Legacy:
"I want to see
you lift your chin a little higher,
open your eyes a little wider,
speak your mind a little louder,
'cause you are royalty."
On that late October Monday afternoon, Henry Charles Nathaniel Bass was crossing the hallway of St. Jude's High School with a smirk on his face. He was feeling particularly proud of himself. He had managed to leave his last class – a dull French lesson – well in advance, granting himself a few small pleasures that only twenty minutes of calm and solitude could offer. He had been able to set his books back into his locker without the annoying buzz of people hungry for his attention, to fix his hair and his suit properly inside of the empty bathroom and eventually to text his dad to wait for him in front of the building.
Indeed, the excuse he had uttered to his teacher, astonishing her with his fluent French and pristine pronounce, wasn't completely false. As his mother used to say, the best built lies were those that had a ground of truth; it was perfectly credible for Henry to justify his need to leave earlier by claiming that his father had been forced to move up their appointment, for he was obviously an exceptionally busy man. Though the absolute urgency he had talked about was a mere product of his persuasion, he was actually supposed to meet his father, who had told him that morning before leaving for work that he had something important to tell him. While this reason wouldn't have been enough to allow any other student to skip part of a lesson, no one had the guts to risk to bother the Bass family.
Proud bearer of his surname, Henry never missed to take advantage of its influence and to catch every opportunity it offered him. His parents had raised him to be constantly aware of his status and to never allow people to forget it; so Henry paced through his school, with the proud, unapproachable pose of a monarch and all of the grace given by an education designed to shape his sophistication. Even though he was curious and excited to know what his father had to talk to him about, the enthusiasm didn't leave any traces on the haughty expression on his face and didn't rush his deliberate steps.
As the hallway rapidly started to fill up with boys and girls, a formless crowd that poured out of the classrooms' dark wooden doors, its chatter overflowing with delight for the end of the lessons, Henry pursed his lips in annoyance and huffed.
His peers' eagerness looked rather vulgar to his eyes – loud and unfashionable as their sad jokes and ridiculous quarrels – and he didn't have the time nor the intention to interrupt his stride to engage a conversation with any of them. The way they all seemed to hang off his words and their reverential gazes bored him. The top of the metaphorical pyramid the school was, where he stood alone and from where he ruled undisturbed, was precluded to that unexciting mass of people.
Which was why Henry found himself rolling his eyes when Nicholas Thrussell came up beside him. "Hen, you must come see what's happening in the courtyard," he said, his voice full of excitement. "It's insane."
Henry raised a skeptical eyebrow at his classmate. "I strongly doubt it would interest me, Nicholas," he answered with a sigh and an uninterested expression. He didn't arrest his steps, forcing Nicholas to follow him down the corridor. "Besides, I have more important things to do. I'm meeting with my father."
"But, Hen, it is important," the boy insisted. "It's about the Constance girls; there's some sort of face-off going on between the new queen and the old one."
Henry heaved a longer sigh. He had lost his interest for those two young women and their power war at the beginning of the school year, when he had decided to have fun fomenting their rivalry by adding them both to the long list of his conquests. "Of course there is," he replied apathetically, his voice tinged with tedium. "The Debutant Ball is just around the corner, you'll have to expect a long sequence of these catfights for the next month," he explained. "I don't see why it should concern me."
Truth to be told, he did. He was well aware of the fact that he was the reason behind the drama that was occurring in the patio. He still hadn't pronounced himself about who he was going to escort to the ball and the girls were literally competing for his invite, since debuting with him by their side meant having the certainty to rule till graduation day. The atmosphere of trepidations suspense surrounding him was so gratifying that he had been enjoying postponing his announcement.
Nicholas stopped walking. "Henry!" he exclaimed. "The point is they're fighting over you!"
Slowly, Henry turned to look at his classmate, a pleased smirk curving his lips. "I know," he declared, opening his arms in a theatrical gesture. "Isn't it flattering?"
With that rhetoric question he spun around and proceeded to walk down the hallway.
Two minutes later Henry was climbing down the steps in front of the building, heading to the shiny black limousine pulled up to the sidewalk. Inside the car, Chuck smiled at the sight of his son from behind the darkened car window. The boy looked content and confident, his schoolbag casually leaned on his shoulder and the usual elegant and poised posture marking out his unhurried steps.
Chuck slid to the opposite seat as his driver opened the door and held it open for Henry, who paused before entering the vehicle. He rested his hand on the top of the car, bent over and looked inside the cabin with a smirk on his lips. "I bet you've been waiting for ten minutes at least, haven't you, dad?" he joked.
Motioning for him to come inside, Chuck concealed a pinch of shyness in a chortle. Henry was right, of course; he had been waiting for him to exit the school for a quarter of hour. His son was seventeen and completely autonomous – he had his own driver and his own bodyguard, not to mention a natural inclination for independence – , but whenever Chuck decided to come pick him up from anywhere, he could never repress that bit of anxiety which led him to arrive earlier.
The boy loved to mock his concern, but his teasing words were always gentle and matched with an affectionate look that was so similar to his mother's; amused and ironic, but also patient and understanding. His pride was immediately restored by this awareness, pushing away the vague embarrassment that had caught him and made him lower his gaze.
He looked up and smirked. "You forget I know you, Henry," he stated calmly as Henry sat down and the driver closed the car door behind him. "I simply figured you would have skipped the last part of your French class. There was a chance you could have left the school before I arrived," he kept on explaining, "which would have been a problem since, knowing I was coming to pick you up, you dismissed your security guard when you got here this morning."
Taking off his coat, Henry couldn't help but chuckling and shaking his head a little, always entertained by his father's tenacious refusal to admit his soft spots. It wasn't the fact that such a powerful and solid man had his fears to be comical to his eyes, but rather the stubborn pride with which his father tried to disguise them, even if he was perfectly aware that Henry, knowing him to the core, recognized and understood his concerns.
"You know I wouldn't do that, dad. I'm not irresponsible," he replied with a smile, making himself comfortable on the seat while the limousine started to pick up speed as it proceeded along the road. "You simply adore waiting for me. But you were right about French class. Why do I even have to follow the course?" he complained dramatically. "I speak it far better than my teacher."
Chuck leaned in and patted on his shoulder. "Because you know that dull lessons are still more bearable than having to listen to your mother trying to convince you that you need them. Also," he shot the boy a knowing glance, "there's the fact you don't have to study to excel."
Henry sighed. "I suppose so," he answered distractedly, the corners of his lips tilting up in the hint of a satisfied smirk. He had pulled down the car mirror from the ceiling and he was focused fixing his hair. He continued to do so for a couple of seconds, then he turned his head towards his father and grinned. "So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked cheerfully, leaning his head against the seatback and crossing his legs. "You got me intrigued with all that secretiveness this morning."
An oblique smile gave Chuck a rather pleased expression. "I'll tell you when we'll get there."
"Where is 'there', dad?" Henry frowned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
He was dying to know now, well aware that the only secrets his father managed to keep from him were surprises – and great ones. The infamously cryptic and mysterious Chuck Bass had always been incapable of denying his son the truth. Henry had never felt like there was something he couldn't ask him or something he couldn't talk to him about. There were no secrets between them; their relationship was completely open and based on honesty.
Chuck shook his head slowly, reaching out to the bar cabinet, from which he extracted a decanter and a crystal glass. "Patience, Henry," he affirmed then in a grave tone.
"Patience?" Watching him pour himself a scotch, Henry snorted, his eyebrows raised in a doubtful expression. He let out a chuckle. "What happened to 'Bass men never wait'?"
Chuck eyed his son over his drink. "Life has its exception," he observed enigmatically, before taking a sip of amber liquor.
Henry rolled his eyes at his father's secretive smile and directed his gaze out of the car window, trying to figure out where they were heading. He was staring at the buildings sweeping fast before his eyes when Chuck uttered: "Since we have a few minutes before we arrive, I think you should know your mother asked me to find out what are your plans for the debutant ball."
At the words, Henry chortled. He turned back to look at Chuck, offering him a tiny smile. "Did she?" he asked.
Catching the rhetorical meaning of his son's question and realizing that the information he had provided him with hadn't come unexpected, Chuck found himself snickering. "Yes, she did," he replied.
He was sure that Henry was simply basking in the satisfaction of making everyone wait for his decision and the thought inevitably pleased him, for the self-importance and the vanity behind that behavior were traits he could also clearly distinguish in himself. Back in the days he would have had fun doing exactly the same thing.
Which was what he had told Blair the night before, when, in bed, she had demanded him to "figure out who your son decided to escort, Bass, since he's obviously torturing me with this wait".
His wife had huffed and rolled her eyes at the proud expression and the openly delighted smirk that had accompanied his answer. She had called him an "impossible man", before leaning in and kissing him, because, after almost twenty years of marriage, he knew she still couldn't resist his smugness.
"Now," Chuck kept on, "I suppose I can guess you've already made a choice, didn't you?" he raised his eyebrows at his son.
Henry sighed. "Of course I did, dad," he answered shrugging. "Weeks ago. But keeping them hanging has its advantages. Do you have any idea what those girls are willing to do to win an invite? They get incredibly accommodating. I haven't had to write one single essay in a month. They do it in my place just to please me."
If Blair had seen the utterly satisfied expression on his face, she would have surely gotten furious at him, Chuck knew it. Yet, he couldn't help but giving Henry and approving, prideful smile. "I can imagine," he responded with a giggle. He then heaved a long sigh and, locking eyes with his son, he said: "As long as they know that you're not serious about either of them, you're free to keep the girls waiting as long as you want. But I suggest to let mom know about your decision. As you well know, she's in charge of the event, which tends to make her even more impatient than she generally is."
"Oh, they know I don't want to date them. They're okay with it, they just want the glory of the Bass name. Anyways, it's fine," a soft laugh escaped Henry's lips as he nodded. "I'll communicate mom I'm gonna escort Isabelle Rogerson later when she gets home."
"The brunette you told me about last month?" Chuck wondered before taking another sip of scotch. Henry used to confide his adventures to him and he couldn't be happier about it. It wasn't the fact that his son was already a notorious womanizer to flatter him, it was most of all Henry's carefreeness and the way he was genuinely enjoying his youth, free from the sense of emptiness that had characterized his own adolescence.
While to him sex had also been a way to escape the anguish of his life, to Henry it was simply fun. His decision not to have a stable girlfriend wasn't the outcome of his fear of love and his lack of belief in commitment; it was a desire to experience all he could get from his teenage years, a greed for freedom and passion that Chuck wouldn't dare to judge.
Henry nodded back at him. "Yep, that's her."
"A Bass and a brunette," Chuck uttered in an amused voice, a sly smile on his lips. "Blair will be thrilled. She'll probably demand your dame to wear a Waldorf Designs gown."
"I know," Henry shrugged. "It won't be a problem. If there's someone girls venerate more than me, that's mom. They'd probably debut with a hoodie on if she asked them."
The words had come out satisfied and flattered, and Chuck found himself smiling softly at that small reminder that Henry genuinely admired him and Blair. He showed it constantly, with his devotion to their family; he was prideful, protective and respectful. And every time Chuck got a demonstration – no matter how small – that they had raised a boy who was able to be utterly loyal to his loved ones, supportive and understanding, he knew that the man Henry was becoming was his greatest accomplishment and the best thing he had ever done.
When the limousine stopped in front of Victrola, Henry's eyebrows wrinkled in a frown. He looked at the club's entrance from behind the car window and his eyes narrowed with his growing confusion. After a moment, he turned to shoot a perplexed glance at his father, who limited himself to stretch his lips in a secretive smirk and stare back at him in silence.
"What are we doing here, dad?" Henry asked. He and his clan were affectionate regulars in his father's renowned burlesque club and he was familiar enough with the place to know that it didn't open before nine pm and that Monday was its closed day.
Chuck's expression remained impassible at the question, with the exception of his mischievous, visibly pleased smile, which turned sharper. He leaned in, pressed the intercom button and told his bodyguard that they were ready to exit the car. "I'll tell you once we're inside, young Bass," he stated after.
Henry rolled his eyes at Chuck's obvious amusement in front of his impatience. While his mom enjoyed calling him with tender nicknames – and she was the only one who was allowed to refer to him as "sweetie" - , his dad (who loathed epithets and still stubbornly called his best friend "Nathaniel") always used his full name. Unless he was teasing him, of course; in that case, he became "young Bass."
When the bodyguard came to hold the door open for them, Henry, proud and susceptible, was careful not to rush out of the limousine. He eyed his father and, under his gaze, he slowly put on and adjusted his coat, taking all the time to prove him that his edginess to find out what he was hiding was perfectly under control and therefore not material for irony.
When he saw he was done, Chuck rested a hand on his son's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Are you ready to go?" he asked.
A bright smile spread across Henry's face. "I was born ready, dad," he straightened the collar of his coat. "I'm a Bass."
Giggling, Chuck nodded. "Well said," he replied, patting gently on his back. "Come on, Henry; let's go inside. Unfortunately I have a meeting in two hours and I don't want to rush our conversation."
Father and son slipped out of the vehicle and paced to the club's entrance. When they reached it, Chuck pulled a key out of the pocket of his trench and, before inserting it into the keyhole, he turned towards his bodyguard and demanded him to wait for them outside. Then, smiling, he pushed the heavy door open and, putting an arm around his shoulders, he led Henry into the vestibule.
On closed day the staff worked on the inventory and cleaned out the first floor and the balcony overlooking the stage and the hall with the tables. Still, even though both activities were in full swing when they entered, the place was quiet compared to its typical nocturnal life. Crossing the entrance to the bar's counter, Chuck smiled at that uncommon calmness. He had chosen Monday afternoon explicitly for this reason; he wanted the tête-à-tête he had planned to have with his son to be an intimate moment, free from the chaos of noisy costumers and loud music.
The bartender hadn't heard them arrive. He was organizing liquor bottles on the dark wooden shelves and he had his back turned to the wall. Chuck cleared his throat to get his attention, resting his arm on the counter's tabletop.
The man spun around, opening his eyes wide at the sight of his boss. "Mr. Bass," he greeted him. "We weren't expecting you."
Chuck nodded indifferently. "My son and I need a table," he went straight to the point, tapping his fingers on the marble. "Specifically the one in the VIP area in front of the stage. I imagine it can be arranged, can't it?" The glance he shoot at the bartender made it clear he wouldn't have accepted a negative answer.
The man bowed his head. "Absolutely, Mr. Bass. The cleaners have already taken care of the first floor," he replied promptly. "I'll escort you."
"That won't be necessary," Chuck cut him off firmly. "I know my way. Actually," he paused, turning briefly to look at Henry, who was standing right behind him, his dark gaze shimmering with trepidation. A smirk raised to Chuck's lips before he directed his attention back at the bartender. "We'd like some privacy. I'll let you know if we need anything."
Chuck motioned for Henry to follow him into the hall. Making his way through the empty club, his eyes travelling all around the extensive room, he was caught by a certain sense of nostalgia.
Almost three decades had passed since he had acquired it, but it still looked like the old fashioned, intriguing burlesque bar he had placed his bet on when he was sixteen and greedy for his first taste of success and approval. He had never found the desire to change it. The vintage, bohemian atmosphere had remained intact over the years; the parquet floor, the heavy curtains framing the stage, the small tables and the suffused lighting were silent custodians of all the significant moments that had taken place behind those walls. Victrola had marked every powerful experiences of his teen years; there he had found the first demonstration of his potential, he had fallen in love, he had almost lost his mind and his life and he had been saved – saved in many ways: from jumping off a building and from a hollow life, deprived of the knowledge of unceasing love.
As he sat down on the plush couch set in the VIP area, Chuck inhaled a deep sigh, allowing those memories and emotions to sink in.
Still standing in front of the small table where a huge vintage gramophone was on display, Henry stopped folding his coat and eyed his father suspiciously. "What's the matter, dad?" he asked.
Chuck stared back at him and, doing so, he found himself smiling. His son's delicate and instinctual thoughtfulness was inestimably precious to him. It was indispensable and inevitable; he had never been able to hide from those warm, caring eyes that were so similar to Blair's. Henry had a lot of her ability to understand him and of her sensitivity.
Taking off his trench, he shook his head. "Everything is fine," he reassured the boy, noticing he looked somewhat concerned. "I was just wondering about everything that happened in this place."
Henry's expression relaxed; his eyebrows raised with amused interest, a frown puckering his forehead under the perfectly cut fringe. "Are you going to tell me about your juvenile adventures?" he wondered ironically, pacing towards the couch.
Chuck chortled. "In some ways, yes," he answered vaguely, as Henry sat down next to him. "I'm going to tell you about my very first adventure in business."
At that revelation, vivid interest immediately made Henry's eyes twinkle. "That's a promising prelude, dad," he commented with a smirk.
That fresh, unconditioned enthusiasm caused Chuck to smile once again. The one staring back at him was a fervent look he knew very well, since his son had showed the same passion and curiosity for his job since young age; he had always been quite intrigued by his father's career, not to mention extremely proud. There was still something of a child in the boy's expression, a candid desire to listen and learn that reminded Chuck he still had the ability to surprise him.
Making himself comfortable on the couch, he laid his arm on the backrest, a compromise with his instinct to wrap it around Henry's shoulders and pull him close in a tight hug as he used to do when he was a kid. He sometimes had to remind himself that his son was almost an adult.
"When I was sixteen," Chuck started, "my father was convinced I wasn't being serious enough about my future. He considered the fact that I still hadn't took my first steps into the real estate world highly disappointing."
When he paused, Henry eyed him in silence for a moment, saddened but not surprised. He knew the story of how Chuck's youth had been tormented by the cruelty of his own father fully; he had been given a general idea of it during his childhood, but Chuck had talked to him about it in details last year, when he had turned sixteen. "You were just a teenager," he stated, his voice quiet and flat.
A bitter smile bent Chuck's lips. "I was never allowed to truly enjoy my youth, Henry. Back then I had to do something to prove him I had the talent to be what he expected me to become: a successful business man. So I picked this club," he concluded, looking around.
"Victrola?" Henry's eyes opened wide with surprise. He couldn't repress a soft giggle. "It's definitely a bold choice."
"Well," Chuck smirked proudly, "it's bold but accurate. What says Chuck Bass better than a retro burlesque club?"
Henry chuckled. "Nothing, I suppose," he replied. He turned silent for a second, a pensive expression on his face. "Owning and managing a club at sixteen is an extraordinary accomplishment. How could it not be enough for your father?"
His words had sounded admiring, but also somehow indignant. He clearly considered his grandfather's attitude meaningless and insulting. Touched by the visceral protectiveness and deep devotion his son had once again displayed with his outraged question, Chuck slid his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "I stopped asking myself this question a long time ago."
The sincerity and the calmness of his father's tone allowed Henry to nod. His stare remained fixed on Chuck, who smiled gently back at him. "The truth is it doesn't matter anymore and it shouldn't have mattered at the time. What's important is that being in charge of Victrola helped me to realize that there was something I was good at. Six months after I bought it, it was worth twice its original value."
"It's impressive, dad," Henry uttered, an undertone of genuine respect and pride in his voice.
Chuck nodded. "It was a good result indeed," he conceded, always a tad self-conscious in front of his son's compliments. He looked down, a tiny smile rising to his lips. "But is not the main reason why this club is so important to me."
Henry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What can possibly be more meaningful than your first success?"
Guiding his gaze back to his son, Chuck sighed deeply, his smile widening and softening at the memory crossing his mind. "Your mother," he stated after.
"Mom?" Henry, taken aback by the answer, stared at his father with puzzled eyes.
Chuck nodded. "This is the place where I fell in love with her," he revealed, a shade of emotion making his voice lower and deeper. His eyes moved to the stage in front of them and rested there, helping him to bring back the reminiscence of his wife dancing for him in pale ivory lingerie. It had been twenty-five years, and yet the image was still vivid and bright in his mind. "She won me over by performing the most amazing striptease before my eyes, right on that stage."
Turning his stare back to Henry, he was delighted to catch the wide smile stretching the boy's lips and the charmed surprise glistening in his gaze. His utterly fascinated expression was a silent request to keep on with the story and Chuck knew he couldn't help but indulge that desire. He had shared the tale of many moments of his life with his son, joyful and painful memories, but never this one; he had always been somewhat jealous of the beginning of his love story with Blair and cherished it protectively. Yet, knowing what he was going to ask Henry, making him comprehend completely the emotional value of Victrola had felt simply right, even central.
"What I want you to understand," he kept on, desirous to add more meaning and truth to his words, "is that, though your mom's beauty was already breathtaking, it wasn't her good look or her sensuality to conquer my heart. It was much more than that."
Henry blinked, perplexed. His pose was serious and his stare full of wonder and questions. "What was it then?"
"She chose me," Chuck answered simply, resting his hand on his son's forearm. He smiled gently at him and added: "She had never let that side of her – her darkest, mischievous side – come out before. I was the first who had the luck to see her completely."
"She knew you would have understood her," Henry observed after a few seconds of pensive silence. He enriched his realization with a sympathetic, spontaneous beam that told Chuck he had caught the significance of what he had explained him. "It made you feel special, didn't it?"
Chuck answered with a quiet, shy nod. "The feeling of being chosen was something I had never experienced before she decided I was worthy of knowing her better than anyone."
Henry didn't reply; he glanced down, conceding himself a moment to reflect on his father's confession. "Why are you telling me this, dad?" he asked eventually. "Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful story and I'm truly thankful you chose to share it with me, but I know you. There must be a reason."
Amused by Henry's subtle mind and perceptiveness, Chuck laughed softly. "There is, actually," he declared, staring right in the boy's eyes, who smirked satisfied at his own correct intuition. "I wanted you to know what Victrola means to me and therefore to us as a family because, if you want it, I'd be honored to give it to you."
His revelation had come completely unexpected, Chuck understood it by how Henry's eyes widened with astonishment and his lips parted slightly. His son shook his head a little, lowered his eyes for a second and then glanced back at him. "Do you want me to manage it?" he asked in a tone that was both eager and incredulous. "Do you trust me with it?"
Chuck guided his hand to Henry's head, stroking his hair in a tender gesture that had been the constant of the boy's childhood and that now was reserved to their most intimate and heartfelt conversations. The touch made the seventeen years old smile at his father.
"I wouldn't trust anyone else, Henry," he stated firmly. "You're my only son. The place where your mother and I started the journey that led us to build a life together belongs to you."
It was the absolute truth; while most of his hotels and clubs were handled by managers, he had never been able to entrust the running of Victrola to anyone. It was one of the few places he still took care of first hand. He owned activities all over the world, most of them more prestigious and lucrative than Victrola, but none of them compared to the meaning that place held.
"But I don't want to push you," he added right after. He hesitated, trying to figure out the best not to make Henry feel like the one he was giving him was an imposition instead of a proposal. "I want it to be clear that you have no obligations," he pointed out. "It's important that you this through. I'll be proud and glad if you decide to accept my offer, but if you don't feel ready or if you simply aren't interested anymore in following in my footsteps I'll understand. It's completely up to you."
Still overwhelmed, Henry nodded. "I promise I'll think about it," he said in a whisper. Then, all of sudden, he threw his hands around Chuck's neck, clinging to him as he used to do when he was a child. "Thank you, daddy," he said against his father's shoulder.
Squeezing him in a tight embrace, Chuck closed his eyes and breathed him in. Kissing the top of Henry's head, he smiled. He hadn't been called daddy in years, but the sound of that word still remained the most beautiful he had ever heard.
Later that day Henry was in the library, enjoying the pleasure of quietness. The room was located on the fourth floor, which also housed his parents' offices. With both of them at work and the staff busy with dinner arrangements, though, it was the perfect place to concede himself some privacy.
He had made himself comfortable on one of the red velvet armchairs in front of the dark marble fireplace, his legs stretched out on the ottoman, and tried to concentrate on his favorite book. Though he had read The Prince by Machiavelli a fair number of times since his mother had given him a copy of the volume for his thirteenth birthday, that afternoon the words seemed to escape his ability to grasp them. He simply couldn't focus, for his mind kept coming back to the conversation he had had with his father a couple of hours earlier.
Giving up on his attempt to read, he set the book aside, leaned his head on the backrest and, sighing deeply, he closed his eyes. The offer he had received from his father wasn't just flattering, it was most of all reassuring; it carried a pure declaration of esteem and the tacit acknowledgment that he was growing up. Though his father had never missed to gratify him with his words, his gestures and overall his support, his decision of trusting him with the management of Victrola was special; it felt like he was giving him the chance of taking a fundamental, autonomous step towards adulthood.
Henry had never really had doubts about his future. While most of his peers were full of uncertainties and unsure about the direction they wanted their lives to take, he had dreamt about taking his father's place in charge of Bass Industries ever since he could remember.
He was sure that it was his place in the world because he had been given the opportunity to choose for himself in several ways. The wide and detailed education he had received had allowed him to experience various fields and sift through a large number of options. At seventeen, Henry was interested in all the kinds of art, in politics, in fashion and even in some sports. He had traveled all around the world, got the chance of meeting different cultures and of opening his mind to innovation; he was a natural leader, an especially elegant speaker who was fluent in French and German, a good pianist and an excellent polo player. He had many passions, which he had been left free to develop without any restrictions. Yet, nothing thrilled him as business did.
Chuck had gladly indulged his natural inclination from the very beginning. As a child, whenever possible, Henry had never been denied the chance to accompany his father to work. He still remembered how much he loved sitting on the large carpet of his dad's office and filling the hours he spent at Bass Industries with all the questions that came to his mind – queries to which Chuck had always answered as exhaustively as possible. His interest had only grew with his age and, over the time, the details about his job Chuck used to share with him had become more and more specific and numerous, till, during that year's summer break, Henry had been finally allowed to attend broad meetings and to join Chuck in a few business trips.
But was he ready to manage an activity my his own? Honestly, he felt like he was. He had been developing this precise ambition for a couple of years now; he had his well elaborated plans, his fresh ideas and the awareness of being talented. But not as talented as his father…
"What are you doing here all alone, sweetie?"
His mother's voice shook Henry from his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he turned to the heavy inlaid mahogany door to see Blair stepping into the room.
Henry welcomed her with a lazy smirk, inhaling the distinct scent of Chanel N°5 she always brought with her. "Waiting for you, of course," he replied in a tone full of flattery. "You look gorgeous, mom," he added with the fascinating smile he knew she loved.
He was honest; even after a long day of work, she was impeccable. Not a single crease wrinkled the fabric of her red midi skirt and matching blazer; even the bow of her silk shirt was still unblemished. Blair Waldorf Bass was a never fading picture of sophistication. Her poised elegance and her aristocratic grace, displays of eternal beauty and class, commanded admiration.
To Henry, her perfect appearance paled only in front of the greatness of her personality. She wasn't just a model of ambition and dignity, a pillar of enduring strength and an example of tireless courage, but also the cornerstone of their family. She had managed to make her drive to thrive in business coexist with her desire to manage their domestic life in an harmonic, efficient way. Full of care, his mother granted him and his father the stability of a routine and the warmth of her thoughtful attentions.
Pacing towards the sitting area, Blair smiled back at her son. "You're a charmer, Hen," she replied pleased as she offered him the loving look she never missed to greet him with. When she reached his armchair, she leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on the top of his head. "Such a perfect gentleman."
Always delighted by a compliment, Henry motioned for her to take the seat next to his. "Then allow me to ask you about your day. Was it good?"
"It was tolerable," Blair answered with a sigh. She pursed her red lipstick covered lips, assuming a slightly annoyed expression. "I had to convince a debutant to reconsider her gown choice. Her requests were simply intolerable."
Henry snickered. "Convincing and coercing are synonyms in the Waldorf vocabulary."
Raising her eyebrows, Blair shot him a stern look. "Waldorf Designs does not produce tacky pieces, Henry," she sated proudly and firmly. "This girl wanted a low-cut dress that would have looked inappropriate even in a nightclub."
"Inappropriate but surely interesting." With that comment, a sly smirk curled Henry's lips. "May I ask who had this unfortunate idea?"
Blair eyed him in silence for a moment. She then shook her head and heaved a long sigh. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the way you sound exactly like your dad," she observed, rolling her eyes. "Anyways, it was Jasmine Walton."
"Oh, the rebel queen," Henry stated, his smirk turning sharper. She was one of the girls fighting over his invite, a blonde and rather daring lady who adored being provocative and took pride in her libertine attitude. "It sounds like her. Actually, I briefly considered escorting her to the ball," he added casually, staring at his mother. He knew she was impatient to know about his decision and he watched her face lighting up with interest and, enjoying the way her deep brown eyes were filling with impatience, he conceded himself a theatrical pause before keeping on with his sentence. "But eventually I came to realize Isabelle Rogerson was a better fit."
A wide, visibly satisfied grin spread across Blair's face and Henry found himself laughing softly at her enthusiasm. To him the debutant ball was nothing more than a fun occasion to feed his ego, but to his mother it was of exceptional importance; indeed he had ended up picking the girl who he knew would have pleased her the most – classy, ambitious and vaguely diabolic.
"It's a perfect choice, sweetie," Blair uttered, leaning in and reaching out to his hand on the armrest. She cupped it with hers. "I had the chance to talk to her and she's a graceful young woman." She hesitated, her gaze fixing on him and studying his expression attentively. Then, offering him a gentle smile, she added: "Who knows, maybe you'll come to consider the idea of spending some more time with her…"
"Mom," Henry, knowing all too well what she was going to say, interrupted her with a chortle. "We've talked about this. You know I don't want a girlfriend."
Letting go of his hand, Blair huffed. She took a second to compose herself before looking back at her son. "Henry," she sighed, elegantly crossing her legs, "how can you possibly know you don't want a stable relationship if you've never had one? Your father used to be the same and look at him now!"
It wasn't an unreasonable remark, Henry thought. Still, he knew he didn't want to settle for anything less than what he was looking for in a relationship. And what he wanted, he knew for sure, was the kind of bond his parents had. He had grown up witnessing their passion, their faithfulness and the way they understood, respected and accepted each other; and the model of love he could see before his eyes every day had convinced him that he deserved something as deep and as powerful.
He wasn't incapable of commitment or unable to open up to the idea of love. He simply wanted a woman to love him the way his mother loved his father, as devotedly and as unconditionally, and he himself wanted to love someone the way his father did with his mother, with the same dedication and the same respect.
As he wondered about it, his father's words from earlier came back to his mind, strengthening his conviction. The story of how his parents had fallen in love had truly touched him and left a sense of belonging and rightness in his chest. If he thought about them – his mother's pearls and his father's suits, the way they'd dace to swing songs and attend parties in matching outfits – he couldn't envision a more fitting start to that love story than discovering their mutual feelings in a burlesque club.
More than that, Henry had remained fascinated by the profound meaning his father had given to that moment. He was going to wait for the person who would have chosen him and trusted him the way his parents had done with each other.
"That's because dad found you," he replied. He took her hand and guided it to his lips, kissing its back. "I'll settle down when I'll find woman who's as special as you are."
Blair blushed. Unable to contradict his statement, she allowed a soft laugh to escape her lips. "I suppose I can't argue with that," she answered. Looking down, she noticed the book Henry had left on the coffee table in front of them and frowned. "Are you reading The Prince again, Hen?"
Henry shrugged. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "I just wanted to distract myself for a bit."
"What's wrong, honey?" Blair asked, a hint of worry in her tone. She freed her hand from his only to guide it to his chin, stroking it lightly with her thumb. "What's on your mind?"
Shaking his head a little, Henry lowered his gaze. "Nothing is wrong," he told her. "I'm just wondering about something dad told me today."
Relieved, Blair smiled sweetly at him. She knew exactly what Henry was talking about. She and Chuck had discussed his idea of offering Henry the managing of Victrola for a couple of months and, once convinced that it actually was a good decision, they had agreed on telling him a week ago. Last night, when her husband had communicated her he was going to talk to their son the following day, Blair had laced her arms around his neck and reminded him he had no reason to feel nervous, for he was giving his son a beautiful opportunity without forcing him to take it.
"What did he tell you?" Blair asked patiently anyways.
"He came to pick me up from school and brought me to Victrola," Henry confessed to his mother, his eyes still down to his lap. "He told me he wants me to have it, mom. He says he trusts me with the managing."
"That's a great offer, Henry," she pointed out quietly, her tone calm and mildly cheerful to let him know he had her approval. "Has dad told you about the story behind that place?" she asked delicately. Henry was introvert and quite reserved, and Blair knew she had to approach the topic step by step, leaving him the chance to reveal his thoughts in a way that respected his timing.
Henry nodded slowly. "He did. He told me that it was his first business," he paused, staring at his mother with a deeply pensive expression. "He also told me it is the place he fell in love with you," he kept on in a whisper.
His gentle tone warmed Blair's heart. The connection Henry had with Chuck was exceptional in many ways, but she knew that the most special aspect of their bond was how effortlessly and how intensively they understood each other. There was an unique empathy between them, an instinctual compassion that allowed Henry to read through his father with immediacy. While Blair still had to pause and reflect to decipher her husband's feelings, their son had always done it naturally; she had no doubts that Henry had truly understood what Victrola meant to Chuck.
"It's a very dear place to him indeed," Blair said with the same caring smile. "And you're the most important person of his life. In his heart, it truly belongs to you. But what do you think, Henry?"
"I don't know, mom," Henry replied after a few seconds of silence. "I feel ready. I know I can do it. But dad…" he hesitated again, running an hand through his hair as he did every time he was nervous. "Dad is so talented. He's brilliant. I don't know if I'll ever measure up to who he is and what he built."
Starting at him in the eyes, Blair felt her heart swelling with emotion. The way Henry worshipped Chuck always touched her, since she knew very well how much effort it had taken her husband to acknowledge he deserved that utter admiration. Even now, it often happened that she had to remind him that, to Henry, he was the most amazing person. Their son's obvious pride was a gift he sometimes didn't feel worthy of.
"Henry," Blair started. She took her son's hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "What your father accomplished is absolutely remarkable, but his is a story of pain. His talent came out so blatantly because it was pushed by cruelty and sufferance," she explained.
The boy looked at her full of attention, his eyes motionless and focused. She knew she could speak frankly to her son about Chuck, as she was aware that they had an extremely sincere relationship, in which secrets and lack of clarity weren't allowed: Henry knew his father fully. So, she decided it was only fair to describe him better what she meant. "Dad opened a club at sixteen because he thought it was the only way he could prove his value," she kept on. "He had the responsibility of Bass Industries a year later because your grandfather thought it was perfectly logical to take advantage of his fake death to test his son's aptitude for business. At eighteen he opened The Empire because he needed it to feel he was living up to expectations that were imposed on him. Eventually, he was fully in charge of the company before he turned twenty and that was because he had no other choice but to defend the legacy of someone who has never loved him and never considered him capable."
A thoughtful silence followed her words. Blair watched her son pondering over them, his expression serious and wistful. Then, after a few seconds, he looked back at her and concluded in a grave tone: "None of it was natural."
"No, it wasn't," Blair replied right away, a sad, half-smile tilting up the corners of her lips. "It doesn't make it any less extraordinary but it does make it wrong," she stated, firm and somewhat harsh. She took a moment to let go of the anger and the resent she still felt thinking about what her husband had gone through and inhaled a deep sigh. "He doesn't the want the same for you, Henry," she told him after. "He wants to give you all of the possible opportunities to thrive. He wants to guide you and support you. He truly believes in you: he'd never put you in this position if he wasn't sure you can do it."
"I really want to do it, mom," Henry replied promptly, a rush of vibrant excitement making his eyes widen and sparkle vivaciously. "And I don't mean simply managing Victrola. That's just the first step. I want to run Bass Industries one day and take care of dad's legacy. I want to make him proud."
Blair reached out to his cheek and skimmed her fingers over the side of his face in a slow caress, trying to put into that gesture all of the affection and the pride she felt for him. "You already do, Henry. You make him so utterly proud. In spite of everything he did and all the goals he will reach, you'll always be his greatest victory."
It was a truth she knew Henry could grasp completely, for he had never had found himself in the condition of doubting his father's love and respect.
It was already 10 pm when, stepping out of her walk in closet, Blair found her husband sitting on the couch in the lounge area of their bedroom. Dressed in a purple velvet robe over a silk pajamas, he was reading something from his iPad, eyes narrowed from the effort of focusing on the words.
Brushing her hair, she rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. He was supposed to wear glasses to read, but, of course, he refused to do so, claiming that aging hadn't affected his sight at all and that therefore the glasses his ophthalmologist had prescribed him were "completely useless". Needless to say, the handcrafted Gold & Wood eyeglasses rested abandoned in a drawer of the desk in his home office.
"Charles," she called for him as she crossed the bedroom to the other side, careful to pronounce his name with a certain severity. "You forgot your glasses again."
Chuck raised his eyes from the screen and squinted. Then, guiding his gaze on her, he frowned. "I did not," he replied, a pinch of offence in his tone. "As I told you plenty of times, I simply don't need them."
Blair stopped in front of him and folded her arms under her breast. His tired eyes forced him to blink once again and she sighed. "Yes you do, Bass," she retorted, shooting him a resolute, eloquent glance. "Now, I normally don't mind indulging your denial about the fact that you're forty-two, but the point is you'll get an headache if your read without them. And you happen to be a pain in the ass when you have headache."
Proud and slightly annoyed by her remark, Chuck didn't reply. As if to mock her words, he raised his eyebrows at her and dismissed her reasons with a small snort of scornfulness. Then, in a rather provoking way, he crossed his legs, made himself more comfortable on the sofa and turned his attention back at the article he had been going through before her interruption.
Inhaling a deep, frustrated breath, Blair set the sterling silver hairbrush she was holding on the coffee table and then moved a step to the couch. She bent over and, taking advantage of his distraction, she ripped the tablet out of his hands and set it aside next to her brush. The glare he shot her made her giggle, for he looked genuinely insulted by her theft. "If you're going to be childish," she uttered, cupping his cheek with her hand, "then I'll have to stick to your level, Chuck."
At her touch and playful attitude, irritation and obstinacy faded from his expression. A smirk curled his lips. He leaned in and stole a rebellious kiss from her, gripping her waist and pulling her onto his lap. Deepening the kiss, he settled her on his knees and insinuated his hand under her black silk nightgown. "So you think I might need a punishment?" he whispered against her mouth, pulling back less than an inch just to dart a mischievous look at her, as he slid his palms up her leg.
"Maybe," Blair gasped, feeling the squeeze of his fingers on her inner thigh. "Maybe I do too."
She let his hands work their way to her lace panties and allowed him to lay her down on the sofa with the abrupt urgency of desire. Giving in to the way, after so many years, he still longed for her body, greedy and possessive as he had always been, she abandoned herself to the touch of the man who knew and worshipped every inch of her skin.
The lovemaking was intense an a passionate; it left them exhausted and satisfied, with pounding hearts and swollen lips. Chuck carried Blair to bed after, kissed her lightly once more and then went to his bathroom to shower, leaving her to catch her breath in between the stuffed pillows and silk sheets.
It was only after a few minutes of relax that Blair remembered she had meant to tell him about the conversation she had had with Henry. Waiting for him to come back into the room, she sat up, moved to her side of the bed and settled some pillows on his side the way she knew he liked them – two against the headboard and one on side, along the edge of the matrass. When he appeared on the doorway of his closet she smiled at him and patted her hand on the plush comforter, motioning for him to join her in bed.
Knowing his wife all too well, Chuck understood immediately she had something to tell him. She didn't look worried or even pensive, but her posture – she was sitting upright with her back leaned against the headboard, staring at him attentively – told him there was still a topic she wanted to discuss before ending the first day of their week. He had one too, of course; he still hadn't got the chance to tell her how his afternoon with Henry had gone. Since Nathaniel had joined them for dinner, this was the first moment he had alone with her since that morning.
"Is there anything you want to tell me about your day?" he asked her first with a lazy smirk, as he sat down next to her, covering his legs with the blankets. He slid his arm around her shoulders and, pulling her closer, he placed a tender kiss on her temple.
Blair snuggled up against him. "Yes," she replied, resting her head on his chest. "Henry told me you actually talked to him about Victrola today."
Chuck nodded, a tiny smile on his lips. "I did. We had a nice chat, I think he understood what I meant to explain him," he told her, mindlessly twirling her curls around his fingers. "What did he say?" he questioned her right away, feeling curiosity and a tad of irrational fear at the idea of being unaware of some of his son's thoughts. He truly wished for him to accept and he was waiting for his answer with impatience and excitement. "What does he think about the proposal?"
His wife glanced up at him, offering him a warm look. "Well, he is a bit insecure but I think he's really motivated to take the offer."
A frown crumpled Chuck's forehead, darkening his expression. "Insecure?" he echoed her, his voice tinged with inevitable concern.
Blair started running her hands over his chest unhurriedly in a soothing gesture. "It's normal, Chuck," she reassured him with a smile. "It's not a matter of confidence; he surely doesn't lack of self-esteem," she pointed out giggling. "The fact is he has a great model to measure up to in front of him. He admires you so much. I think he still conserves Forbes copies of the three times you ended up on the cover."
In spite of the joke, Chuck's lips pursed tensely. He had never meant to give Henry a reason to feel anxious and the sudden thought that he might have had worried him deeply. He tightened his hold of Blair, longing for the comfort of her closeness and lowered his eyes. "That's not what I wanted," he said slowly. "I didn't want to put him under pressure, Blair. Maybe I got it all wrong," he kept on, his tone lowering with the insecurity shading the words he was uttering. "Maybe he isn't ready. Maybe it's not even what he wants to do with his life."
"Of course it is," Blair said firmly, reaching for his hand. She squeezed it tightly. "He's lucky enough to know it already and you know it too. You wouldn't have asked him to manage Victrola if you didn't think he was more than ready and determined to do it."
He didn't reply, trying to find encouragement in the fortitude of her speech. She was right, he had genuinely felt like Henry was prepared to take that step. Over the past year he had given him the chance to become progressively more involved with Bass Industries and, to his eyes, his son hadn't simply looked naturally talented and insightful, but also sincerely satisfied. But, Chuck came to think with fright, maybe he had let the pride he felt for Henry and his own wish to see him following in his footsteps blind him and he had ended up pushing his boy too hard.
"Do you remember when Henry was seven and you thought he still needed you to literally carry him to bed and wait for him to fall asleep without leaving his room?" Blair asked him, interrupting his deep pondering.
Chuck looked at her confused. "What does it have to with this?"
Blair chuckled. "You constantly had backache because he enjoyed the steps more than the elevator and he had become too heavy. Yet, no matter how much I tried to dissuade you, you didn't stop doing it till you finally felt he was ready to let go of that habit. And you were right. You knew exactly when it was time to give him that bit of autonomy. You've always known by instinct. This isn't any different, Chuck."
It made sense, somehow, Chuck wondered. He had always been extremely cautious with Henry, even too cautious; too afraid of making a mistake, too scared of letting go of his hand too quickly. But each time the moment to let him conquer a piece of independence had come, he had sensed it and respected it in spite of his fears.
"This isn't like letting him have his own limousine or allowing him to take the jet and go on vacation alone with his friends," he pointed out anyways, still unconvinced. "This is a bigger step."
A sigh escaped Blair's lips. Locking eyes with him, she shook her head lightly. "That's because he's seventeen. He'll be graduating high school next year and we both know what he wants to do after."
"Learn from me," he anticipated her in a murmur.
Blair nodded. "Exactly," she agreed, grinning brightly. "You're just giving him the chance to build a bit of experience before it, and to do it with a place he'll cherish also – and probably most of all – because of its emotional value. It's a beautiful gift, Chuck."
Henry had taught him so much, Chuck wondered as he let his wife's words placate his tension, that teaching him and guiding him into a future of success was the least he could do for him. And, he realized in that moment, there was nothing that felt more thrilling and heartwarming than the thought of starting this new part of their lives. So he allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes under the touch of Blair's fingers skimming over his jaw.
"You're a great mother, Blair," he told her quietly, thinking of all the power she had on him and how important she was in his relationship with Henry. Through her patience and her understanding, she helped him to overcome his uncertainties and, doing so, she made him a better father.
Suddenly, he felt her smiling lips pressed against his in a brief kiss. "And you're an incredible father to Henry. We really did a good job with him," she said, her voice shaking a little with emotion. "He's a brilliant young man."
"He truly is," Chuck replied, an instinctive smile softening his expression.
He gave in to sleep with that thought, holding the woman who had given him the joy of raising such a wonderful boy.
On Thursday evening, after dinner, Chuck was in his home office, looking through his schedule for Friday and enjoying the last drink of his day. It was an habit he held dear, a moment of solitude that he granted himself every night before turning in; it helped him to set his thoughts aside and let go of the stress of work.
Aware of his particular routine and of how much he treasured it, his family usually didn't interrupt his very much needed twenty minutes of loneliness. So, when Chuck heard the knock on the door announcing that someone required his attention, he couldn't help but frowning, vaguely alarmed by that uncommon occurrence. "Come in," he said out loud, pushing his chair back to stand up.
The door opened only partially, leaving enough space for Henry to look inside the room without entering. "Are you busy, dad?" he asked with a smile that conveyed all of the uselessness of that question, which was a mere exercise of politeness. His son knew he was never too busy for him and acted freely according to that awareness.
"Not at all," Chuck replied, smiling back at him. He came around the desk and invited him to enter with a wave of his hand. "Come here, Henry."
Stepping inside the office, Henry closed the door behind him. Watching him, Chuck leaned on the desk. He noticed immediately that he was already wearing his night clothes, which told him that he clearly didn't have plans for the night. It was unusual, actually, since his son had a pretty busy and vivacious social life. Unable to repress a slight worry, he asked: "Aren't you going out, young Bass?"
As he approached him, Henry shook his head. "Not tonight," he answered with a sigh. "I'm tired. I've had polo practice in the afternoon."
Chuck slid his arm around his shoulders and started leading him to the sitting area of the office. "You have polo practice four times a week," he pointed out with an eloquent smirk. "It has never stopped you before. Plus, Jack told me Milo is in town and I know you wouldn't miss the chance to meet him. There must be another reason behind your sudden wish for domesticity."
Henry rolled his eyes and chuckled. "There isn't, dad. I'll see Milo tomorrow," he told him, a certain amusement in his tone. "I just wanted a quiet night. Also, I was hoping we could talk."
A both interested and suspicious expression appeared on Chuck's face at the words. Henry's request to speak to him had sounded rather formal and given him the impression his son had something serious to say. "It sounds important," he commented, his tone tinged with curiosity and concern. He sat down on the couch and motioned for Henry to do the same.
"It is," Henry stated, taking a seat next to his father. Leaning his arm on the armrest, he inhaled a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about your proposal."
Henry's immobile gaze catalyzed all of Chuck's attention. His son's stare was firm and secure, and that sharpness, the way he refused to avert his eyes from him, told him that whatever was the decision he had made about Victrola, it was a definitive one. Looking back at him and trying to decipher his intentions, Chuck offered him a new smile, which was meant to tell him that he was ready and open to accept his choice. "I seem to understand you made your call," he uttered calmly.
"I did," Henry replied with a nod. "I pondered over what you told me about Victrola thoroughly. The opportunity you want to give me is a terrific one and I decided to take it. I feel ready, dad," he paused for a second to smile brightly at his father, his eyes shining with passionate enthusiasm, and then kept on: "And I'm just talking about managing the club. I'm looking at the bigger picture. I truly want to prepare myself for the moment I'll be running Bass Industries. I want to learn from you, if you'll let me."
A wide smile, one of those Blair called rare stones, had spread across Chuck face and widened at every word Henry had pronounced. The pride he felt was unspeakable and so was the genuine happiness filling his chest. Living the moment he had been secretly dreaming of ever since he had become a father, Chuck was faced with the luck and the bliss of his life once more.
The young man in front of him was the most special person. His expression, made aware and mature not by pain, but by the many meaningful experiences he had lived in his life, was determined and tenacious. It was the result of the love he had been raised with, of the appreciation and of all the gratifications he and Blair have never missed to give him. His son was strong-minded, smart and charming, a talented boy who was about to step into his adulthood with conviction and with the certainty of having his family's unconditional support.
Henry was better version of both him and Blair; he had their strengths but not the self-doubt they had struggled with during their youth. He was going to face his existence with security and with the ability to enjoy his success, for he knew he was more than worthy of it.
Feeling tears pricked his eyes, Chuck lowered his gaze. "I had a feeling," he said quietly through a moved soft laugh, remembering what Blair had told him about his instinct. He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand and then, looking up at his son again, he stretched his lips in a new large smile. "Of course I will. I'm so proud of you, Henry," he stated, his voice made hoarse by the strong emotion. "You're going to be so much better than me."
Henry shook his head. "I doubt that, dad," he answered, a pinch of shyness forcing him to glance down. "You're the most amazing man I know."
Chuck placed a hand on his son's shoulder and, with his free one, he reached for the boy's chin. He lifted it gently, bringing him to lock eyes with him. "You will," he declared again, this time with more insistence. "You already are. At your age I was a bundle of insecurities hidden behind a thick mask of arrogance. I was lost in a world I wasn't ready for. But you're strong and conscious of your means. You're capable of understanding your value," he told him, stroking his cheek gently. "I can't wait to guide you into becoming a wonderful business man."
A pleased smirk curled Henry's lips. "I can't wait to guided," he said.
As his son uttered those words, Chuck pulled him into a tight hug. He held him for a few long seconds and then, pulling back, he gave him a sly smile. "May I offer you a drink?" he asked.
Henry giggled at the proposal. "Mom will kill you, dad."
Chuck shrugged. He reached for the decanter on the small table and poured scotch into the two glasses set on the silver tray. "She's well aware you're not someone who doesn't drink. Besides," his smile turned more oblique as he handed his son the liquor, "what mom doesn't know can't hurt her."
Accepting the glass Chuck handed him, Henry looked at him full of clear gratitude. It wasn't the first drink they had together and it wouldn't have been the last. Still, it was the first of a new phase of their relationship and that was enough to make it special.
"You're nervous."
Blair's categorical yet sympathetic words echoed in the silence of the cabin, making Chuck sigh. He didn't avert his eyes from the street blurring behind them out of the car window, as the limousine speeded forward, following the path that led to Victrola.
He felt her secure hand gripping his wrist with a delicacy that didn't match the strength of her gesture. Her thumb skimmed over the back of his hand in a light stroke; it cleared the way for her fingers, that, a moment later, insinuated in between his. She clasped his hand tightly and reassuringly and held it with persistence, giving him the time to slowly turn to meet her eyes.
When he did, Blair smiled and offered him a affectionate look. "Your hands are cold," she stated. "Try to relax, Chuck."
Chuck shook his head and lowered his gaze. "I'm not worried," he replied. "I'm fine, Blair."
He knew he had sounded unconvinced at best, so, when his wife slid on the leather seat closer to him, he wasn't surprised. His lips curved in a pale smile when he felt her free hand cupping his cheek and lightly forcing his face aside, demanding for him glance up on her.
Following the resoluteness of her touch, he gazed back at her. She had a beautiful expression, a soft glow of serenity giving her porcelain skin an healthy blush, and Chuck allowed the sight of her calmness to mitigate his tension.
"He'll do great," she promised him, tightening her clutch on his hand. "You'll see. You're about to find out he did a wonderful job with the club."
They were heading to Victrola's reopening party. Willing to grant Henry the chance to make the place truly his, Chuck had given him the freedom to change it according to his taste and his plans. His son had accepted gladly and, determined to test his newly achieved autonomy, he had insisted to keep him in the dark about his project. It had been rather hard for Chuck to respect Henry's desire, but, eventually, he had managed to rein his protectiveness in. Now that he was about to find out what Henry had accomplished, though, he couldn't help but feeling overly tense.
It wasn't a matter of trust; Chuck truly had faith in his son and, if he conceded himself the liberty of listening to his instinct, he didn't have doubts about the boy's aptitude for business. He had spent his entire life in that field and he knew he was able to recognize a talent. Yet, even just the remote possibility that Henry could fail, was something hard for him to come to terms with. Though he knew that his need to cherish him from disappointment was impossible to fulfill, for he acknowledged that success was the outcome of a learning process in which mistakes played an essential role, he still illogically wished he could keep him safe from the feeling of being left down.
"I know. Tonight will be his glorious start," Chuck answered in a low voice. "But we also both know it won't be like this forever. Life is made of rises and falls. It'll come a time I'll have to help him overcome the bitterness of a failure and I wish it was in my power to spare him that pain."
Still holding his hand, Blair laced her arm around his shoulders. "Don't think about it now," she uttered quietly. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his jaw in a brief and delicate kiss. "Enjoy this night, Chuck. Celebrate the amazing father you are and the brilliant, talented boy we raised. You deserve it."
"Do you think so?" he asked her huskily, a faint shiver passing through his questions.
Blair's lips trembled with emotion. Yet, she held up his gaze, her eyes glistening with the power of her empathy and the depth of her pride. She let go of his hand and guided her now free palm to his chest, resting it over his heart. "I do," she avowed. "You deserve the bright future we'll lead our son into and the immense love and respect he has for you."
Chuck let a few second pass, letting the words sink in. Then, silently, he reached for a lock escaped from the elaborate chignon Blair's coiffeur had gathered her hair into and tucked it behind her ear. She was wearing the diamonds and sapphires earrings from the Harry Winston set he had gifted her with eighteen years ago, when they had found out they were going to have a boy. Touching the pendant carefully and lightly, he smiled lovingly at her. "None of what I have would have been possible without you," he said.
Her reply to was silenced by his deep, needful kiss, as the limousine got closer to the place that had marked the start of the path that had brought them to that moment.
Entering Victrola hand in hand, Chuck and Blair looked around, the same proud expression lighting up their faces. The club was crowded; it echoed with lively yet classy music and with the sound of people enjoying their Saturday night - laughter and cheerful voices.
Blair glanced up on Chuck, whose eyes were inspecting the packed room with attention. "What do you think?" she asked him, raising her voice to make sure he'd hear her in spite of the noise.
Chuck squeezed her hand. "You were right," he stated with a smirk. "He did a great job."
Victrola had changed in a way that he would have defined conservative. Though the tables and the tapestry of the seating around them had been renewed, and so had the tabletop of the counter and part of the lights, the place still had the same vibe that Chuck held so dear. It was old-fashioned and a somewhat Decadent, shrouded by the bohemian charm that had always distinguished it.
"He didn't change it much, though," Blair commented, as they made their ways into the hall.
The smirk on Chuck's lips became more evident, obeying to the irrational satisfaction he felt at that remark. "He didn't," he agreed. "Look, Blair," he then said, letting go of Blair's hand to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer. He pointed at the VIP area in front of the stage. "The lounge is still the same. He didn't touch it at all."
"It's an homage, dad."
Hearing their son's voice over the music, Chuck and Blair turned swiftly. Right in front of them was Henry, staring back at them with a pleased expression and the same cunning smile crossing his father's face.
Observing his parents' questioning gazes, the boy took a step towards them and said: "An homage to you and mom. I know how much Victrola means to you guys and I felt that preserving a lot of the original environment was the best way to respect it."
As Blair trapped Henry in an abrupt embrace, Chuck stayed still watching the scene with his heart full of pride.
His son wasn't just smart and precociously talented, he realized once again; he was most importantly capable of understanding love and of grasping the significance of the things that mattered. He was capable of respect, devotion and empathy; he was a better person than Chuck could have ever been. Henry was the heritage he would have left behind him and, when he got to hold him and congratulate him as well, he didn't miss the opportunity to tell him.
"You're my legacy, Henry," he whispered in his ear.
It wasn't a hope and it wasn't a promise. It was more; it was an unquestionable truth.
"This is your kingdom,
this is your crown,
this is your story,
this is your moment.
Don't look down."
Notes:
[1] First of all, happy Limoversary! To celebrate, the fandom organized a Chair Week and today is day 5. The prompt for the 5th day was "happy future". Legacy is inspired by it.
[2] I'm not sure if you guys will appreciate my characterization of Henry. My Henry isn't perfect: he's arrogant and posh and he's definitely a womanizer. Please, don't judge him harshly. I hope you'll be able to see his good heart and all of his qualities. I love my Henry, I'm proud of him and I hope he'll conquer your hearts as well.
[3] The quotes at the beginning and at the end of the story are from the song Daughter by Sleeping At Last
[4] As usual, thanks to my dear Daphne for her constant support
[5] English is not my first language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.
[6] If you have any questions, feel free to contact me.