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His actions during his trip to Spain elicit a great deal of guilt. More than he expected when he had thought up his plan of seduction. And while some of it makes sense, a natural consequence of his scheming and intentions, all things that fall well within his comfort zone, the greater regrets come from an unexpected place.
As he and Cameron are strolling through the streets of Málaga, he finds himself incapable of ignoring the truth any longer. And the truth is, he cannot keep his mind from straying to another woman. Taggie.
Taggie, Taggie, Taggie.
It's a peculiar double-edged sword. Adding his straying thoughts on top of his initial deception feels like a horrible disservice to Cameron. And yet, somehow, being with a woman other than Taggie, to whom he has made no promises, or even a verbal proclamation of interest, feels like the greatest betrayal of all.
It's not that Cameron doesn't keep enjoyable company. Of all the women he's spent time with in his years, she's proving to be rather good fun, a downright pleasurable travel companion and a highly capable bed partner. It's no fault to her.
Yet still, the thoughts of Taggie quickly become downright intrusive. In the early morning haze, his thoughts had conjured the image of her auburn hair spread across the luxurious sheets, her supremely soft skin just a tiny stretch from his fingertips. In the next moment, he opened his eyes, remembering himself when faced with Cameron's form beside him. Ever since, the floodgates have been open, and he simply can't help himself.
He begins to wonder about her, wonders if she's traveled much. He can't imagine she has in her young life. It would be a dream, bringing her someplace like this, bringing her everywhere. She deserves to see beyond the walls of the Priory kitchen, beyond the small-town suffocation that Rutshire can sometimes impose. He wants so much more for her than gossipy dinner parties and a home of endless chores.
He imagines her on his arm, eyes wide and curious as she takes in the bustling streets, pointing out each detail that charms her. He imagines her benevolent smile and how she would do her best to converse with the local street vendors, asking about the produce and flowers. He imagines her cheeks, bright red with the sun; shoulders burnt too, against the straps of her sundress—her Irish skin against his tanned forearm.
And soon, it's all he can think about—walking with her past shop windows, buying her anything that holds her fancy. Taking her to dinner by the water, her cheeks flushing with the wine as they eat off each other's plates. His hand sitting heavy on her thigh, whispering terrible things in her ear, trying to find the key to that throaty laugh that now owns him. He'd do anything to hear her laugh. Dancing together in the streets at midnight, her smaller form tucked into him as the music drifts past. Sleeping in late with her pressed tightly to his body, ordering them coffee and breakfast to enjoy together in bed. He wants to take care of her, leave her with no space or reason for worry.
His thoughts of her are sexual too, sure. But his desire for their time together stretches far beyond the thought of her naked and whimpering beneath him, tracing how far down he can push her blush. He wants to know her, to experience life together. Wants to know how she would respond to it all alongside him. Wants to hear her thoughts, and trust her with his in return. He wants the shelter of her uninhibited joy to cast over his life, even though he is far from deserving. Somehow, he wants to find ways of reciprocating that joy back to her.
Eventually, the day overwhelms him. Thinking of her like that… it's both beautiful and exhausting. A deep desire too far out of reach.
That afternoon, as Cameron begins getting ready for her big night, Rupert thinks of doing something reckless, like slipping back into his room to call the Priory, hoping for Taggie to pick up instead of Declan just so he can hear her voice.
Ultimately though, he can't come up with a good enough excuse to get her on the phone with him, to get her to talk for a minute or two so that he can enjoy her awkward stammers, and descriptions of what she'd been baking, or what Gertrude had been up to. Instead, he resigns himself to a late afternoon walk, eager to spend an hour or two alone with his thoughts.
After letting Cameron know that he'll be back to see her off, he slips from the hotel back out into the humid air.
He walks aimlessly for a while, wandering the streets before landing in a high-end showroom filled with jewels and rare trinkets. It's the type of place that reeks of privilege, the type of place where he finds himself disgustingly comfortable. There are several couples perusing the wares, a younger pair whom he suspects are newlyweds, and another that he can't help but pin as a man and his much younger mistress, or perhaps his third or fourth wife.
Watching them, he wonders if that's how a bystander would perceive him and Taggie – something nefarious, a tired pantomime of a middle-aged man seeking some sort of reprieve from his aging life and not quite finding it.
But looking closer, he begins to think otherwise. The woman's face is pinched in judgment as she drags a finger along the case, chattering on about her favorite pieces. The man with his meaty palm pawing her hip could not look more bored or disinterested, rolling his eyes as he drawls, "Of course, darling", waving over an attendant in the next breath. It's all just an exchange to them.
The difference would always be Taggie's goodness, and the way it somehow manages to reflect back onto him. It's the reason Rupert was drawn to her to begin with. And if he were permitted to fall even deeper into her orbit, he knows not a day would pass when he wasn't completely besotted with her. She already holds him to a devotion he's never felt before, closer to the unconditional love he feels for his children than the obligatory commitment he felt for his ex-wife, but still, a new feeling for him entirely.
There is something honest between him and Taggie that negates any salacious thought one tries to pull to mind; at least, that's what Rupert allows himself to think. He has to believe that his inability to stay away from her stems from some sort of rightness , a need they both feel.
Dragging the thought out further, Rupert figures that if there was ever a world where they could make sense, where she would be willing to have him, then he really wouldn't waste his time giving a damn about what anyone else thought. He would happily walk her around this room, begging her to waste his money, pleading for her to pick something she likes until finally, giggling, she would have no choice but to indulge him. His furthest thought would be the people looking on from the outside.
He knows he's beginning to put a bit too much thought into these hypothetical scenarios, especially while another woman waits for him back at the hotel, when his eyes find it. From a case across the room, the bright blue jeweled egg glints at him. He's pulled towards it, a small and beautiful object capable of standing out amidst so many other distractions and novelties.
"Ahh, it caught your eye, I see," says the attendant who has spotted his interest and approached him. "Exquisite taste, sir."
Rupert crosses his arms, nodding. "Is it authentic?" he asks, his eyes not straying far from the egg.
"So you are familiar, sir?" the man questions, and Rupert nods his affirmation. "Yes, it is authentic; we have all the paperwork to prove it, of course. Not the most valuable Fabergé item, but the only one we have been able to obtain, and no less special, hmm?"
"Yes, it's… remarkable," Rupert replies, before saying "I'll take it."
When there's no response, he finally turns to the younger man at his side. "Oh, oh! Well, you see, this is priced at 72,000 euros, you understand, but I can show you a few items over here…"
"No. No, I'm quite settled on this item," Rupert emphasizes. "I'm sure a check will suffice?"
To his credit, the attendant only gawks for a moment more before graciously excusing himself to fetch the manager for assistance. Just as Rupert is tucking his precious purchase into his pocket with the promise that somebody will deliver the paperwork to the hotel's front desk, he's reminded of his reason for being in Spain in the first place.
"Ehm, one more thing," Rupert says to the manager who had helped him, "I'm looking for a gift for someone, perhaps something that says, 'good luck'?"
___
By the time he's sitting down to dinner with Nicky, the thoughts of the day are catching up with Rupert. As his dear friend prods him about Cameron, and happiness, and marriage, he can't help but take an ounce of relief in revealing the truth to someone he trusts.
"There is someone, but… she's out of bounds."
Despite his friend's encouragement, it's the sobering check-in he needs. A reminder of what awaits him back home – Declan's watchful eyes and Taggie's cautious assessment of his character.
Upon his return, he rushes to the lunch at the Priory, his eyes on her as she serves food to a family that doesn't deserve her kindness. When he presents his gifts, first to Gertrude, and then to Taggie, her joy is a euphoric hit to his bloodstream.
"No one ever gives me gifts like this."
The sentiment will rattle in his mind for weeks, he's sure. My God, the things he'd do to spoil her, to make sure she knew what she was worth, what she deserves. As she looks up at him, her smile is shy but wide. He knows she's completely unaware of the item's value as it rests in her hands. It's better that way. He knows she'd never accept it otherwise, adoration aside.
As he looks at her, his love for her (and he is beginning to be sure it is love, perhaps it has been for a while) solidifies further. Neither of them ever puts voice to it, this undeniable connection between them that feels inevitable. But he sees it in her eyes. Sees his own desire reflected back at him. It's enough for now, the silent knowing, the unspoken understanding of it all.
And it doesn't matter anyway. Ten minutes later, he's blowing it all to hell again, calling her and his friends idiots as her eyes turn icy at his crude admissions. It's a fresh wound, a loss of progress. Just like that, he's reminded of how far he is from being the man she deserves, the type of man that she could look at with trust, readily accepting a spontaneous invitation to Spain, or hell, an invitation to dinner.
He leaves that day knowing, stubbornly, that he'll keep trying. For the rest of his life, for her, he'll keep trying. After all, her existence has never left him much choice. He wouldn't want it to. Somewhere along the way, it became undeniable – past all of his indiscretions and questionable choices, his heart belongs to her.