Ain't No Sunshine (A Polin Modern Au)
Colin didn't know whether he was fucked off, or just utterly fucked in general.
There Penelope stood, twinkling in her soft pink lengha, next to Marcus fucking Anderson, his hand around her waist.
"If you break that glass, Anthony's gonna be pissed," Benedict said, amusement lacing his tone.
It's Edwina Sharma's summer wedding to Fredrick Christoph, a big British Indian affair. Wedding's involving the Bridgertons were never normal, and that's not about to start now.
The tube from Colin's flat in South Bank to his family home in Mayfair was a short journey, and he enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the underground. There was rush hour traffic and to many, it might have been frustrating, but Colin had been away just long enough to start missing the London buzz.
The gate before the home had been left open, probably for the cars of his siblings coming in, so he walked right up the gravel towards the front door. For some reason, he felt antsy, a feeling Colin wasn't much used to. Generally, his usual disposition was along the lines of a kid in a candy shop: happy as fuck and no responsibility in the world. He was self-aware enough to know this at least, but not enough to realise the reason behind the nerves.
He knocked anyways and the door swung open, the family butler, David, on the other side of it.
