Penelope's eyes narrowed. "I believe we were discussing your 
Her voice rose on the last four words, and Colin realized he'd been scolded. Soundly.
Which he found extraordinarily irritating. "I don't know why I thought you'd understand," he bit off, hating the childish tinge in his voice but completely unable to edit it out.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but it's a little difficult for me to sit here and listen to you complain that your life is nothing."
"I didn't say that."
"You most certainly did!"
"I said I have nothing," he corrected, trying not to wince as he realized how stupid that sounded. "You have more than anyone I know," she said, jabbing him in the shoulder. "But if you don't realize that, then maybe you are correct—your life is nothing."
"It's too hard to explain," he said in a petulant mutter.
"If you want a new direction for your life," she said, "then for heaven's sake, just pick something out and do it. The world is your oyster, Colin. You're young, wealthy, and you're a man." Penelope's voice turned bitter, resentful. "You can do anything you want."
[…]She stood, smoothing out her skirts in an awkward, defensive gesture. "Next time you want to complain about the trials and tribulations of universal adoration, try being an on-the-shelf spinster for a day. See how that feels and then let me know what you want to complain about."
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