Archive of Our Own

Is she mine? Yes. You kept her from me. Yes.

The words play in his head on a loop. He can’t seem to escape them, no matter how much whiskey he downs. 

“Christ.” He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, cigarette in his hand. “A baby.”

The bartender frowns at him - but he’s been hired by Bas, so discretion is his speciality. He wouldn’t have a job otherwise.

(Fatherhood. It wasn’t something he ever truly contemplated, rather it was something he avoided at all fucking costs. The idea of children just never seemed to fit into the life he was leading. His ambition was his child, his baby, the one he nursed and attended too. He remembers the heady feeling the first time he ever rode a horse; the way the wind felt through his hair, whipped his skin raw and red. It was the first flush of freedom, the realization he could be something, someone, through this beautiful relationship with his horse. It started something of an obsession - that which led him all the way to Olympic podiums and the corridors of power in government.)

If Rupert were an honest man - which, when he’s quarter of a bottle of whiskey deep, he can be - he’d been lost since he announced his retirement from showjumping. The novelty of politics had worn off, quickly, and seemed to drag on, endlessly arguing over stupidity and doing away with common sense.

He’d been looking for something when he met Taggie. He’d been looking for escape, for salvation, for redemption, for some kind of lifeline in a lifetime of regretful choices. He’d just never expected it to take the form of her .

Rupert pours himself another whiskey - thinks, what the hell. If he’s going down memory lane, he might as well be truly plastered in the process.

(She’d been truly angelic, that night in the bar. Rupert had noticed her the minute she walked in, frazzled and huffing and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. But she’d been beautiful, too - in a quiet, introspective kind of way. Don’t look at me, look at her, her eyes seemed to say; as if Rupert could ever look away from her.)

For all intents and purposes, he didn’t think their fling would amount to anything. They fucked in the alleyway, drunk off martinis and the possibility of being caught. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again, even after he asked her to stay the night. (First time he’d ever done that, mind you, so clearly his heart knew something his head didn’t at the time.) 

Three months later, he was looking at rings - drunk on her, drunk on her love. It didn’t even frighten him, the fact that it was so soon, too soon, that he hadn’t met any of her friends, family, that their public dates could have been counted on one hand. Every kiss tasted like forever, and that was enough for Rupert.

When Taggie had stopped taking his calls, he assumed she’d figured it out. That she’d seen behind the mask - the dreadful, despondent man he was; how everything and everyone came second to his ambition. (Nevermind the fact she’d been steadily creeping up that list, reaching dizzying heights of importance that Rupert scarcely believed possible for another.) 

So after the third call of his she didn’t answer, he stopped calling. Buried himself in the blood and guts work of the backbench, passing bills and whipping up votes and doing everything he possibly could to avoid reminders of her. (It goes without saying that there were women, of course there were women, more than he felt comfortable admitting he used to fill the void of his heartbreak.)

Which led him right to the disastrous choice to get fucking married.

There was nothing technically wrong with his first wife - except for the fact she wasn’t Taggie. Which meant, right from the moment he got down on one knee and asked, she was never going to have a chance in hell. (He ruined her in all the ways he feared he’d ruin Taggie, and if that isn’t a shot in the arm, he doesn’t know what is.)

Their divorce, thankfully, wasn’t protracted and painful. After a few weeks of being splashed across Page Six, they both faded into oblivion, neither of their exploits being interesting enough to sell papers. (Without saying, yes, he fucked his way through half of London society, caring not if they were married or engaged, or widowed or single; looking only to fill the void that seemed to grow with every passing day. Let scandal after scandal build, caring not for his reputation because the three things that had made his life worth living - horses, showjumping, Taggie - were no longer his.)

Till now, till this moment - You have a daughter. She’s here.

The realization causes him to straighten up, frowning at his reflection in the backsplash of the bar, hazy amongst bottles of whiskey, vodka and tequila. He’d spent so long praying, begging for another chance, another moment to undo the mistakes of his past - and despite all Rupert had done wrong, God had still decided there was something in him worth saving.

Something worthy.

He has a daughter, and Taggie is here. Everything he wants is in his grasp, - again - and Rupert is damned sure not going to screw it up this time.

Their new normal goes something like this - every Monday afternoon he calls and asks after her, after Josie, how their weekends were. He subtly implies he’d like to see more of her, of them, if Taggie would be okay with it. And Taggie defers with a demureness, with promises of one day and soon.

What goes unspoken is she still hasn’t, exactly, told Josie who her dad is. Least of all, that he’s here in their town, living down the road from them.

One afternoon, Taggie picks Josie up early from school. They take the long way home, past the cows and sheep, playing games of I Spy and talking about the best kinds of cookies. When they get home, Taggie sets out colouring books and Josie’s favourite biscuits - because she has to do this, today - and so what if she has to bribe her child out of a meltdown?

(Maud did way worse to her, anyway.)

“So. Josie Posie.” Taggie grins, colouring in a flower in the book.

“Do you remember the nice man from the bluebell fields, the other day?”

Josie nods. “Yeah. Rupert. He was nice, and his dog was funny.”

Taggie smiles, thinking of the black labrador that rolled over in the dirt, whining for belly rubs. It’s just like Josie to attach to the animal first. Like mother, like daughter. (Like father, like daughter.)

“Yeah, baby. Rupert.”

And Taggie frowns, wondering how on God’s green earth she’s supposed to phrase this. Because it wasn’t in her edition of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, let alone any other parenting book she managed to drag herself through. (Fuck dyslexia.)

“He’s uh.” She clears her throat.

Josie tilts her head, her little inquisitive eyes peering up at Taggie. “Mama?”

Right.

Rip the band aid off.

“Do you remember when we were in the city? And your school had that Father’s Day party? And you asked me if you had a daddy.”

Josie nods, turning back to the colouring books in front of her. She doesn’t seem sad, Taggie muses, but - the brightness that was there seems to have dimmed. Like she’s being reminded of a time she doesn’t understand, but knowing it’s full of sadness.

“Well, you do.”

Her daughter pauses and looks up at her mother. Taggie can see the wheels turning in her head, because this isn’t the usual topic of their after school conversations, let alone a topic Taggie ever broached with her daughter. In fact, she actively avoided it for six years.

“I have a dad?”

Taggie nods. “Yeah. And you can know him, if you want.” She inhales deeply. “Because it’s Rupert, who we met in the field.”

Josie frowns up at her mother, and God help her, Taggie thinks, it’s so fucking cute to see that much confusion on a six year old.

Inhaling deeply, she tries to form the words to explain her complicated entanglement with Rupert - how can she sanitize the messiness for her six year old?

“You see, Mama was very young when she met Daddy. It was a very confusing time, but we both… we both loved each other very much. And that love is what gave us you.” Taggie gently bopped her daughter's nose, grinning as it crinkled in annoyance at the ticklishness.

(A little white lie, them loving each other. Only true on Taggie’s behalf, she’s sure.)

“Huh. Rupert. Daddy.” She scribbles the word on her paper, messy and too-large, the words look splintered. “Can I call him Daddy?”

Taggie startles. Not what she was expecting. “Yeah. If you want.”

Josie nods. “Okay. Cool.”

She stares and stares at her daughter as she colours, feeling like she’s having an out of body experience. She’s always known that kids are resilient, that they can take a lot in their stride before they show signs of not coping. (Taggie’s a perfect example of that.) But for whatever reason, she thought there’d be… tears. Maybe a tantrum.

“I understand this is confusing and you might be having big feelings about it. You might even have some questions for Mama, or even Daddy about it?”

Taggie doesn’t know why she poses it as a question, rather than a statement. Maybe she’s trying to prod the floodworks out of her daughter.

The little girl shrugs. “Not really.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You loved Daddy and Daddy gave you me.” She says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it makes perfect sense in her little six year old mind.

“Right.”

“Josie, just cause Daddy wasn’t here for six years, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Right?”

“Okay.” And Josie grins like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like Taggie’s world hasn’t tilted on its axis with how fucking calm her kid is about this whole thing. (Because it’s just fucking brilliant, isn’t it? She’s the most anxious person in the world, constantly feeling like she’s on the outside looking in. And somehow she’s got a daughter who’s the exact opposite. How the fuck did that happen?)

So she pulls her daughter closer, presses a messy, wet kiss to her forehead and closes her eyes. “We’ll go at your pace, okay?”

Taggie’s pretty sure she’s saying it more for herself than Josie.

The next day, they walk through the bluebell woods on the way to school and Josie’s delighted scream of Daddy! when she spots Rupert down the pathway, it is just enough to heal one of Taggie’s deepest wounds.

Watching as Rupert crouches to huge Josie, hesitantly, like he’s afraid to break her - their eyes meet and Taggie knows.

It’s healing for him, too.

“You bought her a pony.” Taggie frowns.

She’s a beautiful little thing, with a soft brown coat and kind eyes; she doesn’t even reach Taggie’s ribs, but she knows she’s the perfect height for her daughter. (Josie is going to flip her lid when she finds out what Daddy’s bought her - going to look like he hung the moon and the stars, because this is so much better than the toy pony Taggie found in the thrift store for her fifth birthday.)

But she isn’t just her daughter anymore. She’s officially transitioned to their daughter. Taggie’s got to share her now, share with her father, who’s already missed six years of her life and is determined not to miss anymore.

So she’s here. Trying to make amends, or whatever, trying to let him in and let him find his footing when it comes to fatherhood.

Which isn’t easy when he goes off and buys their daughter a fucking pony.

The hopeful, excited grin on Rupert’s face fades with every passing second. 

(Taggie smothers the guilt.)

“...Yeah.”

Taggie frowns harder. “She's six years old.”

Rupert shrugs. “I started riding at four.”

“So she's taking on the family legacy now, huh.”

“ Taggie .”

“Rupert, she's six years old.” She snaps, glaring. “She's only just learnt how to ride a bike without the training wheels. How on God's green earth is she supposed to learn how to ride a fucking pony?”

“I'll teach her.”

And there it is, the crux of the issue, the meat on the bone, the heart of the matter. The very thing that pokes at long forgotten wounds of her own. Taggie loves her father. She adores him, adores all the things he’s done, the people he’s interviewed and the name he’s made for himself. She loves him.

But the times he wasn’t there vastly outweighed the few he was. (And she’s not even touching the times he was drunk at her birthday parties, either.)

But Rupert isn’t her father, he’s Josie’s. He only found out about Josie’s existence some few weeks ago, and he’s thrown himself into fatherhood like a drowning man starved for air. He’s renovated rooms for Josie, on the sheer hope Taggie will let her sleep over. He’s bought clothes and books and toys; he’s spent every minute with his daughter that Taggie’s allowed for, even if he’s supposed to be working or doing something, or someone, far more important.

He’s living on scraps of a relationship with his child and he craves it - but her father had everything and still took her for granted.

Tears burn in her eyes. “...I have to go.”

All at once, Rupert frowns, seems to hesitate like he knows he’s waded into an emotional landmine. (God she loves him; loves the way he can still read her emotions, can still sense when she isn’t all herself. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - they only dated for three fucking months before she ghosted him, and yet, somehow, he seems to know her better than anyone else in the world.)

“Tag –”

She shakes her head and Christ, she cannot let him see her cry.

“No, this - this is too much too soon. I need to go. I'll call you later. I promise.”

(She never calls.)

It’s a rare morning that her Dad’s still home, hasn’t left before the sun’s risen.

She’s dropped Josie off at school by the time she gets back to the Priory and frowns at her father sitting at the table.

There’s dishes piled up in the sink she needs to clean; supply invoices she needs to handle for her latest catering venture and a menu she needs to plan for Lizzie’s birthday party. (Is her father helping her with any of this? Of course not, Taggie thinks bitterly, because that would require self-awareness he hasn’t possessed since her mother left.)

So, by the law of elimination, she starts on the easiest task first; even while her Dad sits at the kitchen table reading the paper, ignoring and unaware.

“So Rupert's been calling around here a lot of time recently.”

Taggie frowns, because, okay, maybe her father isn’t that unaware of what’s going on around him. “Right.”

(It’s not like she wants to come right out and say it - yeah, by the way Dad, remember how I got pregnant at twenty and you couldn’t look me in the eye for like two whole years? Well turns out the guy who did it lives down the road and some days you hate him. He’s also a massive womanizer and has slept with half the town but that’s neither here nor there, you know? )

“Tag, I don't know how to approach this and I know you're a grown woman but, Christ. I'm not an idiot and I can see the way he looks at you and -”

“Dad.” Taggie implores, feels the mortification flood her chest because this cannot be fucking happening, not here, not now, while she’s doing the fucking dishes.

“What?” He frowns. “I'm just saying maybe it's best to create some distance, he’s a laugh but not dating material -”

And, okay - she supposes this is happening and this is how it’s all going to come out. 

Brilliant.

“He’s Josie's father.” Taggie closes his eyes. “So even if I wanted distance, it's not up to me , it's up to Josie.”

The silence in the kitchen is deafening. In the distance, a cow moos in a field.

“Rupert… is my granddaughter's father.” Declan murmurs.

Taggie drops the dish in the soapy water and turns to face him. She dries off her hands, head tilting, trying to make sense of the expression on his face.

“Yes.”

“Rupert… got you pregnant… at twenty.”

Well. Looks like they’re going there already. Because there’s a deathly kind of calm on his face, the kind Taggie hasn’t ever seen - even when the truth of Mummy’s cheating came to light; to when she walked out the door on all of them without a care in the world.

(Figures.)

He closes the paper with ease, stands and straightens his jacket and heads right for the door. “I'm gonna kill him.”

And the way he says it - like he’s just ordered asked for a cup of coffee, like he’s commenting on the fucking weather - well.

That’s fucking new.

Taggie startles with alarm.  “Daddy, no .”

She moves to block the door, hand pressing into his chest - she can’t let her father kill her daughter’s father, it’s just too fucked up for words.

“Agatha. Move.”

“ Dad .” Taggie says firmly. “I understand this is a lot and this is not who you expected for Josie's father. But he loves her. He does. I can see it, even now. Even after I kept it a secret and didn’t tell him for six bloody years.” She inhales sharply. “So if you kill him, you're gonna break Josie's heart and I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize that.”

(Their relationship may be complicated - Taggie is the O’Hara sibling who looks the most like her mother; who reminds him of the ghosts of his failed marriage. She’s also the one who deviated the most from the path set out for her. No university degree, self-employed, pregnant and a mother at the tender age of twenty. Their relationship is a write off, probably, at this stage, but Josie?

Well.

Josie’s the apple of her father’s eye. He loves that kid, more than Taggie ever thought possible. Her dad was the one who nursed her through a nasty bout of the flu, when Taggie was so tired and frustrated that her fever wouldn’t go down, and she couldn’t even cry. He took her to work when Taggie couldn’t, he loved loved loved her right from the very first moment he held her.

Declan O’Hara may never love Taggie the way he once did - but he loves Josie.)

“Agatha, he touched my child.” He swallowed. “My daughter and he's got two fucking decades on you and he - he… He didn't even try to find you.”

The floodgates open and Declan’s face crumples and fuck - Taggie can’t believe she’s watching this. Seeing this. It’s the kind of emotion she didn’t think would ever come from her father.

“Oh, Da…” She breathes. Hasn’t used the Irish form of dad, daddy, since she herself was six years old. “He didn't know. That I was pregnant. I never told him. So if there's anyone you should be mad at me, it's me.”

Declan laughs wetly.

“I can’t be mad at you, Tag. Tried, when you came home pregnant. But I couldn’t.”

She isn’t sure what to make of that, what to do with that hand grenade - because she’s always assumed on some level, that her father harbored some kind of rage for the choices she made. It went against the very real image he had of her in his head and, well - it would have made sense was livid, angry, but. Now? Taggie thinks maybe he was just mourning.

Mourning the girl she was and adjusting to the woman she became in the span of one evening.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No.” Taggie shakes her head. “He never knew. Not the pregnancy, not her birth.”

Her father nods, returning to his seat at the table. (Taggie takes the moment while his back is turned to wipe away the tears gathering in her eyes.)

She heads back to the dishes in the sink, feeling like she’s walking through honey with how slow everything moves.

“Why did you keep it a secret?” Her father queries, and Taggie can feel his eyes on her back. “For so long?”

The wet, soapy dish in her hands slips and lands with a plop in the sink.

“O-oh.”

Okay, so they’re going down memory lane then.

Taggie clears her throat and frowns, heavily, at the dishes piled up; the soapy bubbles and her hands, pruned and wrinkled in the water.

“At first it made sense. You know, I was… I was twenty, I was going to university. I was working at a cafe and trying, failing to start my own business. He was so accomplished and… and smart and he was going places. I didn’t know who he was when we met, but. He had something… special. When I did find out who he was, I didn’t even care because, well. Everything they said about him in the papers, he was never like that with me.”

She frowns out the window. It’s all still so clear to her, the memories they have and the moments they shared. Time hasn’t dulled any of the feelings she has for him.

“And by the time it happened… well. We'd only been seeing each other for a few months.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Was it on purpose?”

Taggie freezes. She wants to throw up, wants to scream and smash the plate in her hand over her father’s head. She turns to face him, feels red hot with anger, with embarrassment. “Fuck off Dad, for implying I’d ever do something like that.”

Her eyes burn , because for every step forward in their relationship, there’s two steps back. (He can’t help treating her like a guest he’s interviewing on his TV show, even in the most emotionally vulnerable moment they’ve had in eight years.)

“No, it wasn’t planned. I didn’t pop holes in a condom because I wanted my own fame and my own infamy and I was hunting for a life better than mine.” Taggie seethes, glaring at her father for a beat too long, before the fight seems to deflate out of her.

“I was being safe. Careful. I was. I just.. forgot. To take the pill one morning. I forgot .”

In a way, Taggie desperately needs him to understand. Needs him to know that yeah, she may look like her mother, she may make mistakes like her mother - but she’d never get pregnant under those circumstances. (It’s an unspoken family secret, that Patrick only came along because Maud told the right lie at the wrong time.)

“So who was I to come in and ruin his life?” She shrugged helplessly. “Because his twenty-something three month fling was so stupid she forgot to take her bloody birth control?”

Taggie licked her lips, looking away and out the window. The sun has settled in the sky, lighting up the bluebells in the fields behind their house. There is peace outside there - and it’s hard to think it was the very site of Rupert discovering the truth of their entanglement.

“And then… after. After, I was so deep in it that I couldn't see a way out of it. It seemed better to just go away and let him live his life.”

Her father turns her words over in his head, seeming to understand it - understand her - in a new way.

“Did you ever want to tell him?” There’s something soft in the way he says it, like he isn’t trying to provoke an argument or question her judgment in one of the hardest moments of her life.

And Taggie - Taggie feels like she’s been shot, feels like someone’s cracked open her chest and scooped her heart out like it’s ice-cream. Because of course she did. Every moment of her pregnancy was utter torture without him - having to build cribs and buy clothes; having to find birthday presents at thrift stores because she couldn’t afford the new stuff with the meager shifts at her local cafe. The first time Josie kicked, the time she had the hiccups; the first time she heard the heartbeat.

All moments she deprived Rupert of - but moments Taggie deprived herself of too. (Because how was she supposed to enjoy this pregnancy if the one person she wanted to do it with wasn’t there, holding her hand?)

“Everyday.”

Something like peace settles into the silence in the kitchen. There’s the sound of plates being stacked in the dryer; the paper being turned as Declan leafs through today’s death and destruction; water sloshing as Taggie finishes the washing up.

“I still reserve the right to hit him, though.” Declan murmurs with a grin.

And Taggie - Taggie laughs, bright and happy and shining - because yeah, maybe they’re all going to be okay.

Maybe.

Her father knowing the full picture brings a new dawn, a new chapter. As a result, Taggie decides Josie having a sleepover with her dad might not be the worst idea. Of course, that is until the Friday she has to let her actually go.

The three of them are standing in the driveway of the Priory, Rupert hovering by his car, Taggie in front of Josie.

“Alright, have you got everything?” Taggie questions, tugging the beanie further down on her daughter’s head.

“Yes!”

Taggie grins. “Mittens, jumper?”

“Yes and yes!” Josie grins right back.

“Favourite blanket? Trusty stuffed toy?”

In all her six year old glory, Josie frowns heavily, like she’s disappointed her mother would ever question her leaving behind Brownie and Cookie. “Mama!”

“Alright, Alright.” She sighs, and crouches down in front of her daughter. Her fingers shake as she does the zipper up on her baby’s jacket. “Now. You'll be at Daddy's for the whole weekend okay, but if you get scared or want to come home or just need me for anything, just say so and I'll come running.”

(She’s trying not to let on that she’s struggling with this - that this is the first real time Josie’s been away from home, away from her. That she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with herself for two whole days, and it’s not even like she can stop it. Josie deserves to spend time with her father - Taggie’s already deprived him of six years.)

The gravel crunches as Rupert approaches, murmuring. “She’ll be okay, Taggie.”

Taggie frowns up at him, wants to snap - I know that, idiot, it’s me that’s struggling here.

Instead, she turns back to Josie and smiles. “I'll pick you up on Sunday afternoon, munchkin.”

Rupert holds his hand out for Josie, who takes it without even thinking. 

Taggie stands, watching as they bundle into the car, driving off down the road and up the Valley; keeps standing and watching till the car is no more than a dot on the horizon.

All at once, the feelings come rushing in.

Loneliness, abandonment. Fear, jealousy. Anguish and anger.

Almost in a daze, she turns and heads back inside. The Priory is quiet without Caitlin, without her father, without Josie babbling along as she colours or watches cartoons. There’s only Taggie here now and -

And the realization of alone, she’s alone, feels like a gunshot.

So, she does what she does best and decides to runaway from the feeling. Picks up the phone and dials a familiar number.

“Lizzie? It's me. You feel like setting me up on a date?”

The boy that Lizzie sets her up with is… nice. Conventional and appropriate. He asks the right questions and listens when she speaks. He doesn’t order for her or make pointed comments disguised as suggestions. He’s politely interested when she mentions her daughter, the life they lead here in Rutshire.

In short - he is bloody perfect.

(And that is what makes him so, so wrong.)

Because he isn’t Rupert.

No, Rupert is at home, his home - with their daughter for the weekend. Because she decided it was time, she was ready, Josie was ready - she loosened the reins and let him in, just a crack; let him take Josie for the weekend so they can bond and so she isn’t depriving her daughter of her father.

But Rupert isn’t an option - the six years of lies and half truths are an ocean between them, something she cannot cross. (And even if she could, somehow, even if she wanted to - she’s not what matters right now. The relationship between Josie and her father has to come first. Even at the expense of her own heart, her own desires.)

So Taggie smiles, and takes another sip of her wine - and suppresses the longing she feels for a date with a man who is the exact opposite of the one sitting across from her.

Her father’s show cracks some kind of record and suitably, decides to throw a party to celebrate. (Taggie is left with the actual details, something she tries not to resent - a fact that’s been getting harder and harder since arriving here.)

She’s dressing canapes an hour before all the guests are set to arrive, when Rupert sidles up next to her and a cheeky glint in his eyes.

“So. You're dating.”

Taggie drops the blini in her hand, and wildly turns to look at him. “How -?”

And he’s grinning, like he finds some kind of amusement in her panic, in her attempts to keep a secret in this town. “Nothing stays a secret here for long.”

“Brilliant.” She sighs.

And because this is the father of her child, because he’s already seen her naked and brought her to many, many orgasms - well. If she can’t be honest with him, who can she be honest with?

(Herself? Fat chance in hell.)

“I went on one date. And even if I did, what's it to you?”

Rupert hums, picking up his own canape to help her prepare, like it's the most natural thing in the world. (To help her .)

“You're the mother of my child. I feel inclined to some protectiveness.”

And she feels kind of giddy, like he’s just shown his hand to her more than he ever has before.

“Protectiveness because I might be bringing men around Josie, or protectiveness because I wasn't going on a date with you?”

Whatever. She might be a little drunk, sneaking sips of champagne when she’s supposed to be working. Sue her.

His eyes spark with amusement, but there’s something deeper, darker, something… possessive.

Oh. That’s new.

“Latter bleeding into the former.” He murmurs, and Taggie feels like she can’t breathe.

Because they have their carefully drawn lines, don’t they? Unspoken are they are - but Josie comes first. Josie is the priority. Josie is the one they both revolve around; Taggie doing her damn best to be comfortable with co-parenting and all the messiness it entails.

They are not supposed to hint at what happened six years ago to bring them to this point.

(But God, how she wants to. Wants to throw caution to the wind and let it all go. Tell him how she never stopped loving him, even when she wanted to hate him; how keeping this secret ate her alive everyday and then some. Tell him all the cute little things Josie did as a baby, how it reminded her of him so much it broke her heart; how she wishes for things like a ring and a house and another baby - one that’s planned and wanted and needed the way they need each other.)

Instead, Taggie swallows. Purses her lips. Sighs heavily with a shake of her head.

“...You can give her the pony.”

(She can't give him herself but she can give him this.)

Rupert grins like its fucking Christmas morning and God - Taggie is so, so screwed.

She’s standing at the edge of the paddock behind Rupert’s estate, watching as he lifts Josie onto the pony. There’s the softest of smiles on her face - something like love and a lot like adoration blooming in her chest. (This is what she dreamed of for so long, in the depths of those years apart. Having these moments as a family.)

“Mama, look!” Josie cries with delight, gripping the arms of her father where he holds her up in the saddle.

Taggie laughs. “I’m looking, baby!”

Her eyes meet Rupert’s, and something passes between them.

(Her mother once warned her, drunkenly, Taggie might add, that she had to be careful of any man she had children with. For once you did, that was it - they were in your life forever. Eighteen years minimum, sure, but more than that. At every wedding, every birthday party, they would be there. At the time, Taggie could see the advice for what it is - a thinly veiled complaint about her father. But now, looking at Rupert and their daughter, she thinks…

Well. She wouldn’t mind forever with him.)

Taggie isn’t sure how she managed to stumble into a semi-thriving catering business in Rutshire, but here she is. Cooking her way through half of the estates in the Cotswolds, leaving most of the housewives competing for open dates in her calendar like wolves fighting over a dead deer. (She doesn’t love the analogy, but it’s the closest she can come to describing the way Valerie Jones nearly took a knife to Monica Baddingham when she tried to make a permanent Saturday booking with Taggie.)

So here she is - baking her heart out in larger kitchens, planning menus and somehow, Rupert is always there.

“You know there’s a party outside. With your friends.” She grins, pointing at him with a piping bag full of frosting.

“But they’re so dull.” Rupert whines and God, he sounds exactly like Josie. “They’re all lords and ladies with estates and no lives or interests of their own.”

Taggie snorts and frosts another cupcake. “ You’re a lord with an estate and no life or interests of your own.”

He looks at her all affronted and offended, like she just spat on a hundred years of family history. (Whatever, she’s allowed - she gave birth to his daughter, she’s officially apart of that family history.)

“Excuse you, I have an incredibly bright and wonderful six year old daughter and a proud and passionate interest in the breeding and showing of horses.”

There’s something warm in her chest as she laughs. He’s an idiot and she loves him.

“Alright, tell you what, I’ll come get you in five minutes with some…” Taggie waves vaguely at the cupcakes in front of them. “Dessert related emergency, okay?”

But he hasn’t moved, instead looking at her like - well.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Taggie whispers harshly.

“Like what?” Rupert asks all innocent, his eyes alight.

She narrows her gaze. “Like you've seen me naked.”

Apparently they do this now - flirt heavily and dangerously. Toe the line that they’ve drawn in the sand. Rupert more so than Taggie, unless there’s wine involved and she forgets all about how if they do go there, she’ll be saddling him with a life he doesn’t want.

His answering chuckle is all sin and promise. “I have seen you naked. Many, many, many times in fact.”

(More times than Taggie can count, it’s true. How they’ve managed to fly under the radar with their flirting, with Josie, is beyond her. It probably speaks more to the fact that the residents of Rutshire care more for their own lives than the lives of the help.)

“You don't need to make it obvious!” She splutters.

“Hate to break it to you angel, but the evidence is already obvious.” He winks, before heaving a far too dramatic sigh as he stands to leave. “Oh God, here we go.”

And if she’s staring at his ass as he leaves, well, no one needs to know. In her defense, he has a nice one, Taggie thinks wistfully. Perfectly ripe like a peach, and she’d give anything to take a bite out of it.

So of course, the caramel sauce on the stove chooses that moment to catch fire.

It seems the moment her father gets wind of Taggie’s success on the party circuit, he decides it’s time to add his own to the mix.

So that’s how they find themselves one fateful evening that winter.

“Who’s that?”

“Hmm?” Lizzie hums around a smoked salmon tart, glances over her shoulder at the woman who’s just walked in. “Oh! Cameron Cook - she’s a new producer at Corinium, apparently. Absolute weapon from what I hear.”

“Oh.”

Which makes sense - she’s tall and fabulous, even without the designer clothes and beautiful jewelry. Her skin is flawless, smooth, polished like marble without a blemish in sight. She’s perfect, in all the ways Taggie isn’t and she’s hanging off the arm of Rupert the moment she steps inside the Priory.

(She’s arrived late - fashionably late, some would say, bordering on rude, Taggie would reply. But this isn’t her party, she’s just the help - so she can’t have her own opinion.)

Josie’s been clinging to Rupert for the better part of an hour, yawning around her tiny little fists and it makes Taggie frown. She’s tired, and why in God’s name did she let her stay up so late? (Oh, yes - because of Rupert. Because the moment Josie found out her grandda was hosting a party, she’d begged and begged to be allowed downstairs with the adults. Nevermind the fact she was shy with any new person introduced to her, and clung to her two favourite adults - Declan and Rupert.

She feels a bit rejected by her own child, if she’s honest. It’s the very thing she’d feared, on some level, but she’s trying to be better. Trying not to let her own insecurities cloud her judgment, cloud the relationship Josie has with Rupert.

But God, it’s hard, when she’s been the primary parent for so long. It’s hard to be objective about her daughter and her relationship with her father, how it’s a good thing they already fit so naturally, that Josie already loves him so much.)

And it’s certainly a lot easier to be objective when Rupert isn’t passing Josie off to her father in order to greet a beautiful lady instead.

Taggie swallows, her hand tightening around the stem of the wine glass in her hand.

She glances at the clock and frowns; it’s past Josie’s bedtime and if that isn’t the perfect kind of excuse, she doesn’t know what is. So despite the protests of her little six year old despot, she scoops her up and takes her upstairs.

Josie is bathed and in her favourite PJs, but she’s refusing to get in bed.

“Josie. It’s way, way past your bedtime. You gotta sleep , munchkin.” Taggie sighs, shaking the duvet slightly for emphasis.

Josie pouts, stubbornly staying silent and shaking her head vigorously.

She does this sometimes - goes selectively mute and unleashes her big brown eyes on her mother to get her own way. (Unfortunately for Taggie, it works every bloody time.)

Closing her eyes and sending a brief prayer to above, Taggie sighs. “...Fine. You can go downstairs to say goodnight to your dad and grandda and that’s it , okay? It’s way late and you have plans tomorrow.”

She lets out a happy squeal as Taggie picks her up and, well – she feels like she's just been played by her six year old.

As soon as they descend the stairs, Josie practically takes a header from Taggie’s arms, running straight for Rupert and Declan. All Taggie can do is shake her head. Her daughter, ladies and gentlemen. Half asleep thirty minutes ago, but now full of energy.

Of course, Cameron Cook chooses that moment to make her introductions as she hovers by the stairs and in the shadows.

“You must be Taggie. Declan’s daughter.” She murmurs. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Taggie tries not to grimace; she doesn’t want to think about what her Dad says about her at work. She's not entirely convinced it's all lovely.

“Right.”

Cameron tilts her head, dark eyes curious and probing.

“Your dad just adores you.”

Taggie keeps an eye on Josie, who's currently clinging to Rupert, face nuzzled into his neck. She can't help the fondness that blooms in her chest at the sight - it’s… its's overwhelming, really. How naturally he's taken to fatherhood, to being a parent to Josie. How he's never questioned her choices, never pushed for more time with Josie, even though it's clear how much he wants to be around her.

It's endearing. Whatever. (God she’s a mess - swinging violently from jealousy to endearment so fast she’s getting whiplash.)

Glancing back at Cameron, Taggie shrugs. “I know.”

“Rupert’s fond of you, too. Says you’re a whiz in the kitchen and all that.”

And the thing is… She’s had two glasses of wine, which is more than she’s had in years. It’s loosened her tongue, and the jealous monster in her chest is beating a warm drum. ( She shouldn't, she shouldn’t she shouldn’t - she’s being totally fucking hypocritical, because Taggie was the one who went on a date first. And even if she hadn't, there's no defined rules to whatever it is they're doing here. They're raising Josie, trying to find their new normal --it's not about them and their romantic intentions. But he brought Cameron; all leggy and fabulous and fucking beautiful.)

Taggie shakes her head. Fuck it. “Rupert feels obligated to me.”

Cameron frowns over at her. “What?”

Her chin jerks to where Josie’s clinging to Rupert’s leg, bargaining for a bedtime story or three.

“That’s our daughter.”

And it’s clear, Rupert didn’t tell her that, any of their sordid history and the results of it. Because there’s a shocked look on her face, as she glances between the young child and her date, barely there before it slips behind a carefully constructed mask.

(Taggie shouldn’t feel smug, shouldn’t feel like she’s just marked her fucking territory, but. See: the two glasses of wine.)

“Excuse me.”

Josie goes down without much fanfare, unable to keep her eyes open beyond a mumbled I love you, Mama.

When Taggie ventures downstairs again, she sees her father drunkenly dancing on the table, half empty bottle of whiskey in hand. Takes one look at him and promptly decides fuck that.

So she grabs a bottle of wine and ventures outside, falling into one of the benches outside. If she takes a glug or three straight from the bottle, no one has to notice.

“Where are your manners, Taggie O’Hara?”

Except Rupert Campbell-Black, it seems.

She snorts and shakes her head. “Thought you preferred me without manners.”

He tilts his head with a grin. “Touche.”

Wordlessly, he moves to sit next to her - thigh touching hers. (She’s too drunk for this, unable to fight back against any form of touch from him, unable to remind herself why it’s a bad idea.)

She hands him the bottle, watches as he takes his own glug straight from the mouth. He shouldn’t look as good as he does, doing that Taggie decides. Fucking unfair.

The two of them sit in silence for ages, watching as the stars come out from behind the clouds.

“So you told Cameron about Josie.”

Taggie exhales roughly. “Surprised you didn’t.”

(It takes her a minute to remember that almost no one in their little town actually knows - beyond their close circle of friends that is. To them, Rupert is the cad flirting with Declan O’Hara’s favorite daughter.)

Rupert shrugs a shoulder. “Not exactly first date material.”

Her eyes close. Ouch. Not the answer she was expecting, or wanting.

“It’s serious, then?”

Rupert’s head tilts as he looks at her. “Well, what is serious?”

She wants to tell him not to do that - don’t play with her feelings like that. She wants to tell him that it’s not fair, on her or her poor heart. That she can’t take much more of this, of dancing around the what if, the six years of history. (She once thought that said history would be too hard to overcome, had no idea of how to handle it. Now, she wonders if what’s harder is their own stupid approaches to each other.)

But Taggie doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she sighs.

“I don’t want her, or any other woman you may be sleeping with, around Josie.”

“Tag -” He frowns.

“No, okay? I don’t need her getting confused, I don’t want her to get comfortable with some other woman that you’re going to drop when you’re bored.” She shakes her head. “And I especially don’t want some woman gunning for potential step-mother telling my daughter it’s okay to call her Mum.”

She’s had too much champagne and her feet hurt and she’s so fucking tired. She’s tired of working to the bone to keep the fractured threads of her family together; she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t feel like she’s losing her daughter.

She’s tired of pretending she doesn’t love Rupert and has for the last six years.

Her eyes close, and a tear falls down her cheek.

Rupert seems to take pity on her - because he shuffles and sits next to her on the stone bench. Inside, the party roars with laughter and celebration.

“You know, Josie didn’t shut up about you the whole weekend she was with me.” Rupert murmurs, gently knocking his shoulder against hers.

Taggie frowns. “What?”

“Mmm.” He smiles warmly, handsome and pretty and oh so delicious. “You’re making the pancakes wrong, Mama doesn’t make them like that. Mama doesn’t like this cartoon. Did you know Mama makes the best brownies?”

Taggie smiles wetly, and can easily imagine how those words would sound in the voice of their six year old.

“She fucking adores you, Taggie.” He says, shaking his head like it’s the most simplest realization in the world. “No one, ever, could ever replace you in her eyes. And if that wasn’t enough, you did a bloody fine job raising her all your own.”

The words hang in the air between them.

“I only wish I was there to see it.”

Taggie closes her eyes. “I wanted to tell you. You have to know that. Everyday that passed, made it harder to keep a secret.”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t know how to find the right words at the best of times, how to give voice to the feelings in her chest. Here, tonight, it seems even harder. “But I was…”

“You were?” Rupert prompts.

“I was afraid. Because you deserved more.” Taggie whispered. “And I didn’t want to ruin your life, and then… have you end up resenting us in a few years, because we saddled you with marriage and fatherhood.”

Because she’s been a burden to her father, to her mother for so long. Doing away with all of their carefully laid plans. She didn’t want to add another person to that list - another person disappointed with her. (Taggie knows how to make it up to her father, knows that she can show him she’s sorry by trying to hold the fragile threads of their family together. But she wouldn’t know how to do that with Rupert.)

“Oh Tag.” Rupert sighs, grinning at her all fond and in love. It makes the next words out of his mouth hurt all the more. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Taggie spluttered.

“You’re fucking stupid. How could I ever regret you?”

He takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it with ease and takes a long drag. “Even before Josie.”

(He’s said things like this to her before, that day in the field when he found out about Josie. But she never thought much of it, never thought it meant more than a… than a sense of obligation about being Josie’s father.)

“Christ, Tag. You’ve got a heart of gold for every single person in the world, but yourself. You take care of your loved ones. You took care of me. I couldn’t breathe without you. Still can’t.” He shakes his head. “It was never just a fling for me. And Josie coming along would have just… sealed the deal.”

She feels like she can’t breathe, like this is everything she’s wanted and been waiting for the last six years. “What do you mean?”

Taggie looks at him, but he isn’t looking at her; instead, he fiddles with the lit cigarette in his hand, contemplating the gravity of what he’s about to say to her.

“ Rupert .” Taggie pleads. “What do you mean?”

Silently, he tugs at a chain that hangs around his neck, and Taggie frowns. She’s never noticed it before, never seen it - hidden beneath the layers of his shirt and tie. It’s a simple gold chain, but on it is a ring.

A diamond ring.

The kind you give someone when you ask them to marry them.

(She’s going to faint. Or throw up. On him.)

“You -” Taggie starts. “You carry that around with you?”

“Not always.” Rupert shakes his head, like the whole answer hasn’t just made the bottom of Taggie’s world fallout. “More so lately.”

She swallows. “It was supposed to be mine?”

“One day.” He pauses. “Maybe at the six month mark, rather than the third.”

And God help her, despite the serious topic of their conversation, the way not even five minutes ago, she unloaded years worth of insecurities and jealousy onto him - she laughs.

A second later, and he’s laughing with her.

They must look deranged, the two of them laughing like giddy schoolkids - and over a potential proposal that never happened six years ago. Slowly, but surely, the laughter subsides and Taggie wipes at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

All too quickly, reality comes crashing down.

“You got married though.” She murmurs gently. “To someone else.”

Rupert grimaces. “Not one of my finest ideas.”

He sighs, and for once, Taggie stays quiet, staring, watching and waiting. Let him come to the words on his own.

“I've been with more women than I can count the last six years. I barely see their faces.” Rupert murmurs, taps off the ash gathering at the end of his cigarette. His free hand gently reaches for her own, and Taggie lets him take it. Squeezes his hand in gentle encouragement.

“I married her because you left me. I was upset. I was lonely. Because when I'm inside someone, there's only one face I see.”

Hesitantly, Rupert shifts to look at her, really look at her. There’s some kind of naked, raw emotion on his face, and it - well, it feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for her to do something to push him out.

Because when I'm inside someone, there's only one face I see.

And Taggie - well. She’s never heard him be this vulnerable with her. Never heard him admit this kind of naked… love and adoration. He’s been searching for her in every woman since she left him six years ago - and if that isn’t the kind of devotion Taggie’s been waiting for all her life, what is?

“And then I saw you again. Here, in the last place I expected. Maybe that's a sign.”

Rupert looks at her with some kind of hope and Taggie - well. She does what any sane woman would do in this kind of situation.

She kisses him.

It’s far too simple, at first; their closed lips pressed together, dry and just this shade of chaste. She’s pretty sure she missed most of his mouth, instead half kissing the corner. Taggie pulls back almost immediately, because God, what the fuck is she doing? But Rupert’s looking at her, like she hung the moon and the stars and every other planet in the sky; like his whole world revolves around her, - like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as she has.

And then it’s nothing like that first kiss. It’s better.

He presses his mouth to hers, sucking softly on her top lip till Taggie gasps gently. He uses it as an opportunity - tenderly, he works his tongue into her mouth, massaging her own with his. It feels like she’s being consumed, like she’s being lit from the inside out and the only way to survive is to just keep kissing him.

There’s a hand on her hip and another on her waist - but those positions are just far too appropriate for everything she wants to do to him.

Instead, she grabs one and places it firmly over her breast, over the clothed fabric of her dress and squeezes.

Rupert groans into her mouth and Taggie grins, grins so hard her cheeks hurt even as she kisses him. (It’s nice to be reminded of her effect on him, honestly.)

Her hands cup his face, holding him impossibly closer, fingertips knotting themselves in the curls at the nape of his neck, before she gives a soft tug.

Another groan, and Rupert’s pulling her off the bench and into his lap, arranging her to straddle his hips, his thighs. Taggie can’t help herself - she rocks down once, firmly, into the hard length of him straightening through his pants.

“You - you brought a date.” She breathes, voice thin and closer to a whine, because Rupert’s kissing a path along her jaw; teeth nipping slightly and it’s all Taggie can do to just hold on and enjoy the ride.

“Guest.” He mumbles, kissing behind her ear, dragging his lips down the column of her neck.

God, she missed how he does that.

“W-what?” Taggie chokes out, because that - that feels like an important piece of information that she needs to take note of, but he’s doing fabulous things with his tongue to her neck and he’s firm and hard right where she needs him most, right where she’s craved him for six years - and well, she can’t hardly think.

Still, Taggie tugs weakly on his hair and Rupert sighs, pulling back just slightly, pressing his forehead against her own. His hands smooth away from her chest to wrap around her waist, like he’s almost afraid she’ll run away from him again.

(So not happening, Taggie thinks with certainty.)

“We’re trying to get together a bid to take over Corinium.” Rupert says. “Cameron gives us clout to do that. She’s a guest.”

Oh. Oh .

All of a sudden, it makes perfect sense. Cameron was late, but it didn’t matter, because the fact she showed up at all, lends legitimacy to what they’re trying to do. And Rupert invited her, so it makes sense he’d be the one she gravitated towards. (The short conversation she and Cameron had now makes total sense - and she was a right cunt about it all when she didn’t even need to be. Oops.)

Rupert seems to sense the way her mind’s working overtime - because he pulls back slightly, ready to drop some snarky comment, when instead he stops and grins with the realization.

“Were you jealous?”

Taggie glares, though she’s sure it doesn’t come off all too convincingly. “ No .”

“Oh Tag .” 

God, the way he says her name, like a prayer and a promise, all wrapped up in one. This man, he does things to her, even six years gone since she last touched him.

“So what if I was?” She replies, hoping the sass will cover just now nervous he makes her. “You were possessive over me with a simple blind date.”

“Yes, I was.” Rupert meets her gaze. “But I’ve always been possessive over you.”

And that, well. She’s kind of obsessed with the way that makes her feel. She likes knowing he’s there. Likes knowing he has her, even if no one else does.

So she grins, shakes her head and says instead: “Shut up and kiss me.”