Work Text:
When Taggie arrived home late after her day of catering for the Women’s Institute, the last thing she expected to find was Freddie Jones and her father sitting in the kitchen sharing a drink. Their boots left little piles of dried mud as they stomped them against the floor, laughing together about the funny things that had happened during the polo match earlier today.
Freddie, still in his muddy pink uniform, gets up from his seat to take the heavy boxes Taggie was carrying in. “Let me get that for you, love,” he says, pressing a kiss to Taggie’s cheek.
“Thank you so much, Freddie. Just there on the table, please.” Taggie says with a small smile and a sigh of relief.
Declan twists in his seat, whisky splashing over the rim of the glass he has a lazy hold on as he calls to her. “Hiya Tag, how’d it go?”
Taggie bends down, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek before she opens a box on the counter and begins to unpack it. “It went well, the WI especially loved the blackberry lavender cake I made. How was the match?”
“Hilarious!” Declan shouts with a laugh. Taggie looks over her shoulder at the two men, freezing when she notices Freddie’s withering smile at Declan. “First, Paul Stratton slipped in the mud when he was stomping divots, then, in the third chukka, Rupert got some sense knocked into him!”
“What do you mean?” Taggie turns to her laughing father, then back at Freddie. Her brow knitted together in concern. “What does he mean, ‘Rupert got some sense knocked into him?’” Freddie looks down at his mud-caked boots and lets out a deep sigh.
“Don’t worry too much, but one of the players on the other team swung wide. Rupert got hit in the head by their mallet," Freddie explains. Declan cuts off his next sentence.
“He flopped to the ground like a fish, the dramatic bastard!”
Seeing Taggie’s wide-eyed shock, Freddie steps closer to her, opening his arms to offer her comfort. “He’s fine, promise. His helmet took most of the hit; he was just stunned, really. The doctor checked him out and said that he would be tiptop in a few days.”
Freddie pulls her into his arms when he sees Taggie’s lower lip wobble, her eyes grow wet with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Rupe’s okay,” he whispers into her hair, quiet enough that Declan, who turned back to the table to get more drink, cannot hear them.
Freddie really wasn’t supposed to know that she and Rupert had a- well, whatever they had those months ago before the incident in the kitchen. But when Taggie told Lizzie, needing advice on what she should do, Lizzie, being Rupert’s closest friend and Taggie’s closest thing to a mother at the time, learned that Taggie was truly head over heels for Rupert. Lizzie also learned that Rupert may have felt the same way, but kept making every wrong decision when it came to Taggie. One too many Venturer meetings with Cameron in Rupert's arms after being told a man cannot breathe without you around would cause any woman to break down in her friend's kitchen as the biscuits burned in the oven.
Lizzie, in turn, asked Freddie to keep his eye on Taggie when she wasn’t around to do so herself. Freddie, unwilling to accept the lies he could tell Lizzie was feeding him, was able to pry the fact that they had kissed out of her eventually. Since then, he has been there for Taggie at every moment. A strong shoulder to lean on when Rupert and Cameron made a show of their love at Venturer meetings and campaigning events. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, a joke whispered into her ear to distract her. Taggie reminded him so much of his Shannon; he hated that his best mate Rupert’s stupidity was the cause of so much pain for her.
“Bastard was probably faking it to get out of doing work,” Declan mutters, taking a sip from his drink. He’s oblivious to the shattering of his daughter's world behind his back and the way that Freddie looks at him with rage in his eyes.
“Faking what?” Taggie asks Declan, then looks up at Freddie when she only gets a scoff in response from her father. “Faking what, Freddie?”
“The doc said he’s got a very mild case of amnesia,” Freddie says, stressing the word very in an attempt to make Taggie worry less.
It doesn’t work. Taggie stares at him, slack-jawed, starting her sentence over and over again as her mind moves faster than her mouth. “What do you mean by amnesia?” she practically howls at him.
“Short-term memory loss,” Freddie explains, running his hand up and down her arm soothingly. “Just until the knock to his head wears off.”
“He doesn’t remember anything?” Taggie asks, and Freddie shakes his head solemnly.
“And this is funny to you?” she berates Declan, who shrugs his shoulders in response.
“As I said, he probably faked it to get out of the damned dinner afterwards. Good idea too, talking to the focking sponsors was mind-numbing, and Baddingham was there with his slimy crony.” Declan lets out a shiver at the mention of his enemy's name. Freddie’s hand squeezes her shoulder, drawing her attention from her father to him.
“Cameron took him home, said she would watch over him. He’s supposed to get his memory back any moment now. He’ll be right as rain tomorrow. Promise.”
Taggie nods, pulling from Freddie’s arms and making an excuse about having to be up early the next morning. It works well: Freddie insists that Declan also go to bed, then helps him upstairs when Declan stumbles a little when he rises from his chair.
Taggie stands in the window of her bedroom, looking across the valley at Penscombe. The window to Rupert’s bedroom is illuminated in a hazy yellow glow. Cameron was probably helping him get ready for bed, helping him into his soft pajamas, pulling the bedding back to make it easier for him to slide in and rest his aching head, just like Rupert had done for her all that time ago.
The man was a bastard, Taggie had tried to convince herself of that on more than one occasion. But without fail, she always found herself drifting back to him.
The smile he offers only her, the boyish smirk that’s genuine and unguarded. The way he drawls her name, not Taggie, but the name he gave her. Angel. The most infuriating thing is that when they spend time together, the world feels so small. Like it has shrunk down to just him and her, the sunshine warming their skin as their shared laughter warms each other's hearts. Only for it all to end once he drops her back off at the Priory, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel, and giving her a cold ‘maybe another time’ when Taggie invites him in for a cup of tea and a bite of her roly-poly.
Letting out a sigh, Taggie slips into her nightgown, the red fabric flowing down her body and making her heart ache at the memories of Rupert guiding her to her bed. As she slips under the covers, clicking the bedside lamp off, she prays that Rupert, despite all his bastardry, is okay.
Across the valley, Rupert wanders through the vast emptiness of Penscombe alone. A black Labrador whose name he cannot remember, trots dutifully behind him, matching him step for step, as Rupert rediscovers his home. He takes in the paintings hanging on the wall in gilded frames, searching his mind for the name or something to tell him who these people are. He glides his fingers over the mantel in the living room, picking up a framed photo of himself with his arm in a sling and a gold medal around his neck. He shakes his head as he sets it back down, unable to remember a moment of the event that seemed to have meant so much to him.
Rupert continues to walk around the empty home, calling for the dog to come along. The dog looks at him with a tilt of his head before following Rupert into the study. He sits at the large desk, picking up random papers and sighing at the technical jargon written on them. The words swirl slightly as his eyes strain to read them, and he throws the papers down in frustration. Still searching for something to jog his memory, Rupert opens the drawers of the desk, hoping to find a journal or something to tell him more of who he is. To help him remember.
“What in the world?” he mutters to himself as he opens the bottom-left drawer and finds a pile of leaves. Letting out a scoff, he digs through them only to find a photo of two small children sitting in the lap of an auburn-haired woman. It was clearly captured mid-laugh, a small, wiry dog licking the little girl's cheek. The boy is looking up at the woman with such love in his eyes that it makes Rupert’s heart ache.
“Is this my ex-wife that Cameron told me about? What was her name? Harriet?” Rupert asks the dog, as if they would have the answer. The woman looks so familiar to him, her beauty so well known to something deep inside him. “It can’t be her,” he mutters to the dog, who stares questioningly at him. “Cameron said she was a terror, and this woman looks angelic.”
Rupert takes the photo with him upstairs in the bedroom, where he left Cameron while she got ready for bed.
“Hey, Cameron,” he calls as he enters the room.
Cameron lies in the bed, sound asleep. Rupert debates waking her. He looks down at the photo in his hands and desperately wants to know who this individual is to him, but decides to let her sleep. She was less than amenable when they came home, telling him to sit on the couch and just wait for it all to come back to him before she went off to do her own thing. She firmly told him not to bother her unless he desperately needed something, as she had to sort out the mess he had made at the match.
Rupert isn’t sure what she meant, doesn’t remember the match at all, really, except opening his eyes to see a mustached man shaking him awake. He remembers calling out a name as he came out of the fog, but can’t remember what the name was or who it belonged to.
Looking down at the photo in his hands again, he feels himself pulled to the window, to the light across the way. He stares out at it as it goes out, but is unable to move away from his spot. The turret of the home across the valley calling to him. As he stares at the building, something deep in his heart tells him that everything will be okay once he's there.
Looking back over his shoulder, he sees Cameron snuggle further into bed and then looks down at the photo in his hands. Unsure why, Rupert has the strong feeling that if he were to go across the field to that building, to that turret bedroom, everything would make sense. That the person there would be able to fix everything.
Taggie groans, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she flicks the lights on, illuminating the dark Priory in a warm glow as she fumbles down the stairs in a tired stupor. A consistent heavy knocking sounds through the house as she shuffles down the hallway, wrapping her arms around her middle to stave off the chill of the night.
“I’m coming!” she calls softly, trying not to wake her father. Her socked feet slip slightly on the smooth stone floor as she tugs open the back door by the kitchen. “Rupert?!”
He looks at her in wide-eyed shock as she immediately stands on her toes, holding his head between her hands gently as she turns him from side to side. Taggie looks over every inch of his head, running her fingers through his hair and over his cheeks. Rupert lets her check him over, surprised at how much she cares about his health when Cameron couldn’t even be arsed to get him some frozen peas for his bump. The sapphire blue of her eyes freezes him in place, her eyes running over his body as a litany of questions falls from her lips.
“What are you doing here? How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Did you drive over here? Did you walk here?!” Taggie slaps him on the shoulder, exasperated with him, without even letting him respond or defend himself. Rupert lets out a soft ow as he rubs his shoulder, smiling as Taggie continues on.
“You shouldn’t have walked over here; you could have gotten lost or hurt yourself!” Taggie chides, moving to look out the door to see if his car was nearby.
When Taggie was finally quiet, looking at him expectantly for an answer as she crossed her arms over her chest, Rupert smiled.
“You’re the girl from the photo,” he says, ignoring all of her previous questions.
“The photo?” Taggie asks, pulling him in by his arm. He follows her into the kitchen, where she turns on the light over the aga and turns to look at him again, now that the light shines on his tanned skin.
Rupert reaches into his pocket, pulling out the now slightly crinkled photo of her and the two children. “The photo,” he repeats, holding it out to her. “I found it at the bottom of a desk under a bunch of leaves?”
Taggie carefully takes the photo from Rupert, looking down at it with a soft gasp.
The day is a fond memory for her. Rupert’s children had been dropped off unexpectedly, leaving him begging for help with wrangling Marcus and Tabitha for the rest of the day, which Taggie was only too willing to offer. She taught them how to bake Rupert’s favorite, her famous roly-poly, with Rupert gently showing Marcus how to roll it up without it falling apart. Tabitha then demanded that they go to the barn so Taggie could meet her pony, which led to Taggie sitting on the back of Rocky, with Rupert’s arm tightly around her waist as they slowly rode out to the fields of Penscombe with a picnic basket full of a Ploughman's lunch and their freshly baked roly-poly.
Taggie and the kids ended the day by running around while Rupert napped under the shade of the large oak tree they ate under. Taggie had told them that if you catch a leaf before it touches the ground, it’ll give you a good day. The kids promptly decided they needed to catch thirty so Rupert would have the happiest November. At least, she thought he was napping; she surely didn’t know he was taking a photo of her with his children. She runs her finger over the photo, the memories flooding her mind as tears flood her eyes.
“You still have the leaves?” Taggie asks, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes.
Rupert looks at her with puzzlement. “I suppose I do?”
Taggie looks down at the photo, a small sniffle coming from her before she rushes forward. Taggie throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to her.
“Oh, Rupert,” she whispers, her breath ghosting against the tender skin of his neck.
Unsure what to do, Rupert’s hands hover over her torso. Eventually, he clears his throat, drawing Taggie from her thoughts. She takes a step back from him as she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” she says, a flush breaking across her cheeks as she brushes past him, grabbing the kettle and putting it on to boil. Taggie wipes at the tears that have slipped past her lashes as the water boils in the kettle. Rupert sits down at the table, watching patiently as she keeps looking down at the photo.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he whispers, breaking the silence of the room. “Seems to be all I know how to do.”
Spinning around, Taggie looks at him in surprise. “No!” she cries, taking a step closer to him. Her hands itch to reach out for him again, to hold his hand in hers as she talks to him in the comfort of the kitchen. But Taggie remembers herself and chews her fingernail in restraint.
“You didn’t upset me at all. That day,” Taggie explains, pointing down at the picture she sets in front of Rupert on the table. “That day was probably the happiest day I ever had, all because of you and your kids.”
“They aren’t our kids?” Rupert says, picking the photo up to look at it more closely.
“Ours?” Taggie chokes out, a mixture of pain and hope in her tone. “No. Marcus and Tabitha’s mum is Helen, your ex-wife,” she explains.
“Helen, not Harriet. Right.” Rupert mumbles to himself, trying to recommit it to his memory. “So you aren’t Helen, then?” he asks, watching as Taggie pours steaming water into the mugs. She adds the smallest spoonful of sugar to one, stirs it, then offers it to him before sitting down with her own milky sweet mug.
“You don’t recognize me then?” Taggie says with a sad smile. She can’t help the pain that seeps into her voice. She can't help feeling disappointed that seeing her didn't jog his memory, nor the photo of the day that meant so much to her. Perhaps she didn't mean as much to him as she hoped, as she thought.
Rupert stares at her, holding the steaming mug halfway to his mouth. He really looks at her, hazel eyes floating over her familiar face, taking in the shape of her torso in her red nightgown, and he racks his brain for who this angelic mystery woman could be.
“No,” he eventually says, shaking his head with a disappointed sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Taggie frowns, wrapping her hands around her own steaming mug as she shifts in her seat. “It’s okay,” she says softly, trying to sound understanding and failing. “But, then why did you come here?” she asks, her fingernail picking at the chip in her mug and avoiding his eyes.
“I don’t know why I’m here, I just thought I should…” Rupert runs a rough hand down his mouth before threading his fingers through his hair. He rests his elbows on the table, trying to find the words as his head aches. “Do you know what it’s like not to know anything at all, but you’re just certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person, even without knowing who they are? You just have this feeling deep inside your heart that if you were with them, everything would be okay.”
“Rupert,” Taggie murmurs breathlessly.
“I saw this building from across the valley, and something inside said that if I came here, everything would be fine. That I would feel better if I were here,” he explains, the steam of the mug floating up towards his frowning face as he stares helplessly at her.
“And? Do you feel better being here?” she can’t help but ask curiously.
Rupert smiles, the edges of his lips barely curling upwards as he looks over at her. “Yes, I think I do.”
They take sips from their mugs, the silence stretching out for a moment as they both think of what to say next. Despite his memory loss, Rupert stays true to himself and breaks the silence first, clearing his throat as his mug clinks against the tabletop.
“So, if you aren’t my ex-wife, then tell me, who are you?”
Taggie chokes on her tea, letting out a soft cough as she pats herself gently to clear her throat. She chews on her bottom lip as she sorts out her words before speaking carefully.
“I’m Taggie, the daughter of Declan, your business partner. I help with Venturer when I can. We’ve gone campaigning together, trying to raise support. I cater, not just for Venturer, but for most of Rutshire.”
“Taggie,” Rupert says, trying the name and finding that it belongs on his tongue. “But, who are you to me, Taggie? Why were you with my kids? Why do they look at you with such love?”
She takes a deep breath, Rupert watching as her shoulders tighten and she refuses to look up at him. “I’m just,” she says, before stopping and thinking about it further.
“Is the answer complicated?”
Resolved in her answer, Taggie looks up at him with a small shake of her head and the faintest of smiles. “I’m just Taggie. The girl across the way.”
“You’re keeping something from me,” Rupert instantly accuses, his eyes narrowing as he looks at her.
“How would you know?” Taggie inquires, a small, amused smile growing on her face. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything.”
“I can’t,” he agrees, the corner of his mouth turning upwards to match hers. “But I can tell when someone's lying to me. Cameron had been doing it all night before I got the truth from her.”
Taggie fidgets in her chair, a flush breaking out on her cheeks at being caught in her lie. “What truth is that?” she asks, trying to change the topic.
Rupert tsks his tongue, waggling a finger back and forth. “Not until you tell me first, Taggie. What are you keeping from me?”
Taggie sits at the table quietly, the clock clicking softly in the hallway as they both wait for the other to crack.
“Please, tell me who you are to me. Why did I come here? Why does spending time with you make my heart feel so much lighter?” Rupert asks, his tone gentle and soft as his fingers wrap lightly around Taggie’s wrist. His thumb rubs against her skin in a small circle as he waits, watching her decide what to tell him.
“If you really want to know, I’ll have to start at the beginning,” she replies.
And that is how Rupert and Taggie find themselves sitting on the stained yellow couch in the living room of the Priory, a lamp softly lighting the room, with Gertrude sprawled across their laps. Taggie tells Rupert how they first met. The burning of his fields and the naked game of tennis she stumbled in on. She explains how he asked if she wanted the animals to get a state funeral and then called Gertrude a brute who belonged in a pigsty. She moves on to the story of the dinner party, Rupert’s face turning pale as he listens to her talk.
“I did all that to you?” he asks, disgusted at hearing his own actions. “And you still talk to me?”
Taggie lets out a giggle, her fingers nudging against his as they both pet through the dog's fur. “Well, you worked very hard for my forgiveness,” she says, a smile on her face.
Rupert lifts an eyebrow. “I did?”
Taggie nods her head. “Yes, you were very helpful at my brother’s birthday party. After you helped me up to bed, you took care of the broken window, cleaned the sick off of the couch,” she says, pointing at the stain next to his thigh. “You paid off the DJ’s and hired a cleaning crew to take care of the mess the next morning. You were the only one to dance with me the entire night. You made sure I took a moment for myself after doing everything for everyone all night.” Realizing she was rambling, Taggie sucks her bottom lip back in between her teeth. She digs her fingers into the curly fur of Gertrude, deeply ignoring Rupert’s stare.
“That was enough for you to forgive me?” he asked, astonished that she could be so willing to forgive the horrible way he treated her. “One night of good deeds?”
“Well, no,” Taggie shakes her head. “But it was a start... Until you got my da drunk and he punched a vicar on live television, that is,” she says, fighting back a laugh.
Rupert’s head lands against the back of the sofa as he lets out a pained groan. “I’m not sure I like the person you’re telling me I am, Taggie.”
Taggie giggles again, wrapping her fingers around his as they rest on top of the dog. “You’ve said that to me before, you know. On New Year’s Eve, while we danced right there.” They stare at the spot before them she pointed at for a moment, before she continues telling Rupert about their time together. “You made up for getting my dad sacked for-” Taggie waves a hand to fill out her words.
“Drunk punching a member of the church?” Rupert helpfully supplies.
“By creating Venturer,” Taggie finishes with a small smile. “There was- I like to walk through the Bluebell Woods with Gertrude.” Taggie turns on the couch, leaning her side against the back so she can look at him properly. “After everything that happened, you found me there, and I told you that we were getting ready to leave. To go back to Fulham, where we came from. I told you how sad I was to leave the only place I ever loved.” Taggie looks down at the cooling mug of tea in her free hand, Rupert’s thumb dragging tenderly over her knuckles.
“It almost felt like you made Venturer for me, really. Not my father,” Taggie confesses, looking up with doe eyes.
“Oh,” Rupert whispers breathlessly to her.
Taggie waves a hand in front of her face, like her confession was a fly to swat away. Standing up, she takes her mug into the kitchen in a quick retreat. When Rupert follows, he finds her leaning against the sink, her head hung between her shoulders. His fingers flex, aching to reach out to this tenderhearted girl, but unsure if it would be welcomed after hearing all the bad things he’s done. She did hug him earlier, but something tells him it wouldn’t be welcomed now.
“What happened after we made Venturer?” he asks, standing so close to her she can feel the heat of him on her back.
“Nothing,” Taggie’s voice wobbles as she shakes her head.
“You’re lying again.”
Taggie turns around, eyes bloodshot from the tears she wiped away. “I’m not. Nothing more happened. We went around the county telling people about Venturer and working on getting you reelected to parliament. Cameron moved in with you, Seb and I broke up after one too many bad dates, life went on.”
Tentatively, Rupert reaches up and wipes the fresh tears that run down Taggie’s cheek. “That’s not all.”
Taggie swallows harshly, her throat working down the lump to deny him once again.
“Tell me the truth, please,” he begs. “You’re the only one all day who has been any help. Who has told me stories instead of just telling me to wait, that it’ll come back to me.” Rupert looks at her pleadingly, and Taggie shuts her eyes tightly, unable to look at him.
“We kissed,” she admits. When she opens her eyes, Rupert is looking down at her with such tenderness and concern that she feels her heart skip a beat.
“Did I force you? To kiss me? Like when I… at the dinner party?” Rupert asks, fear seeping into his voice as he moves to take a step away.
“No!” Taggie’s quick to deny. She reaches up, resting her hand against his tanned cheek to still his movement. Her thumb strokes across the five o'clock shadow soothingly as she gives him a watery smile. “It was lovely.”
Rupert lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes as the warmth of Taggie’s hand soaks into his skin. “It’s a shame I don’t remember it then,” he says with a forced laugh.
“It is,” Taggie whispers back. When he opens his eyes, she is staring at his lips, and Rupert feels his heart pick up a hopeful beat in his chest.
“Perhaps,” he tests, drawing her attention back up to his eyes. He licks his lips, taking in the marvelous deep sea blue of her irises. “You could give me another kiss, since I don’t remember the first one?”
Nervously, Rupert waits as Taggie stands still in front of him. Holding her so close to him feels so right, like this is where they were always supposed to be, with each other. So why was she so hesitant? Cameron had finally told him when they got home from the hospital after several attempts to be loving towards her, they weren’t together. It was just for appearances, to keep prying eyes off their backs as they waited for Venturer to win the franchise and her work visa to come through. Hadn’t he told Taggie this? Hadn’t that awful, greedy man Rupert been before come sprinting over right away to make her his?
Just as he goes to laugh off his request, to tell Taggie he was just kidding, and joke that he may not remember, but he seems to be his old self anyway. Before he can tell her that she should probably go back upstairs to her bed and leave him alone in the misery of trying to discover who he is, Taggie surprises him by standing up on her tiptoes.
She still isn’t quite high enough to close the gap, pulling him down the extra inch with the hand wrapped around his neck, for their lips to cautiously meet. The kiss is delicate, as though they both know the other is fragile and could break at any moment. Taggie slowly tilts her head, letting Rupert slot against her with ease, deepening the kiss with a swipe of his tongue against the seam of her mouth. She tangles her fingertips in the nape of his hair, giving a gentle pull that causes a groan to slip from deep in his throat.
Slowly separating from each other, Rupert rests his head against her own, both of them trying to catch their breath.
“That was,” Rupert starts.
“Lovely?” Taggie finishes for him.
After he gives her a quick nod, Taggie presses her lips to his again, desperate to feel his touch again. His hand slides down to pull her tightly to him, the flannel of her nightgown soft under his calloused grip. Taggie nips at his bottom lip before tangling his tongue with her own. She grabs at his bicep, holding him close as he kisses her over and over again. He trails kisses across her cheekbone and down to her jaw. He places little nips down the soft kiss of her throat.
“Rupert,” she whines, her hips rolling forward on their own.
“Angel,” he moans back when she presses up against the length of his hardening cock.
Taggie juts back, pressing Rupert back by his shoulders so she can look at his face. He looks down at her, confused and breathless.
“What did you just call me?” she demands. Rupert closes his eyes tightly in concentration, trying to remember what he said. “Say it again.”
“I called you angel,” he says softly, his eyes still closed as it slowly comes to him. “I always call you angel, because you’re so warm and kind, so perfect.”
Taggie smiles, watching as Rupert stands before her, trying to remember.
“I- I can remember the first time I called you it at that dreadful dinner party. The light caught your hair just right and made it look like you had an honest-to-God halo around your head. You smiled so brightly at me, I felt like I was in heaven.”
“Oh, Rupert,” Taggie says affectionately. He opens his eyes to see her staring up at him, her expression fond.
“You’ve given me this look before,” he teases with a smile, his memory coming back to him in waves.
Tilting her head in curiosity, Taggie asks, “I have? When?”
“New Year’s Eve, after you told me about Charles and all of the weight on your shoulders that night.” Rupert runs his thumb down her cheek, holding her face still with his gentle grip on her chin. “I told you that someone would love you and told you to go to bed; you gave me this same look.”
Taggie takes in a breath when Rupert leans forward, placing a chaste kiss against her lips.
“As if it could be me, as if it should be me to love you,” he explains, barely pulling back. His breath puffs against her mouth as he nuzzles his nose against hers.
“Maybe I thought that, once,” Taggie whispers, pulling back slightly until his grip tightens to still her.
“Taggie,” he utters lowly. “I remember what I told you right here, in this spot, all those months ago.”
Taggie wants to tell him to stop, to be quiet, not to make her live through it all again. She aches to tell him that they shouldn’t have kissed; it was a bad idea. He’s with Cameron, not her. He obviously is remembering things now; it was all coming back to him. It would be cruel for him to make her live through it all again with him.
“Rupert, please,” she pleads, looking down at where their feet shuffle next to one another.
He cuts off her plea. “I meant everything I ever told you,” he confesses. “I can’t breathe without you; every second spent without you in my life, in my arms is torture.”
“Stop,” Taggie demands, sniffling back her tears as she thinks about how he’ll be leaving soon. To run back to another woman and leave her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart yet again.
“I can swear that someone will love you, Taggie, my angel, because I love you,” Rupert declares.
“No,” Taggie says, shaking her head and pulling from his touch. Her lower lip trembles as she wraps her arms around her torso. “You don’t love me, you can’t. Y-you-”
He steps closer to her, his hands wrapping around her elbows delicately, as though she might run from him. “I can’t?” he questions, lifting his eyebrow as he dips his head into her eye line.
“You…” Taggie bites her lip, all of the words she wants to say flooding her brain at once. Eventually, the sea parts and she whispers, “You told my dad you’ve never loved anyone.”
“I hadn’t, until I met you,” he replies easily.
“You’re with Cameron,” she counters.
“No, not really,” he confesses. “Just until her visa comes through.”
“What are you talking about? She lives with you. She’s always hanging off of you at every meeting.”
“It needs to look real; there are eyes everywhere, and people at Venturer have been interviewed on our relationship. It’s been so hard not to tell you, not to hold you in my arms and confess every heartbreaking thing I’ve had to do to keep the franchise safe.”
Stammering for another point to fight back with, Taggie huffs. “You don’t love me,” she doubles down.
“Agatha O’Hara,” Rupert whispers, running his hands up to cup her face and pulling her back into his orbit. Their eyes stare into each other, soft, warm hazel gazing into deep, soulful blue. “I am hopelessly, desperately, irredeemably in love with you.”
When Taggie shakes her head, opening her mouth to reject his truth, Rupert can’t help but smirk at her.
“On all that Penscombe is worth, on my children’s life.” Taggie’s jaw drops as Rupert stands before her, his jarring confession gluing her broken heart back together one word at a time. “On Rocky’s life,” he continues, “I love you.”
“Rupert,” she whispers to him.
“Taggie.”
“I love you too.”