her a new desk, bed frame, and a nicer mattress than anything she’s ever slept on, except for maybe his bed in his flat.

“I have a bed,” she says, looking at him with confusion.

“I talked to Eloise,” he says. “She thought you could just leave it and they could make it a guest room. We can swap them if you’d like, but this mattress is really nice. It’s the same one I have in the flat. I bought a new one for myself, too.”

“I can’t… We haven’t even discussed my portion of the rent!” It’s not like she hasn’t tried to talk to him about it, but he keeps brushing her off and changing the subject or telling her they’ll talk about it later, but later never comes. “All new furniture, too?”

“I own the house, I don’t mind furnishing it,” he says. “Anyway, I talked to the builders, and they can add in the extra storage we wanted in the pantry.”

She nods.

“You can start bringing over stuff any time, you know. It’ll be a couple weeks until the kitchen is usable, but no sense in dragging it out. Do you want me to hire movers? Oh, I got you a key, too!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a keychain with a key to the house and to the garden gate. Attached is a little keychain that is a heart that says home in it.

“Movers?”

“I’m leaving nearly everything at the flat, other than clothes and books. I can rent it out as a vacation rental. But you might have more stuff, right?”

She looks at the heart and the keys and the beautiful wrought iron bed frame and desk she’d thought she was choosing for him but is now, apparently, hers.

“I need to make a phone call,” she says. “Excuse me.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding confused but she rushes down two flights of stairs with Marceline hurrying after her. She bursts into the garden, digging out her phone to ring Francesca.

“Hello?”

“Fran,” Penelope says. “I accidentally agreed to live with Colin.”

She laughs. “Like there was a chance in hell you would say no.”

“I was planning on it, actually!”

“What happened?”

“He bought me a bed and a desk,” she says. “And gave me a key with a heart-shaped keychain on it.”

“Oh boy,” she says. “Did he give you a ring yet?”

“We’ve never even kissed!” she hisses. “Not even drunk or anything. He’s never felt me up or asked me out or anything of the sort!”

“Is he nice to your mum?” Fran asks.

“What the hell does my mum have to do with anything?”

“Your mum is the worst. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But he’s always nice to her, isn’t he?”

“Well… yeah.”

“And to your sisters?”

“Nice enough, I guess.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to be a gentleman,” Fran reasons. “But the only reason to be nice to your mum is because he wants to marry you someday.”

“All of you are completely deranged,” Penelope hisses. “Every last Bridgerton!”

“He bought you a house!”

“He bought a house that I’m being allowed to live in.” She frowns. “Kind of bullied to live in, if I’m honest.”

“He must have sent forty listings to our group chat. Would Pen like this, what do you think Pen will think of that. Pen, Pen, Pen,” Francesca says. “Put us all out of our misery and show him your tits.”

“Francesca!”

“You can pretend it’s an accident. Trip and fall into his lips. Do something!”

“You’re literally no help at all,” Penelope groans. “Forget I called.”

“I’ll expect an apology when you realize I’ve been right all along,” Francesca says and ends the call.

She tucks her phone away and turns to see Marceline pooping in her new yard, looking happy as a clam. She turns and looks at the house only to spot Colin up in the window of the office, watching them both. He gives a little wave. She waves back.

“Fuck,” she mutters again.

***

A banker’s box here, a tote bag there. One Uber ride with three rolling suitcases. One her battered own, two belonging to Colin. She didn’t realize suitcases could make her feel poor. His are so nice. The wheels are whisper quiet. The handle comes up so effortlessly, she knows these are suitcases that have never had to fly economy. Anyway, they get her clothes to the house.

After a month, more of her stuff is at the house than the flat.

She’s been sleeping at the house for three weeks and while the house is beautiful and she and Colin have actually been getting on just fine, she’s exhausted. The first week and a half was okay, because he was in Paris and it was her and Marceline in the house. He asked her very politely to set up the kitchen however she liked. She owns a fair amount of kitchen things, but left most of it for Eloise and Phil because she suspected Colin would buy new things and indeed had come home on the first evening he was in France to find a tower of boxes from John Lewis containing pots, pans, flatware, dishes, glasses, and an assortment of spatulas, measuring cups, and other handy tools. It must be several thousand pounds worth of product. She itches to go to the website and add it all up, but refrains. He calls her that night and says, “Do you like it? I had Daphne choose it all.” And that makes sense too, because while Colin has fine taste, everything she’d unboxed and washed was so lovely and it all went together so well that it was as if a professional had chosen it. And lo, a professional had.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she says, putting him on speaker phone and setting the phone on the marble counter of their new, bright kitchen.

“She sent it all to me for approval but honestly I trust her. I’m excited to see it.”

“Colin,” Penelope starts. Her guilt waxes and wanes, the tide of it lapping at her toes. Only Colin’s reassurance ever gets it to recede again and even then it’s a temporary stay.

“Penelope,” he says, though he’s already mocking her, she can tell. He so rarely says her full name.

“I wish you would let me contribute in some way, that’s all.”

“You’ve practically unpacked the whole house,” he reminds her. “You’re taking care of everything whilst I’m gone. You’re taking care of Marce.”

“Financially, though—”

“If I bought the house to make money, sure. If I needed to rent out a room to pay the mortgage, yeah, that would make sense. But I bought this house outright specifically so that we could co-parent Marceline together. I don’t need the money, Pen. You’re the only thing… You being there makes me happy.”

“You bought this house outright?” It’s hard to comprehend. She knows the Bridgertons are rich. She knows Colin does very well. But to her, needing her paychecks to survive and having a meager savings that could be and often is wiped out with a single emergency, buying a multi million pound house in one fell swoop is slightly outside of her scope of understanding. Plus all the furnishings?

Her spiral is broken by Marceline barking at the window and then barking more excitedly.

“I think someone is here.” She leaves the kitchen and heads toward the front of the house.

“Ben and Sophie want to see the house, it might be them. I told them they could stop by, if they wanted. Sorry. I should have asked you.”

“It’s your house.”

“It’s ours,” he corrects.

“It is Ben,” she says, waving to him from the window. “Don’t hang up.” She opens the door.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the better half,” Ben says, and hugs her hard. Sophie bends down to catch Marceline, petting her soft floppy ears.

“Hi you precious beautiful angel,” Sophie coos and Marceline rolls over on the front step, belly exposed. “This place is beautiful, Penelope!”

“I know, right?” she says. “Come in. I’m sorry to say unpacking is not completed, so mind the mess. Come on, Marceline. Inside.” Marceline gives her a side eye for interrupting her belly rub, but obeys, flouncing inside with the rest of them.

“Wow, look at the floors! And the light! Colin says the kitchen remodel came out great.”

“I think it did. It was really dark before.” Penelope glances at the phone in her hand. It’s still on speaker but Colin is silent, so she assumes he doesn’t mind listening in.

“It’s great,” Sophie says.

“This could be a wonderful party house,” Ben proclaims. “Cozier than Bridge House, but way better than Number Five.”

“Maybe,” Penelope says. “When it gets more settled.”

“How does Marcy like it?” Ben asks.

“Loves it, I think,” Penelope says. “Though I’m trying to get her not to take the stairs at breakneck speeds.”

“I thought the main bedroom was downstairs,” Sophie says, glancing at Benedict. “Isn’t that what Colin said?”

“It’s on the second floor, but he’s in France right now so she’s been sleeping up on the third floor with me.” Penelope sets her phone on the counter face down.

“Ha, told you,” Benedict says. “Pay up, buttercup.”

Penelope frowns. “What is that about?”

“She was so sure that Colin wouldn’t be able to keep his grubby little mitts off of you but I knew he’d be too cowardly to make a move,” Benedict crows, grinning. “He’s had fifteen years! Clearly he’s in no rush.”

She glances at her phone.

“We’re friends,” she says. “You guys know that.”

“You said he bought her a house!” Sophie says. “You’re giving me bad intel. Bet voided!”

“He did buy her a house!” Benedict says. “Can we look around?”

“Sure,” Penelope says. As soon as they’re upstairs, she snatches up the phone and says, “Colin?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Pen,” he says, in a tone she can’t quite parse.

He hangs up before she can say much else.

The ever present knot of worry in her stomach tightens.

***

Two days before Colin is due home, Marceline throws up on the rug and then has a series of bathroom accidents to the point where Penelope abandons work to take her to the emergency vet. She and Colin have mostly been texting, unable to recover from the awkwardness of Ben and Sophie’s bet over the phone.

His family seems quite convinced that he has romantic feelings for her but Benedict was right. He’s had fifteen years to do something about it and he never has. It’s a painful fact, one that slaps her in the face each time she remembers it, but she has to keep remembering it because otherwise this dog and this house and this life will eat her alive. Get inside of her and rot her from the inside out. She wishes she had the kind of mother she could talk to about things like this, but she tries never to move beyond the weather with Portia these days. She hasn’t even told her about the move.

She rings Colin and he answers on the second ring.

“Something’s wrong with Marceline,” she says. Thank god Colin has a car that he rarely uses but is helpfully parked in their narrow garage in the back of the house. She lays towels down on the backseat and hopes for the best, and as she’s driving, his voice fills the car.

“What?”

“She’s been getting sick for hours. I’m taking her to the emergency vet now.”

“Okay,” he says, and she can hear him moving. “I’m going back to my hotel room now. I can be there in four hours.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to… I just thought you should know.”

“Pen,” he says with exasperation. “I’m coming home.”

His determination and willingness to drop everything for them brings tears to her eyes and she sniffles, the stress of it all getting the best of her. A glance at the rearview mirror shows Marceline in the back, looking miserable.

“Don’t cry,” he says, his voice so soft. “I’m on my way.”

“Sorry,” she says. “Thank you.”

She has to wait about fifteen minutes at the vet. They aren’t so busy in the middle of the workday, but she still sits with Marceline on her lap, stroking her. She seems finally to have gotten everything out, but she looks deflated and her nose is warm and dry.

“I’m sorry, love,” she murmurs.

“Mrs. Bridgerton?” A woman in lovely pink scrubs calls this out. Penelope hefts to her feet, and rushes to follow her, wishing very much that what she’d called her was true.

 

III. Upstairs, Downstairs

Marceline is home resting by the time Colin bursts in, his suitcase abandoned by the door. Penelope has been texting him updates, of course, so he knows she’s okay. That she’d eaten something in the garden, most likely, something that didn’t sit well in her stomach and that she likely needs better supervision while she’s outside. Penelope feels guilty enough that it happened on her watch, though she knows Colin would never throw that into her face. They both put her into the garden all the time.

Colin also already knows that they gave her some medicine to help her nausea and some fluids because she was dehydrated and now she’s asleep on her big fluffy bed with a little bandage around one of her legs where the IV was. Penelope has to admit she’s happy she had Colin’s debit card to pay for the visit. It was several hundred pounds.

“Baby,” Colin says, dropping to his knees and hugging Marceline. She really must be tired because she didn’t jump up as he came in, but her tail is wagging, thumping against the bed as he pets her.

“She hasn’t been sick since we got home, so I think the medicine is helping,” Penelope offers, feeling like she’s intruding by sitting in the same room with her laptop open in front of her. Her boss is a nice guy and is letting her work later to make up for the missed hours. As long as her work gets done, he doesn’t care much when she does it.

“Good, that’s good,” Colin murmurs into her fur.

Penelope looks him over with a more critical eye than usual. He looks tired. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and he hasn’t bothered to shave in a few days. He’s more rumpled than usual.

“She’s okay, Colin,” Penelope says. “Maybe you should get some rest?”

He pulls a face. “I look that bad?”

“I can tell you’re exhausted,” she says. “Take her with you. She’d love a cuddle.”

“And what about you?”

She blinks. Would she love a cuddle? Is that what he’s asking? No, that can’t be right.

“I have a few more hours of work to do.” She turns back to her screen. Colin takes his suitcase up to his room and then comes back to scoop up Marceline. He stops next to Penelope, leaning Marceline’s head down enough that she can lick Penelope’s cheek a few times and then off they go for their cuddle.

***

The problem reveals itself at night. Not the first night Colin’s home, no, because Marceline is tired and drugged up and she sleeps with him until morning. Not the second night, even, because Colin goes out with his two older brothers and comes home in the wee hours and Marceline stays tucked up with Penelope, snoring softly into her ear.

But on the third night, when they both are home and go to bed around the same time, Marceline seems puzzled when they part ways. She’d had her the previous night, so she assumes Marceline will pad after Colin, but instead she sits at the base of the stairs and refuses to budge until Colin scoops her up and carries her off.

Penelope wakes up in the night. She heard something, she’s sure of it. She listens hard in the dark, her ears straining and her heart thumping. It takes almost a minute before it happens again.

That’s definitely Marceline whimpering. She throws her covers back and grabs her robe, tying it and hurtling down the steps, only to find Marceline sitting on the landing where the steps turn, in between her third floor and Colin’s second floor.

“You need a wee?” Penelope whispers, touching her head. “Come on, sweet girl.”

She leads her down to the second floor and instead of following her down to the first, Marceline pauses outside of Colin’s cracked door, where she’d clearly slunk out to cry on the steps. Penelope gives her collar a tug and Marceline follows her out into the yard and she does squat. Back inside, Penelope gives her a treat, happy to see her take it, because she’d been a little wary of eating anything for a few days after her bad tummy day.

Marceline follows her up the stairs and then Penelope hesitates at Colin’s door to see if she’ll go back inside. She doesn’t.

“Come on,” Penelope whispers. Marceline follows her up into her room but sits in the doorway and whines again. “What is going on with you?”

Finally she has to heft her into the bed and only then does she circle a few times and finally lie down with a big, dramatic sigh. Penelope pets her until she falls asleep.

In the morning, Colin says, “Did you steal the dog?”

“She was crying in the middle of the night,” Penelope says, watching him put the kettle on. These early mornings are always so strangely intimate. There’s something so cozy, yet vulnerable about seeing each other in pajamas as adults. She gets the feeling he wears the plaid pajama bottoms and white t-shirt for her benefit and it’s not what he actually sleeps in, but she has no proof of that. She uses her robe to hide her oversized t-shirts.

“Crying?”

“I took her out but I think she was upset about something. She finally came to bed with me.” Penelope shrugged. “She’s still little. Maybe it was just a bad night.”

But it happens again the next night. People did try to tell her having a puppy was like having a baby and she’d thought that was a little dramatic. When she was potty-training Marceline, it made more sense. She was little and had a little bladder! But she’s older now. Not fully grown yet, obviously, but housebroken at least. Penelope just can’t figure out what she’s so upset about.

Penelope sleeps the whole following night through and wakes up, stretching, happy to find that Marceline hadn’t woken her up in the night only to go downstairs to see Colin yawning on the sofa with the television on, and Marceline’s head in his lap.

“Oh god, is it morning already?” he asks.

“I was going to make some coffee,” Penelope offers. Colin tends toward tea but he perks up and nods. “Bad night?”

“She wouldn’t settle. Finally, I gave up and we came out here. I put on a nature documentary and she calmed down.”

“Maybe we should get a puppy training book or something. Try to figure out what’s upsetting her?”

“Maybe it’s the new environment,” he says. “Maybe she hates the yard and the stairs and the space.”

Penelope knows he’s joking, but she does think it has something to do with the house. She doesn’t know what, yet.

“What’s your plan for today?” she asks. He usually does something with his family on Fridays while she wraps up her work week. They’ve been hanging out more on Saturdays, doing house things. It’s too cold to go on long walks or spend too much time outside, but there’s enough little projects around to keep them busy. Putting up shelves or grocery shopping or picking out rugs.

“I thought maybe Eloise and Phil could come over for dinner?” he asks. “She’s been asking to see the place.”

Penelope frowns. “She hasn’t said anything about it to me.”

“I think she’s both worried you'll want to come back and you terrified won’t want to come back,” he says. “She hates that we’re compatible but also has been enjoying living with Phil.” His forehead creases. “What are you two always texting about, then?”

“Dunno, really. Love Island? Feminism? You?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, whether or not I’ve killed you yet. If I do kill you, how should we dispose of the body, which car to take, where to hide your bits, that sort of thing.”

He grins.

“Don’t get cocky, it all applies to Phil as well,” she warns him. And then it’s like they both remember at the same time that he’s not her boyfriend. She tries to hurry past it. “Coffee, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

She busies herself with the task, cheeks burning. When it’s all done and brewing, she turns around again to find him watching her and not the television.

“Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll handle everything,” he says.

She nods. When the coffee beeps, she carries her mug up the stairs, grateful for her own separate office to hide away in for the majority of the day.

***

They stay up too late, drinking wine with Eloise and Phil, laughing and catching up and it’s such a good night. Colin makes this amazing spread and they eat on their new dishes with two tapered candles burning brightly in the center of the table. She and Eloise are in a good place, somehow, and she’s grateful for it and while Colin and Phil might not be friends outside of this scenario, Colin is very sweet with him and they get along well, despite Phil’s quiet nature. Eloise is extroverted enough for the both of them. Marceline likes Phil, trailing him around all night, gazing at him with her big dark eyes.

“Dogs always like me,” he says apologetically, like it’s a bad thing.

They don’t leave until after midnight, and then she and Colin clean up and by the time it’s bedtime, it’s half past one. Penelope drags herself upstairs, leaving Colin to take the dog. She’s not even sure who she’s supposed to sleep with tonight. It’s all Penelope can do to wash her face, clean her teeth, and get into bed.

It’s not yet morning when something wakes her. Footsteps on the stairs, both human and paws and then a light knock on her door. She doesn’t close it usually, because of Marceline, but Colin still has to push it open.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um,” he says. “I have a theory.”

“What?”

“She won’t settle, Pen. I think… I don’t think she likes that we sleep so far apart.”

Penelope is too tired and confused for this. She leans over to turn on the dim lamp on her nightstand, though it feels bright and they both squint at each other.

“Huh?” she asks.

“Marceline’s crying. I think it’s that we’re in different rooms.”

Colin’s pajama pants are hanging low on his hips and he’s bare chested, despite the chilly night. She tries not to stare, but feels mildly triumphant. She knew he wasn’t sleeping in a t-shirt.

“I don’t have a solution for that,” she says, flopping back into bed. Her eyes feel so heavy. That last glass of wine was a mistake.

“Pen.” She jerks awake again.

“Huh?”

“I said, could we just try sleeping together for the night?”

She’s wide bloody awake now. “What??”

“I mean in the same bed. Just to see if that calms her down.”

He looks sincere enough. And with Marceline between them, it’s as good of a barrier as any. She doesn’t want a barrier, but also she does. What is even happening right now? She’s so tired.

“Whatever,” she says, rolling over.

“Oh no, Featherington, not here. My bed is bigger. Come on. Come downstairs with us.”

She whines, throwing back her covers. “You two are so mean to me.”

“Come on, mum,” he says, laughing. “Think of your daughter.”

“Mean and weird,” she mutters. She’s halfway down the stairs, shivering, before she realizes she’s in a t-shirt and pants and nothing else. Oh well.

Colin on one side and Marceline in the middle. Penelope gets in, trying not to overthink it.

Marceline’s tail thumps happily on the bed for several long minutes before she finally falls asleep on her back, legs in the air.

***

They just start sleeping in the same bed all the time. Neither of them bring it up, so it’s not discussed. It’s fine. Penelope is fine.

***

Actually, it’s not fine. Actually, his bed is more comfortable than hers somehow, despite being the same make and model as her mattress, only in a larger size. Actually, she sleeps deeper and more solidly with Marceline and Colin beside her.

Actually, the intimacy of sleeping beside Colin, listening to him snore and shift and sigh in the night is a luxury she’s growing too accustomed to, now. After four nights of sharing his room and absolutely not discussing it, she wonders if she’ll ever manage to sleep alone ever again. There’s a weight to him in the bed, and a warmth. And while they do not touch, save for occasionally bumping fingers as they both reach out to stroke Marceline, sleeping next to him feels like sleeping in his arms. She wakes up not only well rested, but feeling cherished and important and alive.

It’s a nightmare. It’s not sustainable. Her pajamas smell like him and her dreams consist of skin and teeth and fingernails and everything is damp and she wakes up next to him, panicked that she’s giving herself away in her sleep and she can’t do it. Maybe moving in was a mistake. Maybe going between flats like a child of divorce was actually better for Marceline all along.

Friday night they split a bottle of wine with dinner (he stays in a lot more than she expected of him) and she’s just tipsy enough to keep climbing the stairs, headed for her own bed when his arms snake around her waist and he pulls her back against him.

“No you don’t,” he says, laughing because he’s a little toasted too. “Come to bed.”

“My bed,” she says, struggling against him (but not really).

“Our bed,” he murmurs, pointing her toward his bedroom and giving her a gentle shove. Marceline has grown so much that she can leap onto the bed with ease and she does so now, flopping her head onto Colin’s pillow and stretching out. Colin doesn’t seem to mind, pushing Penelope in next, even though she hasn’t brushed her teeth or washed her face and is still in her black leggings and t-shirt. And then he climbs in third, pulling the covers over them and resting his head on Penelope’s pillow, or rather, the pillow she’s been sleeping on. His face is mashed into it for a moment before he rolls toward her and says, “Smells like you,” with a dopey grin.

She could burst into frustrated tears so, so easily.

Instead she says very softly, “Colin, what are we doing?”

He gazes at her and she swears she can see his pupils get bigger. “Shh,” he says, his finger worming up and out of the blankets to press against her lips. “Not yet.”

She nods. Stays silent until he pulls his finger away and then repeats, “Not yet.”

His eyes drift closed. His eyelashes are so long, dark, resting on his perfect cheekbones.

***

Colin puts his foot down about Christmas, demanding that both she and Marceline come with him to Aubrey Hall.

“It’s just a few nights,” he says.

“I have to work,” she replies. “I only have Christmas day and boxing day off, technically.”

“We have Wi-Fi there now, you know. You can still work.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what? Do you want to spend it with your mum?”

She shakes her head. Phillipa did invite her over for Christmas dinner, out of obligation, but she’d turned it down and no one had made a fuss about her showing up to anywhere, which was both a relief and stung a bit, if she was honest. Her plan was to just exist alone in the house, doing whatever she pleased.

“So, come with me and Marceline,” he begs. He is begging, she can’t kid herself about that. He’s pleading with her, her hand clasped in his. His eyes look shiny. Is he… Would he cry?

“Yeah.” Every Christmas in her memory that is beloved and cherished is one she spent with the Bridgertons. “Of course. Yes. I’ll come with you, if it’s okay with your mum.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I was going to go crazy down there without you.”

“They’re your family,” she says, rolling her eyes at his dramatics.

“This is my family now,” he says, reaching out to rub Marceline’s head and Penelope’s head simultaneously.

“I got something for your mum and Eloise, and you obviously, but not the rest of your siblings because I didn’t think I’d see them,” she frets. Buying for every Bridgerton could seriously break the bank. Usually she bakes a big batch of something and gives it to them as a whole.

For Colin, she’d found another of his favorite Yosemite t-shirt, nearly exactly the same. It’s not quite as soft because it doesn’t have years of wear and washing, but it’s really nice and he can wear it without worry.

For Eloise, a really nice fake plant to replace the real one she’d taken with her to Colin’s house. It’s kind of a bit because Phil is a botanist, and brought an entire nursery worth of plants with him, but she knows Eloise will get the joke even if Phil doesn’t.

And for Violet, she gets the same thing every year, more or less: a flower subscription. A fresh, large lovely seasonal bouquet that arrives on the first of every month. One year it was baked goods, another Penelope went with candles. But the flowers seem to be Violet’s preference so Penelope did it again this year.

“That’s okay, you can just put your name on what I got them.”

She can see the tags so clearly in her mind. Love, Colin and Penelope. A unit, a set, a pair, a couple. Shred, shred, shred goes more of her heart.

It’s Marceline’s dinner time, so she’s tracking his every move, her tail thumping as he walks toward the kitchen to put her food in her stainless steel bowl. They’ve been working on her waiting for a command, so Penelope places her hand on Marceline’s back to help keep her still until Colin sets the food down and says, “Okay.”

Then she’s off, her face in the bowl eating her dinner up like it’s her first time encountering food ever in her lifetime.

“They won’t mind?” Penelope shouldn't give in to the idea but she can't really afford not to, either.

“No one has ever minded you,” he assures her.

***

They drive down to Kent together, Marceline dutifully lying in the backseat, except for when she tries to creep up between their seats. At first, just her head on the center console and then one paw and then suddenly she’s trying to jam her whole body into the front seat.

After the third time, Penelope makes him pull over so she can switch to riding in the back with her and that seems to calm her quite a bit.

“I worry we’re making her too clingy with our love,” Penelope says, leaning forward so she can talk over his shoulder.

“Better that than neglect,” he says.

She leans back to consider his words and realizes he’s looking at them in the rearview mirror. She holds his gaze for so long that she starts to worry about her safety.

“Eyes on the road, Bridgerton!”

And he does pull his gaze away. It’s a long, straight stretch. They were never in any real danger. This is what she tells herself, skin tingling from his piercing stare.

Everyone is so happy to see them, Marceline included. Newton barks at the sight of her and they spend several minutes sniffing one another in the grand foyer of the stately country home. Pen receives a hug from everyone, Francesca clutching her longer than perhaps she ever has.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks when she finally pulls away.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come and Colin would be unspeakably insufferable.”

“He was quite adamant.” It feels weird to admit it, like it’s too intimate a detail for her to confess to one of his siblings. She still can see his eyes welling up as he clutched her hand. “Unusually so.”

Someone comes in to carry their bags up to the family rooms.

“I can get it,” Colin says, though he makes no move to take it from the man. Penelope knows the people who work in Bridgerton House and even some of the help that Violet keeps at Number Five but she’s unfamiliar with the Aubrey staff.

“No, sir, allow me,” he says. He hands Penelope’s bag off to someone else and Penelope watches at the top of the stairs as they break apart and head in different directions. It occurs to her obviously that they won’t be staying in the same room and it would be delusional for anyone to assume they would. She glances at Marceline and then at Colin he looks back at her with a similar look of concern.

“She’ll be okay,” he murmurs. And then, “We’ll figure something out.” The statements seem rather contradictory to Penelope, but she has no say in anything here, so she holds her tongue.

It’s all so different from the holidays she spent with her own family. Christmas with the Featheringtons was always rehearsed and strained. The traditions were orchestrated by her mother and enjoyed by no one. Gift giving was a tense game of one-upmanship where she never got what she really wanted, which was, of course, to be across the street with Eloise. Here, everyone is merry to the point of boisterousness. The children all seem so happy, the home is warm and smells faintly of cinnamon and mulled wine and every person who speaks to her seems genuinely pleased that she’d come.

She does have to work. She’d taken a half day because it’s Christmas eve and she’s unusually on top of her work. (She reasons that she won’t allow herself another night in Colin’s bed with him if she starts to fall behind and that’s been extremely motivating.) But she still has things to get done and end of year deadlines, so Anthony sets her up in the library and gets her connected to the Wi-Fi. Christmas has not spilled into this room. There’s no tree or trimmings on the mantel. The fire is lit at Anthony’s request, but she suspects that’s for her benefit. With the door closed, she’s quite cut off from the rest of them. Once Eloise and Phil arrive from London in the evening, she’ll be pulled away from her computer for certain, so she must make haste while there’s still a bit of daylight left.

She’s alone for about an hour before there’s a light knock on the door and it opens. Marceline comes in first, followed by Francesca.

“Hi baby,” Penelope greets. Marceline sniffs her way around the room. “Thank you.” This is to Francesca for letting her in.

“She was moping around, looking for you, I think.” Francesca closes the door behind her. “Not unlike a certain brother of mine.”

“Greg knows he’s too young for me,” Penelope quips and they giggle. “Colin knows exactly where I am, you know.”

“I know,” Francesca says. “Have you showed him your tits yet?”

“No!” She turns back to her computer screen. The novel she’s working on is, unfortunately, not very good. She can overlook typos and questionable punctuation, but this plot is stupid and it doesn’t hold her attention so every page is a slog. It’s why it’s the last thing she has to finish this year and she still has over two hundred pages to go. She’s running out of ways to kindly point out that something doesn’t make sense. Or is stupid. Or is factually wrong.

“Why not?” Francesca demands, stomping her foot.

“Fran, I know you think your brother feels a certain way about me, but you’re projecting quite a lot.”

“He adores you!”

“Of course he does, he’s one of my best friends in the world,” Penelope says. “We get on like a house on fire, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see my boobs.”

“First of all, I can’t think of any man who wouldn’t want to see your boobs. I kind of want to see your boobs. They’re cracking boobs, Penelope.”

“Thank you.” Penelope has to fight the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

“Secondly, Colin does want to see them. He’s convinced that you don’t have feelings for him.”

“Who says I do?” Penelope demands.

Francesca throws her head back and laughs. “Please.” When Penelope doesn’t laugh around with her, Francesca frowns. “Really? Come on, I know you don’t think everyone in this family is as willfully ignorant as Eloise regarding your feelings for Colin.”

“You just told me Colin doesn’t think I have feelings for him!”

She throws her hands up. “Colin is just boy Eloise!”

Now that was a thought that would fester. “Fran,” Penelope says helplessly. “I have to work.”

“I know,” she says. “I know. Just… Colin is never going to make a move, if that’s what you're waiting for.”

“I’m not waiting for anything,” Penelope sighs, rubbing her forehead. Francesca used to be so quiet and shy and demure. Not that she doesn’t love this bold, more opinionated Francesca but she could be shy about Colin right now and Penelope would move on gladly, no questions asked.

“He thinks you don’t want him, you know. Because you don’t ever make a move. Because you’ve been squishing down your feelings for so long that I guess it’s just second nature. And by the time he pulled his head out of his own arse—”

“Oh my god!”

“—and realized he was in love with you, you’d gotten so good at playing it cool that he really does think you’re indifferent to him!”

“Christ.” She rubs her damp hands on her jeans. “He’s not in love with me!”

“I think he is,” Francesca says. “I would bet my piano on it.”

Now that’s serious. Penelope sits up. “What?”

“I said it.” Francesca crosses her arms. “But he also doesn’t want to ruin your friendship without being sure. You could crawl into bed with him and I still don’t think he’d make a move unless you kissed him first.”

Penelope shifts guiltily, knowing that to be true. Except when he dragged her to bed and pressed his face into her pillow and she woke up with his arm around her waist. Except for that. Another thing they haven’t discussed. They’ve slept in the same bed since, of course, but back to their own sides with Marceline in the middle.

“What?” Francesca demands. “What was that face? What was that expression?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, looking back at the computer. No help there.

“Penelope!”

“What?” She can’t look at Francesca. She can’t meet her gaze. Francesca is the observer. She sees and catalogs everything. Penelope has already given too much away.

“Are you sleeping with him?” she hisses.

“It’s not what you think!” Penelope breaks. “Marceline cries at night! She sits on the stairs and cries because she can’t decide who she wants to sleep with!”

“Are you shitting me?” Francesca yells.

“Shh!” Penelope begs. Marceline, who had settled at Penelope’s feet some time ago leaps up. “It’s platonic.”

“No it isn’t!” Francesca has her hands in her hair, like she’s going to start yanking it out in chunks. “You’re going to torment him until he dies! He bought you a house! I can’t live like this.”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic,” Penelope says. “Pull it together. Why do you even care so much?”

“He’s my favorite brother,” Francesca says, now fully sitting on the floor. Marceline comes over and starts nosing her in the face with excitement. “And you could be my favorite sister if you would just put some effort into it.” She wraps her arms around Marceline and buries her face in her fur.

Marceline looks quite happy to be included.

***

“Were you and Francesca having a fight?” Colin asks. It’s late now. The small children have gone to bed, as have most of the adults. Ben and Sophie are still up, watching the end of some cheesy Christmas film. She and Colin started watching it with them, but have broken away and are sitting by the tree, enjoying the warmth of the grand fireplace. Neither has said so out loud, but they both understand that if they’re the last ones to go to bed, they’ll be least likely to be noticed if they end up in the same room. It’s not like she can’t sleep alone but Marceline is still so young and she’s never been here before.

She’s currently asleep on her back in front of the fire, living her best life.

“A fight? No. Why?”

“Daphne said she thought she heard Francesca shouting in the library, but I know you were in there working.”

“Um, I was,” Penelope says. “We didn’t fight. We had a spirited discussion.”

“You did?” he asks. “About what?”

“Just, like, normal stuff.” Penelope plucks a ball of lint off the hem of her jumper. “Girl things. And the such like.”

“The such like?” he asks, snorting.

“Mmm.” She looks up at him and the lights from the tree are reflected in his eyes and it’s like they’re literally sparkling. Extremely unfair, actually. He’s got his arm around her shoulder and she’s nestled against him.

“So no bad blood, then?”

“Never,” she murmurs. His gaze drops down to her lips. She can’t help looking at his mouth either and actually, it’s such a short distance. She wouldn’t even have to upset things much. She could tilt and lean and that’s all it would take.

And then he’d sputter and pull back and ask what she was thinking and she’ll know Francesca has been pranking her this whole time and Christmas will be ruined and she’ll be homeless and Eloise will be too upset to let her move back in and then what will she do?

She looks back up at his galaxy eyes and finds he’s still looking down at her mouth.

But then it doesn’t matter anyway because the front door opens and Eloise and Phil finally spill in, a gust of cold December air behind them. Marceline springs up to greet them with a bark.

The actual and true reason they’d been waiting up. She’d forgotten there’s an actual reason: Eloise. Penelope leaps to her feet, his arm falling away, and rushes into the foyer.

“Oi, we didn’t think anyone would still be up,” she says, hugging Penelope. Penelope can see Colin and Phil shake hands out of the corner of her eye.

“Of course we waited for you,” Penelope says. “Marceline wanted to see her favorite aunt.”

“Marcy!” Eloise crows and crouches down to rub vigorously at her ears. “Marcy, my girl, my sweet cheeks, my shining star.”

Penelope hears Colin mutter “Marceline!” under his breath but either Eloise doesn’t hear it or ignores it.

“Traffic was ghastly until we got out of London,” she says. “We meant to be earlier.”

“No matter,” Colin says. “You’re here now.”

Ben and Sophie come out to see them, and then somehow there’s drinks made and no one is going to bed quite yet. They get too rowdy, because eventually Hyacinth comes downstairs in her flannel snowflake pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry, Princess,” Ben says. “Did we wake you?”

She nods and then spots Marceline asleep with her snout on Colin’s long shoe.

“Can Marceline sleep with me tonight?” she asks, her voice already a wheedling whine. Marceline’s head pops up at the sound of her name.

Penelope glances at Colin. Marceline has never spent a night away from either of them, but she really does love Hyacinth.

“If she’ll go up with you, sure,” Colin says. Penelope can tell he doesn’t think that will happen. Penelope is surprised he said it all. While it would certainly solve their conundrum of their sleep situation, she can’t help but feel a little sad. She hasn’t slept alone in weeks. She’s comforted by the sound of his breathing now, like the white noise of a fan. Everything will feel so eerily quiet and still.

“Really?” Hyacinth says excitedly. “Marceline! Come to bed!”

And that little furry traitor gets up and goes right up to Hyacinth, tail wagging.

Colin gasps. “Okay, but wait—”

“No, you promised,” Hyacinth says, her finger already looping around Marceline’s collar.

“If she starts to cry or whine, you can always bring her back to my room, okay?” Colin calls, watching them ascend up the stairs.

“She won’t!” Hyacinth replies, voice fading.

“You always let her play you,” Ben says with a laugh. “You never learn.”

Penelope pats his arm reassuringly. “Maybe it will be nice to have a night off.” She can tell he doesn’t agree. “Well anyway, I think I’m off to bed.”

“It is late,” Eloise agrees. “I’ll walk up with you. Wait, which room are you in?”

“Daphne’s old one,” Penelope says. “Next to yours.”

“Perfect,” Eloise says, looping her arm through Penelope’s. Penelope looks back at Colin from the top of the stairs. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, watching her disappear.

***

As tempting as it is to pace, the floors are wooden and old and squeak underfoot enough that she thinks Eloise and Phil will be able to hear her circling the drain of her own sanity. But sitting on the edge of the bed doesn’t get rid of enough anxious energy and actually sleeping is completely out of the question. She’d tried it. Washed her face, cleaned her teeth, put on her pajamas and everything. Violet provided everyone with coordinating Christmas pajamas and Penelope’s are the same as what Hyacinth wore, a deep blue covered with snowflakes. The men have received a more masculine snowman print. She buttoned her top with shaking hands, got into bed and lasted about fifteen seconds before sitting up again.

What was that on the couch down there, anyway? All snuggled up by the fire? Christmas literally reflected in his eyes? She was pretty certain he was looking at her mouth. He’ll sleep with her in the same bed, but when she asks questions he says not yet. He’ll move her into his house, he’ll share a dog with her, but he won’t tell her what he’s thinking or feeling or give her any clue. She’d been so in love with him in her teenage years, so besotted that every night was like this, sitting up in a panic over him. Back then, there was no confusion about whether or not he reciprocated those feelings. He didn’t.

It was only once she got over that phase of her life that they could manage a real friendship. Something far less one-sided. A friendship where he would confide in her and bring her little souvenirs and he would remember to wish her a happy birthday without Eloise prompting him. And she could open up to him too without worrying she was giving the game away, because there was no game and they both knew it. Finally, on even footing with one another.

Penelope isn’t willing to say she regrets getting Marceline because she doesn’t, but she certainly has upset their dynamics in a way Penelope couldn’t have anticipated. Their even ground tipped and Penelope has been sliding toward Colin ever since. She’s slid all the way into his bed, somehow, and yet she still doesn’t know where they stand. Not exactly. Not really.

So, she can spend the whole night like this, or she can sort it out once and for all. Make him say something on the subject for once. She deserves that, surely.

“Not yet, my ass,” she mutters, flinging open her door only to find him standing on the other side in his stupid snowman pajamas. They hang on him perfectly. “Colin!”

“Shh,” he says.

“I was coming to see you,” she whispers. “Is Marceline okay?”

“I think so.” He glances over his shoulder and then back to her. “Can we talk?”

“Not here,” she says. “Eloise is right next door. Your room?”

He frowns. “It’s between Gregory and Daphne and Simon.”

“I’ll take my chances with them, thanks.” She gives him a nudge to get him out of the way and follows him into the dark hall.

“Marceline is in Hyacinth’s room. She can’t hear us,” he whispers, so low that she barely makes it out. What does he think she’s going to do? Whistle on her walk over to the other wing? Skip? Leave a trail of treats? She rolls her eyes, but it’s too dark for him to see it. They walk very quietly, barefoot on the rug, staying away from the walls where the boards are more likely to creak. This house is one big creak waiting to happen.

It’s somehow darker in the other wing. There’s no moonlight shining through the windows here. She slows down, uncertain about her footing and whether or not she’s going to bump into the ancient furniture that lines the wide halls. And then she feels his hand slide into hers, warm and dry, so big it’s like her entire hand fits inside of his. He squeezes her hand once and she squeezes it back.

This is Colin. He’s the nicest, most genuine man. He’s her best friend! On paper it’s Eloise, of course, and Eloise is so beloved to her but they’re out of the phase of their life where they’re joined at the hip. Eloise has found her person as Penelope always suspected she would. She’s got her grown up job and her flat that she owns and yes, if she gets married, Penelope will be her maid of honor but it’s Colin that Penelope talks to every day and it’s Colin who can convince her to do anything or go anywhere and it’s Colin that if she walked into a room of everyone she knew, she’d look for first.

They make it to his room no problem. Only a small lamp on the nightstand provides any light. He closes the door behind them. They still need to be quiet, but both Gregory and the Bassets had gone to bed ages ago, so they’re likely all asleep, unlike Eloise and Phil.

She looks at him, waiting for him to start and finds that he’s looking at her with panic.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” he says. “No. I dunno.”

She nods. “Yeah, no, totally. Makes sense.”

“It’s just that, I thought we would have Marceline,” he says. “And that I would sneak you over here and we would just carry on.”

“Carry on?”

“You know, in the same bed.”

“Mmm,” she says. “But she’s with Hyacinth.”

“Yeah.”

“Colin, can I ask you something?” He doesn’t say yes or no, just stands there with his big deer-in-the-headlights eyes. “Did you buy that house for me?”

“People need houses, Pen.”

“So if I decided to move out and we never spoke again—”

“Oh my god, don’t say that!”

“—would you keep living there? Without me?”

He frowns, looking incredibly distraught. “I don’t think I could.”

“Oh my god,” she says. “I think Francesca was right.”

“About what?”

She really should just show him her tits. What’s the worst that could happen? He could say no thank you and she’ll just button her top up and walk into the night to go lie down in the forest and wait to die. But whatever they’re doing, this playing house holding pattern, this is going to kill her just the same. One of them has to be brave. She would have bet every pound in her bank account that if one of them was required to be brave, it would be him. But it won’t be, not this time. It’s got to be her.

She reaches for her top button and slides it out of the hole.

“Pen?”

The second button covers most of her cleavage, but she undoes it. The buttons are big. There aren’t that many of them.

“Pen!”

She never sleeps braless when she stays with the Bridgertons. They’re too chaotic and unpredictable, bursting in on one another and doing things at the spur of the moment. Eloise never understood that sometimes propriety had to top comfort. She’s glad for it now because it would be much harder to do this without something on underneath. Even if what she has on is a sheer black bralette. Something, but nearly nothing. He won’t have to imagine very much.

She undoes the third button. “What are we doing, Colin?”

“What are you doing?” he demands, though he hasn’t looked up at her face since she started.

“It’s just, I don’t think I can keep doing what we’ve been doing,” she sighs, the fourth button between her fingers. Now the shirt will start to part and fall away.

“What do you mean?”

“The thing where I sleep in your bed, but you don’t touch me,” she says. The button pops out of the hole. Only one more to go.

“Yeah but,” he swallows. “God, it’s really dark in here.”

“Am I so untouchable?” she whispers, her fingers grazing the last button. She takes a step closer to him and suddenly she’s in arm’s reach and his hands flex at his side, like he’s holding himself back. She flicks the last button and rolls her shoulders so the shirt falls, catching on her elbows and hanging there.

“Jesus.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Those are spectacular.”

“Your sister thought I should show them to you,” Penelope says.

“El thought…?”

“No, Francesca,” she says. “Keep up, Colin.”

“Oh, I’m up,” he mutters.

“She thinks you’re scared to change things between us in case it doesn’t work out.”

And for the first time, his eyes drift back up to her face to meet her gaze.

“Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She lets the top fall to the ground. “At this point, I’ve come to the conclusion that if you don’t touch me, it’s going to ruin my entire life.” She reaches behind her and undoes the clasp and the scrap of fabric gives immediately, springing off her and falling to the floor.

Colin groans. She reaches for his hand, just like he’d done for her in the hall, and brings it slowly to her breast. Though he still has that stricken expression, he cups her so gently. His thumb slowly drags across her nipple. She’s not usually very sensitive there, but like with all things, Colin is different. Her inhale is sharp and cuts through the quiet of the room and the echo of their hushed conversation.

He brings his other hand to her shoulder and slides it down her arm and it’s such a sweet gesture, so like him to comfort her while he drives her insane. Then the hand moves around and settles on her back, pulling her closer to him. She braces herself on his chest.

“Undo my buttons,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair.”

“Says the man who doesn’t even charge me rent,” she says and he laughs. She takes far less time unbuttoning his shirt and then shoves it off. His chest is broad and covered in hair but solid and radiating heat. She wants to rub her face into his chest hair, she wants to fall to her knees and beg him to let her do every filthy thing she’s ever dreamt of.

Instead, he says, “Put your arms around my neck.”

She has to push up onto the balls of her feet, but pressing her bare chest to his is suddenly the hottest thing she’s ever done in a bedroom and she’s not exactly a blushing virgin. But it’s warm skin to warm skin, it’s his breath against her wet lips, it’s the smell of him up close and pure.

She can feel his erection, too. Insistent and hard and real.

“Oh,” she says, dumbly. Like she wasn’t certain, not really, until right this moment, despite his hand on her boob and his slack-jawed, heavy gaze.

“I think about touching you all the time,” he whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Mmm,” she manages, nodding. Their mouths are already so close, her neck craned up about as far as it can go. “Mmmhmm.”

She’s spent birthdays and holidays and summers and weekends with this family. She’s lived with them and fought with them and done long car rides and short plane trips and all nighters and pub quizzes and everything in between but she’s never kissed a Bridgerton before. Seems a real shame. Criminal really.

Because this is the best kiss she’s ever had. Because their lips align perfectly, because he tastes just how she imagined he would but better. Spicy and hot, all man, but safe, like nothing bad will ever happen again.

When he pulls back, he says, “We can make the room upstairs a guest room, yeah?”

She giggles. “We haven’t even… What if… Shouldn’t we make sure, first?”

His lips move across her jaw. Into her ear he says, “Make sure of what?”

“I dunno.” He’s very distracting. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

His laugh is so loud that she flinches.

“Shh!” This is not a great time for his family to hear them. The worst time, in fact.

“It’s going to fit,” he promises, spinning them and then guiding her onto the bed. The sheets are cold. She realizes her back is freezing in the December night air. There’s a fireplace in this room but it isn’t lit and as warm as the front of him is, she’s been without a shirt for some time now. He must see her shiver. “Cold?”

She nods.

“I read in a survival guide one time when I was going on a backpacking trip that the best way to generate body heat is skin to skin contact,” he says, pushing down his pajama pants and boxers in one go. His erection springs free and her jaw drops.

“Is it going to fit?” she demands. She was joking before but now she’s not entirely sure.

“Yes,” he says. “Take off your bottoms.”

She’s not sure why him barking orders at her is a turn on. That’s to be examined at a later time. She complies, shoving her pajama bottoms down and then her underwear and they slide under the covers just like a normal night, but it’s not normal. Marceline isn’t between them this time. Nothing is between them this time.

Though, she is grateful for the darkness. For the way the low wattage of the light bulb works with the downward slope of the shade. The light is cast down, or straight up, but not out so they’re both blanketed in forgiving shadows. Her desire for him does not diminish the disparity between them. He is a golden god, warm and erect and like gazing into the sun. She is Penelope. Too soft, too round, too short.

Under the covers, however, they are flesh and bone. She expects the warm kissing to resume (or more!), but instead he wraps his arm around her and tucks her so tightly against him that she can barely move.

“At night, sometimes you cry in your sleep, did you know that?”

“What?”

“Not like, sobbing tears, but just soft whimpers. I figure you’re dreaming of your mother.”

She snorts, his chest hair tickling her nose. She runs her toe across the top of his leg. That’s about all the limb movement she can manage.

“But one night, I think you were having a different kind of dream because I swear the noises you were making were… different.”

“Are you accusing me of having a sex dream in your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Highly likely, I’m afraid,” she says. “Probable, in fact.”

“It was torture.” He squeezes her tighter, which she didn’t think possible. “All I wanted to do was this. Hold you, feel your skin. This is what I dream about at night. Nothing between us.”

“I finally get you naked and you’re saying all you want to do is cuddle?” she asks, joking but not. Tickled, but horrified.

“I want to start with cuddling,” he corrects.

“It’s like two in the morning, Colin.”

“You know what that means?” He drops a kiss on her head. “It’s Christmas.”

“Would you like to know what I’d like for Christmas?”

“Well, I already got you something, so—”

“An orgasm, Colin,” she says. “For the last fifteen years of foreplay to end.”

And then she’s on her back quite suddenly, his hulking form leaning over her. “You want me to make you come, Pen?”

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god. Please don’t let this be one of those dreams.”

“Not this time,” he promises.

***

It does, in fact, fit. They’re trying so, so hard to be quiet. She was basically silent through her first orgasm, shuddering open mouthed into his neck with his fingers inside of her. And through the second, pillow over her face while his mouth was on her. She’s not sure how he survived it, face buried between her thighs underneath several heavy blankets, but he emerged smug, if panting, his hair mussed and chin shining.

She’s starting to feel tingly and boneless now, good sense leaving her. She’s not sure she can stay quiet anymore. She wants to scream. She wants to cry out. She wants him to know that he’s breaking her down and rebuilding her into something better. (Yes, it has been some time and while she can get herself off with a vibrator spectacularly, tragically it’s never quite the same as a talented person to do it for her, now is it?)

But Colin’s smugness has bled into desperation and to say now, actually, we should probably call it a wrap for the evening would be cruel by any standard. Also she’s desperate to have him inside of her. It’s the final bridge, is it not? The last line of defense. He let her into his house. She let him into her heart again, anew and now, into her body.

“I think you should be on top,” he whispers. “You’ll have better control.”

Her limbs feel rubbery so she’s not sure she has any control at all, but for him, she’ll try.

“Turn off the lamp,” she whispers.

His forehead crinkles. “Why?”

He’s a sweet handsome man who has never once in his life had to consider his angles. There will be a time, she knows, that she’s comfortable enough with him that he can see her from any perspective naked but that time is not the first time.

“I’d feel better.”

To his benefit, he doesn’t argue, merely reaches over and flips the switch. It’s so dark for a moment, only their twin strained breathing and the rustle of the blankets as she climbs on top of him make a sound. God, he’s so hard in her hand. His breath hitches as she holds him steady and notches him at her entrance. Her animal brain wants to impale herself immediately, but that will be uncomfortable at best and painful at worst so she takes it easy, sinking slowly. When she gets him about halfway in, she rises up again and starts over now that he’s better lubricated.

“Okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound okay. His voice breaks in the middle of a one-syllable word. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Pen, you have no idea.”

She has some idea. She’s never felt this full before.

“Thank you for showing me your boobs,” he moans.

“Sure, any time,” she whispers, dragging her nails down his chest. She keeps sinking and finally there’s nowhere left to go and she’s fully astride him. His chest is heaving like he’s sprinting.

“Can I tell you my concerns?” he whispers.

“Now seems like the right time for that, yeah, go on then.” Colin is a yapper. Always trying to talk through things, always terrified of a quiet room. He’s got music playing or the television on or a podcast blaring. He’s not a sit in silence kind of guy, so why would this be any different?

“I’ve never felt like this before.” He whimpers as she leans forward a little, tilting her hips to explore her angle and pace. She’s so full. There’s up and down and there’s a little leeway to roll instead of bounce but if she leans too far forward, it burns. “Pen. Pen!” He sounds worried.

“Hmm?”

“I might not… I don’t want you to be disappointed if I can’t hang on.”

“Do you want to come in me?” She’s not opposed to the idea. He hears her birth control alarm go off every day. Half the time he’s the one to ask if she’d taken her pill yet. She has a bad habit of ignoring it for an hour or so. That stops now. She’s going to take that pill like she’s the Royal Observatory.

Colin doesn’t answer the question as much as grab her hips and let out a groan.

“You can,” she says. “If you want.” Two orgasms in and her most pervasive and long-term fantasy fulfilled, and suddenly the constant knot of anxiety she carries in her chest has eased and she’s the most relaxed she’s ever been in her life. Colin Bridgerton’s cock is lodged so deeply inside of her that she can feel it in the bottom of her bloody eyeballs and she’s chatting to him like they’re discussing the grocery order. Is this happiness? Is this what happiness is?

“Please move, please,” he hisses, rolling his hips. She matches the pace, leaning forward and then back, starting out slow but then speeding up little by little. He keeps making these noises. Not loud, maybe, but certainly not quiet. She reaches out and puts her fingers over his lips and he sucks two in, exploring them with his tongue.

“Wow,” she says, feeling breathless. “I really want to suck your cock some time.”

She says it because it’s true! So she’s a little cock drunk now, endorphins shooting through her bloodstream like the tube through the veins of London. Because for once in her life, she doesn’t have to worry or imagine what he might think. It’s all right there on his sleeve.

His eyes roll back in his head and his teeth come down on the flesh of her fingers and his hips grow rigid. Gone is the fluid rolling motion they’ve perfected together. Instead, he’s thrusting up, whining around her fingers as he comes.

Colin Bridgerton just came inside of her, no condom. She’s having a lot of firsts tonight. When his teeth release her, she pulls her saliva covered fingers from his mouth and brings them to her own clit, rubbing insistently while he watches her with a look of drunken pleasure. She’s got a small window, she suspects, before he goes totally soft and she’s sorry, but him coming is like the hottest thing. Like she made him come? Colin? Just with her vagina and maybe some of her words? And actually, you know what? Now that he’s not so rigidly hard inside of her, she can move a little more so she thrusts and rubs and it really doesn’t take much and she’s coming, lip between her teeth, face scrunched up, thighs quivering, and everything so wet between them that when it’s over, he slips out and she lists to the side, collapsing back into his arms like when they started. He’s saying something, maybe, but her ears are still ringing.

Words are overrated, she thinks, and when he brings their lips together she happily starts kissing him once more.

***

It’s the barking that wakes her up. It’s just on the other side of the door. She sits up and realizes she’s in Colin’s bed and that he’s asleep beside her. (He sleeps through her barking all the time. He rarely woke up when she was whining on the landing at night.) But it’s definitely Marceline. Maybe she escaped Hyacinth and found them.

She scrambles out of bed, pulling on her pajama bottoms and top, buttoning three buttons hastily and then cracking the door. Marceline noses in past her, her fur cold. She’s already been outside, Penelope would reckon. She jumps on the bed.

In the hallway, stands Francesca holding a cup of tea.

“You showed him your tits?” she asks with a grin.

Penelope presses her lips together and nods. “Yep.”

“Thank god,” Francesca says. “Just so you know, you have about thirty seconds. Hyacinth went to your room with Marcy only to find you weren’t there.”

“Oh god,” Penelope says.

“Might want to put on your own pajama top instead of his if you’re planning on lying.”

Penelope looks down. Snowmen. Shit. She can already hear feet on the stairs. Several sets in fact. More than just Hyacinth.

Behind her, Colin is awake now, his face being currently covered in wet dog licks.

She looks back at Francesca. “Why would I lie?” she decides. “We already live together.”

Francesca’s grin is beaming.

“Merry Christmas, Frannie,” Penelope says.

“Merry Christmas, Penny.” She turns to the stairs. “I found her! She’s in Colin’s room! She spent the night with him!”

She’ll let Francesca have this one. After all, Penelope wouldn’t be here without her.

***

God she loves spring, especially in this neighborhood. She and Colin are taking Marceline for a walk before they get in the car to go to Bridgerton House for Sunday brunch. It’s not a long drive and Marceline could have gone out into the garden but it’s such a nice day that it’s pleasant to have a bit of a stroll and they have plenty of time. They turn the corner and Colin gasps excitedly at something down the street.

“What?” she asks.

Marceline is tugging at the lead and off they go, hurrying past her toward something. Someone’s front stoop.

“Pen look!” he says.

“What?”

“They have kittens!”

She sighs and reaches into her pocket for her phone. Something tells her she’s going to need to let Kate know that they’re going to be late to brunch.

“All right,” she tells him. “Let’s have a look.”