#Declan: Isms | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anamazingangie · 1 day ago

Text

let the past be the past | Rupert x Taggie

🥂 Rated M 🥂 7.8k words 🥂 Complete! 🥂 by AmazingAngie 🥂

Tags: Outsider POV, Misunderstandings, Five Years Later, Ralphie Henriques, Marcus Campbell-Black, Caitlin O'Hara Summary:

��She married Rupert?” He asked, absolutely aghast, "As in Rupert Campbell-Black? How the fuck did she manage that?” “I have no idea. I’m as shocked as you,” the boy agreed, “She could do so much better.” or: weddings were supposed to be romantic, but a weekend spent in the Cotswolds celebrating the nuptials of his best schoolmate only served to thoroughly snuff out any chance Ralphie had of reigniting an old flame.

Excerpt:

Taggie laughed, “Now there is the man I married, I knew he was in there somewhere.” “Mm, but he’d rather be in you.” He said, his hands roaming to rather inappropriate places, specifically where her dress had ridden up, “And,” Rupert drawled, “I told you, darling, Campbell-Blacks never lose.” “For fucks sake, get a fucking room,” Declan grumbled. “This is a fucking room,” Rupert said smarmily, “All the rooms in this house are. Multi-use. Very modern.”

Read here or below the cut!

Ralphie liked to think of himself as a generally cheerful person, but his spirits were well and thoroughly dampened on that Thursday afternoon.

In part, because of the literal dampness.

The downpour had caught him by surprise and rain had quickly snuck through the collar of his coat and the soles of his shoes.

He had lived in America for the better part of the last four years, specifically in waterfront flats where he spent most days barefoot on sandy beaches. This meant he was out of practice when it came to both spotting and dodging puddles, which was a very necessary skill to have in London.

It also meant he forgot to bring his umbrella, another necessity for London. Especially in April.

This was to blame for his grim mood since he found it was rather impossible to be cheerful when his socks were soaked through.

But, one was always a bit more cheerful when they had a warm cup of tea. That english-ism had stayed with him, no matter how long he had been away.

🥂

The shop was warm, charming, and not particularly crowded given the odd hour and day of the week.

He debated about getting a croissant or scone too, but decided against it when he saw the price. His finances weren't quite what he had hoped they would be, and his return home was marked by his parent's inability to foot the bill for his seaside adventures, putting an end to them entirely and leaving him with a greatly reduced allowance.

Little costs add up, love, had been his mother’s admonishment that morning, and he didn’t want to explain the expenditure of fancy pastries.

The recession hadn’t been kind to them. They still had a luxurious flat and a country cottage, but it was the closest to desolate he had ever been in his life, and he was trying to be responsible.

This desire clashed with the person he, quite literally, crashed into — because he recognized the man, and he was one of the least responsible people he had ever known.

That was probably why they got on so well, honestly.

This person was none other than Patrick O’Hara, his best mate through secondary and roommate for three years when they were both attending Trinity. They had been thick as thieves right up until the poor boy fell in love and turned into a bit of a wet blanket.

Ralphie hadn’t had much tolerance for the damp back then, either.

There wasn’t much fun to be had with a friend that obsessed with his work and winning the affection of a woman who had turned him down numerous times. Ralphie had lost a wingman, and eventually, their friendship was lost too.

When they graduated nearly six years ago, they didn’t make any effort to keep in touch, and he hadn't seen him since.

Still, they had more happy times than bad and with the distance of a few years between them, Ralphie found the memories of good times overwhelmed any others, bringing a genuine smile to his face at the sight of his old friend.

“Patrick?” He asked, watching his friend’s expression turn from apologetic to a surprised grin.

“Ralphie!”

🥂

Patrick was a regular at the shop, addressing the barista by name and asking for it to go on his tab.

According to the woman who gave them their tea, Patrick might as well have his name stamped on one of the oversized leather chairs given how often he sat there.

“The noise helps me think,” he said, sounding every bit the pompous playwright he had always wanted to become, though he hardly acted like one, which was a relief. Neither of them had done well with pretentious blokes, both of them more concerned with having a good time than following the ridiculous rules of society.

Yet in society, his friend had done well for himself, or so it seemed. He had written several plays, one of which ended up on the West End, and another had been sold to Venturer and was being produced by his fiancee.

Ralphie paused, recalling that the object of his friend's affection through their last year of university had been a producer, too.

Unlikely to be a coincidence, Ralphie thought.

Patrick grinned, the look of pure joy making him look like a boy again, “Yes, same broad, and after seven years of asking, she’s finally agreed to marry me. Can you believe that?”

Ralphie could, his friend was as charming as he was relentless, and Ralphie told him so. He had always admired that about him. His approach to everything was unconventional but he was so fucking confident that it worked.

Well. Worked eventually. He recalled him being rather devastated that Cameron Cook rejected his proposal made a whole four hours after they first met.

“Congratulations,” he remembered to add, “When is the special day?” He asked.

“It’s this Saturday, the train leaves in three hours, just doing a bit more work before heading off.”

“Damn, wild to think you’ll be locked down before the week's end. Good for you.” He said, knowing from Patrick's smile that this was very much a happy event.

It wouldn’t be for Ralphie. He had never liked commitment. But he could still be pleased for his friend.

Patrick looked down at his watch and cursed, “I’ve got a lunch meeting I need to catch but — what are you up to? You should come! Caitlin’s plus one backed out, and Cameron would be thrilled not to have a gap in the seating plan. A bit of a perfectionist, she is.”

Ralphie shook his head, they hadn’t talked in years, and he couldn’t very well go to his wedding.

But Patrick insisted, “You should come, really, you saw the start of it all and the suffering, you should see the happy ending, too.”

He pursed his lips, “Where is it?”

“Down in Rutshire. The ceremony at the local church, and reception at Penscombe, the Campbell-Black estate. It’s across the way from the Priory — you came out for birthday bashes there a time or two, the first of which was where I met Cameron.”

Right. Ralphie remembered…parts of that night.

He’d gotten pretty drunk.

But he remembered the liquor being good, at least.

“It won’t be awkward? Is there room?” He wondered, trying not to sound too excited, but the prospect of an open bar and room that didn’t share a wall with his parents was too appealing for him to protest much further.

“Plenty of it,” Patrick said cheerfully, “Rupert rented out accommodations for a hundred and fifty as a wedding gift and there is space at the Priory, too, you can stay there, take Taggie’s room, it’s been empty for ages, anyway.”

Taggie?

Fuck, he had almost forgotten about her.

And double fuck, he must have said that out loud.

Patrick’s eyes widened slightly as backtracked and realized the reason for his blanched expression.

“She has her own house there, no need for a room. She’s married. Has been for years. Blissfully happy, too, with kids and a whole pack of dogs to look after.”

Oh.

That was a relief, “So, will you come?” Patrick asked his tone one of pleading and his features contorted into something boyish once more.

Well. Fuck. He couldn't say no to that.

He nodded, “Sure, for old time's sake.”

A wedding in the Cotswolds was hardly his ideal vacation spot, but anything was better than being under his parent's roof. Maybe he could schmooze a bit, too, see if there were any bigwigs there who might take him under their wing.

Or at least, who might pay him a little too much just because of his last name, overlook his complete lack of practical work experience and share their private stash of cocaine as freely as their cigarettes.

A boy could hope.

🥂

He realized rather quickly upon arriving at the Priory that this was a mistake.

Or at least, this wasn’t what he expected, because he was greeted by a sobbing Maud, mascara running down her cheeks and looking so devastated that he asked if someone had died.

“Worse!” She shrieked, “My baby boy is leaving me and getting married!” She wailed.

He blinked at her, wondering if Patrick had a much younger brother he was unaware of.

“He’s moving like eight kilometers away, mum,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes as she flipped through a bridal magazine, offering a disinterested wave in his direction in place of a hello.

Right.

Well.

It wasn’t like he could just leave.

Blessedly, Caitlin told her mother to leave him alone and then offered to share her coffers of cigarettes and wine.

Thank fuck.

“Can’t survive this place without them,” she said, “Mummy gets more theatrical with each year that passes.”

“Fuck, I’d hate to see what she is like in a decade,” he muttered.

“Probably six feet under,” Caitlin said, her tone…more serious than he would expect given the morbidity of the comment.

“According to her, Patrick getting married is going to kill her. I can’t wait. We’d save buckets by reusing flowers, too, or at least Rupert would, fuck knows I didn’t put a penny towards this.”

Huh.

“My recommendation?” He didn’t recall asking for one, “Try to get a good sleep, last I checked, the chaos begins at 5AM tomorrow.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

“It’s being filmed for Venturer, a bridal special of some sort, probably just to write off the tax cost. Cameron is a shark, you know? But they are starting early for setup, following the duo around all day, etc.” She said, rolling her eyes, “Enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

Maud punctuated this with a wail of grief so loud it was nearly comical.

If this was what peace sounded like, he’d hate to hear the alternative.

🥂

Caitlin was right, it was chaos, but the champagne was poured before he even woke up, which made the fuss more amusing than annoying.

He stayed relatively close to Caitlin throughout the morning, enjoying her scathing descriptions of every person who came up to them. The Cotswold gossip was far more involved and scandalous than what celebrities across the pond got up to and he had missed this, even if the chill in the air made him shiver slightly.

“Oh, there is Taggie,” Caitlin said happily, and Ralphie’s eyes followed hers to the redhead a few fields away. She was wearing a shapeless plaid coat with bright red wellies that went all the way to the hem.

The girl he remembered would probably wear them to the church, too.

She looked more like a farm hand than anything else, and he felt a pang of embarrassment on the girl’s behalf.

He also noticed that she appeared to be bouncing a baby on one hip while her other hand was linked with a dark-haired child who seemed rather eager to progress down the trail.

There was another woman beside her who was shorter, wider, and also carrying a baby, while two dogs trotted ahead.

“Kitty agreed to watch them today, bless her, I could never. Taggie always insists on taking them over and getting them settled, she hates leaving them, even though they adore the cottage.” Caitlin said.

“They are Taggie's?” He asked, rather surprised by this, even though he probably should have put the pieces together already. Patrick had said she had kids, but three? And fuck, she was like three years younger than him, and he couldn't imagine having that many kids. Or any kids, really.

Caitlin nodded, “The one in Flora’s arms, too. Proper twins, not the Irish sort.”

Christ.

🥂

The next time he saw Taggie, it was just before the ceremony. She was fussing with the handsome pianist’s tie and brushing off his lapels while Venturer’s crew moved around lights, trying to make the dim church look both bright and atmospheric.

The bride’s perfectionist tendencies were on display as she stomped around with her dress hiked up and hair half done, making demands and yelling seemingly just for the sake of it.

She was pretty, but he found his eyes drawn back to Taggie and her companion.

He looked a bit young, but so did Taggie, and she was somehow old enough to have three children. So the mystery boy could be her husband. They certainly seemed close enough given how at ease they looked with each other.

Or maybe that was a point against them being married, given how rare companionable proximity was among couples of their class.

Taggie pressed kisses to the boy’s cheeks, then stepped down from the platform the piano had been positioned on. He still couldn’t get a great look at her, but she had ditched the boots and coat and definitely looked more appealing than he had expected.

Most women let themselves go when they married, especially after they had children, but — at least from this distance — she looked slender and perfectly put together.

Clearly, she had put in a great deal of effort, which made him all the more surprised to see her seated next to Declan and Maud, with no husband in sight.

“I thought Taggie was married?” He asked Caitlin, who bobbed her head in agreement.

“Then why aren’t they sitting together? Does he not get on with Patrick?” He wondered, and Caitlin laughed.

“No, it’s not that — it’s that he used to get on a bit too well with the bride. Cameron is still half in love with him and we’re all a bit worried she’d back out or burst into tears if she caught sight of him in a tux before everything was signed.”

He couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

“They dated for a few months years ago, and he hasn’t touched her since, but a girl can dream,” she said with a sigh.

“Years? And she is still in love with him?” He asked, wondering if Caitlin was exaggerating.

He had always been a book-smart sort of bloke, but terrible when it came to reading people, and her response didn’t offer much clarity.

“Mhm, but everyone is — even me! I was utterly obsessed with him once, had posters and everything. Mummy tried her best to snag him but he only had eyes for Taggie. Even my dad goes batty around him, I think half his disapproval was born from jealousy because he wanted to bed that man, honestly, because everyone does.”

He frowned, trying to process that and settling on, “He disapproved?”

Caitlin nodded, "Very much so. He loves the man but he was twice her age and a total rake. Not quite what a father wants for their little girl.”

Jesus.

“They get on just fine now, though. He’ll be here for the reception and will helicopter over from Paradise once the church bit is done. He’d never let Taggie wear that dress if he didn’t plan on being by her side tonight." She paused for a moment, then carried on, "Well. He'd never let her wear it if he was planning to be beside her now, either. He'd get them both sent to hell if you know what I mean."

What?

How horribly outdated.

Who gave a fuck about what their girl wore? Was an arse.

And yet...,

Coming by helicopter?

“He is a wealthy bloke, then?” He asked, feeling a bit curious about the mystery man.

Caitlin gave him a look of surprise, “You really don’t know?”

She said it like it was supposed to be obvious.

He bristled, “It isn’t like we keep in touch, how the fuck would I know who she married?”

Caitlin laughed, “Right,” she said, though he thought he caught something sarcastic in her tone, “Well — yes. He is old money, big estate, big investments, big cock, and he likes showing them all off. Though I’d personally like to see less of the former and more of the latter — Taggie is such a lucky duck.”

Huh.

He was kind of eager to meet the guy, he sounded like an enigma, even if he was ancient. Taggie had always been a bit of a caretaker and not good for much beyond that. Maybe he was decrepit and she was his nurse and wife.

Fuck, she’d probably like that.

But somehow he thought if that was the case Caitlin would be less interested in his cock.

Who knows. Maybe she was into wrinkly dick, too.

Pity if she was, she seemed like a good time, and he’d never had the opportunity to sample sisters before.

🥂

The ceremony was long and tedious, the intimacy broken numerous times by lighting changes and moving cameras. Lines were repeated like it was a play rather than reality and the word ‘cut’ was shouted far more often than he thought was necessary.

But Cameron looked beautiful and Patrick looked ecstatic. He cried through the whole thing, his blubbering only outdone by his mother’s seemingly never-ending sobs. Her theatrics had earned her a camera fixed just on her, and he was pretty sure she was amping things up just to keep it there.

He was pretty sure he had been there for hours. But eventually, all the vows had been read, rings had been exchanged, papers had been signed, and their union was sealed with a kiss.

🥂

It was the pianist who caught Taggie when she was trying to make a call, holding her by the waist and striding toward the church lot where locals had parked and hired chauffeurs would ferry guests to Penscombe.

He and Caitlin caught up with them and she greeted the boy with a smile, “Good to see you, Marcus.”

The boy — Marcus, apparently — blushed, mumbling something that he couldn’t fully make out.

Ralphie ignored him, finding himself rather focused on Taggie.

Unable to focus on anything else, even.

From afar, he hadn’t seen anything of particular note, but up close she looked…gorgeous, truly. Her makeup was light, her eyes were bright, and her rosy lips looked gloriously soft, so much more attractive than the heavily lined style that was popular now.

Her features were still so sweet but had gained more definition with time, making them rather striking while carrying the fullness that one associated with youth.

It seemed like she hadn’t aged a day, truly, looking better while still so obviously her. The difference really was subtle but so very significant.

The most dramatic change, Ralphie thought, was in the way she carried herself. She was no longer the gangly girl he fucked when he was nineteen, one he had found pretty but so reserved he wouldn't have called her particularly attractive.

But now…

She was gorgeous.

Just…stunning in that effortless sort of way that most women couldn’t accomplish.

Her hair was wavy, but it was glossy too — like something out of a fucking Silkience advert, so at odds with the frizzy perms most guests boasted.

It was clearly natural, too, having a sort of dimension that couldn’t be created from a tube, no matter how carefully applied.

And her figure…fuck…

She’d always had good legs, but now she had good everything.

She was one of the rare few whose figure was improved by childbirth, and she now boasted curves that definitely hadn’t been there when he fucked her.

Her dress was made from a green velvet so dark that upon first glance he thought it was black. It was clingy but structured enough to come off as elegant rather than trashy, while still holding a unique sort of allure in its shape.

It was perfectly tailored to fit her, showed a bit of cleavage and her delicate shoulders, which highlighted a double-strand riviere necklace that draped prettily around her throat and collarbones.

The diamonds and emeralds shone even in the meager light of the foggy day, the sort of sheen that he associated with real diamonds and emeralds, but they were way too big to be anything other than fake.

Right?

The O’Hara’s were new money, and even then, they were barely new money at all. Really, they were of the middle class with upper-class friends like himself. They wouldn’t know what a faux pas it was to wear costume jewelry to a wedding ceremony.

Poor girl making an embarrassment of herself.

But damn if she didn’t look gorgeous, too.

“You look great, Taggie,” he said, reaching to squeeze her wrist — which he now realized was draped in a matching strand of emeralds.

She gave him a polite smile but showed no recognition when she thanked him and quickly pulled away.

He bristled.

Sure he had booted her out of bed pretty quick — in part out of shame for coming in two seconds flat — but he’d popped her cherry, she should remember his name at least. Unless she had turned into some sort of raging slut who couldn’t keep track of her body count, but he doubted that.

Then again, she had always been a bit dim, even a handful of names might be too many for her to keep straight.

And if her body count was bigger than what she could count on her fingers, she had no chance.

“This is Ralphie,” Caitlin said, "Patrick's roommate at Trinity."

Taggie's eyes widened.

Well. She remembered his name, at least.

“Right, of course, I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long!”

Sure he had gained a stone or two, and perhaps his tan clashed a bit with his streaked red curls, but still, he was hardly unrecognizable. Just because she hadn’t aged a day didn’t mean that was a normal expectation to place upon others.

The brunette beside her curled his hand around her waist protectively and Ralphie rolled his eyes.

Fine, Marcus could have her, she wasn’t even his type.

She was way too tall.

Especially now, wearing pumps that had to be 10cm tall. They left her looking small beside the lanky pianist, but doubled the height difference between them.

No, she might be stunning, but he didn’t want her. Of course not.

“I’m surprised you aren’t calling the kitchens or sneaking off with the catering crew,” Caitlin teased, playfully bumping her sister’s shoulder.

“I tried,” Taggie said, sounding a bit dejected.

Marcus pressed a kiss to the top of her head and laughed, “Dad gave me strict orders to ensure she stays off duty today.”

Damn. Ralphie didn't swing that way, but he really was a handsome chap.

Caitlin smiled, “Good, you’ve done enough — you always do — you deserve to have a good time.” Then after a pause, her fingers reached for her sister’s necklace, “And — Jesus Christ Tag, what did you have to do to get this? What did he do wrong?”

Taggie batted her hand away, “Nothing,” she said, a bit too quickly, “It was an anniversary present.”

“What is his present?” Caitlin asked, “Let me guess, you are, wearing that and nothing else.”

Taggie said nothing but ducked her head, her cheeks flushing slightly in a way that betrayed the truth.

Fuck.

Ralphie stayed quiet until they reached the car park, not sure what to add to that, though he whistled as they approached and he saw the bright yellow Aston Martin V8 that stood out like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.

“That’s a really fucking nice car,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

He was surprised when Marcus responded by saying, “Thanks,” and pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

Jeeze, so he was fucking loaded, too.

Ralphie might not want Taggie but he’d love to ride that.

He didn’t have the opportunity for either, though, since he made no move to invite either of them to join him.

“Who is that?” He asked, feeling like he should recognize him. Or maybe he did recognize him. Something about the jawline and eyes seemed awfully familiar…

“Him? That’s Marcus Campbell-Black; Rupert Campbell-Black’s eldest son.

Oh.

“Not Taggie’s husband, then.”

Caitlin laughed a bit harder than he thought was necessary, “No. He adores her, though. If he was a few years older he would have had a good chance, I think.”

“She doesn’t take after her mother, then,” he said dryly, forgetting who he was talking to.

“Got a late-night visitor, huh?” Caitlin asked, sounding unsurprised.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged, “Because I know what mum is like.”

Then, “Oh, look, he’s here.” She said, gesturing towards the sky and the lone helicopter passing over them.

🥂

“Where the fuck is Taggie?” Maud hissed the second they arrived — the journey taking four times as long as it should have thanks to the narrow country roads, passing flocks of sheep, and the length of the procession.

Caitlin rolled her eyes, “Well given that we saw Rupert fly over at half past and they’ve been apart for all of six hours, she is probably bent over in some private corner. Horny bastard.”

She startled slightly as hands clapped down on her shoulders, “Don’t be jealous of your sister, it’s unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself.”

She snorted, “The only young lady coming in this house is the one you married.”

The man smirked, “Twice, even.”

Caitlin groaned.

Maud glared.

Ralphie wasn’t sure what was going on, but he felt like he might be missing something.

“Taggie is feeling a bit…unsteady, she’ll be down in a moment. What was it you needed?” The man asked.

Maud said nothing, she simply turned and stomped off.

“She is a delight as always, hm?” The man mused.

“She’s something,” Ralphie muttered, taking a long drink of the wine he’d pinched from a passing tray.

“I’m surprised you couldn’t hear her sobs from Paradise,” Caitlin said dryly.

“Is that what that was? Must have blocked it out.”

“Skill acquired from decades of being a rake, I suppose, get accustomed to making women cry,” Caitlin mused.

Who the fuck was this guy?

“Made them cry out my name, more like,” he grumbled, “Ceremony go alright, aside from that?”

His hand carded through his hair and Ralphie got a better look at him—oh fuck—

“You’re Rupert Campbell-Black,” he said, straightening once he realized.

He knew they were using his property, but he didn’t realize the man would be there.

One of his brows rose, and it was impressive how the subtle movement managed to convey so much indifference.

“Yes. And you are?”

He held his hand out, “Ralphie, Ralphie Henriques.”

Rupert looked at his hand and pointedly did not shake it.

Instead, he turned to Caitlin, “Nice seeing you, Caitlin, as always, save a dance for me,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek before slinking away.

“What an ass,” he muttered, seriously, how fucking rude.

What had he ever done to him? He had never even met the guy!

Caitlin sighed, “Isn’t it just? Even in trousers. It isn’t fair.”

What?

“No—no, that isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “Well. It’s true.”

🥂

Dinner was pretty fucking fantastic, the best catering he’d had in a long time.

It was a bit distracting, though, the way Rupert was all over Taggie.

Christ, wasn’t she married ?

It certainly didn't seem to deter the older man. His hand was draped over her chair, fingers stroking her neck, and they were close enough for their thighs to touch. Not to mention the way he looked at her. It was so fucking salacious, and her father was right there!

And the way she responded, giggling and making eyes at him.

It was obnoxious.

He knew Rupert Campbell-Black had a reputation but he vaguely recalled his mother saying something about how he had settled.

Apparently not.

🥂

He wasn’t snooping, really, he was just trying to find the bathroom, stumbling through halls — maybe he drank a bit more than he thought — but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget what he heard.

“I’m proud of you, darling, acting like the proper guest you are instead of the help. Not that I would mind seeing you in uniform...”

“Rupert! That was one time!”

“I know, we still need to rectify that. But I mean it, Taggie, I know this is hard for you.”

“I tried. Marcus wouldn’t let me, though.”

“Good boy, he saved you a spanking.”

“Rupert!”

“Or maybe you wanted one? Hm? You just have to ask, darling.”

🥂

Upon trying to find his way back, he heard them again. God this place was a fucking maze, he needed a map.

“I don’t like him in my house.”

“You don’t like anyone in your house, Rupert.”

“I like you in my house…in my bed…”

He left before he heard the end of it or worse.

But if he had stayed, he might have avoided the humiliation that was yet to come.

“Yes, I presumed as much when you married me.”

“Presumptuous indeed, I’ll have you know I didn’t like the first woman I married very much at all.

🥂

The dancing was the worst, really, every time he saw them, they seemed to be even closer to each other.

“I wonder what her husband thinks about that,” he grumbled as he filled a plate with hors d’oeuvres.

“I think he’ll allow it,” Marcus, the Campbell-Black boy and pianist from earlier said, his tone rather dry.

“How would you know? You aren’t her husband,” and of course, he would be on his father's side.

“No,” he agreed, “I’m just her stepson, she is dancing with her husband.”

What?

“She married Rupert?” He asked, absolutely aghast.

“Taggie married him? As in Rupert Campbell-Black? How the fuck did she manage that?” He wondered out loud.

“I have no idea. I’m as shocked as you,” the boy agreed, “She could do so much better.”

Jesus Christ.

How on earth had that happened?

He downed the rest of his champagne, hoping that if he got drunk it would make more sense because it certainly didn’t when he was sober.

Well. That wasn't entirely true.

Rupert’s rudeness made a bit more sense now.

And once the shock wore off…

Man, Taggie must have been really hung up on him if even her husband knew about him. He hadn’t realized he made such an impression, but then, of course, he did.

Never mind that she barely recognized him that morning, maybe the light was in her eyes. It was a fluke.

He downed another flute of champagne.

Hm. Suddly, he was more interested in having a go with Taggie again than Caitlin. Rupert probably taught her some good shit.

God, he loved champagne, it made him see things so clearly.

🥂

Patrick found him for the first time after the cake was cut, asking if he was having a good time.

Yes, Ralphie decided, he was. He’d been dancing with…someone, and gotten a handy in the bathroom, and had a few more glasses of champagne, so he was doing pretty swell. Except—

“I can fucking feel Rupert glaring from here,”

Patrick’s brow furrowed, then he looked over his head and grimaced, “Right, sorry about that. I forgot about how protective he gets over her. Might want to steer clear of him, he has friends in high places and you wouldn’t want to…” He made a motion with his hand that alluded to a throat being cut.

Jesus Christ.

He should be afraid, probably, but all he could think about was that Rupert was jealous of him.

Of course, he was.

He grinned.

🥂

Dancing came to an end, but the night didn’t, and somehow he found himself in the study, a space that seemed equal part office, library, and club, given that a large portion was devoted to a card table, bar, leather sofas, and a set of billiard tables that a few men were playing at.

Cigars had been passed out by Declan, and conversation had quickly turned to ‘shop talk’ that Ralphie tried to pay attention to, since after all, this was the time to make connections.

Unfortunately, at this time he was also rather tipsy, and not quite able to focus on what other people were saying while also contributing to the conversation.

It was a pity since at least a dozen of them were Very Important Men that he vaguely recognized from business magazines his father read. The others must have been family friends.

And then, there was Taggie.

Of the twenty or so occupying the room, she was the only woman, and she was nuzzled into Rupert’s side.

Rupert was lounging on a loveseat, his feet propped up on an ottoman, his shoes discarded somewhere. Taggie was barefoot too at this point, he realized, leaving her feet clad in nothing but stockings.

Rupert’s tie was gone, too, the cummerbund discarded, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

They both looked so comfortable and relaxed, it was obvious who owned the place.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe anyone owned this place. This house was insane.

He heard his name mentioned, turning to someone whose name he had forgotten — fuck, he was supposed to be networking.

“You said you were in America since graduating?”

“Yessir,” Sir was always safe, “In California, for a couple of years, Florida for the last two.”

It was Rupert who answered, “Oh? Where at? We’ve spent a good deal of time in Palm Beach, haven’t we, darling?” He said, half addressing Taggie who nodded in agreement but didn’t lift her head from his shoulder.

She looked tired.

“Bought a charming ranch down there two summers ago. It’s a must if you want to have a chance to play professionally, a place to acclimate the ponies properly.”

Huh.

“Play…professionally?” He asked, mind feeling slow, slurred, like his words probably would be if he had another sip of brandy.

“I manage a polo team,” Rupert said icily, clearly unimpressed at Ralphie’s inability to put things together.

Ralphie couldn’t blame him, that should have been obvious.

“It's unlike you to be modest,” Taggie said, perking up a bit with pride and actually looking in Ralphie’s direction for the first time since they got to Penscombe, “He manages a team with Ricky France-Lynch, Perdita MacLeod, and the Napier brothers.”

He whistled, “They’re good.”

“Of course they are, I manage them,” Rupert said smugly.

Taggie laughed, “Now there is the man I married, I knew he was in there somewhere.”

“Mm, but he’d rather be in you.” He said, his hands roaming to rather inappropriate places, specifically where her dress had ridden up, “And,” Rupert drawled, “I told you, darling, Campbell-Blacks never lose.”

The kiss that followed was relatively chaste, but the way they looked at each other…it felt invasive.

Like he was witnessing something special and intimate that he shouldn’t be allowed to see.

Like he wasn’t worthy of seeing it.

“For fucks sake, get a fucking room,” Declan grumbled.

“This is a fucking room,” Rupert said smarmily, “All the rooms in this house are. Multi-use. Very modern.”

Howls of laughter came from the other men while Declan muttered something under his breath.

“This one is especially good for it,” Rupert said lazily, gesturing to the billard tables, “Lots of surfaces and a door that locks.”

More howls of laughter and jeers followed while Declan bellowed, “That’s ENOUGH!”

Rupert still looked unmoved, “Don’t be such a prude, don’t forget that I’m solely responsible for you having grandchildren.”

Taggie interrupted, “Soley responsible? Really Rupert?”

He pursed his lips, “Sorry darling, I’m partially responsible.”

She looked appeased, settling against him once more.

“Well. Go make them elsewhere, please,” Declan said, still scowling.

“It’s my house, I can make them wherever I want, but if you insist…” Rupert sighed, checking his watch and putting out his cigar, “Really, we should get to bed, it’s after this one’s bedtime.”

Ralphie grimaced, talking about her like she was a child after talking about making children with her was just �� disgusting.

The man stood from the loveseat and pulled Taggie up with him.

Ralphie couldn’t help but notice how Rupert was quite a bit taller than his wife.

He’d fucking tower over Ralphie.

He swallowed. Maybe he wouldn’t go after Taggie.

“C’mon darling, time to get you upstairs and get you out of this dress.”

🥂

“Not the only thing he is going to get,” Basil Baddington said with a laugh after they left, taking the now empty loveseat for himself.

Declan groaned.

“Your daughter is the best thing that ever happened to him,” Basil said fondly.

“Damn right she is,” Declan agreed brusquely.

“And, he had the good sense to realize that,” Basil said, his gaze rather pointed — and surprisingly, not directed at him, but rather towards Declan, “Which is more than I can say for some.”

There was an awkward pause that Ralphie stupidly filled with a question — one asked a little too loudly.

“How long have they been married?”

God, he was sloshed, wasn’t he?

“Five-ish years?" Bas said, “Though you’d never know it. They still act like newlyweds.”

No kidding. They were more affectionate at dinner and on the dance floor than Cameron and Patrick, the actual newlyweds.

Ralphie had never thought much about marriage, even dreaded the thought.

It might be nice to have a woman in his bed every night, depending on the woman, but he liked having different women in his bed and had little desire to give that up.

But watching Rupert and Taggie tonight…the way they looked at each other…no one had ever looked at him like that.

Even if Taggie loved him, if she ever loved him, she hadn't loved him like that.

And…well, for the first time ever he found himself wishing that someone would.

🥂

Breakfast the following morning was a raucous affair, though he woke up surprisingly early and caught the house in an unusual state of calm.

Maud must have still been in bed.

He wandered through the downstairs, hoping to find water biscuits or something to settle his stomach

Instead, he found Taggie.

Well. Taggie, a woman he hadn’t met, two dogs, and three children.

Taggie was chopping something while talking to the girl sitting on the other side of the counter and periodically tending to pots on the stove.

The sharp yap of a dog startled him, and drew all of their attention to him.

“Oh, good morning,” Taggie said, while the woman across from her straightened, “Good morning indeed,” the mystery girl said, “I’m Flora, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

No. They hadn’t. He would have remembered her, she was a babe.

He was about to respond when the child interrupted, ”I’m Matthew! I’m FOUR!”

Taggie laughed, pressing a kiss to the boy’s head before urging him to sit back down, “It isn’t safe to stand on the stools,” she admonished.

“He is so much like Rupert,” Flora said fondly, and Taggie nodded, “I know — he lives to take risks and garner attention, Rupert is thrilled.”

Flora snorted, “I bet he is. Finally has the mini-me he always wanted.”

There was a bitterness there that Ralphie couldn’t quite understand.

Matthew looked between them, likely not understanding either, but proudly announcing he was going to be “Just like daddy!”

“Daddy?” Another small voice asked, one of the younger girls that was playing on the floor looked around only to realize he was nowhere to be found. She started crying, then the other girl did, too.

Fuck.

Taggie sighed, setting her knife down and tending to the girls.

Flora was unfazed, clearly used to this racket.

Ralphie wasn’t, and it was worsening the headache he had woken up with.

“Just don’t try to marry your mum,” Flora said, bopping the boy's nose with her finger, “Marcus already drives him half mad. You have to find your own Taggie.”

The boy jutted out his lip, “I’m going to marry you ‘Lora,” he said with more confidence than Ralphie would expect from a four-year-old.

Definitely that cocky bastard's child.

Taggie turned to him again, the girls settled, and one of them in her arms.

They were the spitting image of her, red waves mixed with honey blonde and wide cerulean eyes peering out from dark lashes.

“Did you need anything?” She asked.

He found himself frozen in place, a bit stunned by how lovely she looked. Her face was free of makeup now, she wore a simple shirtwaist and a striped apron with her wavy hair lazily piled up in a clip.

She had no right to look that attractive when dressed like a fucking housewife who hadn’t even looked in the mirror that morning.

Not that she needed to, because she looked really fucking attractive.

And seeing her with her child made it so easy to imagine that being his child and the thought of that inspired a pang of longing in him that was far more disturbing than the arousal that simmered when he first caught sight of Taggie.

“Uh, no.” He said, forgetting what he came for, and all about the pretty girl—Flora—who had seemed interested in him.

He stumbled towards the doorway, “I think I need to go back to bed…” he mumbled, taking his leave.

🥂

He did go back to bed.

But he definitely didn’t dream of picnics and pushing children on swings.

Or about chaste kisses and wedding rings.

Or about holding a baby in one arm and a wife in the other.

He didn’t.

Definitely not.

🥂

Two hours later, he was woken by a knock on the door warning him that breakfast was ready.

He managed to button his shirt right on the third attempt and ran his fingers through his hair. He probably should have showered but it was too late now.

He regretted this choice when he found his seat, since he was right next to the pretty girl, “Flora, right?” He asked. She nodded.

“Are you a friend or family?” He asked and she shrugged, “Taggie treats them as one and the same, but more of a friend.”

“Unless Matthew gets his way,” he teased.

She laughed, “True, or Rupert.”

He blinked, “You’re with Rupert?”

He supposed he should have expected that given his reputation but everyone seemed so convinced—

Her expression was one of horror, “Fuck, no. I mean, I wished, but I’d never…” she pursed her lips, “Every girl at my school wanted him like that, myself included, but now that I know him, he’s insufferable. I don’t know how Taggie puts up with him.”

Ah.

“Rupert is campaigning for me to marry Marcus.” She clarified, nodding towards the boy, who was seated between Caitlin and Taggie.

Right.

“And will you?” He asked.

She laughed, “If he asks, maybe. But I think we’d both rather marry Lysander if you know what I mean, or at least go to bed with him.”

He didn’t. And he didn’t know who that was, either.

“God, they’d be handsome together.” She said with a sigh, “But Kitty is perfect for him,” she said, only sounding a little disappointed.

He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.

“How did you meet Marcus?” He asked, trying to shift the conversation towards something he did recognize.

“We went to school together. First kisses, first times, all that. Took me home for Christmas last year and then I never left.” She said with a laugh, “Watching the twins pays better than playing the viola and you can’t beat the food…and view,” she said, eyes drawn across the table again.

“What is it that you do?” She asked him, looking interested—or doing a good job of faking it.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

What did he do?

What had he done?

Nothing.

Nothing except tanning, partying, drinking, and taking pretty girls back to the flat his mum and dad paid for.

A few months ago he had been proud of that, thought he was living the dream.

But now…

Now he was surrounded by people who had accomplished things. Who had their own companies and homes and fucking helicopters.

He had been confronted with a sort of success he had never felt, and it had never felt more out of reach.

And he had never felt worse about himself.

Especially when he looked towards the head of the table and saw Taggie looking at Rupert with so much admiration and love that one might think he was a King rather than a mere man in his mid-forties.

And when Rupert looked at Taggie…well, one would think she was his Queen.

Ralphie had always thought she was a bit of an imbecile and mediocre lay.

Maybe he was the imbecile.

He didn’t like the thought of that at all.

Fuck, he needed a drink. Or a hit.

At least then he could blame his stupidity on being drunk.

🥂

When he got back home and had slept off the hangover, he asked his mother about it, “Did you know Rupert Campbell-Black married Declan O’Hara’s daughter?”

She paused, then gave him a look, “Everyone knows that sweetheart. Christ, take a look at today's paper,” she said, nodding towards the stack.

It was flipped open to the sports section, filled with speculation about the Queen’s Cup next month.

At the center of it all was a photo labeled, Rupert Campbell-Black and wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.

The headline below said;

Olympian Rupert Campbell-Black Has Set his Eyes on Queen’s Cup :“I make a habit of getting what I want, and I want to win.”

Campbell-Black says, “I won gold twice over, once in 80’ and again in 85’ when I married Tag. If I can win the heart of a girl like her, then nothing is out of bounds.”

Below was another photo of Rupert with Taggie, very clearly a family portrait, though he didn’t recognize everyone in it.

Ricky France-Lynch (32), Perdita France-Lynch (22), Matilda France-Lynch (2), Rupert Campbell-Black (43), Taggie Campbell-Black (24), Marcus Campbell-Black (17), Tabitha Campbell-Black (15), Matthew Campbell-Black (4), Charlotte (Lottie) Campbell-Black (2), Adelaide (Ladie) Campbell-Black (2)

Christ, Rupert had been fucking busy.

His mother was still chattering on about Taggie.

“Taggie is an absolute doll, I’ve met her a few times at various events.”

“She prefers the country but everyone in London absolutely adores her.”

“She carries around freshly baked cookies you know? And Milkbones for the dogs!”

“She is the sister of Patrick, that boy you used to go to school with, you know?”

“She is such a sweetheart. I wish you’d bring home a good girl like that—“

He interrupted her drivel, which he had largely tuned out, “Why is Ricky France-Lynch in the family portrait?” He asked his mum.

She let out a very long and very loud sigh, “Honey, you really need to start reading the paper, a lot happens around here in five years.”

No kidding.

#rivals #rivals hulu #taggie o'hara #rupert campbell black #rupert x taggie #taggie x rupert #fanfic #angie writes

15 notes · View notes