Author's Note: Thank you so much for the positive reviews on the previous chapter. I found this one VERY difficult, so I'd be really grateful of your feedback.

Anna sidled out the door of the Head teacher's internal office, tears threatening her eyes. She hadn't expected to hear his voice, on the other side of the door, and it had taken her by surprise. She supposed they'd send someone for her, but not so soon and not so severely. When they called in Joe, it was the Genovian equivalent of calling in the cavalry and she wasn't prepared to see him yet, to see the man who had fathered her after such a time away from him. She knew she wouldn't meet anyone on the way to her room so it was easy to get in, snatch up her satchel, and run down the back stairs. For all she'd been a total riot of stupidity, they didn't seem to think she'd do it again.

She'd a half bottle of brandy in her satchel, her coat and the credit cards that were a marker of her privileged life. She thought that would be enough until she could square her head up.

Because that was exactly what she needed to do.

She wandered along the banks of Lake Geneva, the wind battering against her and forcing her to pull her hood up around her face. She always gave her security the slip yet now she wanted to know they were chasing her, Joe at the helm. She knew right now that he would be very angry, probably berating her security detail, and she hated that she was the reason for his anger.

She settled on a bench at the shore, ten minutes from the school, and pulled the brandy out.

If her mother could see her now she'd be ashamed. And she wouldn't blame her.

Clarisse loved her so much.

Her parents loved her so much.

And she loved them.

The problem was the lack of transparency. Ever since Rupert had confirmed what she already knew and the truth had gone from an intangible hope to a sore reality she had been on an unstoppable ride of terror. The hard thing was, she couldn't really get off.

She had no idea who she was and no one wanted to help her figure it out.

She had never had the guts to pilfer any of the letters which were addressed to her. She had too much respect for his intelligence to steal a letter he'd know was missing. It hadn't stopped her memorising most of them though, and a lot of her time before the king had banished her to finishing school had been spent clandestinely reading letters while he was on shift.

When she was miserable, she recalled his list, so obviously written before she was born.

'My baby,

Here are just some of the reasons I love your mother…'

The list made her laugh, and cry in turns, when she thought about it. He had written silly things, like the way she laughed or the way she rolled her eyes at nobles. But there were other, strangely intimate things too. The way she said his name, the way she loved her sons, the strengths she had, her legs.

She wanted to know if he still felt the same but after she'd discovered where she came from, she didn't want to know.

Because she hated them for it too. That's what made the entirety of it so difficult to stomach.

She remembered wishing Joseph was her father so much and as soon as she learned he was she hated him for it. She hated her mother for tempting her with a life she could never have.

And she hated Rupert.

She swiped tears away from her face and took another swig.

It was exhausting being full to the brim with loathing.

She had always wanted to meet Amelia, her brother's daughter because she imagined she felt tricked, too, by her parents. The girl was fourteen now, soon to be fifteen if she recalled correctly. Her niece, that little known and hushed Genovian secret, was a teenager now.

And that made her angry too; she knew how it felt to be kept in the dark, to be told one thing and be another. She didn't ever want Amelia to feel that.

Renaldis didn't know how to tell the truth in reality, and when her mother had become a Renaldi she'd learned how to lie too. And when she discovered her mother was a liar she'd felt betrayed.

She knew she should pity her, she knew why her mother did it and did it to protect her, but she couldn't forgive her.

She took a burning slug of the brandy.

"Your father drinks too much."

She didn't answer him. He was out of breath; she could hear it in the labour of his breathing, coming in sharp puffs into the cold air. He must have run all the way from the school. He'd dropped her detail somewhere though and he was completely alone. She wondered why. But then, she knew Joseph thought he was big enough to take on the world.

"Does he now?"

"Yeah," he came to sit beside her.

"My father's a fucking ass," she offered him the bottle.

"No, thanks. He's not a-"

"I know Rupert's not. Well he is, but that's not…Thing is I don't give a shit about Rupert."

"You ought to."

"You're such a fucking pretender," she didn't look at him.

"Anna, why are you-"

"I know."

She felt him tense beside her and was genuinely shocked that he seemed just a little surprised by her revelation. There was a cool silence then and she could hear the panic in his head, the white-noise of realisation.

He swallowed, "Know what?"

"That you fucked my mother and I'm yours."

He turned to look at her and his eyes were angry, "You're wrong."

"No I am not. You-"

"Never say I fucked your mother," he interrupted hotly, "Never say that."

She was offended that he'd decided to defend his actions over explaining himself.

"Sorry my lexical choice is so upsetting for you. You're failing to see the point though. I don't give a shit what you did, just that you did it and have lied for my entire life."

He seemed to lose his fight. He was trembling beside her and he let out a huff of breath before he spoke again.

"Fair enough," he stuck out a shaking hand and took the bottle from her, "Fair enough. And yes, it would appear that your father is the biggest ass of all."

She watched him drink and knew he was calculating his next move. His pitiful reaction made her feel less angry suddenly. She'd thought he'd be angry but, actually, he seemed sort of relieved. Maybe she'd expected that all along because oddly, it didn't surprise her.

"How long?"

"Rupert" she answered, pulling her coat around herself and laughing darkly, "Eleven, in the library."

"We're not playing Clue," he groaned.

She risked a look at him and saw tears tracking down his cheeks.

"Sorry I –"

"No, I'm sorry," he whispered, "I am so fucking sorry."

"You always give me a row for swearing," she nudged him, realising it was worse for him than for her to have this conversation, "See it's in my genes."

"I knew, when I left you here, that you already knew. I'm sorry I ran scared."

"Who can blame you? Who would want me for a daughter?"

"I do…we do."

"Oh, so you speak on Clarisse's behalf?"

"She's your mother, call her your mother."

"The title she least deserves," she said it just to get a reaction out of him but the one it elicited was not what she expected.

There was pain on his face.

When she imagined this moment she'd imagined anger or sadness or even excitement but not pain.

"She would die for you, you know."

"No, I don't."

"When you were born, when you were born…" the words seemed to fail him, "She's given up everything, everything, so you'll be safe."

"You mean she's given up you?"

He winced and she knew it was true.

"Isn't that what you mean?"

He didn't answer.

"Isn't that what you mean? Isn't it about the fact she stopped fu-"

"Don't! Don't dare Anna!"

He stood up, fists clenched at his sides and pulsing open and closed.

"See, I'm no aristocrat. I just come from this," she motioned to him, sweeping her hand up and down sourly, "You put me in a life I wasn't made for and you left me there. I am not a Renaldi, I'm you. I am yours."

He sat down again, as if all the fury had flooded out his body, and put his head in his hands.

"I love your mother," he said, "And she loves me."

"I'm delighted for you both. Did it ever once occur to you that you were screwing everyone over royally, if you'll pardon the pun, while you fell in love? When you are feeling sorry for Rupert you know your parents have really created a shit storm."

She felt so logical in that moment, not angry or furious or even sad. She just wanted the answers she'd been chasing for years.

"Is there any chance you might stop swearing?"

"I suppose so," she agreed, "I know you don't like it."

"I never thought I'd mind it. But you're my daughter and it transpires I don't like it at all."

"So you're going to take an interest in me now?"

He shot her a wounded look, "I've always taken an interest in you."

"I know. That was low of me, I am sorry."

"I think we have lots to apologise for," he murmured, "I think we have lots to say sorry for. Anna, I'm going to ask you not to tell-"

"My mama, I know," she finished for him, "Why?"

"Because she's spent forever trying to protect you from it."

She nodded but said nothing because she wasn't sure if she could promise him and not break it.

"It will break her if she realises all she worked for was a waste of…," he shook his head, "Rupert told you, Anna?"

His shock was evident. It occurred to her then that they obviously imagined Rupert did not know. She wondered what had made her mother and Joseph think they'd escaped the truth.

"Yes," she looked out onto the glassiness of the lake and took another gulp, "When I was eleven. Remember the summer I spent in the library? He was drunk one night and he told me he wasn't my father. He didn't derive pleasure from it or anything…but he wasn't fussed either way really. I think that's what hurt more. I mean, I wanted him to be angry but he wasn't. He was just telling me facts. Isn't it ironic that the biggest liar in my life ended up being the only one to tell me the truth?"

"That must have hurt."

"Joe, I already knew. I have known since I was very little."

He sighed, "Yeah?"

"I've never fit. Even my brothers don't treat me like I fit, not really. They love me too much, they care too much. They were always frightened I'd realise. They were always trying to make me fit where I didn't."

He nodded.

"I won't tell her," she was urged to say suddenly, "I won't say anything."

"Thank you."

There was a silence then that was peaceful and calm and nothing like it had been before between them.

"Can I get my letters?"

"What?"

He was evidently horrified.

"My letters, can I have my letters?"

She pressed because the fire had fled her and now she just pitied him.

"You found those?"

"I went prowling for them, to be frank," she looked away, embarrassed that she'd been found out.

He was smiling though and the ghost of a laugh escaped his mouth.

"I don't know who you take that after," he smiled, "I mean, your mother is pretty good at giving security the slip-"

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, "Did she give you the slip?"

He laughed, "No, never."

"I had so many questions but your letters answered most, I suppose. I feel like I know it all. That made it worse because I had another history and no one was acknowledging it. I knew all this stuff and it was all stored inside me and everyone was ignoring it."

"I am so sorry," he said, "I am so, so sorry that we made you keep this."

"How were you to know? How were you to know? It would be easy for you to blame yourself. I could have just told you both and not been so angry."

"You are, you were, so angry."

"And I'm sorry for that," she nudged him, "Kind of. Can you hug me?"

He looked delighted at her request, "Yes, of course."

She sidled nearer him and she couldn't remember the last time she'd hugged Joe. It had been such a while since she'd crawled into his arms and just sat there. It had been such a part of her childhood, he had been such a fixture of her life, and she'd forgotten that.

"I missed hugging you," she said.

"You got so big Anna," he kissed her crown, "And fantastic."

She smiled up at him, "One could very much dispute that. I mean, lots of people would."

"Lots of people would be wrong."

She laughed and, after a while of silence said: "What are your plans for me?"

"You and I are going to leave in the morning but tonight, chatting and questions and…pizza," he took the brandy bottle, "No booze."

"You had a swig," she accused half-heartedly.

"I am legally allowed," he smiled and stood up, going towards the trash can and dumping the bottle.

"So am I."

He smiled, "But I prefer pizza."

"Funnily enough, so do I."

She felt like a little girl again, watching the man who'd always been her hero returning to form. It wasn't healed and it wasn't perfect, but she figured it would eventually get there. She knew he was still processing, still panicking, but she'd taken her shot and started her catharsis. He'd have to come with her, he'd have to accept now that she knew.

For her it was simple and easy and for him it would have to be too.

-0-

He hadn't chartered Genovia One, since the excuse he'd given for his absence was a personal family matter – which he supposed was true - so he hired a nice car and settled in for the journey to France. She was up early and ready to go, wearing a cotton shirt and jeans. She'd washed her hair and pushed it back from her face.

"Where are we going?"

She asked as he held the door open for her. It was still early and the car-lot was quiet and calm.

"Paris."

"Why Paris?"

"I want you to meet someone who means a lot to me," he answered honestly, "And that person is in Paris. You can't come back to Genovia, not right now."

He could see the relief etched on her face at the imperative that she wouldn't be returning just yet. Guilt coursed through him – had she been so miserable for so long and had they been so selfish that they ignored it?

"It's Magda, right?" She smiled and he could see excitement on her face, "Really?"

"Really. Buckle up."

Throughout the ride he considered what he'd say to Clarisse on his return and yet nothing would materialise. It would break her to know Anna knew, humiliate her too.

But then, if he didn't tell her he was a liar.

"Are you worried about my mother?"

Anna seemed to read his mind.

"Yes, absolutely."

His daughter tugged on her seatbelt, then looked thoughtful, "Not yet."

"You're telling me to lie to her."

"Oh," she laughed a little, "So your policy is not to lie to her."

He knew she was jesting but it still stung, "Yes, yes I suppose."

"Ironic," she teased, "Joe, let's work out a way to tell her, together. I would rather be there."

"Alright."

She reached for his hand, "You know once I told you that you were my favourite person?"

"Yes."

"That still stands."

Awkward? Contrived? I never felt I got it right, no matter how I tried. I'd be grateful of any feedback!