Chapter Text
Penelope Featherington did not believe in love at first sight, mostly because the cost of manufacturing such a moment would likely be out of this season’s budget. Or, at least, she always assumed that … but maybe something could be done?
Pen whipped out her phone, opening up the Notes app and scrolling to a Note titled simply “IDEAS.” Scrolling to the end of a long list, she tapped in the cursor and typed: “Create ‘love at first sight’ moment - maybe in France? Find a cupid statue or something and get a shot where his bow is shooting right at our happy couple? Special effects in post? Talk to Genevieve about options.’
She stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her sky blue hoodie and peered into the dimly lit room from the doorway, groaning as she wished her New Year’s holiday could have lasted about three more months. Sadly, however, it was January – and in Pen’s life, that meant filming for the next season of Princess Seeking Prince was about to begin.
Inside the room, most of the usual cast of suspects were already present; some exchanging polite pleasantries, but most with their heads buried deep into their phones, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. They were generally an unsociable bunch once the season began, which Pen deeply appreciated.
Toward the back of the room, two people had their heads bowed together in deep conversation – Will and Alice Mondrich, the friends-turned-spouses-turned-power-producer-couple who always gave Pen a run for her money when it came to dogged competitiveness. In the second row, yawning either from fatigue or boredom, sat Tilley Arnold, a veteran of reality television whose jadedness never seemed to impede her knack for success. And in the front was Cressida Cowper, the cutthroat producer herself, sitting with shoulders straight and hair perfectly pinned up into the tightest bun one could find outside of a stage filled with ballerinas.
“Penelope!”
A friendly face waved to her from across the room – Brimsley, one of her favorite PAs, tapped on the seat next to him. Pen took him up on the invitation, making her way over and swinging her worn canvas tote bag up onto the table with a thud, sending several more pieces of the vinyl sticker of the Paul Frank monkey that was barely still recognizable on the front of the bag falling to the floor.
“Back for more fun, I see,” Pen said, exhaling sharply as she took a seat.
“I could say the same for you. Going for the win this year?” Brimsley asked with a smile, grabbing a handful of almonds from a dusty ziplock bag and offering some to Pen, who waved them away.
“I always do. Just depends on what cast of meatheads I have to work with this year. I am praying for at least one of them to have two functioning brain cells,” she said, rolling her eyes.
The familiar tap of a cane on the door frame snapped everyone in the room to attention. There she was, in the flesh – Agatha Danbury, executive producer and generally terrifying presence. As Danbury (who preferred to be called by her last name, like an intimidating coach who was determined to make the final championship game no matter how many tears it took) made her way into the room, she eyed her crew up and down, somehow inexplicably balancing a look that encompassed both judgment and a feigned disinterest.
“I see we have the usual troublemakers back again,” she said finally, settling at the front of the room and crossing her arms and drumming her fingers impatiently. “Season 3 of Princess Seeking Prince … I welcome you all. We have a lot to live up to from last season, and no time to waste, so I will go ahead and hand the floor over to Edwina from Sharma Casting.”
Edwina Sharma, an expert in assembling beautiful casts of the D-list’s best and brightest idiots, stood from her seat and moved to the front of the room, her stilettos tapping daintily on the floor with every step.
“Thank you, Ms. Danbury!” she said cheerfully, clutching a handful of folders to her chest. Pen observed the only thing in the room brighter than her smile was the Tiffany necklace hanging sweetly from her neck. “I know you all are excited to hear about our cast this year, but before I hand out your folders with your assignments, I am thrilled to share a few highlights about our cast that I think you’ll find interesting.
First, there is our lead, our princess - Marina Thompson. She is an accomplished, Ivy League-educated lawyer making a difference every day with her notable work in family law. On top of that, she is a single mother to a beautiful 8 year old boy. She is perhaps our strongest lead to date,” Edwina said enthusiastically, flipping open one of the folders to hold up a photograph of Marina.
Marina certainly was gorgeous, Pen thought – perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfectly thin waist and perfectly cute, perky chest. She looked like the kind of girl who was both prom queen and valedictorian; so sophisticated that Pen wondered why she would even bother with a reality tv show when she could likely handpick any member of the male sex she wanted.
“I know I am stating the obvious, but because she was the producer for the winning contestant last season, Cressida will take the lead producer role with Marina,” Danbury said, nodding to Cressida. “I trust Marina will be in excellent hands with you.”
“Of course,” Cressida said, sitting up even straighter and flashing a smug smile. It was standard practice for their crew – whoever took one of their contestants to the end of the previous season received the honor of being the main producer for the lead of the next season; quite possibly one of the easiest and most entertaining jobs each year, provided the lead wasn’t a complete snob. Cressida’s buffoon of a contestant last season, a former high school tennis player with the ability to talk for a half hour straight without saying any words above two syllables, had handily won the heart of their lead, who had been a typical vapid beauty queen.
“Now, I know you all must be chomping at the bit to know which men will be on your team this year,” Edwina said, raising her shoulders as if her body simply couldn’t contain her excitement at the announcement.
“So excited, I haven’t been able to sleep,” Tilley muttered sarcastically. Danbury shot her a pointed glare.
“This year, we have some really remarkable men that I think will make Marina’s decision quite tough! Among our suitors is the handsome Freddie Frederich–”
Alice Mondrich burst out laughing. “I’m sorry … that’s his name? Freddie Frederich?”
Edwina narrowed her eyes, but kept speaking, undeterred: “Freddie Friedrich, who is a descendent of European royalty and brings a certain je ne sais quoi to the competition. Then there is Alfred Debling, an environmental rights activist and founder of the famous ‘Eat Like a Bunny’ week, encouraging everyone to adopt vegetarianism for one week each year in an effort to help save the planet.”
“What a difference maker,” Will interrupted with a hoot.
“We also have David Samadani, a successful lawyer in his own right who also enjoys the finer things in life like music and art,” Edwina continued.
“How unique!” Cressida cooed sarcastically.
“And finally,” Edwina’s eyes sparkled as she inhaled, savoring the anticipation, “this season, our casting agency managed to snag a Bridgerton brother.”
Eyebrows raised around the room – now, this was potentially impressive! The Bridgertons were famous socialites, certainly a rung higher on the celebrity ladder than their usual cast of wannabe podcast hosts and Instagram influencers.
“Very interesting!” Danbury exclaimed, hands resting on her cane as she leaned back to give Edwina an approving look. “Did you get the funny one? The one always making those silly little painting videos that seem to go viral every week?”
“Benedict,” Penelope offered up quietly.
“No, not Benedict,” Edwina shook her head.
“Then you got the CEO!” Danbury’s jaw dropped open.
“Anthony,” Penelope said, her voice rising a little higher.
“Oh, no,” Edwina said with a shy smile. “He is … seeing someone right now. He would not be available for the show.”
Danbury frowned. “That little one is too young, isn’t he?”
“No, we didn’t get the little one. We got the third son, Colin,” Edwina said, quickly leafing through the folders to find the page with his headshot, holding it up for Danbury and the rest of the room to see.
“The travel ‘grammer? Isn’t he the boring one?” Tilley pouted. “Don’t put him on my team.”
“Colin isn’t boring,” Penelope said under her breath.
Tilley spun around to look at her. “You know him personally or something?”
“Hardly,” Pen said immediately. “I knew his sister from boarding school when we were younger. I met him – I mean, I met all of the Bridgertons – the few times I would visit their home on holidays and whatnot. I quite honestly have not even thought about any of them in years.”
A complete, total, audacious, bold-faced lie, but this work had helped Pen become quite practiced in selling a convincing fib.
“Colin Bridgerton has over a million followers,” Edwina chimed in, “so there must be plenty of people who don’t find him too terribly boring.”
“A Bridgerton with a decent social media following is a great snag for us, Edwina, even if he is the dull one,” Danbury said, her expression clearly pleased. “Perhaps we can pull in a slightly different demographic for our audience; scoop up a bit more of that 18-24 age bracket so we aren’t completely stuck with geriatric Millennials slowly aging us out …”
“Followed by @pennyspages,” Will announced as he scrolled through his phone, holding up the screen to show Colin’s profile.
Pen bristled at the sound of her Instagram handle.
“That must have been a follow from years ago. I hardly look at Instagram anymore, honestly.” Another lie.
“Well, if Pen is such a fan, perhaps he can be on your team,” Danbury said.
“Conflict of interest! Conflict of interest!” Tilley chanted, erupting into laughter as she pointed at Penelope.
“Conflict of interest? Or the potential for some interesting conflict?”
Everyone’s eyes shot to the doorway. The creator of the franchise, Charlotte Strelitz – or as she liked to be called, “Queen” Charlotte – had arrived. She was, somehow, even more intimidating than Agatha Danbury, regularly reminding the cast that she was the ‘Queen’ presiding over all of the Princes and Princesses on the show. Her opinions were always overriding, impossible to refuse, and final. Charlotte valued a dramatic storyline above all else, and was never afraid to explore a new plot twist or dramatic shift in order to chase the most interesting television they could possibly create.
“You know this Bridgerton boy well?” Charlotte’s eyes bore into Penelope, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
“I wouldn’t say well,” Penelope’s voice trailed off, struggling to find words befitting her complicated past with the Bridgerton family.
“Do you think he would trust you?” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe?” Pen shrugged. “Like I said, I have not spoken to anyone in that family in years.”
Charlotte leaned back slightly, a knowing smirk on her face, before turning to Edwina and Danbury.
“Put the boring Bridgerton on Team Pen,” Charlotte said, the corner of her mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“Of course, ma’am,” Edwina said, setting the folders down on the table and shuffling papers around as the other producers groaned.
Shit. Pen pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as hard as she could to keep herself from groaning as well.
“In any case, we can go ahead and pass these folders out so you might begin to study your dream teams,” Edwina continued.
Heels clicking as she walked around the room, Edwina dropped five manilla folders in front of each of the four producers, who eagerly dug in, pulling out pages of profiles, screenshots of social media accounts, and bright, glossy headshots. As was standard practice, each producer would manage five suitors to start: interviewing them, prying into their secrets, and vying to get them to the top of the lead’s consideration list. It was a process that Pen did not necessarily love, but one that she had learned to be good at – eavesdropping on other producers and their contestants, manipulating lines of questioning, and scheming up little plans and plots to move her contestants ahead. However, in the past two seasons she had worked on the show, she had not quite measured up to the unscrupulous methods deployed by her fellow producers, failing to land one of her suitors in the final 3 both seasons.
At first glance, Pen’s crew of suitors did not appear to be winners. Two of her contestants were so unremarkable looking, she was confident they would be eliminated immediately. Louis Lumley seemed handsome enough, and his professed love of poetry could lead to some fun bits on the show, but from the looks of his social media, he was too flashy of a dresser for a successful career woman like Marina. James Basilio came across as a bit dorky from his Instagram profile, but his background as an accomplished equestrian who gave up the sport once his beloved horse Peppercorn passed away was just unique enough to make for at least one sympathetic conversation with Marina.
Then there was Colin.
Pen pulled out his headshot and studied it. It was remarkable what a difference a few years had made. When she had last seen him, he still had the soft features of boyhood. Now, he confidently gazed at the camera with chiseled cheekbones and a ruggedly handsome 5 o’clock shadow. He was certainly the most attractive suitor in her group, which was always a promising start for a contestant. Pen remembered him being more soft-spoken and gentle than his boisterous older brothers; the only Bridgerton who regularly took time to chat with her over morning coffee while she visited Eloise on holiday. She recalled his love of travel back then; it was unsurprising that he had built an online personality around his adventurous spirit.
“You follow his Instagram?” Brimsley’s voice snapped her out of her head.
Pen glanced over at Brimsley, who had Colin’s Instagram profile pulled up on his phone, scrolling quickly through his photos.
“I had forgotten I followed him. I never interact with him, so I don’t think I’ve ever seen his posts on my feed,” Pen said. This time, at least, she was satisfied in her honesty.
“He’s quite fit,” Brimsley said coolly, opening a photo of Colin standing on a faraway beach with pristine white sand, unashamedly zooming in on his toned abs.
“Not my type,” Pen said, surprising herself at the quickness of her reply. It was almost a lie – she did not typically go for the six-pack abs, Instagram influencer type, but she could not forget the crush she had entertained for – what was it? – at least three years when she was interacting with the Bridgertons. Back then, he was no social media mogul; he was simply her friend’s older brother – a fun distraction to daydream about and occasionally flirt with a bit in short conversations. Of course, that flirtation had led to one unfortunate situation … Pen shook her head quickly, shoving the thought back to the depths of her brain to mingle with the other thoughts she tried to forget.
“Maybe not your type, but he might be Marina’s,” Brimsley raised an eyebrow at her. “You think he’s going to be your top push?”
Penelope shrugged. “We’ll see. I have a couple of other interesting men on my team. I’ll have to see how they interact with me once they get on set. If he’s not open to my influence, it doesn’t matter how hot he is.”
“So you’re admitting he’s hot, then?” Brimsley pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on his cheek, eyeing Pen suspiciously.
“Did I mention that Reynolds is my favorite PA?” Pen gave him a playful shove.
Danbury tapped her cane three times on the ground, commanding the attention back from the room.
“I hope you’re seeing some potential storylines in your file,” she said loudly.
“Bunny boy -- Debling – is not too bad,” Will said, holding up a headshot of a handsome, if not incredibly serious-looking blonde man. “Greta Thunberg follows him, which is a nice feather in his cap. Maybe between all of this activism work, he’s looking to settle down and plug into an existing family rather than bring another resource-sucking little mouth into the world?”
“The bleeding heart angle is so overdone these days,” Alice mocked with a fake yawn. “Anyway, I know I can push this Samadani fellow. He has seven brothers and sisters! I can play up the ‘family is everything’ angle with Miss Family Lawyer.”
“Mm, love that for you. Enjoy that,” Tilley piped up. “This Freddie-Fred-Fred, European royalty guy has ‘I can be manipulated into saying or doing anything’ written all over him. He will be an easy push. This is actually the most excited I have been in several seasons.”
Pen felt the focus of the room shift to her; she realized she still had Colin’s headshot dangling from her hands.
“Oh, um,” she cleared her throat, “there is a, uh, fascinating dude named Basilio in here whose, um, horse died, and …”
“Push the Bridgerton boy, Pen,” Danbury interrupted. “We could use the guaranteed media attention.”
“I must be honest,” Cressida said, sighing wistfully, “I do not believe any of these gentlemen are worthy of Marina. I can tell she will be discerning. It’s not going to be so easy to pique her interest.”
“Then let’s make this interesting,” Charlotte said, strolling over to stand in front of Cressida. “Let’s put a little bonus on this year’s competition. What would you all say to $50,000 extra in your pocket if one of your suitors puts a ring on Marina’s finger by our final episode?”
The room was shocked into silence – Charlotte’s favorite reaction.
“Very well,” she smiled slyly. “I cannot wait to see what riveting television you create this season. Au revoir , my dears.”
“Thank you, Queenie,” Danbury smiled as Charlotte exited, “and thank you, Edwina, for all of your work on a wonderful cast. You make our jobs easier each year.”
Edwina dipped into a playful curtsey, grinning as she soaked up the unenthusiastic applause from everyone in the room.
“No time to dally! Go start working on your angles,” Danbury announced to the room. Chatter erupted as everyone gathered their things to leave; Pen kept her head down and shoved her folder into her bag, brushing off more loose pieces of the Paul Frank monkey vinyl onto the floor.
“See you tomorrow?” she lifted her eyes just for a moment to look at Brimsley, who gave her a sympathetic smile in return.
“You’ve got this, Pen,” he said, tapping the table.
Pen swung her bag onto her shoulder and made her way to the door, pausing only when a cane was thrust directly in the path of her right foot.
“Danbury!” she gasped.
“You don’t do this work for years without becoming excellent at reading a face,” Danbury said, examining Pen down the bridge of her nose. “There is something more to your story with this Bridgerton boy, isn’t there?”
“Nothing. I mean, no, there isn’t,” Pen forced a smile, but she knew better than to lie to Danbury. Danbury would sniff out a story from a casket if you gave her five minutes with the dead body.
“I won’t push this with you – yet,” Danbury said, skepticism dripping off every word. “But I would advise you to use your connection with this boy to make a splash this season. I expect more out of my producers than what you gave me last season. You have an advantage this time – use it.”
Pen nodded, her voice shallow as she squeaked out a simple, “yes. I will.”
“Nice top. I like that color on you,” Brimsley whispered approvingly as he slipped behind Pen, a white takeaway coffee cup in either hand. “And if you don’t mind me saying, your tits look fantastic.”
Pen could feel her cheeks flush as she straightened out the emerald green top she had snatched from the back of her closet. She now remembered why she rarely wore it – it was the slightest bit too tight in her chest, causing her breasts to spill out of the top just enough to trigger her insecurity.
“Want me to let Reynolds know to bring in your next suitor?” Brimsley called over his shoulder as he headed toward the door.
“That’d be great. Should be my last one,” Pen replied. “Colin Bridgerton.”
“Ooh. On it,” Brimsley replied, managing to pry the door open with his elbow, holding the coffees at just the right angle to ensure they did not spill.
Pen set her other folders aside and pulled out Colin’s, opening it up to, again, gaze at his headshot. She had already wrapped up her introductory meetings with her other suitors – a mostly uninspiring group. She knew Danbury would continue to increase the pressure on her to take Colin far in the process and, having met the other unimpressive suitors under her wing, she knew Danbury was right – Colin would be the one most likely to get her to the end.
A light knock rapped on the door, and Reynolds stuck his head inside: “Ready for the last one, Penelope?”
“Bring him in,” Pen said, taking the deepest breath she could.
Reynolds entered the room and held the door open.
And there he was – Colin Bridgerton. After the previous contestants Pen had met, Colin was in a league of his own; 6 feet of casual confidence and timeless handsomeness. The dark blue t-shirt he had chosen complimented his eyes perfectly, and a whimsical loose curl that fell on his forehead reminded Penelope of the sweet 20-year-old boy she had chatted with at the Bridgerton breakfast table years ago. As he met her eyes, she registered the surprise on his face.
“Pen!”
He was wide-eyed, slack jawed, and strangely, seemed almost relieved to see her.
“Hi Colin,” Penelope mustered a cool and collected smile. “Long time, huh?”
Colin sat in the chair across from her, sliding his hands down to his knees and adjusting his position several times before sitting back, posturing confidence, but exuding an apprehensive energy that Pen had been trained to pick up on like a bloodhound tracking its prey.
“It’s nice to see a familiar face,” he said, drumming his fingers.
“Things move pretty quickly once you’re here, don’t they?” Pen said sympathetically.
“A whirlwind,” he exhaled, eyes darting from Pen’s feet back to her head. “Damn, what a surprise to see you. I thought I remembered hearing from Eloise that you worked on a television show, but I never knew which one.”
“Ta-da,” Pen said sarcastically, holding up her hands and waving her fingers, eliciting a small laugh from Colin. “Producer extraordinaire for the #2 most popular prime-time show of last year’s first quarter.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you you’re great at it once I figure out exactly what it is that you do.” Colin hit her with the famous charming Bridgerton smile, almost shaking Pen’s leverage in their conversation.
“Now, now,” Pen shook a finger at him. “Save that flirting for our Princess.”
Colin paused, taking a deep breath and looking intently at Pen. “Damn. It has been so long … what, five years?”
“Six,” Pen replied, glancing down at her papers. This was exactly the conversation she wanted to avoid with him, especially within their first five minutes of chatting.
“Six years,” Colin repeated, exhaling with a whistle. “You know, I have tried to DM you a couple of times. Not sure if you saw those, or –”
“Not a big social media person,” Pen interrupted, clearing her throat.
Liar, liar.
“Ahh,” Colin said, rubbing a finger on his lip absentmindedly. “I just … well, I think the last time we spoke was Eloise’s birthday? And I wasn’t sure–”
“Colin,” Penelope leaned forward, lowering her voice, “we should probably just stick to talking about the show for now, okay? Besides, six years is like forever in television. I’m living in the present now.”
Images of the long-nosed emoji and the word LIAR in highlighter pink flashed like strobe lights in Pen’s head.
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” Colin shifted slightly in his seat, and Pen registered his discomfort, slightly bemused.
You have the power here, Pen.
It was the only thought keeping her from careening off course and diving back into a story she had long tried to forget.
This is all business , she thought, refocusing. She straightened her shoulders, trying to regain her grip on the relationship she needed to have with him for the sake of the show.
“Anyway,” Colin broke the silence, “who is the lovely lady whose heart I’m trying to win?”
“All in good time, Mr. Bridgerton,” Pen said, lifting her chin and regaining her composure. “And as far as what I do on this show … well, you’re a traveler. Think of me as your tour guide to this experience. I’ll make sure you have everything you need to get to the end of this journey. I’ll be right behind you every step of the way, encouraging you to explore the best parts of everything around you while steering you from any disasters.”
“Disasters? Sounds ominous,” Colin said, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing as formidable as mountain biking down a volcano in Ecuador, for example,” Pen said.
“Penelope Featherington, have you been stalking my Instagram? I thought you weren’t a social media person,” he smirked.
That damn smile again! Pen exhaled sharply, grounding herself by pushing her feet into the floor as hard as she could.
“Well, the other part of my role is learning who you are, inside and out, so we can present the best version of Colin Bridgerton to our Princess,” Pen said. “Go ahead and shake all of those skeletons out of your closet.”
“Consider them shooketh.”
“... alright, consider this your first piece of advice from Producer Pen: remove the word ‘shooketh’ from your vocabulary immediately, unless you want to be mocked ruthlessly on Twitter by the worst people you can imagine.”
“Anything you say.” Colin mimed pulling a word from his lips, lifting his hand into the air and flicking it off to the side.
“That’s the attitude of a winner,” Pen pointed at him playfully. “Now, let’s go over the itinerary for the next 24 hours. Tonight is a big night – you’ll be meeting our Princess and trying to make the best first impression. I’m not worried about you making it through to the next round, so let’s try to think of a way that you can win that first impression pin.”
“First impression pin?” Colin looked at her, obviously confused.
“Have you watched the show before?”
“Nope.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“True love, right?” Colin shrugged. “I’ll be honest – I just signed with a new agency for representation, and they’re the ones who finagled my involvement with this show. They are big on trying to diversify my celebrity beyond just social media and, you know, the whole Bridgerton reputation and whatnot.”
“That’s smart, I suppose.”
“Yeah. You know me well enough to know that this reality tv shit wouldn’t normally be my cup of tea.”
Do I know you that well? Pen’s mouth twisted. Damn it, Pen. Refocus. You need to be all business with Colin. Just focus on the show. Treat him like any other contestant.
“But since I’m here, I might as well give it all I’ve got, right? I do enjoy winning,” Colin said, pulling his hands together in front of his chest and cracking a knuckle. “If you’ll get me closer to that end prize, then I’m all ears for whatever you suggest.”
“Good to hear. Just keep in mind … it's television, right? Some of what we have to do will be the cringiest, corniest shit you have ever heard of, but the viewers eat it up. You have to play along with everything on this show like it is the most important thing you have ever done in your life. Like you’re mountain biking down 100 Ecuadorian volcanoes,” Pen explained. “Each week, the Princess will choose who she wants to stay and who she wants to eliminate. She’ll give you a little crown lapel pin if you’re staying. There are also opportunities to earn extra time with her by winning a different little crown pin. The first one that’s up for grabs is the ‘first impression pin.’ She’ll give it to someone who impresses her this first night.”
“Okay,” Colin rubbed his chin. “So I need to be more impressive than these other jackasses in my hotel?”
“You’re catching the drift,” Pen nodded with a smile. “Now, a lot of guys are going to go over the top with a big stunt or a cliché romantic gesture. Not you, Colin Bridgerton. I want you to play it cool; very subtle. Act like you have this in the bag already.”
“This would be a lot easier to discuss if I actually knew who it was I’m trying to bag.”
“In due time! And don’t use that phrasing when we’re filming, okay? She’s a princess ,” Penelope said, enunciating the word dramatically. “Anyway, your goal tonight is going to be an uninterrupted conversation with plenty of eye contact, and a heartfelt, sincere compliment. Do not kiss her – she may love it, but you’ll come on as too strong or too possessive with the viewers. They need to be on your side too. Absolutely, under no circumstances, will you read any poetry, sing any songs, play any instruments, or start any fights with the other men. Got it?”
“You realize how insane this all sounds, right?” Colin rubbed a hand to the back of his head, his guard dropping a little more to reveal his overwhelm.
Penelope’s chest tightened slightly; she had never seen Colin expose any kind of insecurity in front of her. He had always exuded confidence and self-assuredness; for him to let on any kind of nervousness was really remarkable.
She felt for him.
Without thinking, she leaned forward and rested a gentle hand on his knee.
“I know. It’s insane. But we are going to navigate this insanity together, okay?” Pen gave his knee a squeeze. “No matter what, you can always trust that I will be on your side throughout this entire journey. You’ve got me.”
Colin gave her a half smile. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll try to make you proud.”
Damn it, heart. Don’t you dare swoon.
“I know you will,” Pen said.
With a start, she realized she still had her hand on his knee. She jumped back, removing it and clearing her throat as an attempted distraction.
“Anyway,” she swallowed, “let’s switch gears. Time to talk about your outfit for tonight …”