Your Daisy

Chapter One

Taylor's mouth feels fuzzy and her head isn't pounding yet, but it's clear that the moment she opens her eyes and light hits, it will be. In a desperately futile attempt to delay the inevitable, she rolls over and finds herself snuggled into another, very warm person.

Her eyes fly open, and then the hangover hits with a vengeance.

Step One: puke.

Step Two: groan and generally curse life.

Step Three: figure out why model and probable goddess Karlie Kloss is crashing in Taylor's hotel room instead of her own, just next door and every bit as comfy (more, even, because it doesn't come with a side of puking superstar as an alarm clock).

Taylor's only consolation is that Karlie doesn't look much better. The tall woman is curled into the fetal position, clutching her stomach. "I have zero memories of last night, Swift," she says, which is not generally a good thing with them. Last time, it led to grainy photos of them maybe kissing at a 1975 concert.

Allegedly kissing.

The allegedly is important. Taylor knows the truth, of course, and she's pretty sure Karlie does, but they've never talked about it. They didn't stop hanging out all the time, or holding hands or hugging or kissing each other's cheeks, but there is a new tension to it. It's the kind of tension that comes with knowing.

The point of the matter is that waking up wrapped around Karlie like a giant burrito with no memories of the night before has proven to be a dangerous activity for Taylor before, and she's not trying to be loud right now. The few weeks post-tour is the only break she's ever given herself, and she doesn't plan to ruin them with a media firestorm about whether or not she's dating her best friend.

"Same," she groans back at Karlie, and it may be late, but at least she has the excuse of feeling like her body is orchestrating a mutiny. She doesn't reach for her phone yet, though. Despite the jackhammer concerto in her head and general feeling of unease permeating the room, she isn't quite ready to let go of the feeling of holding Karlie and being held in return.

"I don't think I want to know," Karlie says. She waves a hand in Taylor's general direction. "Just leave me here to die."

Something on Karlie's finger glints. Taylor's heart stops for a second, but it wakes her brain up and it starts working overtime to excuse away the way something on Karlie's hand caught the light. It could be anything. "What's on your hand?" It isn't a careful venture, but she hasn't been a careful girl for a long time.

Karlie looks down at it, and Taylor knows from her expression. It's a wide eyed surprise that turns to horror faster than it takes to say "media shitstorm."

"Well, fuck," Taylor says and that about sums it up for the two of them.

"I like rings," Karlie's protest is weak. "It could be a normal ring. A friendship ring."

"A bros before hoes ring."

"Exactly!" Then she takes a moment to think about what she's said. "You're maybe more of a hoe than a bro though, Taylor."

She's... not wrong, especially if they are actually married to each other.

The part of her brain that's always songwriting starts scrolling through words, writing in the background even though she kind of needs all of her focus on the problem at hand.

Hitched.

"I'll check the news," Karlie offers. A good thing, too, because Taylor is not afraid to, per se, but she's definitely avoiding her phone.

Wedded.

The sound Karlie makes is neither human nor godly. It falls somewhere between a cat being slowly strangled and the death moans of a walrus. It's a hell of a way to enter marital bliss. Instead of words, Karlie just chucks her phone at Taylor.

Nuptials.

First, she notices the fact that it's at 13%. Nice. But then she realizes that they aren't just dealing with some blurry photos of some blonde girls who are maybe them maybe kissing. This is a whole other ballgame. This is Taylor's Instagram, Karlie's hand with a ring on it, the caption "SHE SAID YES" leaving little to the imagination.

Spouses.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Karlie says, her voice suddenly heavy. "Fuck."

"Tree is going to kill me." Taylor moves across the room faster than her hungover self should be able to manage and grabs her phone and external battery. In a few seconds it's on, and then promptly shuts down again from the number of calls and texts she's received since it died.

Karlie is twisting the ring around in circles, and Taylor's a bit jealous that she doesn't have one yet (yet? She has no right to be considering keeping this going, she reminds herself, and tamps down the desire to actually marry her best friend like an '80s movie cliche). Then she remembers what Karlie playing with her jewelry so openly usually means. "Are you okay?"

The one word response is enough to make her heart drop to her stomach. "Josh."

And it's a sign of how wrapped up in this whole fantasy she is that she completely forgot her best friend (and wife, now, if they actually made it legal) has a boyfriend. A long-term, public boyfriend who her Instagram feed says she loves very much. "Oh," Taylor responds a beat too late. "Oh no."

"He's mad," Karlie says. "It's... this isn't going to be good. For any of us."

The worst thing is that Taylor actually likes Josh, as much as she can. He's a nice dude, doesn't get along with his family, treats Karlie right when he happens to be around, and has great taste in men. Better than Taylor's, at any rate. Although, in terms of people Karlie could get accidentally and very publicly hitched to in Las Vegas, Taylor isn't actually the worst. She's kind of killing it at spin, and she's still America's sweetheart, even if people are kind of tired of her face being everywhere during tour. With Tree at her side, she's unstoppable.

Then, like she's been summoned, Tree calls again. "We'll fix this," Taylor promises. And then she answers.

"I expected better of you." Taylor flinches when Tree answers. She's not often so mean about Taylor's fuck-ups, but this is arguably her worst one ever. Then: "How is Karlie?" And this is why Taylor is probably never ever going to fire Tree. She knows what (who) Taylor thinks is most important and protects her above anyone else.

"Kind of freaking out." She checks and yep: eyes distant, focused on nothing, still worrying at her ring, all classic signs of a complete Karlie freakout. She adds, "Kind of super really freaking out."

"I've already talked to Scooter, and he's willing to let me take point on this one." Not a surprise, because of the two of them Tree's more confident by worlds. "I've also tried to get in contact with Mr. Kushner, but have yet to hear back."

She imagines he's handling his own PR disaster with far fewer facts than Karlie and Taylor have, and they aren't exactly killing it on knowing the details of last night. "What's the plan?"

She can imagine the way Tree's face must be scrunching up. "It's a hard call. You and Karlie are legally married."

"Fuck."

"Indeed. There's a record of it at Crazy Dave's Wedding Emporium, and while I've offered them a significant amount of money and signed CDs of Dave's daughter, I wouldn't be inclined to trust them. And, of course, you posted that photo. There's a lot more to cover up here than there was in December."

"Thanks, Tree, I am aware that I'm an idiot." That gets Karlie to look up, a wry smile on her face that says she totally agrees with Taylor's self-assessment. "What do you recommend?"

There's a pause, and then Tree lays it on them. "I think you should stay married."