He announces one night over dinner that he wants to take her to a show on Broadway. Blair's left eyebrow shoots so far up her forehead it almost blends in with her dark tresses, and her full red lips curve into a disbelieving smirk.
"No, seriously. What is it?"
"I am being serious!" Chuck exclaims, and he sets his glass down with such a clatter that red wine threatens to splash onto the tablecloth beneath.
Blair's eyes narrow, "A show? As in, a musical?"
Chuck merely shrugs as he rips off a hunk of bread from the basket between them, trying to ignore Blair's scrutinising eyes. Finally, after watching Chuck stuff his face with ciabatta for a tad bit longer than she'd have liked, she nods.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. We're going to see Chicago."
--
Four bars into 'All That Jazz', Chuck's seriously regretting suggesting the whole Broadway show idea. He has to keep touching the small velvet box in his suit pocket to remind him why it's worth it.
--
He can't take it any longer – the little casket burning a hole in his pocket, nor the lusty jazz that Roxie or Velma or whoever is currently prancing about to – so he leans over towards Blair. The smell of her Marc Jacobs perfume mixed with the clean scent of her strawberry shampoo is enough to make him nearly keel over in sheer delight, but he grips the velvet-clad armrest and presses his lips to just below her ear.
"I have a proposition for you."
Blair's eyes flicker momentarily to him, before settling back on the scene before them. "Later."
"No, now."
She rolls her eyes, but allows him to continue.
"Marry me," Chuck whispers, and his breath against her neck makes her skin become studded with goosebumps. With a gentle kiss to her earlobe and a small smirk beginning to form on his lips, he pulls back to look at her.
Her eyes are wide and her lips are slightly parted, and she's utterly speechless. Chuck's grinning smugly at her reaction, and no matter how much she wants to, she just can't get her lips to move.
He cocks an eyebrow, smirk still in tact. "Well?"
"Charles Bass," she hisses, finally finding her voice, "if you genuinely think that's how to propose to a lady – nay, a Waldorf! – you may think again!"
He slides her the little blue box and she shuts up instantly. Upon sliding the ring down that very special finger on the left hand, she looks up to him.
"I want another proposal. A proper one; a normal one. You can do something cliché, like putting it in the cake, or under the stars, or in the champagne. Yeah, do the champagne. Over dinner. On my birthday. And get me something nice to wear too."
Chuck nods astutely to everything she says, "Anything you want," and it makes Blair smile.
--
I think I'm becoming very anticlimactic; I just can't get any ending right. Anywho.
I sortof see this as somewhat of a prequel to Nuit de la Tragédie, but it can be read as a standalone too. Well. That's it from me; I'll stop boring you. Reviews are nice little surprises in my inbox. (Hint hint)
CJM.