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Eloise Bridgerton had arrived late, as she often did when the day ran long with depositions and client calls and an inbox that refused to empty. She had changed in the guest bathroom, tugging off her blazer and smoothing her hair, muttering under her breath about glitter as she adjusted her earrings. She was still learning how to turn off the version of herself required in court, to shift into something softer without feeling like she was removing armor.
Being here always made it a little easier.
Kate’s birthday had long ago transformed from a simple celebration into a full production in honor of Eloise’s sister in law. The decorations were garish in the best way, a kind of joyful maximalism that Eloise had never quite embraced in her own life. But tonight, surrounded by people who had learned to lean into joy without apology, she was trying. Trying not to keep one foot in the world of legal briefs and closing arguments. Trying to let the warm lights and clinking glasses and ridiculous party favors soften the edges of her day.
Her brother Benedict had greeted her at the door with a sparkling top hat and a wooden spoon, declared her late and therefore subject to immediate trial by impersonation. His Kate impression was atrocious but spirited, involving a lot of unnecessary squinting and proclamations about tactical footwear. Eloise had burst out laughing halfway through, only to be ambushed by Penelope, who pressed a cocktail into her hand and accused her of conspiring against the decor with her neutral-toned handbag.
“Next year,” Penelope declared with mock severity, “you are bringing sequins or staying home.”
“I own exactly one sequined item,” Eloise replied. “And it is a stress ball shaped like a disco ball.”
“Excellent,” Benedict said. “Bring it, Wear it, Live it.”
Their ease steadied her in a way few things did.
She found herself drifting through the party, warm with familiarity, until she caught sight of Edwina across the room.
The world didn’t stop, exactly. But something slowed and stilled.
Kate’s younger sister Edwina was laughing at something Francesca said, her head tilted back, the light catching the line of her cheek and the glint of her earrings. She wore a bright green dress that looked like it had been made just to frame her shoulders and collarbones. Her drink was the same pink as the one Eloise now held, but she sipped it with the casual elegance of someone who knew exactly how many eyes were on her.
Their eyes met across the space. Edwina’s smile curved just a bit more.
And then with a flip of her wavy black locks, a wink. A wink from a petite beauty straight out of a Bollywood dreamscape.
It was shameless. Purposeful. Just enough to send a flicker of heat up Eloise’s spine.
She was still standing there, mildly stunned, when Francesca swooped in and plunked something heavy and absurd onto her head.
The balloon hat was a crime against dignity!
Eloise hadn’t chosen it. It had been thrust upon her by Francesca, who had declared with rare mischief that everyone should wear something inflatable and absurd for the group photo. Eloise had muttered something about adult autonomy and balloon fascism but Francesca had blinked at her with such patient resolve that Eloise relented. Now she was wearing a crooked flamingo-shaped hat that bobbed every time she breathed, making her look like she was either startled or on the brink of a sneeze.
Thou shalt humor thy younger siblings.
To her left, Edwina adjusted her own accessory, which appeared to be a set of cherries though Eloise privately suspected something far less innocent. The shape was suggestive in a way that was entirely intentional. Penelope, from her position on the couch, had clearly made the same observation and was snorting uncontrollably into her piña colada.
Eloise rolled her eyes but a small smile tugged at her lips.
The living room thrummed with a cozy, alcohol-softened kind of joy. String lights drooped across the ceiling like tired stars. A haze of spice and sugar hung in the air, thick with rum and citrus. Amateur DJ Benedict had set a playlist of lo-fi Beyoncé covers that should not have worked but somehow did. A glittering HAPPY TIPSY THIRTY THREE KATE banner sagged above the fireplace, one corner wilting as if in surrender. Newton the corgi lay beneath it with saintly forbearance, adorned with a feather boa and rhinestone collar. He looked like he was counting the minutes until he could shed both.
Kate sat at the center of it all like a queen in exile, wrapped in the spoils of party planning and her husband’s undivided attention. Anthony, the eldest of the Bridgerton brood, had barely moved from her side all evening, his arm slung around her waist as if he could not quite believe she was real. The look on his face made Eloise’s throat tighten. Kate had always carried herself like someone who knew her own worth, which was no surprise for an officer of the law. That self-possession unsettled Eloise at first. In her early twenties, confidence felt like a performance meant to make others feel small. Kate’s assurance never was a performance. It was earned. She had built a life with Anthony that was grounded and loud and sometimes wildly overdecorated. Kate wore it all like armor and celebration at once.
Earlier, Benedict had unearthed Kate’s old AIM account and read aloud a selection of tragically preserved away messages. Eloise was still recovering from the fact that Kate had once gone by KickboxKitten. Anthony, far from being embarrassed, had looked at her like she had just saved his life a second time.
“I cannot believe we won,” Eloise muttered, pretending to be annoyed. A smirk tugged at her mouth anyway.
Edwina grinned like a victorious schoolgirl. “Who remembers Kate’s first pet was a guinea pig named Lady Snuffles?”
“I don’t know,” Eloise replied, taking a sip of her luridly pink cocktail. “Perhaps someone who once read their sister’s diary during a sleepover.”
Their glasses clinked lazily. The drink was so sweet it felt dangerous. It was garnished with a flamingo stir stick that kept poking her near the eye every time she turned her head.
Eloise didn’t normally do pink drinks or balloon hats or cozy intimacy in groups but something about this particular night had disarmed her.
“You two are either very drunk,” Penelope called from the couch, “or naturally this suggestive when discussing rodent trivia.”
Eloise looked at her fondly. “We are celebrating love, Pen. Let us be absurd in peace.”
She always felt something complicated when she looked at Penelope. Not in a bad way but there was history there and pain she could not quite touch. Eloise had met Penelope in university. Bright and barbed and already carrying more armor than a person should need by twenty. It took Eloise weeks to get past that first wall, months before she saw the real shape of the girl underneath. That Penelope still wore cardigans two sizes too big and thought she had to earn every smile.
Now, Penelope was sharper and still shy in her way, curled up in the corner like a queen with her own throne of pillows and chocolate cake crumbs. Eloise felt pride there. Sadness too. The kind that comes from knowing your friend had not yet learned to trust her own joy.
“She’s just jealous we make balloon headgear look this good,” Edwina murmured, voice rich with mockery.
Eloise turned, already half-laughing, but then Edwina’s shoulder brushed hers and the laughter caught in her throat. It was that kind of touch. The one that said more than it should. The one that stayed.
She had felt it last summer at Francesca’s wedding. That flicker of possibility. That moment under the mistletoe at Christmas when they both turned away just a second too late. Avoidance did not describe it well. Hesitation lined with hope fit better. The air between them now felt charged, humid with the kind of what-if that refused to be ignored.
“You look like cocktail-themed vigilantes,” Penelope announced. “Lady Lush and Captain Citrus. Defenders of questionable judgment and late-night texting.”
Eloise opened her mouth to retort but nothing clever came out.
Edwina was laughing again. Her lips were stained the same dangerous pink as the drink, her eyes crinkled at the corners. The curve of her smile was easy. Effortless. Except it was not effortless for Eloise, who suddenly felt the heat in her chest and the tension behind her ribs.
It was not new. Tonight, it was undeniable.
Around her, the room glowed with the steady pulse of people who had chosen each other. Her siblings had folded themselves into joyful, unlikely pairings. Anthony and Kate all fiery affection and sharp edges sanded down over time. Benedict, still single, was orbiting the edges of his own stories, a free spirit she adored even if she worried sometimes. Being here surrounded by all that certainty stirred something raw in her. Not loneliness. Not quite. A yearning to feel chosen. Not by family. Not by duty. Just by someone who looked at her like she was the entire story.
“I think I like your competitive side,” she said to Edwina, trying for lightness but feeling the truth in every word.
Edwina tipped her glass toward her. “Good. I plan to bring it to our first date.”
Penelope choked on her cake so violently that even Newton lifted his head in alarm.
The room did not exactly fall silent, but the noise softened just enough for Eloise’s blush to catch up with her. It was as if the air around her had thickened, leaving her acutely aware of every glance and every small sound. She felt the heat bloom high on her cheeks before rushing down her neck like a traitor, settling somewhere beneath her ribs where her heart had begun a quiet but fierce rebellion. The warmth was not just embarrassment; it was something more tangled and unfamiliar.
She tried to speak, to say something clever or skeptical, but what came out was a little breathless and more curious than she intended. “You are awfully sure of yourself,” she said, hoping to sound skeptical but missing the mark entirely. Her voice carried a vulnerability she did not mean to reveal.
Edwina’s grin was slow and dazzling, that kind of confident smile that made it impossible to look away. “I am a doctor. Confidence is basically a professional hazard.” Her eyes held a sparkle that teased Eloise’s defenses and invited her closer.
Eloise scoffed softly, folding her arms over her chest. Only after did she realize how much this gesture closed the small gap between them. Somehow the space felt charged now, charged with something she could not name but felt pressed against her skin. “You diagnose people,” she said, a note of challenge in her tone. “This is a different battlefield.”
Edwina moved a step closer without hesitation. “True,” she said quietly. “This is harder. Most patients do not talk back using five syllable words.” Her voice lowered, warm and teasing in a way that made Eloise’s mind stumble.
“Some of us are cursed with intellect,” Eloise replied primly, wishing she sounded less flustered than she felt.
Edwina’s voice dropped into a honeyed tease. “Let us settle it scientifically then.”
Eloise arched a brow, curiosity creeping through her self-consciousness. “With a clinical study? A double blind experiment?”
“Thumb wars,” Edwina said with mock seriousness, extending her hand like a formal challenge. “Best of four. Winner gets a boon of their choosing.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Eloise’s mouth despite herself. “You want to resolve romantic tension with a children’s game?”
“Yes,” Edwina replied without hesitation. “With clear rules, controlled variables, and extremely high emotional stakes.”
The ridiculousness of it made Eloise laugh, a soft sound that surprised her with how easy it felt. “You are entirely ridiculous.”
Their hands met and locked in a gentle but firm grip.
“One, two, three, four,” they chorused together, “I declare a thumb war.”
Round one was a disaster. Eloise’s focus shattered the moment their hands joined.
She found herself distracted by the warmth of Edwina’s palm, the way her fingers curled decisively around hers. It was almost unfair how much comfort that simple touch brought, how it made her heart speed in a way she was only beginning to understand. That hand had been victorious last month in an Operation board game battle, and now it dominated again. Eloise’s thumb flailed helplessly beneath Edwina’s steady pressure.
“I demand a recount,” Eloise huffed, more out of breath than indignation.
“My boon,” Edwina declared with a triumphant smile, “You agree to a date. Saturday. I pick the restaurant.”
“You are using your first boon on scheduling?” Eloise asked, trying to keep the teasing in her voice but feeling the flutter of nerves behind it.
“I play the long game, counselor,” Edwina said with a wink, and Eloise could not help but admire that quiet confidence that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.
Round two felt like a battle of wills. Eloise narrowed her eyes, lips pressed together in concentration. She twisted and feinted, trapping Edwina’s thumb in a move she barely believed she had pulled off. When the victory registered, her heart jumped and her breath caught. This moment felt different, weightier.
Edwina blinked in surprise. “Well played. What’s your boon?”
Eloise hesitated longer than she wanted before she spoke. “Tell me what you really think about love.”
That question hung in the air between them. Edwina’s hand softened in hers as if the contact carried more meaning now.
“I think it is terrifying,” Edwina said slowly. “Messy. Uneven. Half chance, half choice. I think it sneaks up on you when someone makes you laugh too easily or remembers how you take your tea or believes they are unlovable when they are the most luminous person in the room.”
Eloise felt a tight ache settle in her chest. No words came. The rawness of that truth echoed in her in a way she did not expect.
Round three arrived, quiet and inevitable. Their hands found each other again. No jokes remained. The silence was filled only by their breaths, quick and shallow, and the electric charge waiting to break loose.
Their thumbs collided, dodged, and wove in a blur. Eloise almost won. The seconds stretched, but Edwina pulled off a last second reversal that pinned her thumb again.
No gloating followed. Edwina stepped forward, her hand still warm and gentle in Eloise’s. She whispered softly, “I claim my boon.”
Eloise braced herself, half expecting a ridiculous demand. “Balloon hat reenactment? Public karaoke? Legal name change to Lady Lush?”
Edwina leaned in closer.
“No,” she murmured, lips brushing lightly against Eloise’s cheek. “This.”
The kiss was light as breath but sparked a wildfire inside Eloise. She turned her head just in time to meet Edwina’s lips.
It felt like a struck match, sudden and bright.
Edwina kissed her like she had been waiting for months, like the moment had been quietly gathering just for them.
Warm and hungry, sweet and daring.
Eloise did not hesitate. Her right hand tangled in Edwina’s onyx hair, the other pressed firmly against her waist, pulling her closer.
Breath mingled with laughter. The world around them dissolved into a blur of soft sounds and electric heat.
When they finally broke apart, blinking and breathless, Eloise stared, her mind still reeling.
“I thought you said best of four,” she whispered, voice barely steady.
“I lied,” Edwina said with a smile that warmed her all over. “I always planned to win.”
Above them the banner twitched in an unnoticed breeze.
Newton sighed, rolling over in his rhinestones, unimpressed by the drama.
Somewhere across the room Penelope muttered something about balloon hats and emotional whiplash, but Eloise did not hear a word of it.
Her thoughts were tangled and spinning, caught in the rush of laughter, the softness of a hand, and the fierce joy of a moment she never wanted to end.
She was too busy laughing, fully dazed, and entirely gone.