He was there. Just on time, as usual.
She used to love his punctuality. That evening, though, she would have prefered him to be late. That would have left her enough time to stop by the bar, order a martini she would have swallowed bottoms up, just to give her the courage to do what she was about to do.
She glanced in his direction.
Tall, fit. Wearing a light gray Armani tux and a plum tie. He had been to the hairdresser's, she noticed his grayish hair looked even shorter than usual. His tiny turquoise eyes where riveted on her, but there wasn't a smile on his face. He never smiled.
She displayed a fake and hypocrite smile on her face, a smile that made her resemble her mother so much. She had gotten so used to smile that way, like the double-faced person she was, that it now came to her naturally when she was in the compagny of Upper East Siders. She threw back her blonde hair behind her shoulders in a hand gesture, and approached him. Seeing her arrive, he got up. She half-hartedly kissed him on the cheek, and took place in front of him.
" Good evening, Lily, he said in a whisper. You look beautiful. "
" Bart... We need to talk. "
She had no idea how she was supposed to tell him without wrenching him. She felt horrible, to hurt his feelings like that, when all he had been for the past five months was a impeccable boyfriend. But she just couldn't do it anymore. She was suffocating with him, forced to pretend to be someone she wasn't, someone she wasn't anymore. A perfect high society new-yorker, who cared about nothing but appearances and charity galas. She wasn't happy, she had never been. Many times, she had vainly tried to convince herself she was, but something deep inside her heart kept reminding her it wasn't true.
How could she be, with a man who was the opposite of the one she dreamed of at night, the one she thought about when she was in Bart's arms, the one with whom she had, for a long time, hoped to spend the rest of her life, the one she deeply regretted leaving, all those years ago ?
The man who had came to see her, two days ago, to confess his true feelings about her. " I love you, Lily, always have, always will. I am madly in love with you, and I know you feel something too. So I'm waiting for you. I'll wait ten, twenty years, if that's what it takes for us to be together someday. " he had whispered before leaving the penthouse.
She hadn't slept that night, too preoccupied by what he had told her, too busy thinking, immersed in her old, wonderful memories. Lincoln Hawk. The concerts four evenings in a row. The nights where she used more than five rolls of film, just taking pictures of Rufus and the cat fights with the other groupies and the passionate sex in the back seats of the washed out tour bus. And she had understood, at around three in the morning, watching Bart, lying on the bed next to her, his eyes shut and breathing regularely, that during all that time, she had been with the wrong person.
Bart was different. He was charming, and, of course, he had the money and the power of a successfull businessman. He was Bart Bass, for god sakes. He made her feel secure : he could financially support her and her kids - even though she was not exactly in need, for she had inherited an important sum of money when her father died, and she had been dating, marrying or sleeping with billionaires ever since. He was kind, and sometimes even attentive to her needs, you know, when he wasn't on the phone with an associate in Shanghai, London, Tokyo or Berlin, doing paperwork or attending business meetings all around the world. He bought her flowers now and then, red roses. He would never know she hated roses and her favorite flowers were lilies. He had loved her, though, he still loved her. But that just wasn't enough for Lily anymore.
She had waiting too long. She needed to live, to be with her soul mate, to remember what love, real and pure love, felt like. She needed to be happy, once and for all.

" It's him, isn't it ? "
He wasn't stupid, he knew the four words Lily had just said to him boded no good. The hundred of girls he had slept with and the dozens he had dated had brought him, in addition to a womanizer reputation, some knowledge about women. And, in women language, " we need to talk " pretty much meant " I'm breaking up with you ".
Recently, Lily had been spending a lot of time with Rufus Humphrey, way too much time in his opinion. At noon, while he cancelled his meetings to take her to lunch, she politely declined the invitation to spend the rest of the day with her former lover. At night, she waited for his calls like a child waits for his chocolate cake. And how could he forget about the countless times she had muttered the two syllables of his name, in her sleep.
He let out a sad laugh, and wrinkled his nose, purposely not doing anything to mask his distaste. He simply couldn't understand that her, Lily van der Woodsen, could be in love with a guy like him. A scumbag, who earned his life by working in a crappy art gallery in Williamsburg, whose wife had cheated on with an artist living in Hudson, and father of two children whom he didn't have enough money to raise properly. Rufus Humphrey. A failure, that's what he was. There were no better words to qualify him.
She nodded, her fake smile having given way to a sad one.
" I'm sorry ", she sighed, placing her hand on top of his. She slowly took off the Van Cleef and Arpels ring he had given her the night of his proposal she had never really replied to, and dropped it in his palm. His hands clenched and he closed his fist, without even looking at her. He felt tears making his vision fuzzy, so he closed his eyes, he didn't want anyone to see him in that state. Nobody had ever seen Bart Bass cry, and that whore wouldn't be the first one. He refused to give her the pleasure of seeing him cry because of her. He did want to maintain what was left of his dignity.
" So am I ", he said coldly before throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table to pay for the glass of white wine he hadn't even finished, and leaving the restaurant.
She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. Guilt-ridden, a lump formed in her throat. She grabbed the glass of wine, wrapping her fingers around it. She brought the liquid to her lips, sipping some of the alcoholic beverage. Immediately, she felt better. She slowly openned her eyelids, set the glass back on the table. She was now certain of having done the right thing.
She got up, grabbed her handbag and made her way to the exit. As soon as she was on the sidewalk, she hailed a cab.
She only had one more place to go to.
- Brooklyn, please, she commanded to the driver.