Archive of Our Own

It all began because of a picture. And Benedict, at Daphne’s wedding, and dancing. 

A photograph sat on Anthony’s desk, another in his wallet, the edges faded, almost bent with how many times it had been handled. 

The one on his desk was shiny, and perfectly preserved in its delicate silver frame, and in it were pictured a large brood of seven grinning children and two adoring parents looking lovingly at each other. They’d all been so happy then. 

The one in his wallet, though it was newer in age, looked much older. The picture had an almost papery feel to it now, worn, and softened from the amount of times he had taken it out and covertly stared at it. It was his favourite picture. 

Despite the family portrait gracing his desk, there was something about the candidness of the two people in the wallet picture that tugged at his heart just a little more. 

It had been taken at Daphne’s wedding, everyone had been dancing, and Anthony hadn’t even known Ben was nearby, hadn’t heard the soft click of the camera go off, he’d been so lost in Kate. 

The way she’d looked at him in those moments as they slowly swayed together on the dance floor was something he was sure he’d never forget. They’d met a couple of times before that day, just in passing mostly. Daphne and Kate were friends, and Anthony by association had briefly talked to her, shared pleasantries but nothing more. 

Twin smiles adorned their faces, they’d been giggling with each other over Hyacinth and Gregory’s antics that day, restless, overtired hellions that they were. Finally, they’d been wrangled by Anthony, with some support from Kate who’d seen him struggling and had volunteered to help him calm them down. 

His hands had been on her back, one resting just above the curve of her ass, the other closer to her waist, gently rubbing her back. As his hands made small circles on the small of her back, Kate had looked up at him and in that moment, his heart had been irrevocably stolen. A shy smile graced her features, those impossibly beautiful pools of an earthy, sometimes almost golden brown twinkled in the fairy lights strung up around the venue. 

Her arms had been around his neck, fingers tangled in the curls of his hair. The picture didn’t show that, her hands were slightly cut off, but the way she’d been looking at him was indescribable. 

It was as though Kate was truly seeing him, and the feeling of being emotionally laid bare before someone, was entirely new for Anthony. It had spread over him, sent a warmth through his body that he wasn’t sure he’d felt before. 

The urge to kiss her at that moment had never been stronger. However, Anthony knew there were lots of people around them, and didn’t want their private little moment to be shattered by anyone’s comments.

It had been a long day when Benedict showed up at Anthony’s office with an envelope in his hands and gingerly handed him what had now taken residence in his heart as his favourite photograph. 

Lost in his thoughts, Anthony had been brought back to the present as Benedict began to grab his attention. 

“Oi, Anthony!” he exclaimed, as Anthony was jolted out of his reverie.

Looking up at his younger brother, he smiled, grateful he’d given him this memory in physical form.

“I just- thank you brother. When did you take it though? I thought you were dancing with that guy, Granville?” he questioned, watching the pink tinge rise up Benedict’s face. 

“I was, at first, but then I saw you two dancing and I couldn’t help it.” Benedict looked sheepish, but ultimately not sorry at all. 

If he was being honest with himself, Anthony was grateful to Benedict. He might only just have acquired the picture but already he wanted to hold on to it. As he gently dismissed Benedict under the pretence of more work to be done, emails to be answered, et cetera, Anthony took the photo and placed it in his wallet, for safekeeping of course. 

And there it remained, though the photograph was taken out repeatedly over the course of the weeks and months it was in his wallet. It was worth it, just to get a glimpse of the happy moments he’d had, dancing in Kate Sharma’s arms. 

They’d begun to run into each other more often since then, Kate seemed to be invited to every Bridgerton birthday or event, given how close she and Daphne had apparently become. As they came to know one another more, Anthony and Kate always seemed to bicker about something. It only got worse once she found out he had a title. After that, all hell broke loose. 

Is your country house big enough for you my lord? How’s the Oxford education coming in handy? Are you sure you know how to change a tyre? On and on it went, relentlessly, though some not so small part of Anthony enjoyed it, relished in the feeling of being challenged. 

And for once, not because he was failing, but because she wanted to get under his skin for the sheer delight of it. 

Their arguments lit him on fire, made him feel better, made him sharper, more concise. It was showing in his work too, he became more efficient and precise in it. In some way he thought he should thank her, but perhaps that would overstep a boundary. 

For all their bickering and arguing, they had never truly let each other in, although Anthony suspected that perhaps she understood him far better than most. 

Walking back into yet another “I’m leaving the country to go on holiday for months on end” party for Colin, Anthony instinctively took out his wallet to look at the photograph of him and Kate. It was slightly faded, and the edges had softened but Kate’s expression as she looked up at him still made his heart swell. In that moment, he’d been so sure , convinced that he’d kiss her. 

Now, all these months later, he wasn’t so strong in his convictions. Still, as he neared the assembled group, he couldn’t help but be drawn into it, swept up in Kate’s eyes that had firmly been locked to his.

Thoroughly distracted by the picture he was holding, Anthony bumped into someone and in his surprise, dropped both his wallet and the photograph. 

It was Kate. 

Heart pounding, Anthony hoped she hadn’t seen his wallet fall down in the throng of people. She turned, and once more, Anthony was entirely lost in her eyes. 

Bending down, Kate picked up the wallet and the picture, mouth forming a small ‘o’ of surprise when she saw who was in it. 

“Anthony! Where did you get this, when did—” she stopped in the middle of her sentence, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. 

“I… well Ben took it at Daph’s wedding when we were dancing, without me knowing and gave it to me a couple of days later so I just kept it.” He said, apprehensively, heart thumping in his chest. Gingerly, hesitantly, he held his hand out for it, hoping she’d give it back. Her fingers brushed his as both wallet and picture were placed in his palm, and a spark of something ran through Anthony at lightning speed. 

As Kate looked into his eyes, Anthony’s heart almost leapt out of his chest. He’d been anticipating that she might reprimand him for keeping the picture, but something like understanding flashed across her elegant features. 

“It’s a nice picture, I can see why you kept it.” Kate said, softly as she held his gaze. 

As he thanked her, Anthony hesitated. He wanted to ask her to dinner or a coffee, or something, but a nagging feeling held him back. After all, he had no idea if she was with anyone. Last he’d heard she’d been casually seeing Tom Dorset, an old friend from his uni days. For all he knew she could be well on her way to being engaged to him. 

Well, he hoped not. 

As the words began to form in his throat, Anthony looked around, searching for Kate but she had disappeared into the crowd. 

Feeling slightly dejected, Anthony made his way to the bar at the back of the room, sidling up to Eloise, who was sipping on what looked like the most sugary drink in existence if the almost neon pink colour of it was any indication. 

“Why are you moping about in this corner?” she said, by way of greeting. 

At this point Anthony was used to this kind of interaction with Eloise, she’d grown ever more stubborn over the years, but really, he admired her for it. After all, being a Bridgerton sibling required some level of tenacity and strongheaded-ness.

“Hello to you too Eloise, lovely to see you as always, dear sister,” Anthony replied, and made sure to sound more saccharine and sweet with each word that left his mouth. 

Eloise rolled her eyes at him over her drink, but there was no heat in it. No matter how much they had disagreed over the years Anthony had been a sort of father figure to her, it was always his arms she sought out when she was particularly overwhelmed. And for that, Anthony would forever be grateful, despite the growing number of times he had considered cutting his sister off for her antics. 

Flagging down the bartender, Anthony ordered another whiskey and another cocktail for Eloise, something called a cosmopolitan which he’d never heard of before. As long as she was happy, that was all that mattered to him. Even if Eloise did have questionable taste in drinks. He’d support her no matter what.

As he turned to his sister, he noticed her grinning down at her phone, then she slyly put it in her purse. 

“Who was that?” he teased, a twinkle forming in his eye. 

“If you must know, it was Edwina.” she supplied, a suspicious look forming on her face. 

“Oh, how is she these days? Still studying philosophy or whatever it was?” he asked. 

Eloise frowned, “As a matter of fact, she is, how did you know that? I thought you hadn’t met her yet.”

“I haven’t,” Anthony supplied, taking the opportunity to sip his whiskey before Eloise’s interrogation began.

“Then who-” Eloise cut herself off as a knowing look crossed her features.

“What?” Anthony asked, innocently. 

Eloise simply gave her eldest brother a look before Anthony caved and told her.

“Fine. Kate told me,” he admitted, sheepishly taking another sip of his whiskey as his sister’s eyes widened. 

“Did she now? And when precisely did that happen? I thought you hated each other? When did that change?” Eloise peppered him with questions in such quick succession Anthony was having trouble keeping up. 

“It happened at Daphne’s wedding if you must know.” Anthony told her, slightly reluctantly, because he knew it was only a matter of time before this morsel of information made its way through the constantly busy “Bridgerton family grapevine” group chat. Though at this point, being almost two whiskies deep he was a little past caring if all of his siblings found out. 

Eloise did not appear shocked by this information. In fact, Anthony would wager she might have already known something had happened between him and Kate. Nothing physical of course (well, he hoped that would come in time) but he suspected that Benedict hadn’t exactly been discreet about their interaction on the dance floor. Bridgertons were many things, but subtle was not one of them. 

Knocking back the rest of his whiskey, Anthony interrupted Eloise’s no doubt rambling thoughts with a proffered hand, the music had started up again and he wanted an excuse to dance with his sister. 

“May I have this dance, Miss?” he asked, hand outstretched, palm facing upwards. 

It was a game they’d played years ago, Anthony would pretend to be some important but arrogant lordling, and Eloise dissolved into fits of giggles every time he puffed his chest out, full of self importance. 

“You may, my lord,” she responded in kind, getting off the barstool she’d been perched on and placing her hand in his. 

He led her onto the makeshift dance floor, and began twirling her around as she grinned in delight.

“So, brother dearest, have you spoken to Kate recently? How is she?” It had only been a minute and already Eloise was beginning to interrogate him. 

“Benedict told you something didn’t he?” Anthony asked, already guessing that the gossip of his and Kate’s dance had made its way around the sibling group chat. 

“I will not be revealing my sources. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Eloise responded, though the small glint in her eyes gave her away. 

Anthony had known Eloise her whole life, he knew exactly what her face did when she was hiding something. There had been too many broken vases and suspicious instances of doors being left open late at night for him to not pick up on her antics.

Besides, being ‘sworn to secrecy’ meant absolutely nothing to the Bridgerton siblings. It simply meant the siblings would tell each other faster than if the secrecy hadn’t been enforced.

Anthony just laughed. Truly it didn’t bother him if all the siblings were talking about it, he knew what they were like and likely they would all forget about it next week, when something more exciting than the prospect of their older brother talking with a woman to whom he was not related would surface.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before Eloise finally admitted her burgeoning relationship with Edwina, and then truly all hell would break loose. The ever present running monologue in Anthony’s head had now turned into a chorus of his siblings’ excited voices when they inevitably found out about Eloise’s feelings. There was nothing the Bridgersiblings loved more than meddling in each other’s lives, particularly love lives and this would provide fuel like nothing else. 

The music faded out, and the dance ended, both siblings with a glint in their eyes, each convinced the other’s gossip would outshine their own. Anthony walked Eloise back to the bar before hugging her to him. As much as she annoyed him some days, she was still his sister, and he loved her fiercely. 

“I’m going to head home, do you need a lift back to your apartment?” he asked, noticing how tired she looked. 

“Yes please, I’ve had a long day and I’d like to reunite with my bed.” she said, as she grabbed her purse and followed him out. 

That night, Anthony slept fitfully. His large, soft bed with its seemingly endless duvet was too soft, too stifling, not quite right. 

Thoughts of Kate, her impossibly long legs and ink black curls cascading down her shoulders and back had plagued his mind. Her scent, it was sweet and light, maybe lilies or jasmine, the faint hint of spice, something musky, almost earthy, had hung around her. 

There was something about her that kept drawing him in, every small piece of information either she’d given him herself, or Daphne had mentioned offhandedly, had been stored in his heart, alongside the way she’d looked at him when he’d had her in his arms. The look on her face as she’d gazed up into his eyes was irrevocably imprinted on his mind. 

Eventually, he managed some form of dozing before waking fully at dawn. Rosy fingers of light crept across the sky, and all of London below his penthouse apartment was still. He loved early mornings like this. 

The sky looked painterly, almost like a watercolour, the pinks, and oranges mingling together seamlessly, as if someone had taken a paintbrush to the landscape. There was peace and solitude, and a calmness washed over him as he sat by the window carefully sipping his coffee. The city glowed in the early morning light, it was like nothing he’d seen anywhere else, the juxtaposition of the soft sky with the glass buildings of London sharply marking their place. 

Dressed, with his suit in his bag, after yet another glance at his favourite picture, Anthony left and drove to his boatshed. Well it wasn’t just his, it was shared, even Anthony couldn’t afford the ridiculous rental prices for storing a single scull and a pair of oars. 

The boat glided on the still water of the Thames, the rhythmic sounds of the oars dipping in and out of the water, the slight burn in his legs as he completed each stroke. 

Breath evening out, Anthony began to slow his strokes, increasing the pressure, driving down his legs harder, coming up the slide ever slower. 

It was imperative for keeping balance to have even pressure, and feeling the oars slice through the water, Anthony relished in it. Each time he came up to the catch, he straightened his back, made sure his wrists were properly set before slicing both oars square into the water and driving back his legs with a measured sort of pressure that was at once fast and strong but delicate and precise. 

Rowing was a delicate balance of maintaining momentum and speed, but also making sure technique was perfect. Oars feathered as he slid up to the catch, arms outstretched in front of him, making sure his back was a solid line, and not rounded like it had been in his early days. 

There was nothing better than the feeling of the boat gliding across still early morning water. Light had begun to bloom across the sky, the city was coming alive around him as he rowed ever harder. The boat glided in a straight line in the middle of the river, Anthony making sure to keep even pressure as he rounded each stroke squarely off, every comment about making sure the finish was square, and legs staying flat, careening around inside his head.

Though he didn’t row competitively anymore, Anthony still kept his scull and used it as often as he could, particularly when he hadn’t slept well or needed to be by himself. 

He remembered the first time he’d used it after his father had died, the sharp knife of grief twisting in his gut, the mask he wore around everyone else slipping, and for an hour, maybe two, he had let the boat and the oars bear the brunt of his frustration. All the anger and sadness he’d been holding in had been let out that day. 

Losing his father felt like a gut punch, the pain and anger and resentment all twisting themselves into an unbearable sadness that lingered over the family for months. Hyacinth had not yet been born, and when she was, after a long and difficult labour, it was all Anthony could do to keep himself together for her. The first weeks of Hyacinth’s life were suffused with a sadness that Anthony could not let go of. Almost all he could feel was guilt. Guilt that this baby, who he loved dearly would never know her father, and instead be saddled with him as a substitute. 

His therapist told him it was a good idea to continue rowing as often as he could, she felt it helped him relieve tension he otherwise would carry on his shoulders for too long. Well, that and the therapy helped. Slowly, he’d been able to face his grief and let it out. Though he still struggled some days, particularly around the anniversary of his father’s death, it felt more bearable now. There was less of a sense of loneliness lingering around him. 

Since his father’s death, Anthony rowed when he could, trying to maintain a schedule of at least a few days a week, preferring to row in the mornings when everything was quiet and still.

Joggers often ran along the banks of the Thames, some eyed his scull curiously but most were focused, and kept their heads facing forward, music or podcasts likely streaming through their headphones. 

Today though, something felt different. For the first time in what felt like years, Anthony felt alive , and rejuvenated despite his restless sleep the night before. 

Turning his boat around, he began to make his way back to the boatshed, relishing in the feel of the oars skimming the water, the slight chill hanging in the air. Birds might even have been chirping, somewhere in the distance, in a park nearby. 

He looked up briefly towards the right bank, the one closest to him and to his shock, running almost alongside him, with her hair braided behind her, was Kate. 

And in that moment, her eyes flicked up, and her gaze locked itself on his. 

Feet pounding on the concrete, a steady rhythm beating in her chest, Kathani Sharma was focused. The usual way through her favourite park was closed, the grounds too muddy and wet from the recent rain so she’d had to change route, and decided to run along the banks of the Thames. Though it was a pretty polluted river, there was something about it in the still of the morning. And Kate had always loved mornings. 

The party the previous evening had been fun, but bumping into Anthony had not been in her plans, though she didn’t know if she’d be able to avoid him, the throng of people milling about had been busy. 

Thoughts of his face when she’d picked up the picture from his wallet off the floor swirled through her head, Kate had had no idea Anthony was in possession of a copy of the photograph. For some reason, when Benedict gave it to her, she hadn’t questioned him about anyone else having one. 

The run that morning was partly in an effort to clear her head, and partly an effort to let off steam. When she was younger, Kate had run to let out her grief, to feel her feet touch the ground, to ground herself while trying to outrun the sharp blade of emotions inside her. 

When her father died, she stopped running for a while. The grief and loneliness surrounding her were needles, sharp and splintering, constant reminders that he was gone. So, in those first few months Kate retreated back into herself and stopped running. It felt like a reminder every time she did, so she busied herself with looking after Mary and Edwina, taking on burdens she now knew were too big for her. A regular therapy appointment helped though, and since she’d been going to therapy, Kate had recommenced her morning jogging. It helped clear her head, and when she felt particularly overwhelmed or anxious, it was a welcome relief. 

And this morning after a particularly restless night of tossing and turning, all Kate wanted to do was get outside and run. She’d woken when the early dawn rays of sunlight pierced through the gap in her curtains, a soft glow lighting her otherwise dim bedroom. 

It was partly why she’d picked that place, the way the morning sun lit up the house and bathed everything in a golden light that mellowed as the day went on, but gave a warmth to her place that she craved constantly. 

Running gave her something to do when her mind was all over the place. And seeing Anthony Bridgerton’s copy of a photograph she had assumed was only hers was certainly worthy of a run. 

Having managed to banish the lingering questions in her mind, Kate had set out that morning on a run that though not her usual route, was still calming and grounding.

A few other joggers were out, most had earphones in, but Kate preferred being able to hear everything around her. As she turned around to head back to her parked car, Kate took in the surroundings. Everything was slowly waking up, she could hear more cars, the sounds of London gently coming alive in the early morning. The pinks and oranges from before had left, the sun was bright but still soft at this hour. 

Feeling the urge to look at the river, she noticed a lithe, lean form cutting through the water. Long, extended strokes, oars slicing the water, a small trail of wake rippling to the banks from the stern of a single scull, carving through the water. 

It was Anthony. 

Her throat was suddenly dry, she wasn’t sure if Anthony had seen her but as she kept her gaze on him, he looked up. Their eyes locked, and for a split second, Kate could have sworn time stilled. Not stopped, or slowed, just stilled. 

There was a calmness in her now, his brown eyes rooted her to the spot, as if he could read her mind and was answering every question threatening to spill out of her. There was no way she could have known she would see him here, but watching Anthony and his boat carve through the water, leaving her in his wake it felt oddly right. Though she had no idea where he would leave the boat, Kate somehow knew she would see him again, perhaps not in these precise circumstances. 

As his lean form pushed the scull through the water, she felt bereft somehow. The warmth of his eyes lingered on her, and though they hadn’t exchanged a single word, it felt like an entire conversation had occurred. 

As Kate headed back to her car, she felt lighter, the familiar tightness in her chest had lifted and she realised she had run further than normal, but her legs felt strong, and decidedly less achy than usual.

Driving to work was mostly a chore for Kate, but this time she felt invigorated. It wasn’t often that she went for a run before work, opting mainly to do so on weekends, only occasionally before work, sometimes at lunch as a way to get out of the office for a while. 

As she walked into her office, Kate spied a large bunch of flowers on her desk. 

That’s odd , she thought before sitting down and checking to see if there was a note attached to them. It was a large arrangement of lilies and tulips, oranges and pinks mainly, but the small pieces of greenery throughout the bouquet did well to break it up visually. 

Finally finding the small card slipped in between a lily and a tulip, Kate delicately fished it out and turned it over. 

To brighten up your morning. 

-AB

The phone number below the initials confirmed her suspicions. Not that Kate knew anyone else with the initials AB but still. As she snapped a picture of the arrangement, Kate quickly shot off a brief, but polite thank you text to Anthony, put her phone down and got to work. 

There was a meeting that morning with a potential new client, some real estate developer group she’d only sort of heard of before, and that afternoon she’d be meeting with someone from Bridgerton-Basset. 

The meeting was primarily to discuss their merger, Danbury Law had been doing well but Agatha was a longtime friend of both the Bridgertons and Bassets. Apparently there had been the idea to merge the firms for some time now, but because this was the legal sector, things moved slowly. 

The morning flew by, the flowers on Kate’s desk kept cheering her up, and she even got comments on them from various people popping in and out of her office. 

Three o’clock came, and Kate might have missed her afternoon meeting entirely had it not been for her assistant Rose poking her head round the door. 

“Hey Kate, your 3pm meeting is here, I’ve told him you’d be right with him.” Rose said, as she noted the flowers on Kate’s desk. 

Kate looked up. 

“Great thanks Rose, oh and can you tell Emily I need those copies by the end of the day please?” she said, collecting herself as she stood. 

“Yep, I’ll let her know.” Rose said as she left, and made her way across the office to where Emily sat. 

As soon as Kate had begun to make her way to the reception area, she had the feeling that she was going to be meeting with Anthony. There hadn’t been any specifics of who exactly would be showing up that day, it was usually one of the senior solicitors or partners,  but Anthony had never come into her office before. 

And there he was. Sat in one of those impossibly soft, cloud-like couches, a small divot formed between his brows, looking down at his phone texting furiously. 

“Anthony, hi! You’re meeting with me today,” Kate said cheerily, trying to disguise her nerves. “Follow me and we’ll have a chat in my office.” 

He stood up from his position on the couch, and Kate’s eyes met his. In a split moment she could have sworn he was looking into her soul, there was something about his piercing brown eyes that cut right to the chest for her. 

“Great, lead the way,” he said, matching her enthusiasm. 

The walk to her office felt at once interminable and short. It was hard to describe the way it felt to have his eyes on her back, the sensation of being thoroughly looked at and seen was new to her. Sure people had glanced appreciatively every so often, but something prickled at the nape of her neck when Anthony was behind her. 

When they got into her office she shut the heavy door behind him, and gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite hers. Somehow, it looked right having him in her office. He easily slid into the leather chair, and looked slightly expectantly at her as she sat and began to pull out notes and documents from the folder sitting on her wooden desk. 

The meeting went well, though Anthony’s eyes strayed every so often to the bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk. Because she hadn’t had the time to look at her phone that day, Kate was unsure if he’d even seen the message she’d sent, but brushed that aside and focused back on the meeting. 

For some reason, she was having trouble finding a comfortable position for her legs, so she crossed and uncrossed them a few times throughout the meeting, trying to move into something that felt natural, but elegant and business-like. A flush rose up Anthony’s face, and reached his ears, and Kate, though she’d noticed it, chose to brush it off as the room being slightly too warm for him. 

As Anthony got up to leave, Kate couldn’t help but blurt out her thanks for the blooms on her desk. 

“Oh and one more thing, thanks for the flowers, they did indeed brighten up my morning,” she said, a little hesitant, but she felt as if she might burst if she didn’t say something. 

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you like them!” Anthony said, his face blooming with a pinkish tinge now, his ears reddening as a shy grin danced across his elegant features. 

He left her office and all Kate could smell was whatever cologne he’d been wearing. It was smooth, something earthy and grounding but suffused with notes of citrus. The scent trail he left behind was at once calming and arousing, and Kate had no idea what to make of it. 

Anthony was hanging on a knife’s edge. No one had told him he’d be meeting with Kate until he got to Danbury Law and by then it was too late to run away and bury his face in a pillow or something. 

The meeting had gone well, brilliantly even. The details of the merger were finally coming together after a long few months of emails being sent back and forth and constant phone calls to Agatha Danbury and her various employees. 

Nothing had prepared him to face Kate today though. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs during the meeting and it had taken everything in him not to haul her over the desk and run his finger along the seam of her just to see if she was wet. 

Somehow, though he hadn’t been able to really see her legs at all, those tiny movements had captivated him and Anthony was sure his half-hardness was entirely too visible after he left her office. 

The flowers he had got her on a complete whim that morning were proudly standing in a vase on her desk, the note that had been in them next to it, face down. A not so small feeling of pride ran through him at the idea that people had been coming in and out of her office and maybe even commenting on the arrangement on her desk. The fact she had kept them on the desk was a good sign, maybe even a sign that she was not in fact dating Dorset. There had been no sign of a boyfriend on her Instagram that Anthony could see, so he was taking this as a win. 

As Anthony took his phone out of his pocket, he realised he’d not read the message presumably Kate had sent him earlier. It was an unknown number, but the message and accompanying picture of the bouquet were more than enough to tip him off that it was in fact Kate who was sending her thanks to him.

He replied, conscious that it had been hours since the text was sent, but he’d had a busy day, emails back and forth to various team members, and phone calls all morning. 

Anthony Bridgerton: Hey, you’re welcome, I thought you might like them but didn’t know which flowers you liked best. Did I guess right?

Kathani Sharma: You did actually, how did you know? You have time to stalk me after this morning? 

Anthony Bridgerton: Funnily enough no, I just saw them and thought of you. Glad you liked them

The conversation flowed a little more after the initial exchange, it felt easy talking to Kate, even though inside, Anthony’s heart raced. Not sure that there was an appropriate time to ask out Kathani Sharma, Anthony kept a lid on it for now. After all, they didn’t know each other that well.

It was July now, the heat of the summer in full force, and Anthony couldn’t wait to get away from it all. The annual Bridgerton-Basset gala was in a couple of hours, and Anthony, though he had procured no date for it, would likely spend the evening with his mother. Violet was no longer really involved in the firm and would attend primarily as a shareholder and investor, however it was somewhat of a tradition for her to attend as well as the eldest few Bridgerton siblings if they were in the country and hadn’t procured an excuse to get out of it. 

Violet enjoyed attending, it gave her the chance to see some of her society wife friends and mingle with them while also unsuccessfully trying to pair up any of her children with her friend’s children. If there was one thing all the Bridgerton siblings knew about their mother, it was that she was a relentless matchmaker, convinced she could bring couples together, though the siblings were wary of her efforts. 

His mother having been safely deposited by her friends at the entrance of the building, Anthony made his way to the ballroom. 

As he entered the ballroom where the gala had started, Anthony’s breath caught in his throat. 

Across the room Kate stood in a long sleeved, floor length mint green gown, her hair flowed behind her in waves that Anthony desperately wanted to tangle his fingers in. 

She looked, in a word, radiant. There was something about her most days that made him want to swoon, as if he was some regency era lovestruck fool, but on this night particularly, Kate was glowing . 

There had been more meetings in the last few weeks and Anthony’s last thread of honour threatened to snap a little more each time he saw her. There was something entrancing about the way she so casually moved around, as if she was unaware of how graceful she looked at all times. Though he hoped she hadn’t picked up on the amount of restraint he had to exercise around her and the frequent hiding of his half hard cock, Anthony rather thought she did some things on purpose, simply to tease him. 

There was no way she didn’t know that crossing her arms across her torso pushed her breasts up, that the casual flick of her hair didn’t send the smell of something floral and sweet right into his nose. For all her professionalism with him, Anthony was almost certain he was being flirted with. The flowers on Kate’s desk were replaced with another bunch that Anthony had delivered to her, that time the note had been more flirtatious than the first time and he hoped the delivery person hadn’t looked at it too intently.

Tonight, Kate was wearing a dress that was frankly obscene. It glittered and glimmered in the light, each small crystal on it sparkling, the shards of light they threw around the room danced on the floor and walls. Her hair was flowing behind her, a few loose tendrils framed her face and Anthony ached to push one back behind her ear. There was something about her in that dress that was utterly sinful , yet regal and more elegant than Anthony had ever seen anyone look he was sure of it. He forced himself to clamp his jaw shut, and not let it hang agape while staring at her. 

After all, he was a serious man, here to socialise and welcome the newer people to the firm that had come from the Danbury Law merger. Some of them were already mingling with people from Bridgerton-Basset, which was a promising start to the alliance of the two firms. The name partners and the more senior solicitors from Danbury Law had been invited, as well as a few of the junior associates, to keep the mixture of people at the gala interesting. There were more than a dozen rather lively conversations Anthony could see happening around the room, a reassuring thing as the two firms hadn’t had much interaction prior to that evening. 

As was custom, early on in the evening Anthony was called to give a small speech to the assembled group. He  touched on how important this gala was, and how he wished everyone a wonderful night mingling with their newest coworkers. He closed with a few words about his father, the legacy he hoped to uphold and the importance of carving your own path in the world. 

“Oh and lastly, I just want to thank my best friend and business partner, Mr Simon Basset, for going on this journey with me, it’s been an absolute pleasure to work with you, even though you are my brother in law now and I have to see you at every family function,” he said, before leaving the front of the room to give Simon a hug. 

“Basset! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?” he said, as he stepped towards Daphne and wrapped his arm around her, giving his sister a small, comforting squeeze before relinquishing her back to her husband’s embrace.  

“Doing well mate! Have you found a wife yet? Daphne tells me that at our wedding you were dancing with someone she described as and I quote ‘very beautiful and if he doesn’t date her, I’ll find someone who will’ does that sound familiar?” he said, grinning as a blush bloomed across Anthony’s face, and the tips of his ears warmed. Daphne smiled knowingly, tucked into her husband’s side. 

“Just because you found a wife in five minutes Basset! Besides, who said I don't already know where the woman of my dreams is. And you can’t talk, you married my sister, she was right under your nose the whole—” Anthony trailed off, suddenly aware of Kate’s gaze on the back of his neck. 

He turned around and could vaguely hear his sister and Simon giggling together, but suddenly he found he didn’t care.

She was propped up on a stool by the bar, her legs dangled from the edge of it, and a pair of nude strappy heels just poked out from the hem of her dress. 

Suddenly, Anthony found himself being not so subtly shoved forward with an encouraging whisper in his ear from Daphne. “Just go and talk to her,” she said, as she walked away from him, hand in hand with Simon, laughing. 

As he walked over to the bar, Anthony had to remember to clamp his jaw shut lest his mouth go even dryer at the sight of Kate Sharma sitting atop a barstool. There was nothing explicitly erotic about it, but as he neared her, Anthony could tell she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Either that or the dress had a lining that was just the right thickness to conceal underwear lines. 

As he sat down on the stool next to her and ordered a whiskey for himself, he slyly glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, Bridgerton. What’s a handsome man such as yourself doing in a place like this?” she asked, a glint in her eye.

“In your history of using it, has that line ever truly worked for you, Sharma?” he asked, as he concealed the laughter that threatened to bubble out of his chest. 

“Once or twice.” Kate arched her brow imperiously at him, and Anthony had to stop himself from kissing the smirk off her face right then and there. 

“Has it? Are you sure?” he asked, grinning a tad foolishly but he didn’t care. 

She leaned over, and got so close to him Anthony could almost count the freckles on her nose. Putting her lips to his ear, she whispered. 

“Very sure, and as a matter of fact, I think it’s going to work at least one more time,” Kate said, her breath tickling his ear, she was so close that her perfume enveloped him. 

As she pulled away, Anthony blushed. There was nothing particularly arousing about what she’d just said, but the combination of her being that close to him and his full view of her cleavage as the whisper curled around his ear sent the blood rushing straight to his cock. 

Trying to contain the rising blush on his face, Anthony distracted himself with another sip of his whiskey, willing his dick to calm down before anyone saw anything. 

Eyeing him over her drink, Kate shifted a little on her stool and Anthony caught sight of a papery edge in her purse sat atop the bar. Curiosity threatened to overcome him, but he restrained himself, not wanting to poke around. 

A delicate balance of flirting and professionalism hung between them now, it had gone past a casual friendship into something undefinable, something just a little bit more. 

Abruptly, Kate reached into her purse and fished the papery object out, delicately as if she didn’t want to damage it. She looked at him then, and he could see something in her eyes, lingering just below their surface. 

“I have a confession to make,” she said slowly, as if gauging his reaction to her words. 

“Is it saucy?” Anthony asked, a teasing lilt colouring his words. 

“Not exactly, but I have a hunch you’ll be interested to know what it is,” Kate said as she laughed.

“Go on then, tell me. Confess your sins to me Sharma.”

Arching an expertly manicured brow, Kate handed him the piece of paper in her hand. Except, it wasn’t a piece of paper after all. It was a photograph. 

His photograph. A carbon copy of the one currently in his jacket pocket, tucked into his wallet. 

The anticipation hung between them like the moments before a torrential downpour. The air was thick with it, and Kate’s heart was beating a staccato rhythm in her chest as their fingers brushed and Anthony took in the picture she’d just handed him. 

“Benedict gave it to me,” she supplied, just as his eyes met hers, and confusion crossed his face momentarily. 

“Bloody meddling siblings,” Anthony said, though Kate didn’t detect any real heat behind it, in fact, he appeared rather pleased all things considered. 

“I know, they’re the worst sometimes aren’t they?” Kate said, as laughter bubbled in her chest. 

“They are, but I might just have to thank Benedict for this,” Anthony said as he looked up at her, a twinkle forming in his gaze. 

Unsuccessfully Kate tried to hide her slight confusion, but before she could react, Anthony got down from his seat and proffered his hand, palm upwards, his eyes flickered up and down her body, and she almost shivered involuntarily. 

There was something about his gaze that entranced her, and made her feel alive in a way that she hadn’t felt in years .

“Where are you taking me?” she said, as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her away from the bar, not before she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and made sure she hadn’t left anything behind. 

“It’s a surprise,” Anthony said, his eyes for once weren’t giving her any clues, expression mischievous but light, and carefree. 

As it turned out, the surprise was a balcony, off one of the adjoining rooms where the gala was being held. Two chairs and a small, low table adorned it, as if it was happenstance, or serendipity. Something hung in the air between them, a tenderness, a hesitancy, it crackled and fizzed in the space they occupied. 

They sat, and everything was still for a while. The lights of the city below looked like stars, twinkling and shifting, a kaleidoscope of colour. 

Anthony broke the silence first. 

“I think Eloise and Edwina are seeing each other,” he said, turning his head to look at Kate. 

“And I know they are.” Kate said, as a smug smile formed on her face. 

“How on earth do you know?” Anthony spluttered. 

“I grilled Eddie about it weeks ago. Keep up, Bridgerton!” Kate teased. 

“Well, I’m thrilled for them. Though if my mother knows about it, she will no doubt already be planning their wedding. If she asks you what Edwina’s favourite flowers are, and what colours she likes, that’s a sign,” Anthony said, a smile colouring his voice as he spoke. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kate laughed, enjoying this small moment with him. 

They lapsed back into silence for a while, neither willing to shatter the peace between them. 

It was unclear how much time had passed before Kate noticed Anthony’s hand reaching out to her. As she put her hand in his, she felt the way his palm was soft and callused at the same time. There were no active blisters, but the calluses at the top of his palm steadied her. He had warm hands, and soon Kate found herself rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, almost absentmindedly.

Tentatively, Anthony spoke, breaking the silence hanging in the air. 

“Do you think it will ever start to feel normal? Standing in a father’s shoes?” he asked. 

Kate turned her head once more to look at Anthony. “In my experience no, it won’t,” she said, “I think that’s a good thing though. I don’t think you’re supposed to replace your father, because then the space that was left for you is empty.” 

As he looked back at her, Kate went on. “I know that for me, after my father died, I felt like I was drowning. Mary was consumed by grief and couldn’t get out of bed for months really, and Edwina was too young to understand anything except that Appa wasn’t coming home anymore. It took me years, but I slowly realised that even though I was doing my best to emulate him and be the head of the house, I’d lost a piece of myself along the way. And he wouldn’t have wanted that.” Kate’s eyes welled with tears, and she stopped talking as the memories engulfed her. 

Anthony’s hand was her anchor, his thumb rubbed small circles on the back of her hand, grounding her and bringing her back to the present. 

“I felt the same when my father died. Hyacinth wasn’t born yet, and mum was inconsolable. I was everything my siblings had. And I felt like a failure. I felt like I was failing him, because how could I have ever measured up to my father? I’m not sure when it changed, but once I took over the firm properly, and had Simon become my business partner, something shifted. I think somewhere along the way I started realising I could honour his legacy but also carve out my own.” he said, his eyes a mirror of Kate’s, unshed tears pooling in their brown depths. 

“That sounds very wise of you,” Kate said, a smile creeping up on her face, levity blooming between them. 

“Thanks, sounds like the therapy sessions are paying off then,” he answered, a grin identical to hers suffusing his face. 

All of a sudden, he stood up and offered her his hand. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused. 

“May I have this dance?” he asked her, softly. 

As she got up and placed her hand in his, Anthony’s arms encircled her waist and Kate was immediately transported back to the very first time they’d danced, at Daphne’s wedding. This felt like that, but different, and not just because of the privacy they now had. 

“There’s no music,” she said, curious to see if he would somehow procure some. 

“Ah, but there is. Listen,” he whispered against her ear, the words softly curling around her head, enveloping her in the velvet of his voice. 

And there it was. Faint, slightly filtered through the doors between them and the gala, a song played, the words indistinguishable, muffled but she could hear the music underneath. 

They danced for a while, wordlessly swaying to the faint hum of music filtering through doors until it reached them. 

Somehow, Kate felt entirely safe in his arms. They had a reassuring weight, his hands were warm and it was as though he was holding her like she was the finest porcelain. A delicate touch, soft fingertips grazed her back, and shivers of pleasure ran up her spine.

Gradually, they stopped, and with a tenderness that rooted her to the spot, Anthony took one of her hands and softly kissed the inside of her wrist before he led her back to her seat. 

As they talked more and more, the sounds of the gala nearby began to dwindle, until Kate was convinced everyone else had gone home, and they were the only two people left there. 

Checking the time, she realised it was late, and high time for her to be going home. Selfishly, she hoped Anthony had driven and she’d get a lift home, but would also be content with taking a taxi.

They got up, and walked back through the empty ballroom before arriving outside the building, the sounds of London‘s nightlife surrounding them. It was warm, the night air tinged with anticipation. Even so, most people were at home, only a few clubs in the area were open. Queues formed by their doors, hordes of who Kate assumed were university students, waiting to be let in. 

Hand in hand, Kate and Anthony walked around the building to where he had indeed parked his car. 

“Do you need a lift home?” he asked, not letting go of her hand. 

“If it’s convenient for you I’d love one,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t be offering if it was inconvenient, I promise,” he replied, opening the passenger door for her and closing it once she’d sat down.

The car ride passed by quickly, though Kate teased Anthony about having a car in London in the first place. 

“I mean really, who drives in London?” she laughed, as Anthony tried to justify himself to her. 

“There’s always someone who needs a lift somewhere. If it’s not Colin either to or from the airport, it’s one of the kids who needs to be picked up from sports or school, or something,” he countered, an easy smile gracing his features.

In the midst of their teasing, Anthony’s left hand found itself in Kate’s lap, gently rubbing her inner thigh as if to comfort her, or him she wasn’t sure. The sensation was nice though, and sent heat pooling in Kate’s core. 

Eventually, Anthony rounded the corner of her street, and Kate prepared herself for the loss of his hand on her thigh, having gotten used to it, she didn’t wish to be parted from it.

“It’s just this one up here,” she said, pointing to the small house she rented. 

After he parked the car, Anthony turned off the engine and looked at Kate.

“I had a really lovely evening with you, thank you for the company,” he said, his gaze holding hers, the warmth in Anthony’s eyes just discernible in the glow of the streetlamps nearby. 

“It was my pleasure. Hey, did you want to come inside and have a cup of tea? I have some boring English tea if you want some,” Kate offered, almost shyly. 

“I’d love to,” Anthony grinned. 

The house was immaculate, and decorated exactly how Kate liked it. Everything had its place, even the smallest things had their purpose. And best of all, it was all hers. It had taken a long time, but after much encouragement from Mary and Edwina that they could both manage not living with her, she finally moved into her own flat. Well, it was a house, but still, she was renting it. 

The door clicked behind them and after they took off their shoes, Kate made directly for her kitchen. 

“Do you want English tea or Chai? I have both,” Kate said, as she bustled about the kitchen, putting her kettle on to boil. 

“Surprise me,” Anthony said as he watched her, leaning on the benchtop, his eyes flicking around her kitchen as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

As she moved around, Kate felt his stare on her, his eyes darkening ever so slightly every time she lifted her arms to reach into the spice cupboard. 

“What?” she teased. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking about how beautiful you look. That’s all,” Anthony said, as his eyes roved around her body. 

A blush suffused her face, though Kate hoped Anthony couldn’t see the effect his words were having on her. 

Somehow, Anthony had managed to find himself here, in Kathani Sharma’s kitchen, watching her make chai, long elegant fingers pinched precise amounts of whole spices, gently depositing them in a mortar and pestle. 

Cinnamon, star anise, cloves, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, and some sort of longish, pale green seed were thrown together in the mortar before Kate grabbed the pestle and began grinding them to a fine powder. The motion was practised, purposeful. Nothing jumped out of the mortar, the spices slowly but surely breaking and splitting, the pieces getting smaller and smaller until the whole thing turned into a fine powder. 

“Let me guess, you’ve done that before haven’t you?” he said cheekily. 

“Once or twice perhaps,” Kate laughed, as she boiled the spice blend and then filled two mugs with the hot liquid and strained tea leaves. “Do you take milk in your tea?” 

“Should I?” Anthony asked. 

“Try it without first, and then if it’s too spicy you can add some milk,” she said, smiling as she handed him the mug of chai. 

As he raised the mug to his lips, the aroma of spice hit Anthony squarely in the nose. It was at once warm, and rich without being cloyingly sweet. He took a sip, and a moan rose up in his throat. It was at once gingery and spicy but slightly sweetened from the anise, warm, and comforting. 

“Who taught you how to do that?” he asked, as his eyes met hers when he put his mug back down onto the bench, cradling it in his hands. 

“My Appa did. I think the first time I did it I was about six? With lots of adult supervision of course, otherwise I’m sure there could have been some sort of international incident the family would have been embroiled in for not using the right amount of something,” she said as her eyes misted over, lost in the memory of what it felt like to finally be allowed to help her father in the kitchen, the way he’d gently corrected her, asking her to smell things before they got put in the mortar. 

There was something about Kate getting so visibly lost in her remembering that tugged at Anthony’s heart even more. There was an all too familiar look on her face, one that he himself had often worn, particularly when he thought of the things Edmund had begun to teach him but never been able to finish. 

They moved to the living room then, mugs in hand, and settled on opposite ends of a soft, slightly worn, dark blue couch with a cream coloured blanket thrown over it. Despite their rather formal attire, somehow Anthony felt at home there. The couch was comfortable, and Kate was as radiant as he’d ever seen her, but there was something different here. Something more personal, intimate. After all, he’d never been to her house before, though she had visited Bridgerton House many times.

Time seemed at once to fly by in a matter of seconds, and simultaneously still. There was something about talking to Kate that made Anthony feel alive. Her laughter was quite possibly his favourite sound, it was throaty and full. 

Gradually, Anthony found himself inching closer and closer to Kate. Or perhaps she was inching closer to him. Either way they now found themselves rather close to one another, giggling over photos of Eloise and Edwina as toddlers, the mischievous spark in both of their sisters clear and present right from the beginning. 

“So you’re telling me, that you, Anthony Bridgerton, let Eloise get paint all over her face like that?” Kate laughed. 

“To be fair, Daphne was supposed to be keeping an eye on her while I skived off babysitting duties, but the poor thing was so caught up in her book that she forgot about supervising Eloise entirely and then, well, the paint happened,” he said, as he held up his hands in mock defence.

“Well, then you are entirely absolved of any blame for that incident,” Kate said as her legs brushed his and Anthony felt something course through him. 

There was tension now, it was palpable, crackling in the air, hanging in the balance between them. A shift had occurred, and, though it was difficult to pinpoint when exactly it had happened, he could feel it. Slowly, he reached a hand out and gently brushed the stray curl by her face back behind her ear. Their gazes locked, and once again time stood still.

Leaning forward, Anthony ever so softly brushed his lips with hers. As if that was all the permission Kate needed, she leant into him, and deepened the kiss. A little stunned, Anthony wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, and manoeuvred her so she sat sideways on his lap. They broke apart, and it was all Anthony could do to stop himself from ripping her dress off and taking her right then and there, on the couch in her living room. 

When Kate was settled in his lap, Anthony leant back into the couch, giving her room as she rucked up her dress around her hips and turned to face him. Legs straddling either side of him, Kate brought her lips back down to his and once more, Anthony was utterly lost to her. 

It turned out that every kiss before this one paled in comparison. It was fierce, but gentle and her lips tasted like cinnamon and clove, spices lingered on her lips, the tea now long drunk. Grabbing onto her legs, Anthony stood up, her hands were tangled in his hair, their mouths fused together, hips grinding against each other as if there could be any doubt for either of them now. 

Breaking away for a moment, his eyes looked searchingly into hers, and saw an emotion reflected in them that took his breath away. Something simmered below the surface, it looked like a mixture of unbridled lust suffused with strong emotion, a state Anthony was currently experiencing himself. 

“Bed?” Kate asked, the remnants of the question lingering in her eyes as they searched his face. 

“Yeah, which way?” Anthony asked, and as he adjusted his grip on her legs, her wet heat rubbed against his hardened cock, straining on his trousers. 

“Left side of the hallway, the first door,” Kate said, breathlessly as she clung to him, her hands moving to his shoulders. Her legs were wrapped around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass, a delicious pressure building there. 

The door to Kate’s bedroom opened, and Anthony turned to deposit her softly on the bed. Taking his time, he peeled off her dress, revealing the nude lacy bra she wore underneath, stripping that off as well, his earlier suspicions about lack of underwear finally confirmed. 

Half-standing on the bed, Kate reached up to him and tugged off his crisp white shirt, slightly wrinkled now from her hands roving all over his torso. It flew across the room and landed, crumpled on the floor. Hands immediately went to his belt next, Anthony’s trousers were unceremoniously thrown across the room in a heap where his shirt had landed only moments before. 

It was all he could do to gaze down at her, in awe of just how beautiful she was. Not that he could ever forget it, but here, stripped of her garments, a half smile forming on her face, Kate was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

“Kate,” he breathed, his voice ragged and slightly hoarse. 

“Anthony, quit talking and come here,” she said, her eyes never once leaving his. 

Obliging her, Anthony sank down on the bed and trailed kisses along her skin, savouring the small mewls she made as he licked and nipped at her. One hand rested on her breast, the other slowly, with a featherlight touch, made its way down to her core, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he reached her mound, Anthony took care to slow right down, ignoring the small upwards movements Kate was making against his hand, gently pushing her labia apart, teasing her clit relentlessly before he finally pushed a finger inside her. 

The movements only grew more frantic, Kate always seeking more pressure, more friction, just more. Anthony was only too happy to oblige, adding another finger before long, his thumb circling her oversensitive clit. Lips on hers, he swallowed her moans, encouraging her with his fingers and thumb, working her until he couldn’t resist anymore and buried his face in her pussy, licking and lapping at the wetness there. 

“Please, Anthony, I need you,” Kate gasped through her moans. 

Tearing his face away from her swollen, needy pussy, Anthony looked up at her. 

“All you had to do was ask sweetheart,” Anthony replied, his hand closed around the box of condoms on her bedside table, tearing one off and open, before he rolled it down his length. Slowly, he sank down inside her, groaning into Kate’s mouth, his moans swallowed by her, every inch of his body she touched was aflame. 

There was no other way to put it, he simply burned for her, needed her touch in a way he’d never needed a woman’s touch before. There was something electric between them, magnified by his thrusts into her, their moans tangled together, a breathy chorus in the air around them. The room grew hot, and sweat beaded on Kate’s chest. It was instinctual, the way Anthony’s tongue darted out, swiped itself across her breasts, licking the sweat off her.

Everything was at once new, exciting and different. The energy between them was hot and heavy, the air suffused with a tension that shattered. The sensation of pushing inside Kate again and again overtook Anthony, it was all he could feel, the only thing that kept him tethered to a sense of reality was her. Perhaps it always had been.

He reached a hand down, and toyed with her clit some more, eliciting a breathy moan, and even a small bite into his shoulder. Their hips collided, both grinding desperately at each other, needing more and more friction. Filthy words sliced through the air, curling around them like smoke, encasing them in their own private bubble. 

Flipping them over, he encouraged Kate to take the lead, her body responding with a renewed lust as he felt the tension in her pussy. The way it tensed and tightened around his cock was earth shattering, she cried out, toppling over the edge of her pleasure. Anthony soon followed suit, his orgasm heightened because of hers, the aftershocks running through her squeezing around him, and he came with a soft shout, hips bucking upwards, his hands on her waist, sated and breathless. Kissing her, Anthony gently guided himself out of Kate before she went to the bathroom and he deposited the small tinfoil package in the nearest bin. 

Coming back into the room, it only took a single word from Kate for Anthony’s resolve to break, the idea of going home now, after what had transpired between them was unthinkable. 

“Stay,” she said, patting the bed next to where she lay. 

“Okay,” he replied, climbing into it with her. 

They fell asleep quickly after that, Kate curled on her side, Anthony’s arms encircling her, the feeling of utter bliss overtaking them both as their eyes fluttered shut. 

The next morning, Kate woke to an absence next to her. Confused, she sat up, wondering where Anthony had gone, or if she had gone crazy and in fact dreamed the whole thing. 

From the kitchen she could hear something, a soft clattering of pots, and the smell of something cooking. Curious, she ventured out, footsteps muffled by the carpeted hallway, and then she heard it. Loud and clear. Anthony Bridgerton was in her kitchen, cooking something that smelled divine, and was that, singing? It was. 

“Well well well, what’s all this then?” she said as she walked into her small kitchen, suspicions confirmed. 

“Hello darling,” Anthony replied, an easy grin adorning his face as he turned to face her. 

“Anthony Bridgerton, is standing in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast and singing?” she chuckled. 

“I’m a man of many talents I’ll have you know,” he replied, taking a step toward her, arms slightly outstretched. 

“Oh, I know. I believe I experienced a few of them recently,” she said, stepping into his embrace. 

“You know lots of things don’t you?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice but his eyes gave him away. 

“You’re right, I do know lots of things,” Kate said, proudly. 

“Well, here’s a new thing I want you  to know. I love you!” he said, his eyes roaming her face, gauging her reaction. Apparently emboldened by what he saw there, he continued, “I’ve loved you since we danced at Daphne’s wedding, I loved you when you yelled at me the first time. I loved you when you heard about my dad and instead of giving me a pitying look, you just listened, and understood. I love you when you’re angry, when you’re sad, but especially when you’re happy. And I just need you to know that. When we met, it felt like I had been waiting 12 years for you. Something clicked, and I didn’t know what it was at first, but it turns out my heart recognised yours. I love you Kathani Sharma.” he said, and as Kate saw his eyes well with tears, so did hers. 

“Well I love you, Anthony. I’ve loved you since you breezed into my life. I love your laugh, it lights up your face. I love the way you are with your siblings, the way you look after everyone else first. I love the way you argue, it makes me better, sharper somehow. And I think somewhere along the way, I was waiting for you too. I can’t hold it in anymore, I just love you, desperately, wholeheartedly, irrevocably,” she said, as tears ran down both their cheeks.

Their foreheads met, and in that moment, standing in the middle of her kitchen, with Anthony’s arms around her, a stack of crepes on the countertop behind him, Kate had never been more grateful for Benedict taking that bloody picture at Daphne’s wedding.