Chapter Text
Years Ago…
The first song Penelope ever wrote was about him.
She was lying on her stomach, a warm summer breeze tickling along her skin; with the smell of fresh grass and lemonade in the air. A blank notebook was in front of her; its pages unblemished by even a single scribble. Penelope loved blank notebooks. She loved the endless possibilities at her fingertips.
Eloise was lying on her back with a novel shielding her face from the sun right beside her, of course— the two were never far apart for very long at any age, but particularly at thirteen. The girls rarely even went to the bathroom without one another at that age.
Which was convenient, because the object of every one of Penelope’s hopes, dreams and fantasies was Colin Bridgerton; Eloise’s older and decidedly dreamy brother.
He was running about, playing a game of rugby with his brothers; a grin stretched across his beautiful face. He wasn’t the sportiest of the Bridgerton brothers—his eldest brother Anthony was clearly the athlete of the family. But he was the most good-natured, the sensitive one, the sweet one. His warm eyes met Penelope’s watchful gaze and he smiled; almost instantly, she nervously dropped the pen she was holding and scrambled to avert her eyes from his as she picked it up.
Without even realizing it, she had written down three words:
His smiling eyes
She swallowed at her own printing, and glanced back up at her surroundings; her face a deep shade of pink as if everyone around her had witnessed her writing… could hear her thoughts.
But of course, no one had. No one was paying any attention.
Benedict and Anthony were wrestling over a ball and Colin was laughing. He always seemed so happy with his family around him. Her heart gave a small leap, and she glanced back down at her page, inspired and determined to continue.
“What rhymes with eyes…” she muttered aloud to herself.
“Lies, cries, tries,” Eloise said in an automatic voice. She didn’t so much as glance away from her book.
Penelope bit her lip, and wrote down another line. And another. And another.
And before long, she had written an entire song. A song devoted entirely to Colin Bridgerton.
It may have been the first; but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
--
Present Day
“So? what do you think?” she asked, leaning impatiently onto her elbows, as she waited for Danica to finish listening to the song.
Danica removed the headphones from her ears and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It’s good…” she started. Penelope recognized that tone.
“But…” she prompted.
“But, how many songs can one person write about having their heart ripped up into teeny tiny little shreds?” Danica asked.
Penelope immediately snatched her phone back, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “You hate it.”
“No, definitely not,” Danica replied. She glanced down the bar at one of their regulars, and currently only guest on a Tuesday afternoon. “Another beer, Danny?” He nodded, and she popped open a bottle and slid it down to him.
She refocused her gaze on Penelope, who was eyeing her expectantly. “It’s a good song, but just—why can’t you ever write something fun? Something poppy or lighthearted? Something about first love or a night out with friends? Like Rhianna, or Ariana Grande?” Penelope scoffed.
“You know that’s not my style,” she said.
“Right, but maybe you should mix it up a little. I mean, is this song about a different guy who broke your heart? Or are all of them about the same guy?”
Penelope pursed her lips together, unwilling to answer the question.
“Babe, let it go,” Danica said, as she wiped the bar down with a rag.
Let it go…
Penelope had told herself those very same words so many times over the past five years, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. Maybe it was because when she loved, she loved hard. Maybe it was because she had loved him for far too long. Maybe it was because her heart was broken in such a violent manner. Or maybe… it was just easier to hang onto the bitterness. She could use it as an excuse for why she was stuck; living in her mom’s home at 21—no university education, no full-time job, no long-term boyfriend. Instead, she was at the dead-end waitressing job at Finnegan’s Bar and Grill, where she’d been for 3 years. She had the occasional music gig; but no label had ever wanted to sign her, no agent had ever wanted to represent her. Instead, she was stuck. She was a complete and utter failure.
“Let me call Colin,” Eloise would say helpfully, when Penelope would cry on her shoulder; leaving streaks of mascara stains on her sleeve. “He can help get you discovered. If only someone from a label would see you perform, you’d be snatched up in an instant. I know it! You’re so talented.”
“No!” Penelope would say quickly, stubbornly, as she wiped away her tears. “I don’t want his help.” She’d pause, and clutch her best friend tighter with a sniffle. “Thanks though, El.”
Eloise knew better to push. She’d never been told what had happened between Penelope and Colin all those years ago, but she must have known it was something bad. Something Penelope refused to talk about, at any cost. So, she had learned to not even ask.
Instead, she would simply tip-toe around the subject, leaving little hints like breadcrumbs behind her.
“Did you hear Colin’s in town this week?” she had casually mentioned on the phone to Penelope that morning.
“No,” Penelope said casually, carelessly—although her heart was racing. “Why’s he slumming it here, when he should be in LA or something?”
“I dunno, something about work,” Eloise replied, her mouth full of food. “He’s coming over for dinner Friday night. Wanna come?”
“Uh, no. Thanks, but I have plans that night…” Penelope stammered.
She wore her best mask of nonchalance as Eloise continued to update Penelope on her family’s goings-on; dropping in tidbits about Colin. She didn’t care. Why would she care?
Then, the instant they said their goodbyes, Penelope ran to her laptop, yanking open the screen to google search his name. She rarely let herself research what was going on with him online; she had found from previous experience that it was a slippery slope that usually led to certain pain; or at the very least, a rabbit hole that sucked away all sense of time, until five hours had gone by in the blink of an eye.
Luckily for her, she had her regular Tuesday lunch shift today at Finnegan’s, which helped prevent her from getting completely sucked in.
Unluckily for her, this shift was always dead which meant very few tips, and very little savings going towards her Album Fund.
Penelope was currently saving up every penny she could spare to go towards producing her very own album. She figured if a label wasn’t going to give her a chance, why not produce it herself?
However, that took a fair amount of money to make possible. So, she worked whenever she could to pay the bills, and played music whenever she was able, to feed her soul. And it worked for her—well, for the most part. Days like this where she’d walk away with a fiver from Danny or some other customer being the exception.
Penelope released a sigh, and went back to cleaning glasses. It was tough on days like this not to feel discouraged.
Just then, her phone rang. Penelope glanced down and wrinkled her brow in response. Edwina? Why was Edwina calling her in the middle of her work day?
She answered with a sunny hello, pausing as Edwina proceeded to ramble quickly at her.
“Woah, woah,” she said. “Slow down. What did you say?”
“We have a music video shoot,” Edwina explained. “The actress we booked for it bailed—she got food poisoning, or something equally ridiculous. But now I need someone to fill in…”
“Don’t you have a whole catalogue of people to choose from?” Penelope asked, not understanding why Edwina called her. She supposed she gave good advice, and was cool in a crisis. However, her friend was the casting agent, not her. This was a problem she should be able to solve. “Just pick someone else out and call them up,” she said.
“No, you don’t understand,” Edwina whined. “The director said they need someone with a very specific look for this part. And I don’t have anyone who meets that description available in my talent portfolio.”
“Well, that sucks,” Penelope said, unhelpfully. But she didn’t know what to say. “Wish there was something I could do to help.”
“Well, actually….” Edwina said, her voice brightening rather menacingly. Penelope was instantly unnerved by the tone. “I think you’d be exactly what they’re looking for.”
“But I’m not… an actor. I’m not a model. I’m a waitress. Well, waitress slash singer. I wouldn’t know the first thing about acting in a music video,” Penelope insisted.
“Oh, it’s easy!” Edwina said. “It’s a lot of just looking hot and flipping your hair around, and staring wistfully into the distance.”
“I don’t know, Edwina…”
“There’s a really cute guy in the video! And you get to pretend to be all in love, and to get cozied up to him—you know, the way they do in music videos!”
“Okay, I’m definitely not interested now,” said Penelope.
“Come on!” exclaimed her friend. “Please? I really can’t get anyone else that would work for this part like you… I would owe you big-time!” Penelope sighed. “Did I mention it pays $500 an hour? You’d get a couple thousand bucks from this job, easy.”
Well, that was another story. “Seriously? They’re paying that much?”
“Yep! Hey, I’d take the part myself, but I’m not what they’re looking for—”
Penelope tuned her friend out at that point, the dollar signs practically flashing in front of her eyes, as if she were in an old cartoon. She would definitely be able to afford some studio time with this kind of cash…
“I’ll do it.”
--
Present Day
“I won’t do it,” he said.
Colin was feeling anxious. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the model for his latest music video bailed at the last minute, or if it was all the pressure he was putting on himself to make sure his second album was a success.
He paced back and forth through the small space of the hair and makeup trailer on set. “If we can’t find a girl—the girl—who works for this video, I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“I have good news,” said his agent, Todd, who had just entered the room. “We spoke to the casting agent, and sent us a replacement model. She’s perfect, Colin. Red hair, just like you asked for. She’s in hair and makeup right now.”
Colin breathed a sigh of relief and stopped pacing, the chaotic thoughts instantly dying off; or at least… ebbing a little. “Thank Christ,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
“What’s the big deal about her being redheaded?” asked his publicist Janet. “Oh God, is this about that ex again? Was she a Ginger?”
“It’s not about Marina,” Colin said, through gritted teeth. He hated being reminded of his last relationship. It did not end on the best of terms, and it stung every single time he thought about her. Which, unfortunately, was all too often since almost every song on his debut album was inspired by her.
“Who’s it about then?” Janet asked, instantly brightening. She’d been pushing him for a year now to at least let her set him up in a fake Hollywood relationship. Just a short-term one, even, she’d say. It’d make him even more desirable to his fans and desire sold records.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” muttered Todd, who was absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. “She’s not real.”
Colin sighed, exasperated. “It’s not that she’s imaginary,” he said defensively. “She’s just—a dream girl, that’s all.” He shrugged.
Janet stared at him blankly. “Come again.”
“She’s this girl who’s been in recurring dreams of mine,” Colin sighed. “I wrote… several of the songs on this album about her,” he finished, lamely.
“And she has red hair,” she stated, her voice monotone.
“Yes,” Colin replied, challenging her with a stare.
“Alright, alright.” Janet held up her hands in mock surrender. “Whatever works for you, Bridgerton. We just gotta make sure this music video goes well. That you two have some chemistry to get us—”
“I know,” Colin sighed. He’d heard this speech before. “Likes and views.”
“That’s my boy,” Janet grinned, slapping him on the back. She’d been in this business for 20 years, from the essentially the very beginning of the dawn of widespread computer use til now, and worked as a publicist through the invention of twitter and every other social media cesspool imaginable. And she never let him forget it.
“I’ll be as charming as I possibly can,” he said, sitting back down in the chair, to allow the makeup artist to finish last minute touch-ups.
But if he thought Janet was done with her “advice” he was clearly mistaken, as she continued. “Because—no pressure, Bridgerton—but the one thing you want to try to avoid is the dreaded—”
“Don’t say it,” warned Todd, with a shake of his head.
“—Sophmore Slump,” Janet finished.
Colin could feel the vein throbbing in his head. It’s something he’d thought about, obsessed about, woke up from his sleep with night-sweats about. His music was everything to him; and the very thought of failing at this one thing that he was good at. The one thing he knew how to do. Well, it was crippling.
But, the reality was, it was a real possibility. Everyone knew the danger of the second album not living up to the first. It set artists back, it even ended careers.
“Don’t talk about that,” Todd said, putting his phone down. “We’re not going to even put that thought out into the Universe. His cellphone buzzed and he looked down. “Ok, the model is ready. Let’s go.” He stood up and helped Colin to his feet. “You ready to meet her?”
Colin took a deep breath in and released it with a nod.
He exited the trailer, sunlight shining in his face, obscuring his view. Shielding his gaze, his eyes locked onto the very person he least expected. A face he hadn’t seen for around five years.
“Pen?!”