Chapter Text
Cressida
The past two weeks had been exactly the whirlwind she feared they would be. After coming out to them, her parents had left anything that reminded them of Cressida on the lawn for collection – mostly baby photos and some old documents – a firm reminder they wished to have nothing further to do with her.
She knew this was coming. For years, since she was twelve, to be precise, she had sat on the truth: her lesbianism. Now, whilst she tried to avoid it… It turned out that wasn’t something worth avoiding. Her shot at love should not come at the expense of losing her family, but it did.
For years, Cressida tried to make peace with it. She did not need love or even basic happiness; she could play pretend and be the picture-perfect girlfriend to Alfred.
The sex was too far. The few times she had lain with him, Cressida ended up trying to scrub away the memory from her brain. She tried to boil it down to basic, human mechanics. A means to an end. But no, the longer their relationship went on, the more he complained about her lack of interest in bedroom things.
She was already twenty-six, and Alfred was her first bloody relationship. However, her future flitted across her mind then; a depressed, sexless housewife to a husband more interested in his work than her. The realisation had her texting him seven words.
Cressida: I’m gay. It’s best we end this.
He hadn’t taken it particularly well, and neither had her parents when Cressida came out to them a week later, still on a roll. She used the word lesbian, which seemed to viciously assault her father’s features until he was red in the face with rage. Her mother apparently had worried about this for years, which Cressida knew, given the many times the woman decided to talk horrifically about gay people in front of her. She knew it was a warning, even if her mother phrased it politely, her motive was clear.
She knew.
And they hated Cressida for who she was.
Even before she came out, her father was cruel and abusive towards her and her mother: any woman, really. His PA, Cressida’s teachers, nurses, the list was endless. If you were a woman, her father saw you as less than: dirt on the bottom of his shoe.
Now she was moving into a new place, far away from the past life she was leaving behind.
Even her PR team had asked her several times if she was sure about this: coming out. Eventually, they agreed with the caution that it could dredge up issues for her in the future when attempting to get roles. In her career, she was known best for romances, and now, her chemistry with men would automatically be prejudged given that one looming fact.
She was spectacularly gay, and whilst that wouldn’t affect her acting, others wouldn’t see it that way. It was far from a perfect world, and actors still hid a lot from the public, knowing that reception had a tendency to change with the times. What was safe now wouldn’t necessarily be years from now.
It wasn’t like Cressida was short on cash; she could support herself comfortably on her savings. Saying that, she didn’t like feeling unstable. If her job were impacted, she would likely have to find something else.
She moved through the elevator door and towards her apartment. A house was her main wish, but given the current market, it wasn’t easy finding a place. Until she got on her feet, an apartment would do. Plus, the apartments here were a luxury. So, she splurged. She needed it after the month she had had.
Heading up the hallway, Cressida balanced the box in her forearm as she lined up the key. The movers dealt with all the larger things, but there were a few boxes containing… intimate items... that she decided to bring up herself.
However, someone bumped into her then, jostling her. Their voice left her fighting the urge to scream. “Shit, sorry. Huh… You’re…”
Great. Not even five minutes into moving in, and she was being accosted by fans. Cressida had picked this place because the estate agent assured her enough celebrities lived there that her presence would barely be noted. Clearly, he lied. Given how exhausted she felt after everything, this was the last thing she needed.
So, perhaps she was a little snappier than usual. “The Oscar-winning actress? Yes. Would you like an autograph? Or might I make it peacefully from the twenty paces from the elevator to my apartment?”
There was a silence, and soon the woman replied, “I was actually going to say that I thought you were Cressida from Henderson private school. I likely am thinking of someone else.”
“Oh.” Cressida stilled as ice trickled down her spine, and finally, she looked up from the box she was carrying. “Yes, that’s me. You’re…”
“Bridgerton,” the woman said, looking slightly anxious.
One of the younger ones, though Cressida couldn’t remember her name or face. Perhaps she was the one beginning with a H. She knew the family well from her time at school, but this woman looked like no one she remembered. She was beautiful, though, in her beaten-up jeans and cropped vest. Whilst she seemed less refined than a Bridgerton, she supposed she still had those unfairly stunning eyes and smile.
There was one of them that Cressida was rather harsh to; Daphne’s younger sister, who wore these god-awful braces that Cressida tended to mock relentlessly. Whilst she regretted it now, she hoped this Bridgerton didn’t hear about that. She couldn’t take back how she treated her sister. There were other things too. One time, Cressida put chewing gum in her book. She wished she could take it back now; school was not a good time for her, and she regretted taking out her own issues on innocent others. It made her feel sick. However, that girl was called-
“Eloise Bridgerton,” she clarified with an awkward nod of her head. “I also think you might be my neighbour.”
Cressida’s stomach sank as she tried to process several things: the beautiful woman standing in front of her was Braces Bridgerton, her neighbour was someone she was cruel to in school, and Eloise clearly remembered her, given the worried look on her face. “Well, Eloise, it’s nice to meet you again,” she said, feigning not to recognise her. “I don’t have the best memory, so you will have to excuse me on that, but it will be lovely living next door to someone from school.”
“Mhm,” Eloise said. “Lovely.” She sounded less than thrilled as she walked away, but soon, she stopped and turned around reluctantly. “They’re redoing the cables at the moment, sometimes the internet dips out with heavy rainfall.”
“Noted, thank you,” Cressida replied, forcing a smile that hid the souring of her insides. Even as her neighbour closed her door, Cressida continued to stare at it.
Eloise Bridgerton.
It took a moment for her to collect her thoughts, and soon, Cressida set herself to more pressing matters. Making this place look like it was lived in.
The apartment was big with two spacious rooms and an office. Whilst Cressida had moved the stuff in from her last apartment, it wasn’t like she owned tonnes. She didn’t have much time for shopping, and the older she grew, the more she loathed it. Shopping reminded her of her mother, reminded her of being dragged around store after store in search of the most expensive candelabra.
When her mother was hit by her father, when she argued with him to the point of crying for several days after or when he struck Cressida, it was always resolved with some money on a card ready to spend.
Cressida learned to hate it.
So now she kept things minimal, even if it felt cold.
She went about opening the boxes, starting with the kitchen first. As soon as her plates and cutlery were away, she moved onto the bedroom, which left her sweating after assembling the new bed frame and cabinet.
God, why had she not paid for assembly? She felt emotional as she stared at the furniture, a complete mess everywhere. Boxes and a mess of screws and parts littered the floors like a tornado had hit the place. Most people would likely ask their fathers for help, perhaps a sibling or partner. Friends.
Cressida had no one.
Just as she was getting ready to assemble another, the intercom sounded with a delivery at the front desk.
Great, more furniture.
She hoped it wasn’t too big, or else she would have to ask someone for a hand up with it. After wiping her hands off on the dungarees she’d changed into, she headed out the door and right into someone.
“Lord, you came out of nowh-” Daphne Bridgerton snapped her mouth shut, dragging her eyes across her in disbelief. “Cressida Cowper.”
“Daphne.” With each passing day, she found she loathed that surname more; a part of her identity, of once belonging, that she felt completely detached from.
“You live here?” Daphne asked.
“Yes.”
“And do you know that-”
“Eloise lives next door? Yes. I found out a few hours ago.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes. “After the shit you put her through in high school, I think we can all agree that you do not talk to her.”
“You remember,” Cressida realised, swallowing thickly.
“Of course I do, and Eloise bloody will. Did you know she hates movies because she kept getting jump scared when your ghastly face would pop up on screen?”
“I’m sorry,” Cressida said. “The way I treated her was wrong, and I will apologise.”
That left Daphne scoffing. “Protecting your image?”
“I can assure you the press will have far worse to cling onto soon, so no. I genuinely feel horrific. Even when Eloise said hello earlier, I acted like I didn’t know her, which is ridiculous, of course, I know her. I remember exactly how I treated her, and I do not know where to begin with the apologies. Do I bake a cake? Do I invite her for tea? How does one say sorry that I used to be a major cunt?”
“Cress-”
“Tea is too formal, isn’t it? But cake is probably rude. Honestly, who would give someone cake for that? I don’t think she will want to talk to me, I wouldn’t want to talk to me. Or I could-”
Daphne heard the elevator ding and guided Cressida back inside her flat, stepping inside with her as she shut the door. “Apologies, I didn’t think you’d want a stranger to see you crying. Speaking of which, since when do you cry? Let alone over my sister?”
“I don’t know,” Cressida replied. “Sorry. I’ve felt a bit emotional the past couple of months, but that’s probably because my parents cut me off and my ex-boyfriend hates me.” She needed to stop, yet the words kept tumbling out of her mouth.
“They cut you off?” Daphne laughed. “What did you do? Embezzlement? Find a man who didn’t live up to the pedigree they desire?”
“No,” Cressida replied, swallowing thickly. “I- no. Nothing like that. I came out to them.”
It took Daphne several moments to compose her features. “As in-”
“I’m a lesbian,” Cressida replied. “And you know enough about my parents to know-”
“Your cockwomble of a father means it if he cut you off,” Daphne replied. “I once chewed him out at an event for using a slur when talking about Francesca.”
“That sounds about right,” Cressida replied.
“I need to get to Eloise,” Daphne said. “Are you sure you’ll be alright alone?”
“I’m fine,” Cressida replied, clearly far from. “I should finish unpacking. Everything’s a mess. I really am sorry about Eloise, though; I’ll find a way to apologise.”
“Maybe just work on the whole not crying thing first. I’m sure that can wait; it’s been years. What’s a few weeks more?”
As Daphne left, Cressida knew she couldn’t leave it that long. She needed to figure out a way to apologise, but without sounding insincere or making the other woman uncomfortable. She needed Eloise to know she meant it.
Heading down the elevator, Cressida was relieved when it was just a small parcel. Over the past few months, she had let herself go a little; eaten more than usual, cut back on exercising. However, the stress of everything left her fatigued and feeling so exhausted that she almost didn’t move to this apartment.
Almost. Cressida could not bear to live near her parents.
She took the box into the apartment and placed it on the island, resting her hands on the marble soon after as she grew dizzy.
So, this was home now.