Chapter Text
"What are you doing here?"
She squinted at his silhouette standing in the doorframe, the soft glow of his living room light coating his edges. Though his face was cast in shadow, she could see his eyes were thick with sleep and confusion. She must have looked a mess, her hair tangled, her eyes red and swollen, her clothes thoughtlessly thrown on; an old pair of jeans and a shirt she was pretty sure was inside out.
She clenched her hand on the plastic handle of her suitcase, the same bright yellow one she'd had since childhood. Although the colour was muted now, dulled by dust and age, the corners frayed, plastic piping sticking out and scratching at her ankles.
"Harry proposed," she said, her voice hoarse, rubbed raw from crying.
He raised a hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes, his jaw contorting as he tried to hold in a yawn. "I don't– what time is it?"
"Five am," she replied softly, "or thereabouts."
He seemed to wake up a bit at that, his eyes glancing down to the suitcase by her side. "Pen, what's going on?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head slightly, swallowing hard as she felt her eyes begin to burn, her throat clogging. "I said no," she managed to whisper.
—
Colin glanced cautiously to his left for about the two hundredth time in as many minutes. Despite the lack of space in their economy cabin seats, Penelope was somehow curled up asleep, her head resting like lead on his shoulder. His arm had been numb for a while now, burning with the fuzzy static of pins and needles, but he couldn't bring himself to move; she looked so peaceful like this. Considering how she'd looked since she'd shown up at his doorstep that morning, he'd gladly sacrifice his arm.
He'd known, of course, that Harry was going to propose. Eloise had told him; she'd never been very good at keeping secrets. Harry had made a careful and thoughtful speech to Eloise about how she was like a sister to Penelope and the only person whose blessing he would comfortably seek out. Eloise had lectured Harry on her thoughts on marriage, how the whole system was archaic and fraught with sexism, but how she was willing to make an exception to her aversion for Harry.
Because he was perfect for Penelope.
As soon as Eloise had shared the news, Colin booked his trip. If his jealousy in the past had ever been obvious, Penelope had cast a kind blind eye to it. But he couldn't bear the thought of celebrating this moment with her, of pasting on an elated smile, giving Harry an enthusiastic handshake as he wished them well. No, he'd need time to process it once it happened. So he'd carefully pressed Eloise for details, found out the date for when the question would be popped, and planned his escape.
Not even in his wildest fantasies had he imagined Penelope would show up on his doorstep, suitcase in hand, begging him to take her with him. And how could he refuse? She'd looked about ready to crumble. So he'd nodded his acquiescence and pulled her into a hug, his mind racing as he felt her hot, wet tears seep through the cotton of his shirt.
The last-minute seat to Sri Lanka had cost a small fortune, but Penelope hadn't appeared fazed as she handed over her credit card. She was a shell of herself; Colin was so worried that one wrong word would shatter her that he stayed silent throughout the process. The flight attendant must have assumed someone had died, as she didn't require much coaxing to book Penelope’s seat next to his.
And so here they were, three hours into their ten-hour-long flight and not a word had been uttered between them since she'd asked to join him on his trip. At Penelope's admission, a tiny, minuscule part of Colin that he was entirely ashamed to acknowledge had danced with joy. But the larger part of him that had been her friend since childhood was deeply concerned for her. She'd been with Harry for four years; they'd met at Eloise's twenty-fourth birthday party.
He still remembered the phone call; he'd been in Turkey at the time. She'd seemed hesitant and awkward in sharing the news that she'd found herself a boyfriend. He'd been shocked at first, not at the fact that Penelope had met someone; she deserved to meet someone as wonderful as her.
No, he was shocked at his reaction.
It had felt as if his heart had plummeted to his feet; his throat had closed up, his mind thick with fog as he tried to process her words. He'd blamed poor signal for his lack of response when she'd finally managed to get his attention again, and then he'd feigned excitement. It had felt like sweet, liquid poison oozing from his lips as he told her how happy he was for her.
At the worst possible moment, he had realised he was in love with his best friend.
Four years later, it still stung.
Harry was great; of course he was. He was kind, generous, a little quiet and perhaps a little vague, but he loved Penelope. So, Colin tried to push his feelings down, tried to be happy for his friend, he even managed to force himself to like Harry, but it had changed things between them. There was now a rather large chunk of her life that they didn't really talk about; it was like there was some unspoken agreement between them that the details of her relationship were to be kept from him. Likewise, his own somewhat pathetic love life was kept to himself.
It just felt weird.
So it was a complete surprise that she had declined Harry's proposal. From the outside looking in, they'd seemed perfect. He sighed as he finally gave into his protesting shoulder and shifted slightly. Penelope snuffled, her mouth dropping open a little, but she remained deep in sleep. He moved his gaze back to the screen before him and tried once again to find a movie to while away the hours.
—
As she stepped off the plane, she felt like she was suddenly enveloped in a thick blanket of cinnamon, cardamon and all manner of spices. Her jeans, which had already proven torturous for a ten-hour journey, were now clinging to her, rough and uncomfortably hot, the waistband digging and burning into her skin. She could feel her hair starting to frizz, her cheeks flushed and already damp.
It was like she was dreaming as she silently followed Colin across the tarmac and into the thankfully air-conditioned airport. She'd managed to get some much-needed sleep on the flight but still felt numb, like she'd left part of herself back in London.
Perhaps she had.
She wondered if she was having a mental breakdown. It was so unlike her to act without thinking. She still couldn't half believe it; not only had she declined Harry's proposal, she'd then run away to a country halfway across the world with Colin Bridgerton, of all people.
She glanced down at her phone in her hand. It was lit up with a cascade of messages; most concerned, some angry, and one brutally simple message from Harry:
When can you pick up your stuff?
Guilt like thick, molten tar seeped through her, burning at her bones, enveloping her insides, swallowing up her lungs so that she could barely breathe. Her eyes started to blur, her hands shaking as she scrambled to shut off her screen.
How was she going to tell Harry that she couldn't just pick up her stuff because she wasn't even in the country?
Worse, she was with Colin.
That's when she felt Colin's hand on her lower back, light and comforting. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "It's going to be okay, Pen. I know it seems like the world is ending right now, but I promise you, it'll pass."
Penelope nodded, swallowing down a sob. He smiled gently at her and took her hand.
He confidently led her through the bustling airport, avoiding trolleys that seemed more like battering rams piled high with suitcases, stepping around sleeping backpackers, and pushing their way through crowds lining up for food. Finally, they found their way through security and customs and, bags in hand jumped into a taxi.
Penelope started to feel stirrings of life within her as Colombo flew past them; fear did that to a person. She gripped the handle above the car door as she gritted her teeth, her eyes wide as they narrowly avoided collision after collision. Her seatbelt sat loosely across her chest, which she quickly realised was more for aesthetic purposes than any practical reason. Tinny music played through the radio, accompanied by the honking of traffic around them until, eventually, they were caught up in a traffic jam. The sweet smell of spices was quickly replaced with burning rubber and diesel. The driver pressed his horn as he attempted to weave his way through.
She heard Colin chuckle lightly to her right, and she jerked her gaze across to him. He was smiling gently at her. "I should have warned you," he said. "Driving in South Asia can be an experience."
She attempted a blase shrug, which was foiled by the squeal that escaped her lips when they suddenly jerked to a stop, narrowly avoiding an old man limping across the road. Now both the taxi driver and Colin were laughing. She shot a glare at Colin, but a smile tugged at her lips despite her annoyance and horror.
There was nothing like a near-death experience to bring one back to life.
Eventually, they pulled up outside a cafe below their Airbnb in what Colin explained was the Cinnamon Gardens area. Penelope tumbled out of the taxi, her legs like jelly as her body pumped with adrenaline. Only when they had lugged up their bags and stumbled into the apartment Colin had booked did Penelope realise the full gravity of crashing Colin's adventure. It had been booked as a solo trip; there was only one bed.
Colin seemed to come to the same realisation as he sheepishly looked at her. "I'd offer to sleep on the floor, but…" he shrugged.
Penelope forced a laugh, trying and failing to be carefree; there was little floor to be found in their tiny room, most of which was occupied by the double bed. A giant colonial-style window took up one of the walls, allowing the sun to stream in, dappled by a swaying tree outside. There was one battered bedside table, which was all the furniture in the room aside from the bed. An ensuite bathroom, decorated in a veritable mosaic of bright ceramic tiles, could be seen in one corner, a sliding door offering some privacy.
Penelope pushed down her nerves and shrugged. "It's fine; we're adults. I promise not to ravish you."
Colin smirked as he dropped his bag on the bed. "Well, at least buy me a drink first."
She smiled, a genuine laugh falling from her lips this time. "Let me jump in the shower, and then we'll get that drink. I could do with one… or a thousand."
—
Penelope stared out across the skyline of Colombo, the long beach stretching beneath them, cars and people like specks in the distance. Colin had found them a rooftop bar lit with neon and hanging fairy lights. Palm trees were dotted across the floor, and a DJ was playing music slightly too fast to be considered perfect for an elevator. A warm breeze caressed her cheeks, the smell of the ocean dancing in her nostrils.
She glanced at Colin, who'd just finished ordering most of the menu from a wide-eyed waiter. "This feels too touristy for Colin Bridgerton," she mused as she took a sip of her margarita, the tequila and lime all but smacking her in the face.
Colin grinned. "I figured since it was our first night, we should splash out."
Penelope looked out over the city, fading to pastels as the sun set, lights slowly switching on. The Lotus Tower in the distance was beginning to glow. She breathed in deeply; it felt so surreal to be here. It would be just after lunch in London now. She wondered what Harry would be doing. Probably packing up her stuff; the thought made her feel squeamish.
She'd called Eloise while Colin was in the shower and had arranged for her to swing by her place to pick up all her stuff over the weekend. She had then had a stilted back-and-forth message exchange with Harry on just why El was going to be doing her this massive favour. He’d stopped messaging when she finally admitted that not only had she decided to leave the country, she’d done it with Colin. While Harry had always claimed to like Colin, something had always felt off. She’d never been brave enough to unlock that Pandora’s Box and ask him why.
It felt dangerous.
"Pen," said Colin gently, eyeing her carefully. "What happened?"
She dropped her gaze to her drink, running her finger through the salt on the rim, trying to ignore the now too-familiar burning prickle behind her eyes.
"I don't know," she breathed, looking helplessly at him. "Everything was perfect. We were perfect. I just- he asked, and it was like I was suddenly choking. Like, my world felt smaller, my skin itchy, it just felt all too much."
Colin passed her his serviette to wipe at her tears. She sniffed and smiled gratefully at him.
"Oh god," she wailed, attracting the attention of a group of businessmen who shot them perturbed looks. "He probably hates me. His family probably hates me."
"I'm sure that's not–"
"It was his mother's ring; I recognised it instantly. Christ, his sister-in-law would have killed for that ring."
Colin leaned over and placed a hand on her knee. "Pen, you did the right thing. Better to have broken things off now than further down the track."
"I just wish I'd realised sooner," she replied. "Even like two minutes before; it just would have been better if it hadn't been in front of his entire family, you know?" She attempted a wet and pathetic laugh. "God, it was so fucking romantic, but it was like every part of me was recoiling."
She cringed as she thought back on the proposal. She'd been shocked by it. After four years together, you'd think she'd have been excited for him to put a ring on it. Instead, whenever her mother brought it up, which was frequently, she'd rolled her eyes and said they weren't ready yet.
Clearly, Harry disagreed.
He'd organised the date night, which should have been the first sign that something was up. Harry never organised their nights out; he was even more of a homebody than Penelope. He preferred to cocoon under a blanket and watch an nature documentary on Netflix. At first, she'd loved that about him; it felt so comfortable. But here, now, in Colombo, she realised she'd done more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in the last four years.
He'd taken her to a fancy French restaurant in Soho, which she'd raised her eyebrows at because they'd been in serious saving mode. Harry had been planning on buying an apartment. The fact that Penelope hadn't been interested in buying it with him was probably a sign something wasn’t quite right.
Ignorant to the warning signs, she'd shoved herself into a low-cut little black dress, which she'd replaced with a more modest mauve after seeing Harry's face. He'd never liked it when she showed too much cleavage. They'd often joke that it was the tacky side of her, raised by Portia Featherington – she'd laugh through the sting of it. Now she wished she had worn the black dress; maybe it would have put him off proposing. It had been the first thing she packed when she fled the apartment.
She briefly wondered what Colin would think of the dress before mentally smacking herself. It was a habit she'd never been able to break; she always wondered what Colin would think.
And now, here he was, watching her with wary eyes as if half expecting her to collapse; he was clearly thinking she’d lost her mind.
"I should have known he was going to propose," she said. "I should have wanted him to propose."
Colin took a sip of his margarita, furrowing his brow as he leaned toward her, stretching his arm out to place a warm hand on her knee. "You shouldn't have anything, Pen. You can't help how you feel."
Penelope let out a dark laugh; wasn't that the truth? She'd been trying to control her feelings her entire life, and now she was completely at their mercy.
She took another sip of her margarita, feeling the warmth of the liquor seep through her veins, softening her limbs as she allowed herself to relax. She was a world away from it all now, away from the restaurant, the candles, the roses, the glinting, foreboding diamond.
She winced as she thought of his proposal; it had been like he was speaking in slow motion, and all she could hear was a loud roar, his voice overshadowed by the thumping of her heart in her ears. She watched in horror as he waited for her to say something, and for a gut-wrenching split second, her mind flew to bright blue eyes and wavy dark hair.
And the wrong word fell from her lips like a bullet. "No."
The rest of the night had been a teary, horrifying, mortifying blur.
Her rejection had rippled through the room; first, his mother had gasped, then her mother, then their sisters, and suddenly everyone was shouting. At her, at each other. Until Harry had somehow found the rational thought to drag her from the restaurant, and they'd sat in the most awkward and awful uber ride of her life. Once they arrived home, after what felt like hours, they talked. And cried.
There was a lot of crying.
But in the end, there was no fighting it. She'd realised at the worst possible time that while she loved Harry, she wasn't in love with him.
It was an important difference.
Like the gentleman he'd always been, he offered to leave their apartment. Penelope had immediately refused; she couldn't very well dump him and make him homeless on the same night. So, she'd told him she'd go stay with Eloise.
Instead, for reasons she'd yet to let herself analyse, she'd ended up on Colin’s doorstep, begging him to take her with him, to help her run away from it all, just for a little while.
"Pen?" asked Colin gently, bringing her back to the present moment. "Why did you say no?"
She shrugged helplessly at him. "I guess I just suddenly thought, here I am writing romance for a living, and I describe all these moments of passion, you know? Like, my characters would die for each other; their kisses make the world melt away, they can't get enough of each other. And I just– I thought, well, I should have that. I mean, I'm not even entirely sure if that exists, but… I dunno; maybe I've made a horrible mistake, maybe Harry was the one for me, and now I'm going to end up some old– old spinster, but…"
Colin squeezed her knee. "You're not going to end up an old spinster. And I'm pretty sure Eloise would murder us both for even using that word. I think it's brave what you've done."
"Brave?"
"Yeah, I think it takes a lot of bravery to give up something good in search of something wonderful."
Was that what she was doing?
God, it didn't feel brave at all. It felt quite the opposite. She'd literally run away from her problems. Although she supposed she shouldn't have been entirely surprised that Colin Bridgerton, self-proclaimed digital nomad, thought her decision-making was sound. He'd never been able to commit to anything longer than a month in his life.
But, looking at him now, his dark hair tousled gently by the breeze, his skin slightly tanned, his eyes bright blue; well, he looked happy. And, honestly, it was contagious.
So, she picked up her drink and clinked it against his. "To something wonderful," she said.
His eyes were intense as he brought his drink to his lips. "To something wonderful."
"So, what are we doing?" she asked, averting her gaze as she attempted to ignore the warm flush that had suddenly come over her. "What's our itinerary?"
Colin laughed as he leaned back. "I was wondering when you'd ask me that. I've never known anyone to go on a– on a… a blind holiday."
"Is that what they call it?" she asked. "Like a blind date?"
Colin shrugged. "No idea, but that's what I'm calling it. You're the first person I know who's done it."
She flipped her hair and smirked at him. "What can I say? I'm just spontaneous, I guess."
“Spontaneous… deranged…”
"Hey!" she yelled, smacking him lightly on his bicep. "It's not nice to make fun of people's mental breakdowns."
"You're right; I'm sorry," he said, holding a hand to his heart as he spoke sombrely. His eyes dancing with humour gave him away, though.
She rolled her eyes at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "So, what's next?"
Colin leaned forward, enthusiastic, as he pulled out his phone and opened a travel app. "Well, I've got the next few weeks in Sri Lanka mapped out; waterfalls, elephants, hiking, food… God, Pen, you're gonna love the food."
His joy was infectious; she felt a thrill of excitement rush through her. She'd never been any further than Italy. "Beaches?" she asked almost breathlessly.
He nodded, his smile wide. "Definitely beaches! And then I was thinking, I dunno, depending on how long you want to travel with me for, Thailand? I'd like to check out Vietnam as well."
"Check out Vietnam…" she echoed, her eyebrows quirked. "Like it's just a local shoe store."
He laughed and flicked his head in a failed attempt at flipping his hair. "What can I say? I'm just spontaneous, I guess."
"Oh, god, it's the deranged leading the deranged," she groaned.
"I'll cheers to that," said Colin, clinking their glasses together once more.
She smiled at him, a genuine happy smile. She'd forgotten what it was like to be in Colin's orbit. The world melted away; they would chat for hours about everything and nothing. It was such an easy friendship, one that she'd perhaps neglected over the years that she'd been with Harry.
She'd always felt somewhat guilty about her closeness with Colin, and it had felt weird sharing time and space with him and her boyfriend at the same time. And then Colin himself had seemed to take it on a personal mission to see as much of the world as possible. He'd travelled a bit in her early twenties, but by the time she'd met Harry, he was out of the country more than ever. And so their friendship had become messages, emails, and the odd facetime.
It was strange to be here on the other side of the world and feel like she was finally home.
—
They tumbled back into their apartment, wreckless giggles falling like fountains from their lips.
Colin immediately cried out in pain as he struck his ankle on the corner of the bed. The sharp sting of it sobering him for a moment. Penelope bent to check on his ankle but lost her balance on the way down, instead falling on the bed, then slowly sliding to the floor as she half laughed half wailed. Colin reached under her armpits and heaved her, sitting up onto the bed. Before bending down to grip his ankle, the pressure aiding in abating some of the biting pain.
"Fucking small room," he muttered.
Penelope hiccuped in reply before flopping onto her back, staring at the overhead lights, her dress riding up to reveal more of her creamy thighs. Colin's gaze lingered before her voice snapped him back to attention.
"I think I'm drunk."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully picked his way across the room, lurching over their discarded luggage and steering as wide a course as possible around the corners of the bed. He rummaged through their luggage, clumsily searching for some water bottles they’d bought earlier, but by the time he found them, Penelope was passed out. So he quietly placed her water on the bedside table and his on the floor next to what he supposed would be his side of the bed moving forward.
He shifted her as gently as he could so she was lying on her side of the bed and pulled off her shoes. He momentarily considered removing her dress to make her more comfortable but immediately decided against it.
That would be too much.
Instead, he contemplated his own clothing options. Usually, he slept naked, but, again, for obvious reasons, that didn't seem appropriate. The air in the apartment was thick with heat, and although they'd left the window open, there was only a slight breeze. He sighed and shoved his shorts off, leaving his boxer briefs and t-shirt on before switching off the light and climbing onto his side of the bed. He didn't bother attempting to get under the sheets, they were trapped under Penelope, and it was too hot anyway.
He rolled over and looked at her, her face peaceful under the soft light of a streetlamp outside that the sheer curtain failed to block out.
She was beautiful; it was hypnotising to look at her.
Her lips were soft curves, the corners hinting at a smile, her skin creamy and flushed from the heat and the alcohol, her hair cascaded down her neck in wild waves. He reached forward to push a lock behind her ear.
What a wonderful torture it was to have her here with him. How many nights had he dreamed of this? Of her leaving Harry, of him sharing his travels with her. Of her choosing him. But never had it been off the back of heartbreak. She needed time and space. She needed him as her friend now, more than ever.
And even if she did return an inkling of his feelings, he couldn't be her rebound. He’d never recover from that.
He heaved a sigh, rolling onto his back, watching shadows dance across the ceiling. The sound of traffic and partygoers echoed from down below. Penelope would likely realise this was a mistake soon; she'd return to London, tail between her legs and Harry, the lucky son of bitch, would take her back.
Of course, he would; he'd be stupid not to.
Unless… unless he could make this trip so incredible, so exciting, that she couldn't leave. And maybe one day, in time, she might start to see him in a different light.
He rubbed a hand down his face, stretching the skin of his cheeks as if he could drag out the selfishness of that thought.
He'd just have to take Penelope for as long as she'd let him. Enjoy this time, sear it into his heart, revel in it. And when she left, well, he'd just keep moving until the pain began to dull.
That's what he'd been doing for the last four years, after all.