Chapter Text
Cressida
The trouble with having a homophobic family that breathes down your neck at all times is that even the most insane of plans end up sounding like a superb idea.
Take now, for instance, as Benedict stood there confidently after suggesting that Cressida pretend to be his girlfriend for a family vacation.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Cressida blurted.
“I said that we should pretend to be lovers,” he announced, beginning to pace. “As of recently, of course, we do not have time to delve into a grand backstory.”
“Why of course,” Cressida uttered sarcastically. “Lord forbid we need a dossier on our falsified love for one another.”
“It is a flawless plan,” he continued.
“Is it now?”
“It could be,” Benedict cut in. “You want nothing more than to please your family and escape them. Going on a vacation with your boyfriend would clear you of their harassment for a whole month. Plus you work remotely and what is wrong with a free vacation?”
“I know a lot of your family, they will never fall for this.” She knew some of his siblings well. Whilst they were not close in high school, Cressida had grown close to Benedict during university.
In their later years at university Cressida and Benedict roomed together and Eloise would sometimes appear on their couch when stressed.
The younger Bridgerton was different to her brother, quiet and withdrawn with her face often nestled into a book. She was not short of sarcasm when prompted and Cressida had never known how to take it. Rarely did she talk to the younger girl and when she did the conversations were cut rather short.
Still to this day, Cressida was unsure if his sister hated her. She always found Eloise Bridgerton something of a mystery. Benedict would always say, “That’s just El,” but Cressida feared she was hated.
Even in high school, Cressida had watched a young Eloise with curiosity. Rarely did she talk to anyone but her one friend, Penelope. Normally she sat in a hall ignoring the outside world, wearing some beaten-up Doc Martens.
Then there was Daphne who hated Cressida. They feuded in high school: one another’s main competition for dance team positions. Any time she saw Daphne she would glare at Cressida as if she was carefully planning a painful death.
At one point they fought over the same boy, Tate. To this day Daphne still held a grudge but Cressida was doing her a favour. Tate was a year older than Cressida and two older than Daphne, and he had a record for being… a problem with women. As much as Cressida hated Daphne she decided she hated Tate more, and led him along for six months until he left high school.
Regardless of her distaste for Daphne, feminism came first. She would not let him do to her what he had done to many girls in her year group first.
“That’s why it shall work perfectly!” Benedict exclaimed. “We’ll settle in, and then after a week or two we shall tell them the truth.”
“Why not tell them straight away?” Cressida asked.
“Because it’s Daphne’s birthday the first week. You have met her, you and I know just as well as anyone how much she would hate us stealing even an ounce of her thunder.”
But that was the issue, Demonic Daphne hated her. “Is it truly a good idea if I show up then? Benedict, your sister hates me.”
“She doesn’t…” He snapped his mouth shut as Cressida raised a brow. “Fine, she hates you. But Daphne hates many people. You know how she is. However, I know that she will agree with me that getting you away from your homophobic parents for a month is needed. They will all understand that.” He smiled. “A lot of my family are queer. Until then, if you are my girlfriend they will welcome you.”
“Fine,” Cressida huffed. She was one text away from her parents driving her into depression once more. This would allow her to breathe and find her footing as she decided how to come out to them.
If she ever came out to them.
“Fine? Is that a yes I hear?” Benedict smiled.
“Yes. But if one thing goes wrong, I am-”
“Retreating to dreary England, of course,” he said, nodding along. “Oh my love, how shall I restrain myself from ravishing you in the family cabin for a whole month?” He raised the back of his hand to his forehead, leaning back. “I do fear I am growing faint at the idea. How might I keep my hands from your glorious bosoms?”
“Did you just say bosoms?” Cressida replied, throwing a pillow at her idiot of a friend. “Jesus, this is going to be a long month.”
“Do straight men not say bosoms?” he asked.
“I assume not,” Cressida retorted.
“I shall work on that then. I was hoping to convince your parents of my straightness so as to not horrify them.”
“Benedict so help me god, if you bring up my breasts around my parents you will be missing the equipment that dangles between your legs.”
He shrugged then. “I shall just steal one of yours and replace it. Pink always suited me.”
“How do you know that I own-”
“You left your dildo air-drying in the bathroom,” he said. “You suctioned it to the wall Cressida; I could hardly miss the thing. It was like being stared at by a pastel pink third arm. I felt like it was propositioning me to a duel my rear would never recover from.”
A groan left her as she pulled a pillow across her face. “How do all of your family get so much time off work anyway?”
“Most of my siblings work for the same legal firm,” he said. “They handed off their cases to other staff for the month and can oversee the rest from the cabin. El writes so-”
“Eloise writes?” Cressida repeated.
“I thought you knew,” Benedict said, his face scrunching up.
“And how would I know that?” Cressida asked.
“Because you own several of her books. You were reading one last week.” He was baffled now.
“What? I have not read a single book by-”
“El Bartland,” he said slowly.
“El… Bartland?” The name swam around Cressida’s head. “What on earth are you talking about? Of course I read those but they’re not by your sister. They’re by- by-”
“Go on.”
“A lesbian author who greatly enjoys her anonymity,” Cressida replied. She followed her on Instagram and knew that her page was only ever books or aesthetic shots of things and her dog.
“And my sister…” he said slowly.
“Is introverted from what I have seen but she is not a New York Times bestselling romance author. You really expect me to believe that? Are you practising your lying ability before we face your family?”
Benedict fiddled with his phone then and turned it to show a picture of Eloise. It was her at a printing press and in the background was a hoard of books she had signed.
She could have debated it of course, but there was a dog by her legs.
“The dog.” An all too familiar black lab, young and missing an eye.
“Turing,” Benedict said. “Eloise’s therapy dog. Named after Alan Turing. Ever since she was young Eloise has named her pets after gay people in history. It meant that when she came out we were less than surprised.”
“Therapy dog?” Cressida asked but Benedict was already beginning to make a list of what to pack.
“El is autistic,” he said offhandedly. “I thought you knew that. Her dog isn’t registered, support animals are a bitch to get registered in England; far more hoops to jump through than in other countries. But he helps with her anxiety a great deal. Eloise was always more of an animal person than a people person.” His fingers continued to type. “Do you think we should bring condoms to make it more believable? Make a show of dropping them as we enter. Could be quite theatrical.”
She shook her thoughts away then. “No. Condoms.”
“What if they’re ribbed for your pleasure?”
“Sometimes I truly hate you,” Cressida said.
He grinned then. “You should pack your strap. Not to use on me. Some beautiful women are staying in the cabins nearby. Do you remember Amy Bardot?”
And yes, of course, Cressida did. There was no one more popular than Amy. She was perfect with soft features and a radiant smile. Perhaps Cressida had a small crush on her in high school but everyone did. Sadly, that beauty did not make it through to her personality.
“She was always such a bitch.”
“A hot bitch,” Benedict debated. “A hot bisexual bitch.”
“She’s bi?”
He grinned. “Bring your strap. Perhaps you can only stand one another for a few hours but think about all the hot sex you can have in that time.”
Cressida could not deny that the thought of that was appealing. “Fine but I mean it. No theatrical condom drop in front of your family. And for the love of god never say bosom again.”
“You’re killing me,” Benedict groaned. “One day you shall miss my theatrics. Who knows, tomorrow I might not be here.”
“You’re not dying. You have enough spite to outlive us all,” Cressida replied.
“But I could,” he said. “What if lightning was to strike me? Or perhaps I was to be bitten by a poisonous spider in a laboratory?”
“Remind me why I agreed to spend a month with you as my false lover again?”
“Because Miss Cowper,” he said in a sultry tone. “I have a splendid ass.”
“You are a splendid ass,” she corrected. “Now what should I pack? Finland is cold right?”
A laugh left him. “I take it you’ve never been there?”
“I’ve never left the country,” Cressida said. “Except for the school trip we went on to France.”
“Finland is cold this time of year,” Benedict said. “If you don’t have enough jumpers or thick coats you can borrow some things from my sisters. Perhaps not Daphne though, she might burn anything you touch.”
“She would,” Cressida agreed. “So when do we leave?”
Over the next two days, Cressida put together a suitcase of her things and texted her parents- planting the seeds for her farce of a relationship.
Cressida: I am sure the two of you shall love Benedict.
Father: As in the Bridgerton boy you befriended in college?
So far it had not come up that Benedict was her roommate. Her parents would frown upon such a thing for how ‘unladylike’ it was.
Cressida: Yes. Benedict Bridgerton.
Father: Finally, a man of prestige. Do not ruin this Cressida. I am at wits end with you throwing your life away for frivolous things not made for women like schooling and work.
Clenching her jaw, Cressida heard him entering the room. “Your parents?” Benedict asked.
“Isn’t it always?”
He flopped down on her bed. “Finland, Cressida. A place where you will be free to be your most lesbian self.”
“After Daphne’s birthday,” Cressida replied. They had to keep the act up for a whole week.
“I am sure you shall survive a week. Though perhaps not if you run into Amy.”
“Does she still look…” Cressida bit her cheek.
“Stunning? With large bosoms and-”
“Benedict! We agreed that you would never utter that word again.”
“Oh, the glorious bountiful bosoms! The melons of the torso! The apples of the… ribs? The-”
“Benedict!”
“Tantalising tits, everywhere I look!”
“Didn’t you have a one-night stand with a guy last night?” Cressida asked.
“Yes. Bountiful butt cheeks. The reverse bosoms if you will.”
Cressida pulled a pillow over her face and loudly groaned into it.
It would be a long month.