Chapter Text
“Benedict,” Sophie stuttered. “Benedict Bridgerton?”
He nodded, his hand still extended. “Indeed I am.”
Sophie could hardly breathe. She should have known who he was. Sure, he was the one Bridgerton sibling besides Francesca whom she had never met, but she should have seen it in his features. That dark brown hair was the same as most of his siblings. His pale eyes and skin were the same as his mother. And he was tall. So Goddamn tall.
This was a bad idea. She should have never agreed to come to the pub or let this man — this Bridgerton — try to talk to her and charm her.
“I, er, I need to go,” Sophie said.
Benedict’s hand slowly fell back to his side, confusion flickering across his face. “Have I offended you?”
“Oh no, it’s just—” Sophie tried to think of a more delicate way of putting "You're my boss's brother and it's highly inappropriate how much I’m imagining how your hands would feel on me right now.”
He gasped, covering his face with his hands. “Is it that we have met before?”
“No it’s just,” she paused. “I need to return to my friends now.”
Benedict’s face slowly dropped, but he gave Sophie a small nod that felt like a stab in the heart.
“Of course,” Benedict said, his glaze flickering towards the ground then back to her.
It was usually easy for her to reject guys. She’s had the “I’m not looking for anything right now” conversation far more times than she could count because it was true. There was no time for relationships in her life besides the occasional night of fun, though the connection never went beyond the physical.
That didn’t mean she was against love or romance. Far from it. She had read her fair share of romance books and always rewatched her favorite romcoms after an especially hard day.
It just wasn’t in the cards that life had dealt for her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she walked back towards her friends. She resisted the urge to look back, despite feeling his gaze still on her. One look might undo all her resolve.
“Soph what took you so long?” Hazel said as she looked down at Sophie’s empty hands. “And where are our drinks?”
“Shit!” Sophie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I go back and get—” she glanced back towards the bar.
Benedict was still lingering by the bar, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass. His gaze was distant and that boyish charm that animated his features was now gone, replaced by something more vulnerable.
When his eyes lifted and met hers across the room, Sophie’s stomach dropped. He didn’t look angry. He looked disappointed.
Even then, the corner of his mouth rose ever so slightly to give her a polite smile.
“Sophie…” Alfie said.
Sophie pulled her eyes away from Benedict’s. “Yes?” she said nervously.
“Did you go and break that poor man’s heart instead of getting us drinks?” Alfie gestured towards Benedict.
“Damn that was fast!” Hazel interrupted. “How did you get a guy to both fall in love with you and break his heart so quickly?”
Sophie shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. We just flirted for a little bit and then… I just decided I wanted to hang out with your guys instead.”
“As much as I appreciate the sentiment of you ditching a hot guy to stay loyal to your friends, you are an absolute idiot if you don’t go back to flirting with him,” Alfie said.
Hazel nodded in agreement. “Honestly, I think for his sake you need to go back. He looks like a lovesick puppy.”
“I can not do that.”
“Why not? He’s clearly into you and I’m willing to bet you’re into him.” Alfie leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?”
“I can’t flirt with him because that’s Benedict Bridgerton. You know, our bosses’ brother!” Sophie hissed, glancing around as if Anthony was going to pop out of nowhere and fire her for flirting with his brother.
Alfie looked back towards Benedict, his jaw slowly dropping.
“Oh my God, it is him,” Alfie said. “Damn, they really all are handsome, aren’t they.”
“Alfie!” Sophie exclaimed.
“Well, it’s true!” Alfie raised his hands in defense. “Anyways, you still should go back to him.”
Sophie’s mouth fell. “Did you not process anything I just said?”
“Oh I heard you, but him being a Bridgerton does not signify,” he shrugged. “It would if he worked at the firm, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t for a while now. You’re not fraternizing if the person you’re trying to shag doesn’t even work with you. ”
Sophie’s face went red.
“I am not trying to shag him!” she whisper-yelled, swatting Alfie’s arm hard enough to make him wince. A few people at the neighboring table glanced over and she immediately tried to avoid eye contact. “Lower your voice!”
Alfie grinned. “You know I’m right.”
While he wasn’t — or at least she wouldn’t admit that he was right — about her wanting to shag him, he did have a point about Benedict not working at the firm.
He had left around a year ago, a full six months before Sophie started. People would every once and a while bring up Benedict working at the firm. Someone would bring up a case he worked on or how he always was the one to make meetings more interesting.
Oddly, Benedict never showed up to the office. All the Bridgerton siblings and spouses would show up frequently even if they didn’t work there. There were always lunches, meetings, gossip sessions, or simply quick hellos happening. The office was practically a second (or third if you include their country estate) for the Bridgertons.
Sophie knew Benedict was close with his family as Anthony would talk about going out for drinks with his eldest younger brother at least once a week or Eloise would jokingly remind Anthony that Benedict was her favorite brother, to which he would roll his eyes.
Sophie crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her pulse kicked up again when she risked another glance in Benedict’s direction. “I like my job,” she said firmly. “And I would also like to not be the girl who gets whispered about at the water cooler.”
Alfie’s grin faded. “Go back, Sophie. This is your chance,” he said softly.
“My chance for what?”
Alfie shrugged. “That’s up to you. Maybe it could just be a fun night for the both of you.”
“Or maybe something more,” Hazel added.
Sophie shook her head. “No, definitely not that.”
“Well then, go prove it.” Alfie stood his ground. “Go back and talk with him.”
Sophie hesitated, fidgeting with her mother’s amethyst necklace as she glanced towards Benedict who was still standing at the bar. He stared down at his drink as if he was hoping it would tell him why she ran away.
“One conversation wouldn’t hurt. Right?” Sophie asked, hoping that saying it out loud would make her believe it.
Alfie gave her a gentle shove toward the bar. “Go,” he said, a hint of mischief returning to his voice. “Before he fully convinces himself you hate him.”
“Alright,” Sophie whispered, smoothing down the front of her dress. “I can do this.” Sophie took a deep breath before walking back towards the bar.
Benedict hadn’t planned on staying at the Mondrich’s pub for very long. Just a drink or two before he headed off to another party. Cavender’s, he believed, though the names of his “friends” and their parties started to blend into one another.
These days it always took a quick “pre-game” before he was ready to head out and be the Benedict Bridgerton everyone expected him to be. Always down for a good time, easy going, and never worried about life’s troubles.
Not serious.
People didn’t invite Benedict to parties or soirees because he was serious — they invited him because he was fun. Nobody wanted to hear about how he dropped out of art school or the weight of pressure he felt to find his purpose.
Benedict never judged others for not taking him seriously. How could he? He didn’t see himself as a serious man. He was a free spirit who didn’t follow mere conventions.
Not like Anthony who fulfilled their father’s dream of one of his sons becoming a lawyer and taking over the firm he worked so hard to build. Nor has he found the love of his life or had kids — another milestone his brother had accomplished.
Benedict was only the second son, anyways.
He was never meant to be anything more than that. Just being a Bridgerton is more than enough to keep someone happy and content for life. A good family name and a large inheritance is all one needs.
It was easier this way, he told himself. If nobody expected anything out of him, he would never disappoint them.
He brought his drink to his lips, feeling the slight burn as it went down his throat, as he thought about the women he had just met.
Benedict never meant to talk to anyone other than the bartender. The rest of the night would be spent talking and laughing with people he didn’t really care about. He needed to save his energy to masquerade the evening as the charming second son.
He knew he ought to have focused on finishing his drink and leaving, but he turned around, and found himself facing what had to be the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.
The first thing he noticed about her were her lips. Soft and a delicate pink. The kind of lips that he could draw over and over again, and never perfectly capture, but he would continue trying.
The second thing he noticed was how uncomfortable she looked as she talked to a blonde man with an unsettling smile.
Benedict watched idly at first, swirling the last of his drink. The man leaned in too close. The woman shifted her weight, angling her body away while still attempting civility as she fidgeted with her dark hair. She smiled at him, though it never reached her eyes.
He told himself it wasn’t his business. She didn’t look frightened, just mildly inconvenienced. Perfectly capable of handling herself.
Still… the man kept talking, and talking.
He watched the way the woman's gaze flicked toward the bartender, then briefly toward her friends, calculating an exit.
Before he could overthink it, he set his glass down, and walked towards the woman.
When he spoke, both the man and the woman turned towards him, but Benedict’s eyes were only on the woman. Her eyes widened at first, then looked at him curiously. The more they stared at each other, it felt like the rest of the world was fading away.
His breath caught, heat flaring low in his chest.
“That is… true,” she had said, her lips raising into a playful smile.
It seemed to have been going well. The more they talked, the more the tension in her body eased and the more Benedict was entranced by this curious woman. She was guarded, choosing each of her words carefully and narrowly avoiding his questions.
Her dark eyes studied him carefully. It seemed as though she was trying to figure him out the same way he was with her. Every time she smiled at him, he felt as though he had won the greatest prize. Slowly, he was gaining her approval and trust.
And then she had gone pale.
The moment he had introduced himself, there was a sudden shift throwing him off balance. He watched the recognition dawn across her face, panic slowly settling in.
The tightness in her body that had disappeared had returned. He was certain he hadn’t met her before. An encounter with a woman like that is one a man easily forgets. Still, he could not think of a reason for why she seemed to have seen a ghost as she stammered his name.
He replayed the conversation in his mind as she retreated across the pub. Perhaps he was reading her all wrong the whole time and she had only been humoring him out of politeness until she could find an excuse to escape.
He stared down at his down, resisting the urge to look over at her table. All he could hope was that he hadn’t ruined her night and could enjoy the rest of it with her friends.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approaching.
“You returned?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise hidden in his voice.
“I did.” She gestured to the barstool next to him. “Is this seat taken?”
“Be my guest.”
As she slid onto the stool, he stared at her face, committing it to memory. Everything from the sharpness of her jaw to the curve of her nose.
“Are you going to tell me why you ran away?”
“Like I said, I just wanted to check in on my friends.” She glanced back at them for a brief second, before turning back at him.
He didn’t believe her, or at least not entirely. It didn’t explain why she looked so panicked when she heard his name or why she was so quick to run away from him. But he also recognized the fragility of the moment. There was no guarantee that she wouldn’t run away again. He was lucky to get a second chance, he was going to rely on hope that he might get a third one.
“Will you tell me your name now?” he asked.
The woman seemed to ponder the question a bit before finally answering, “Sophie.”
“Sophie,” he said, trying out her name on his lips.
She nodded shyly.
“So, Sophie,” he said, her name already feeling like second nature. “Will you tell me anything about yourself?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s much to say.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Here. In England”
“Which part? In the city or the countryside?”
“Between the two.”
“And your parents?”
“Mother and father.” A coy smile formed across her face.
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I see what you’re doing. Is this part of the character you're playing tonight? Or do you simply enjoy making me work for it?
"You have seen... through me," she laughed. “I must admit I do know who you are.” He looked at her curiously before she quickly added. “From Lady Whistledown, of course!”
Benedict rolled his eyes. “I swear, there are far more interesting things she could be gossiping about then me.”
The gossip Instagram has been a complete nuisance in his life ever since the account started up a few years ago. Even his mother who claimed she was inept when it came to technology managed to follow the account and always was the first to tell him when they posted something about him.
His stomach dropped. If that is where Sophie knew him from, then what lies (or, well, exaggerated truths) had she heard about him? Had she heard that his longest relationship only lasted a few months or that he was currently relying on his inheritance while he figured out what the hell he was going to do after dropping out of art school?
It wasn’t like he could give her a clear explanation for any of that, though. That was just the way life had worked out for him.
“You know, you have managed not to tell me anything about yourself.” Sophie said.
“Well it doesn't seem like there’s much need.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Lady Whistledown has told you all you need.”
“Is that something you do with everyone you flirt with? Put all the attention on others so no one might see beneath your surface?”
“So we are flirting? Glad for that confirmation.” He smirked.
She blushed. “We’re talking.”
“Flirting is talking.”
She rolled her eyes, but her amused smile betrayed her real emotions.
Even in the dim pub lighting, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked. Every emotion from her felt earnest. There was no performance in her expressions, no hiding how she felt with a careful polish.
He wanted to be more like her. He wanted to be earnest in return.
He continued, "Sometimes it is easier to stay in shallow water. Warmer. More pleasant. I like warm and pleasant."
"It is dull to swim in the same waters day after day, even if they are warm and... pleasant. Will you not wade out deeper with me?"
He stared at Sophie as her words settled between them. “And what exactly do you think is beneath the surface?” he asked.
Sophie studied him for a moment.
“I think,” she began slowly. “I would like to find out for myself. Not from Lady Whistledown or your—” her cheeks blushed as though she was a child in trouble. “I want you to tell me about yourself.”
He leaned back slightly, studying her in return. “You do realize,” he said carefully, “that if I wade out deeper, as you so poetically suggested, I may not be particularly warm or pleasant.”
“I’m not afraid of cold water,” she said softly, not breaking eye contact. “Besides, what makes you think I am unfamiliar with cold and unpleasant things?”
The pub suddenly felt smaller. The laughter from a nearby table rang too loud in his ears and he realized how many people were huddled in the small pub together. Heat crawled up the back of his neck as his pulse quickened.
“Would you like to go outside with me?” he asked.
Sophie’s brows lifted, surprise flashing across her face.
“I mean nothing untoward!” he quickly added. “It’s just stuffy in here. If it would make you feel better we could invite your friends along.” He looks towards her friends, drinks in hand, laughing loudly with a couple of men they must have just met.
He turned back towards Sophie who also clearly saw what he did.
Sophie's lips curved. “I believe I will just have to trust you.”
He extended out his hand towards her. She stared at it for a moment, before placing hers in his. Her lithe fingers were cold in his warm, larger ones.
With her hand tightly grasped within his, Benedict quickly maneuvered his way through the crowd. Behind him, he heard Sophie giggling. He felt her joy radiating onto him, and laughed as well. It wasn’t since he was a child that he felt like this. He remembered running around, playing hide and seek with Anthony or swinging on the swings that their father built in their background with Eloise.
The streets of Mayfair greeted them with a cold breeze. It was unusually quiet, only a few passersby walking about. Or maybe Benedict was too distracted by Sophie to notice anyone else.
“It is a beautiful night,” she said, gazing up towards the sky.
Normally, Benedict wouldn’t think there was much special about a night like this. You couldn’t see many stars in the city, unlike the countryside, where every star grew brightly. There wasn’t even a full moon, and what you could see of it was lightly covered by clouds.
Yet, she just smiled, a wide, radiant grin that pierced through his soul and gripped his heart.
“It is, isn't it,” he said, his eyes only on Sophie.
They walked in silence for a block or two, hand in hand. It felt natural being like this, as though their hands were already well acquainted with one another. Hers fit perfectly in his like two puzzle pieces.
“So, Sophie,” he said, breaking the silence.
“You seem to enjoy saying my name,” she laughed.
“I do,” Benedict said, smiling at her. “It is also the only piece of information of yourself that you’ve given me. Is there anything you will tell me about yourself, Sophie?”
“As I said, there isn’t much to say,” she shrugged. “I spend most of my time working then sleeping.”
“Your boss must be cruel then.”
“He truly isn’t. I honestly do like my job, it’s the best job I’ve ever had.” She paused. “I haven’t had the nicest jobs ever. None have been particularly glamorous and I would work long hours. I still do, but not as much and at least I like the work I’m doing now.”
“I hope you still have plenty of time to enjoy life.”
“Of course I do. I’m enjoying it now.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes reflecting the dim streetlights, and he felt acutely aware of how close they were standing.
“You are perhaps the most intriguing person I have ever met.”
She huffed a small laugh. “You cannot possibly know that.”
“I do.”
It came out deeper than he expected. For a second, they just stood there, the air between them warm despite the cold breeze. She looked up at him like she was trying to decide whether he was joking. His gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop it.
Sophie cleared her throat. “And what do you do for a living?”
He tensed. “I’m… starting a new job soon. Don’t really have much to say beyond that.”
In truth there was plenty to be said. He could tell Sophie all about how he quit his old, stable job to pursue art school only to realize that he was a fraud. How now after learning the truth of his art school acceptance, that it pained him to even consider picking up a paint brush ever again.
“Look at who is being all mysterious now,” Sophie said.
He forced a grin. “I learned from the best.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, but there was something soft in her expression.
Slowly, she moved closer to him, eliminating the already small space in between them. Her gaze dropped towards his mouth. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Tension still filled the space between them, their breaths intermingled.
She rose onto her toes. As their lips became only centimeters a part, Benedict pulled away slightly.
“No, we should not,” Benedict said softly.
Sophie stilled. She lowered down her heels, confusion and hurt flickering across her face.
But before she could say anything, Benedict leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips to her cheek, and held it longer than what was considered polite. Then he lifted their joined hands and brought her wrist to his mouth, placing another slow kiss against the delicate skin there.
He didn’t want her to feel like he only brought her out here to convince her to be intimate with him — that was far from his intention. He did not want to blur the edges of this into something hurried or careless. All he wanted was to enjoy her company. To stand out on the streets of Mayfair with her, under the dim streetlights, and let the rest of the world fade away for a bit.
Now, his only intention was to make Sophie feel revered. Worshipped.
When he lowered her hand, he did not let it fall far. His thumb lingered against her wrist, tracing the place he had kissed, feeling her rapid pulse. He lifted his gaze to hers.
She was staring at him. Her lips parted slightly.
“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered.
“Neither are you,” he replied.
The corner of her mouth curved.
For a second, the world felt impossibly still. It was only the two of them, living in a fantasy.
He leaned in again — slower this time. His gaze focused entirely on her soft, pink lips. Her fingers tightened lightly in his coat as she tilted her face up to meet him.
A sharp buzzing shattered the quiet.
They both froze.
Sophie broke eye contact first, glancing down to her pocket where persistent buzzing was coming from.
She exhaled a small, breathless laugh. “Sorry.”
She shifted back so she could reach into her pocket and grab her phone. As she glanced down at the screen, Benedict watched as all the color drained from her face.
“I—I need to go,” Sophie said, her voice weak.
“What?” he whispered.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped back, her hand tightly curled around her phone.
“Please, do not leave.”
It felt as though he was waking up from the most beautiful dream he ever had. One that was too good to be true. As though at any moment he might open his eyes and find himself alone in his bed, the mysterious woman from the pub nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination
Sophie paused mid-step.
As she turned around, she looked conflicted. Her brows were drawn, her lips pressed together, as though she was contemplating a million different possibilities at once.
Her gaze met his again, and whatever she saw in his eyes made her decision for her. The tension in her shoulders shifted and she took a deep breath.
Then she walked back to him.
Before he knew it, Sophie was in front of him again, grabbing the lapels of his coat and bringing her lips to his.
It was a messy kiss. A desperate one.
One that stole the air from his lungs. For half a second, he stood there frozen in shock before instinct took over. Their lips found a rhythm, as his hands found her waist, steadying her as he pressed closer.
Even as she started to pull away, his lips followed hers. He knew they were short on time — that this moment would last forever — but he was going to savor every bit of it. The softness of her mouth and the quiet sound she made when he deepened the kiss just slightly.
Though, as all good things do, it eventually came to an end.
She rested her forehead against his for a heartbeat. Both of them were breathing hard, as though they had just run a marathon.
“For what it is worth,” she said as she pulled away, “I am glad I came outside.”
“So am I.”
A fragile smile passed between them.
“Goodnight, Benedict.”
She smiled, slipping her hands from his coat, and disappeared into the night. This time, she did not look back.
Benedict stayed where he was, his heart thudding, and only the echo of her kiss on his lips to remember her by.
All he had was her first name. Not a last name to search her up or a phone number to call her and tell her he wanted to see her again.
He pressed his fingers lightly to his mouth, committing the moment to memory.
Benedict knew only one thing for sure. He knew it with all his heart, it was written in the stars or destined by any God there might be.
He was going to find her again.