Hello to all my faithful readers! I'm back with a multi-chapter fanfiction about Chuck and Blair's honeymoon. My idea is to describe Chuck and Blair's journey: travelling, they'll explore their relationship and they'll start building their future. After the two parts prologue, each chapter will have a different location and will try to explore the dynamics of our beloved couple - where they are in this very moment and the direction they want their life together to take. This will be a very introspective story; I won't treat the thematic of the honeymoon in a traditionally romantic way, for I feel that this specific moment of their lives is, due to the circumstances, a complicated one. I hope you'll enjoy my take on the topic. Enjoy your reading! - Cris
Prologue - Part 1
"We both know the history of violence that surrounds you,
but I'm not scared; there's nothing to lose now that I've found you." [1]
New York City, December 13th, 2012
Chuck was staring at her. Even through the haziness of the limbo between the unconsciousness of sleep and the clearness of wakefulness, Blair could still sense his gaze lingering on her, immobile and piercing. A weightless entity, it embraced her with the warmth of its steadiness and, at the same time, roused her senses, giving her the impellent need to open her eyes.
Under the spell of that urgency, her hand made an almost imperceptible movement; her fingers curled slightly around the silk sheet covering her and then stretched in a faint shudder, longing for the touch of his. The craved contact came in a moment. Swift and needful, Chuck's palm cupped the back of her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Blair's eyelids stayed shut, as a thin smile rose to her lips at the caress of his thumb skimming over her skin. Slowly, she waved her fingers together with his and squeezed back.
Chuck's body shifted; though his hand remained tightly laced to hers, she felt him leaning in towards her and sliding his arm under her back in a possessive embrace. An instant was all it took for his lips to brush over her forehead and kiss it.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bass," he whispered, and she distinguished a hint of satisfaction in his low and hoarse voice when he pronounced her newly acquired name.
She was Mrs. Bass. The realization came to Blair with an irrepressible rush of excitement, and, when she finally opened her eyes, the sight of Chuck gave her the most reassuring feeling of belonging; for he was there, towering over her with the strength of his arms, gazing at her with the deep darkness of his eyes. He was there, in her room; safe, alive, bonded to her by the eternal tie of marriage.
A bright grin stretched her mouth as she guided her free hand to his chest. "We're married," she uttered with a sigh of joy and relief.
Chuck smiled – a true, open smile, one of those that were rarities she had learnt to treasure. He let go of her hand still resting on the sheet to reach for the one she had placed above his heart. He clasped it and lifted it in an eager, rapid movement. His eyes closed when, kissing it, he sensed the cold metal of her wedding band pressed against his lips.
A new smile, this time more discrete and intimate, accompanied the deep breath he took before replying: "Yes, we are."
Blair let him toy with her fingers for a few seconds before freeing her hand from the tender grip of his. She moved cautiously in his hold and, with a bit of effort, she managed to sit up. Every single muscle of her body was aching from the exhaustion of the previous day and from the physically draining night they had spent together.
After months of separation, giving in to the impellent need to make love had been inevitable. The passion and the necessity of feeling completely fused, their bodies and souls blurring into a whole with every spasm of their so long neglected lust, had been imperatives stronger than weariness, shock and fear.
The lovemaking had been the most instinctual and immediate answer to a crying need to sense the reality of their new condition and the excitement of survival; to bury the ghost of death, of loss and pain. It had been greedy, overwhelming, even desperate; an uncontrollable blast of emotions, a thirst for the relief of being alone in each other's arms, a tangle of vital necessity and desire.
Blair had enjoyed every instant of it; each palpitation, each tension, each time her nails had scratched his skin and been like and awakening, a rebirth.
"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked Chuck, as she leaned her back against the headboard.
Chuck settled himself next to her. "Since you fell asleep," he answered with a faint smirk.
For the first time since she had opened her eyes, Blair's attention was drawn by his expression. She focused on it attentively, trying to decipher it. The blend of emotions she could read on his face was the pure essence of contradiction; the joy his eyes were full of had something fierce and obscure about it that made it look delirious rather than serene. The sly smile he had given her trembled with tension. A glow of pride gifted his face with the brightness of fulfillment, and yet he was pale, weak and visibly worn out. He seemed to be, at the same time, absolutely ecstatic and irremediably broken.
With a sigh, Blair guided her hand to his cheek. Running her fingers along his jaw in a deliberate stroke, she looked at him lovingly. "That was around dawn," she commented as a tender, caring smile curled her lips. "You didn't sleep at all."
The sweet concern of her tone forced him to glance down. When he looked up again, though, his smirk had gained a certain confidence. "I couldn't stop looking at my wife," he stated, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Calling her his wife, Chuck's voice had quivered with a hint of surprise. It was a tacit claim of insecurity; a moment of disbelief in front of the fact that she had accepted to wave their lives together with the promise of indissolubility. Incredulous and delighted, his eyes locked with hers for a long moment, before, pulling her closer, he ducked his head and buried his nose into her hair.
He breathed her in in such a needful way, yearning for her scent as if he depended on it, that Blair felt tears piercing her eyes. The shadow of the events that had led to their marriage weighted over him in a way he wouldn't have allowed himself to feel.
But she did. Inevitably, the pain Chuck couldn't concede himself to acknowledge, echoed and pounded in her heart as if it belonged to her.
He was instinctually longing for her comfort; the way he clung to her was an unconscious demand, the response to a rejected anguish. The happiness of being married to her, the reassurance coming from the certainness she would have never left him, was the only feeling he was permitting himself to process. He was building a tower of denial around himself, around the joy of their unbreakable union, one that didn't let any other emotion touch him; though they showed clearly through his gestures and his expression, they were excluded from his conscience.
Blair pursed her lips and closed her eyes to hold back the tears. She couldn't take the comfort of that partial detachment from reality away from him without shattering him into pieces. Chuck needed it. He needed to escape the cruelty of the truth; he deserved, for once, the possibility of feeling nothing but bliss.
She would have done anything to postpone the moment the realization of what had happened and the cold awareness would have come. She had to protect him and his estrangement as one should protect the innocence of a child; it had to be cherished because of the briefness of its nature.
So she inhaled a deep breath and relaxed her lips into a delicate smile that was, most of all, the sign of her determination. She slid her fingers along his jaw down to his chin and pushed it up gently to make him raise his head and look at her. When he did, she shot him a mischievous glance. "I married a voyeur," she joked. "I should be outraged by your perversion, but, truthfully, I'm not."
Chuck let out a relieved chortle. She saw his expression softening as he realized the changing in her attitude. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers before kissing her. "I know it must sound rather unbelievable coming for me," he smirked against her lips, "but I can assure you that my staring at you has been perfectly innocent."
Blair eyed him. "Oh, is that so?" she raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "It's hard to envision your 'perfectly innocent' thoughts, considering that this light sheet is the only obstacle between you and my naked body."
"You underestimate my self-control, Blair," Chuck replied.
Blair giggled. "I do not," she retorted. "For the simple fact that it's impossible to underestimate something that doesn't exist."
Chuck tightened his hold on her. His fingers dipped into her shoulder, pulling her down. Blair didn't resist to the insistence of his movement; she abandoned herself to the pressure of his hand and let her head fall on his lap. She smiled once again at his smirk and at the complacent twinkle in his eyes.
"You seem to have a quite despicable opinion about your husband," Chuck started stroking her hair slowly. "Should I be offended, Mrs. Bass?"
Blair sighed. "You shouldn't," she said. "If anything, you should feel flattered."
He laughed. There was something about the sound of his laughter that warmed her heart in an unexplainable way; it was the sound of the power she had on his serenity, of the influence she had on him, of her ability to protect him from the darkness of his mind.
Blair lifted her arm and brought her hand to his cheek once again. "Tell me about your candid thoughts, Chuck Bass," she said in a dreamy voice.
Chuck cupped her hand with his and welcomed it into his grip. "I made a plan for us," he told her, his fingers tracing faint circles over her palm. "A plan to concede ourselves a well-deserved escape."
Blair's eyes widened with interest. "Are you taking me on a honeymoon?"
Looking down at her, Chuck gave her a secretive glance before leaning over towards her. "Better," he said, curling his mouth in as sly smile, when their faces were only separated by an inch. "I'm taking you to the Old World and giving you a taste of my design for our life together."
Biting her lip, Blair laced her arms around his neck. "Let me guess," she wondered. "Europe; a tour through opulence and art –"
Chuck interrupted her with a sudden, deep kiss. Blair's eyes closed as his fingers slid through her hair and grasped the strands in a rush of possessiveness. "And monarchy," he whispered when their lips parted. "Us," he stated, "embracing our fate."
It was a breath of fresh air, Blair thought. The chance to take a break from everything that was wrong and painful in their life, a parenthesis of pure glory and untouched enchantment that they both craved. And though she could grasp the subtle denial in his plan, though she understood that the way he had envisioned it in his mind was fantastic to the point of skimming over an illusion, she couldn't help but indulging that desire. He needed it and she did too.
"A glorious fate," she said in a murmur. "A glorious future."
She sealed that statement with a sudden blast of passion, conveying her enthusiasm and her intention to immerge herself into the experience Chuck had imagined for them by switching their positions in an abrupt movement. In a moment, she was on top of him; the sheet covering her fell along her sides, leaving no barriers between him and her body.
Chuck stared at her with eyes full of admiration and she knew, from the loving shimmer sparkling in his eyes, that the utter devotion she could sense from his expression and from his touches, was, most of all, commitment to her soul, to her strength, to her empathy.
His hands clasped her waist immediately. "Glorious," he echoed her, leaving her with the feeling that, more than their projects, it was her that he considered glorious.
Blair pulled the damask curtains slightly aside to peep out of the window and released a sharp sigh of frustration at the sight of the group of reporters still crowding the sidewalk. They had been lurking in front of the building since she and Chuck had come back from the police station the day before and they didn't seem to have any intention to leave.
Caught by a sudden surge of anger, she pursed her lips as her fingers curled tight around the smooth fabric of the curtain. It wasn't mainly the invasion of their privacy that bothered her, or even being in the eye of the storm; she was prepared for it, she had accepted that condition the moment she had promised Chuck and herself that she was going to stand by his side through anything – and it had happened a long time ago, far before she had accepted to become his wife.
What made her flare up was, most of all, the absolute consciousness of the many ways this situation could have hurt him. She was entirely aware of the impact the constant reminder of his father's death could have had on him, especially because he couldn't acknowledge it – the fact itself and everything that revolved around it: the way it had happened, the reason it had, the consequences.
Only twenty minutes before, when he had left her penthouse to go meet Lily, Blair had watched Chuck making his way through that throng of vultures with her heart heavy and constricted by irrepressible concern. That inevitable anxiety was still gripping her. There was a persistent and disturbing thought in her mind; a voice telling her that he was safe only when they were close, when he was under the guard of her love and fortitude. She wanted him back in her house, back in her embrace. If he was far – if she couldn't see him, touch him, talk to him –, then she couldn't protect him. She couldn't make sure that those who intended to hurt him were taken down and reduced to harmlessness; she couldn't shelter him from danger – the danger of the outside world and the danger of his own neglected feelings.
Overcome by this fear, Blair had clung to his coat when he had been about to leave, the grip of her hands tight around the woolen collar as if to keep him from crossing the elevator's sliding doors and disappearing from her sight. "Couldn't you ask Lily to come here?" she had asked him in a quivering, hopeful voice, bowing her head and burying it under his chin.
Her eyes squeezed shut and her forehead laid against his neck, she had felt his arms wrapping her and pulling her even closer. He had inhaled a deep sigh before guiding his hand to her hair. "I could, but it'd give the wrong impression, Blair," he had said resignedly. "I can't claim I'm not guilty and stay hidden here at the same time; it'd be contradictory."
Blair hadn't replied. His words had sounded reasonable and, at the same time, frightening; for, as rational as they were, they hadn't left her a pretext to object and convince him to stay.
"I wouldn't go if it wasn't necessary," Chuck had broken her silence. He stroked her hair slowly and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. "There are things that need to be arranged before we can leave."
Taking a long breath, Blair had looked up on him. The gravity of his expression, the veil of suffered maturity shading his gaze, had given her the push she needed to shake off her fear.
She had let the strictness of his self-awareness and sense of responsibility strengthen and inspire her. The burning desire they had to escape couldn't lead them to be careless about their future; the way they longed to be completely absorbed by each other needed to come to terms with the reality of their projects and their ambitions. Chuck had to take all of the necessary measures to protect and ensure his legacy, Blair told herself; and she had to be brave and support him.
With a deliberate gesture, Blair had let go of his coat and nodded. "Of course," she had said firmly, swallowing the tight lump in her throat. Under Chuck's admired look, her confidence had grown, giving her eyes a fierce twinkle that had made him smirk. "I'm sure Lily will be delighted to offer you her help."
Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin in a prideful pose, Blair had offered him a reassuring smile. "I should talk to my mother as well," she had added, sliding her hands over his chest. "If I plan to be away for weeks, she needs to be informed. She'll have to manage Waldorf Designs while I'm gone."
It had stuck on her in that moment, uttering those last few words, how different their situations were. Eleanor might not always approve her choices, but she supported her anyhow; she would have never refused to help her daughter. Blair was conscious of the fact that she had reached her goals not just through her determination and hard work, but also as a result of her mother's trust in her. She had been chosen, her position was perfectly licit.
Chuck's success, instead, would have always been stained by the acts of violence that had led to it; he was going to take over Bass Industries with the shadow of illegitimacy darkening his competence and his talent. And if, eventually, people would have forgotten the suspects and convinced themselves he belonged to his position, Chuck wouldn't have. Not completely, at least. Part of him would have always questioned his own adequacy.
Her expression had inevitably saddened with that thought and she had realized Chuck had caught the slight change in her demeanor as well.
Shooting her a thoughtful glance, he had taken her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Don't worry about Eleanor," he had answered, interpreting her melancholy as concern. "She'll understand." He had marked his secure statement with a kiss on her palm.
Hearing his encouraging tone, Blair had felt the impulse to embrace him. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him in her hug. Holding him, she had felt thankful. The attention he reserved, she had acknowledged once again, was unconditional and imperturbable; it never cracked, not even under the weight of everything that was happening in his life, for she was his priority.
"Be safe," she had whispered in his ear. "Come back to me."
Chuck had taken her chin between his fingers and moved her head slightly so that she would have been able to lock eyes with him. Meeting her gaze, he had smiled at her – a bittersweet smile, one that spoke of happiness and sorrows. "I always do, don't I?"
As her eyes widened and started glistening with moved, unshed tears, Blair had put her answer in a kiss. He had always come back to her and her kiss – long, passionate, vibrant with emotion – was meant to tell him that she knew it and trusted him.
Taking a deep breath, Blair allowed the fresh recollection of his lips touching hers to alleviate her anxiety. Chuck would have soon returned and walked back into her arms. Then, together, they would have left New York and the heaviness of that situation behind them, and conceded themselves they time they needed to heal and chance to finally taste the happiness they had fought so hard and so long for.
Up until that moment, Blair decided, she was going to keep every possible source of turmoil out of the safety and the warmth of her house. Animated by that categorical decision, she closed the curtains in a firm, resolute gesture and turned her back to the window.
She checked the time on her Piaget watch and, realizing that it was almost five, she sighed. Her mother was going to be there soon, punctual as usual and ready to interrogate her about Chuck and their rushed wedding. Through the whirling chaos of the previous day, they hadn't really had the chance to talk and she was sure Eleanor had all kinds of questions to ask.
Questions Blair couldn't answer to. Other than to tell her about her plans with Chuck for the next weeks, she had invited her for tea with the purpose of explaining her the reasons why she wouldn't have been able to satisfy her desire to know. Aware that it was going to be a tough conversation, Blair went to the kitchen to make sure Dorota had prepared everything as she had demanded.
Perfectionism was usually the best way to placate Eleanor – and Blair hoped that the night spent in the Jewel suite at The Palace, the accommodation Chuck had kindly offered to her and Cyrus in order to concede himself and his bride the privacy of an empty house, had contributed to put her in an amenable mood.
"Dorota," Blair called for her maid as she crossed the double door. "Is everything settled?"
The woman, who was arranging macarons and madeleines on a sterling silver serving stand, turned and smiled at her. "Everything ready, Miss Blair," she guaranteed. "Pistachio and vanilla macarons from Ladurée," she explained, pointing at the tray's tiers, "and madeleines made by me."
Blair shot an approving look at the composition of pastries – her mother's favorites. "And what about the tea?"
Dorota promptly picked up a ceramic box from the counter, where she had put a selection of tea bags. "Mrs. Eleanor's Dammann Frères tea," she said, as Blair took the small container and examined the flavors. "Dorota also took out best tea service."
Blair arched her eyebrows. "The Baldi one?"
"The one Mrs. Eleanor bought in Florence," the maid confirmed with a nod.
Placing the tea bags holder back on the counter, Blair inhaled a deep breath. As she had expected, Dorota had made sure everything was impeccable. Still, as the moment of her mother's arrival got closer, she was starting to feel slightly tense at thought.
She couldn't help but asking herself if Eleanor would have understood her decision not to share any information about the truth behind Bart's death. Such an utter loyalty to Chuck could have looked like a weakness to her mother's eyes; it might have been incomprehensible to such a strong, concrete woman. And even though Blair was sure of her choice and proud of her devotion, it wasn't easy to consider the idea of being misjudged by the woman that she admired the most.
"Miss Blair, you not worry about Mrs. Eleanor," Dorota told her, offering her a sympathetic smile. "She's happy you married Mr. Chuck. She won't be upset about long trip."
Blair smiled back at her maid. "I'm not worried about that," she answered with a small head shake, taking a seat on one of the stools placed in front of the kitchen's island. "Even if she won't approve, she'll get over it. I just hope she'll understand the other thing I need to tell her."
Dorota abandoned the tea pot she had taken from the cabinet next to the sink. She came around the island and approached her employer with a tender expression showing on her face. "Your mother loves you very much, Miss Blair," she said thoughtfully, as, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder, she tucked a loosen curl behind her ear. "She is proud of you. I am too. You're not little girl anymore; you're wonderful young woman."
Touched by the caring and sincere words, Blair lowered her eyes for a moment, a discrete smile still curving her lips as she allowed her maid to give her a maternal caress on the back of her head.
Then, glancing up, she shot Dorota an amused look. "I need you to stay after dinner tonight and help me pack" she informed the woman. "We can't do it earlier. I won't have a precise list of the places we'll visit until Chuck comes back, and I'm sure it won't happen before a couple of hours."
At the words, Dorota pulled back and rolled her eyes. "Dorota knew already. Miss Blair never packs without precise information," she told Blair as she turned and made her way back to the counter. "Her head would explode."
Giggling at the statement and at how accurate it was, Blair stood up. She stepped over to where the woman was standing and patted her hand on her arm. Dorota, who was busy filling the tea pot with water, glanced at her over her shoulder. Meeting the maid's suspicious eyes, Blair smirked. "Just one more thing, Dorota," she uttered in a satisfied tone that matched her equally pleased look. "It's not 'Miss' anymore," she declared pridefully, "it's Mrs."
A vague frown crumpled Dorota's forehead. She eyed Blair for a moment and then shook her head. "Not for me," she scoffed. "You'll always be Miss Blair for Dorota."
Aware that the woman's impossibility to get used to call her any differently than she had always had conveyed a genuine affection, Blair didn't object. "I suppose I can live with that," she conceded with a deep sigh. "I'm going to wait for my mother in the living room," she said after. "Wish me luck?"
Dorota shook her head again, as her lips stretched in a reassuring smile. "You don't need luck, Miss Blair. Mrs. Eleanor is more understanding than you think."
Blair nodded slowly. "I hope so," she whispered and, with that comment, she paced out of the kitchen.
Eleanor walked out of the elevator at five pm sharp, announced by the piercing sound of her square heels shoes tapping on the foyer's marble floor.
Blair, who had been waiting for her on the living room's couch for the past five minutes, promptly stood up, before her mother had the chance to call for her. She rapidly made her way to the hall and welcomed her with a bright smile.
"Good afternoon, mother," she greeted her. She took a step towards the older woman and gave her a quick yet heartfelt hug. "Thanks for coming," she added after she had kissed her cheek.
Pulling back, Eleanor eyed her daughter attentively; her scrutinizing gaze lingered on Blair's face with the clear intention of deciphering her expression.
Under that inquisitive look, though, Blair's smile didn't stir; on the contrary it became wider and warmer, giving her a relaxed pose. It was the best way she had to make her mother feel that there was nothing to be worried about: a calm, gracious demeanor was surely easier to understand that the few words she could have pronounced to explain the situation.
Much to Blair's relief, Eleanor seemed to decide to indulge her attitude. She smiled back at her as Dorota took her fur coat. "I wasn't exactly expecting your call today, Blair," she said with a sigh, reaching out to a curl falling on Blair's shoulder and twirling it around her fingers. "But I admit I was hoping you'd ask me to come over."
Pronouncing the words, Eleanor had shot her an eloquent glance – one that made it clear that what she really hoped to get were plausible answers to her doubts.
Catching the subtext of that look, Blair shrugged. "I love to have you here, mother," she tergiversated.
Eleanor raised her eyebrows at her. "You love to have me here?" she echoed, her question tinged with surprise and a shade of irony. "This happens to be my house, Blair. Actually, I'd like to know for how long my husband and I will be exiled at the Palace."
Blair rolled her eyes. "You're staying in one of the most beautiful suites in town," she replied with vague annoyance, starting to make her way back to the living room. "It's hardly what I'd call an exile."
Following her daughter, Eleanor scoffed. "It's what Cyrus says," she wondered. "'Give the newlyweds some space, darling! Charles was so kind to give us this amazing place to stay!' He's been singing Charles' praised all morning long…" She paused. Blair noticed her expression softening as she pondered over her husband's statement and the hint of a smile rising to her lips. "I guess he's right after all," she admitted then, having a long sigh as she sat down on the couch. "Charles certainly knows how to spoil his guests. He made sure I'd find a bouquet of flowers on my breakfast tray this morning."
A spontaneous, loving smile curled the corners of Blair's mouth at that information. "With a note?" she asked, lowering her eyes to conceal the tender expression now showing on her face.
Eleanor nodded. "A handwritten one with his 'heartfelt thanks for our understanding and patience'. It was kind of him to remember of me and Cyrus."
"Heartfelt thanks," Blair repeated absentmindedly, suffocating the abrupt emotion that had caught her in a faint chortle. "That's Chuck. Always so formal and well-mannered…" her words trailed off with a moved sigh.
That act of respect and politeness didn't touch her because it was exceptional, but because of the circumstances. Knowing that, in spite of everything, he had still managed to think of her family, filled her heart with an unexplainable sentiment; a bittersweet combination of thankfulness, sadness and empathy.
Once again, she felt the uncontrollable need to have him close to her. Her delicate smile trembled with the heartache of his unbearable absence; no matter how short it was, the distance separating her from Chuck was too much.
"Speaking of which, where is he?" Eleanor interrupted her thoughts.
Drawn by the question, Blair's attention focused on her mother. Looking back at her, she found herself sighing once more in front of the ever-growing suspect shading the woman's glance. She crossed her legs, conceding herself a moment of controlled hesitance before answering. "He had some matters to discuss with Lily," she said quietly after.
"Oh, of course," Eleanor replied right away. "The funeral."
Blair's eyes opened wide at the words. The thought hadn't crossed her mind before that moment. "No," she retorted impulsively, her heart pounding with sudden anxiety. She pursed her lips and inhaled a deep breath to compose herself. "It's not about that," she stated. "I'm not sure what Lily has planned, but I'm certain Chuck and I won't attend."
A deep frown furrowed her mother's forehead. "What do you mean you won't attend?" she asked surprised. "It's absurd. Blair, I'm aware Chuck and his father weren't on good terms, but…"
"I said we won't, mother," Blair snapped, interrupting Eleanor's speech about what was the appropriate thing to do. She couldn't care less about etiquette and appearances; the mere thought of putting Chuck through something so pointlessly painful made her stomach turn with disgust.
The tone of the answer and the way her daughter's voice had raised left Eleanor speechless. She limited herself to stare at her with a profoundly shocked expression, which told Blair that she had probably been too harsh. Unsure how to justify her unexpected rudeness and especially the decision not to attend the service, Blair averted her gaze from her mother. She was glad to see Dorota stepping into the room with the serving tea cart leaden with pastries tray, a teapot and cups.
She smiled at her maid. "Thank you, Dorota," she uttered when the woman shot her a knowing glance while pouring tea into her cup. As Dorota proceeded to serve Eleanor, Blair took a long a long sip of Earl Grey. She closed her eyes for a moment and, savoring the infusion, she allowed herself to relax.
It was only when Dorota left the room that Eleanor spoke. "Blair," she said strictly, forcing her daughter to bring her eyes back on her. "Tell me what's going on."
Blair guided the cup to her lips once again. "What are you referring to?" she asked to buy time.
"What am I referring to?" Eleanor exclaimed, placing her cup back on the cart with an unusually graceless gesture of irritation. "I've just been asked by a bunch of reporters if the man my daughter married in a flash wedding is responsible for his father's death. And not you're telling me that you and Charles won't be at the funeral. Do you realize how this looks like?"
Blair remained silent for a second. She leaned in and calmly settled her cup on the coffee table. With a careful gesture, she adjusted the fabric of her longuette and then looked up, locking eyes with her mother. "I'm aware," she replied in a flat tone. "I understand your suspects. But I can't tell you more than what I've already told you yesterday at the police station: Chuck isn't guilty."
Eleanor scowled. "I need an explanation, Blair," she stated resolutely. "I think I deserve one. I'm your mother."
A sense of exhaustion made Blair lower her gaze and sigh. Confiding the full story to one of the people she trusted the most would have been relieving; it would have helped her to carry the weight of that shocking experience and allowed her to catch her breath and grant herself the luxury of vulnerability. But she couldn't; not without betraying Chuck – his unconditional trust, his love, his need for her strength.
She shook her head a little. "I can't give you one," she answered. Though when she glanced up on her mother her eyes were shimmering with held back tears, she uttered the words deliberately and sharply, giving them the tone of unquestionable decisiveness. "I need you to trust me and to respect my marriage."
"I do trust you!" Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it. "And even if it was unexpected, I'm glad you married the only man you've ever truly loved. I'm just concerned because of the circumstances; if you and Charles have something to do with Bart's death…"
"Mother," with her free hand, Blair cupped their already laced ones. "I know you're worried – and I can see why you are. But telling you anything more about what happened wouldn't simply put you in a compromised position; it would also mean I'm not being loyal to my husband. I could never do that to him. Do you understand?"
Eleanor freed her hand from Blair's hold and, sucking in a long breath, she brought it to her forehead and bowed her head. It wasn't before a few seconds had passed that she guided her eyes back on her daughter and nodded slowly. "I do," she replied in a whisper.
As the answer came out of Eleanor's lips, Blair realized she couldn't hold her gaze; not when her chest was full of the fear of being faced by the woman's disappointment. So, looking down at her lap, she asked: "Do you think it makes me weak?"
"Weak?" a chortle suffocated her mother's echoed question.
Surprised by that reaction, Blair raised her eyes. Eleanor was staring at her with the hint of a smile on her lips. "Of course I don't think it makes you weak, Blair," she said in a gentle tone that normally didn't belong to her. "Quite the opposite. The absolute loyalty you're showing gives me once again the confirmation that I raised an incredibly strong woman; a conscious a graceful one. One that doesn't choose what's easy over what's worth fighting for. It takes bravery to make such a decision and even more to do it with awareness."
Eleanor's praising statements reassured Blair and dissolved her concerns about being disapproved; instead, she felt understood and respected, empowered by the pride and the genuine admiration conveyed by her mother's words. "I did set myself up for a difficult journey," she commented with a nod, as a tiny smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. "But I've learnt that lightness and happiness don't necessarily coincide. And I know I don't belong to a simple love."
Eleanor reached out to her cheek. She stroked it lightly with her fingers, offering her a warm look. "There's a glow about you," she told her, "you do look happy."
Blair's smile widened. "I am, mother," she answered and her voice shook with enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever felt happier."
"Oh well, who am I to argue with happiness?" Eleanor wondered with a sigh, spreading her hands in a resigned gesture before rubbing them against her knees.
Being inflexible herself and hating being kept in the dark as much as her mother did, Blair welcomed the woman's defeated expression with a sympathetic look, well aware that that stoic acceptance was the best reaction she could have expected from her. Once again, she reached for Eleanor's hand and took it in hers. "Thank you," she told her. "I know I'm asking a lot."
Eleanor eyed her for a moment before shaking her head. "It's alright, Blair," she said. "Truth being told, I suspected you weren't going to say a word about the situation," she admitted, rolling her eyes. "Even Cyrus had warned me not to expect it."
Blair chuckled. "Well, he's a lawyer," she observed with a tad of irony. "He's supposed to know these things."
Giggling as well, Eleanor leaned in and reached for the teapot. "I just hope you and Charles won't have to live in the public eye for too long," she said, pouring the still smoking-hot brown liquid into the cup she had left on the cart. "It must be hard."
"It is," Blair confessed, heaving a long sigh. "Especially for Chuck. All this attention on Bart's death and all the expectations…it's anguishing."
Eleanor nodded. "How is he doing?" she asked with a tactful smile.
Blair glanced down. "It's complicated," she replied laconically. Once again, as she faintly uttered the only answer she could give without having to reveal the truth, she was faced with the awareness that she needed to take Chuck away from all that pressure. She could handle it, but she knew he couldn't – not yet, at least, not while he was still so oblivious to his own pain. She pursed her lips, her heart beating frantically with the desire to see the time flowing faster till tomorrow's dawn, when she would have held his hand and guided him into the plane that would have brought them aboard.
"Well," Eleanor said, "have you considered spending some time away from New York?"
Staggered, Blair looked up at her mother and stared at her with slightly parted lips. "That's –"
"Exactly what you wanted to talk to me about?" Eleanor gazed back at her with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile. When Blair, more and more surprised, blinked, she let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You forget I'm the person who raised you, Blair," she pointed out. "I figured out you wanted to discuss your honeymoon the moment I saw Dorota's madeleines and my favorite macarons arranged on that tray," she waved her hand towards the cart. "Cajoling wasn't necessary, though. You can take all the time you need."
"Are you sure it doesn't bother you handling the company for a little while?" Blair's voice was full of her sudden joyfulness and her eyes were shining with fervor and wonder. "We won't be away for too long."
"Young woman," Eleanor rested her hand on Blair's knee and patted lightly on in, "I've been in charge of Waldorf Designs for the past thirty plus years. I'm pretty sure I can do it for a few more weeks."
With a long sigh of relief, Blair grinned. She was lucky, she came to think again as the sharp contrast between hers and Chuck's situation became even clearer before her eyes, portrayed by her mother's reassuring expression; she was blessed with her family's approval and utter support.
It was almost eight when Blair stepped back from the long table in the dining room, to observe the result of her effort. Hands on her hips and slight frown wrinkling her forehead, she meticulously inspected the table setting, which she had been working on for the past hour, ever since her mother had left. Her attentive eyes traced the lace inserts of the linen tablecloth, as she scanned the elaborately decorated porcelain plates, the crystal glasses and the sterling silver cutlery.
A self-complacent half smile raised to her lips. After several rearrangements, everything was finally flawless; each piece she had carefully selected occupied the proper place and a crimson red roses centerpiece towered next to a candelabrum.
Worried about Chuck and curious to know the outcome of his conversation with Lily, Blair had been forced to find a way to keep herself occupied and kill time. Her solution, eventually, had been channeling all of her nervousness into creating the perfect atmosphere for her husband to come home to. An opulent table prepared to be the backdrop to an equally lavish dinner, Chopin's Nocturnes playing softly on repeat through the speakers, the crackling fireplace illuminating the room dimly; a romantic and intimate vibe shrouded the house, giving it the warmth of coziness and the calm of a shelter.
Blair's smile widened as she glanced at her phone, which she was holding tightly in her hands. She reread the text Chuck had sent her a few minutes ago, and allowed herself to enjoy the sudden sense of comfort at the thought that he would have soon stepped out of the elevator and then straight into her arms. "Coming back to you, as promised," the message said.
Much calmer, she exhaled a relaxed breath and leaned in to light up the tall ivory candles rising up from the candelabrum's arms. Once done, she once again smiled to herself and made her way back to the living room, where she proceeded to take care of the very last thing she needed to set before Chuck's arrival. She paced up the bar, poured a fair amount of scotch into a crystal glass and then settled it on the coffee table in front of the couch; served neat to exalt its strength, the liquor would have helped her husband to forget for a moment the surely trying few hours he had spent away from her.
Ten minutes later the elevator rang to announce him. At the sound, Blair stood up swiftly and reached the hall with a few rapid steps. Her lips stretched in the brightest beam when the automatic doors slip open and she saw Chuck staring back at her. He looked even more strained than when he had left, she detected immediately, but he was safe.
Blair threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her chest before the doors could close. Her hands gripped the fabric of his coat as she avidly breathed him in. "You were gone for too long," she murmured against his shoulder, before he could say anything.
Chuck laced an arm around her waist and squeezed her in a tight and reassuring embrace. "I came back to you," he said as his hand inched up her back, giving her the comfort of a soothing stroke.
She felt the hint of a smile in his voice, an unmistakable touch of delight and relief that drew her gaze towards his. Locking eyes with him, she realized he was actually smiling; it was a soft smile, a loving and exposed one. She reached out to his check and cupped it with her palm. "You did," she replied, exhaling a sigh.
Ducking his head, Chuck kissed her. Blair let the touch of his lips erase the fear that had weighted on her heart for most of the afternoon; kissing back, she insinuated her fingers through his hair, in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective. He was home, she told herself once again, wrapped in the shelter of her love.
"How did it go with Lily?" she asked when they parted, laying her head over his chest.
Chuck sighed. "She'll help," he replied briefly.
The lack of details in his answer made Blair glance up to realize that his expression had suddenly tensed. Her lips curled in a slight, placid smile. "Why don't you tell me about it over a drink?" she proposed in a delicate voice.
He lowered his eyes. His hold on her weakened, dampened by his reluctance at the idea of having that conversation and, at the same time, by the awareness that it was still necessary. His struggle became even clearer to Blair's eyes as, staring at him, she recognized the suffering he couldn't accept or name. In the attempt to make it easier for him, she freed him from her hug and reached for his free hand. Her fingers slithered through his and then clutched his palm, tender yet secure.
At the touch, Chuck looked back at her. He eyed her for a moment, resting his gaze on her reassuring smile and then, slowly, he nodded.
Still holding his hand, Blair led him into the living room and towards the couch. Chuck smirked faintly at her when, sitting down, he noticed the glass set on the coffee table. "That's quite a lot of liquor for a glass," he said, taking off his coat.
"Well," Blair replied, taking a seat next you him, "you had a quite long day."
As he leaned in to take the drink, she slid her arm around his waist and rested her other hand over his knee. She watched him swallowing a long sip and patiently waited for him to pronounce himself.
He placed the scotch back on the coffee before guiding his hand to his neck to loosen the tight tie's knot. As soon as his fingers freed him from that constriction, he exhaled a weary breath and closed his eyes from a brief moment. "We have a month," he finally uttered, as he slid off his suit jacket and tossed it over the coat. "Lily thinks that postponing the succession at the head of Bass Industries for longer isn't advisable."
Blair glanced at the clothes he had carelessly threw on the couch's armrest with concern. It was a small gesture that spoke about his distress louder than his controlled expression and detached tone, and, realizing it, she tightened her embrace. "She's right," she replied with a calm smile.
Chuck pressed his lips in a thin line and shook his head slightly. "I know," he stated in a low voice. He paused to suck in a deep breath before saying: "I just wanted to give you a longer honeymoon."
Reaching out to his cheek, Blair lightly pushed his face to side to guide his eyes in her direction. Her smile widened as her fingers skimmed over his jaw. "Whether it's for a day or for a year, I'll be happy to treasure every moment spent alone with you."
The corners of Chuck's mouth tilted up in the shadow of a shy smile. His eyes lowered as he tilted his head in an unsure nod. Then, reaching out, he cupped her face with both hands and rested his forehead against hers for a couple of seconds before kissing her. Sensing all of his unspoken gratitude merging with his fatigue in the slowness of those gestures, Blair prolonged the kiss, closing her eyes and allowing his lips to dwell on hers. It was a comforting and peaceful moment for both of them; even when they parted, she let a few seconds of quiet silence pass by before speaking.
"What about the rest?" she asked eventually with a certain hesitancy, grabbing the glass he had left half empty. Darting him a sympathetic, almost guilty look, she handed it to him as if to apologize for her question.
Chuck took his drink from her hands and, avoiding her gaze, he drained it in a single sip. "I delegated Lily to attend the reading of the will in my place," he explained her in a flat voice. There was no trace of sentiment in his words. Not even bitterness shook them; they sounded mechanical and imperturbably cold. "It was all too unexpected for changes to be made: it'll likely be the same as the last time. As for the function, I told her I don't want to be involved."
His speech couldn't have been more impersonal; not even mentioning the funeral his voice had flinched with the hint of an emotion and his eyes had stayed motionless, starting at an imprecise point in front of him. Everything about his demeanor was rigid: his pose, his face, even the way his hand didn't move while holding the empty glass.
Studying him, Blair understood that the conversation had to end there. She couldn't bear to see him becoming more and more distant as he talked. He had shared with her all that she needed to know; pushing him any further was pointless. "I'm sure she understands that," she limited herself to comment.
Chuck answered with a soundless nod. He set the glass aside and leaned back against the couch's backrest, sliding his arm around Blair's shoulders. She let him pull her closer and laid her head on the top of his chest; her fingers, slow and delicate, kept running up and down along his side.
For a couple of minutes, neither of them spoke. Blair closed her eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing. It reached her ears clearly even over the soft music playing on the background. Carried away by the quietness, she found herself smiling at that simple sign that he was alive. The thought that she could have lost him still lingered in the back of her mind like a shadow over which she couldn't shed light, and she welcomed every reminder that she was allowed to let go of that fear as a vital reassurance.
"We should take advantage of this romantic atmosphere to discuss our honeymoon in details, Mrs. Bass."
Chuck's voice made a smile rise to her lips. She lifted her eyelids and immediately met his gaze looking down at her. He had a more relaxed expression now and a softer light in his stare; a loving warmth, a twinkle of satisfaction that instantly filled her heart with happiness.
"So you noticed," she said, her voice tinged with delight. She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I wanted to give you a perfect welcoming."
Chuck smirked at her. "Of course I did," taking her hand in his, he ducked his head and placed a kiss on her temple. "Chopin, dim lights…if I had a dirty mind, I'd say you're trying to seduce me."
Blair giggled at the joke before rolling her eyes. "Again, I think I should remind you that I don't need to seduce you," she pointed out with a tad of smugness. "My presence is enough to arouse your libido."
"You always speak words of truth," he declared, leaning in with the clear intention of laying her down on the couch.
"Bass," realizing his intentions and the sudden sharpness of his smirk, she pronounced his name in a warning tone. "Didn't you have something to tell me about our trip?"
He captured her lips in a brief yet eager and seductive kiss. "It can wait," he whispered against her still slightly parted mouth, as, using the weight of his body, he pulled her further down.
Blair pushed her palms against his chest to stop him. When he frowned, she smirked at him. "Anything can wait in the face of such an inviting offer," she uttered softly, running her palms up to the collar of his dress shirt. She grabbed the loosen tie hanging from his neck and, as her fingers curled around the fabric, she tugged it, forcing his face closer to hers again. She kissed him back, her lips resting on his long enough to make his hand quiver with the pleasure of anticipation, and then murmured: "Except for our honeymoon plans."
With a sigh, Chuck reluctantly pulled back. As Blair sat up with a satisfied expression, he reached out to his jacket and extracted a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket.
Blair's eyebrows arched with the most vivid curiosity. "You actually made a list?"
Handing her the paper, Chuck smiled satisfied. "My wife is the most controlling woman I know. Not presenting her with precise details would have meant torturing her," he joked, and his sly smile softened as his eyes rested on her. "And all I want to give her is pleasure."
Caught by a sudden shyness, Blair glanced down. That simple gesture struck her as immensely romantic; it carried the confirm that not only he knew her to the core, but that he also respected her. He didn't simply accept her, he loved her – truly, unconditionally. She beamed at him before taking the list from his hand.
"Read it out of loud," Chuck told her as she unfolded the paper.
Blair raised her eyebrows at him. "You're so vain," she giggled.
"I'm not," he pointed out with a shrug, "I'm just proud of my work."
Blair rolled her eyes once more before she started reading. "From December 19th to December 23rd we'll be in Vienna. Oh, Chuck!" She looked up at him and a wide grin spread across her face. Her gaze was twinkling with excitement. "I love Vienna, it's such a wonderful place."
Chuck smiled back at her. "It is indeed," he stated proudly. "What a better place to start our honeymoon than an imperial city?"
"It's perfect," she commented with growing enthusiasm. "Nothing more accurate to represent us than a great symbol of power and culture."
He chuckled. "Keep on," he suggested with the same self-satisfied tone. "I bet you'll be over the moon about the following destination."
Chuck wasn't wrong. As soon as she read the next line, her eyes opened wide with surprise. "We'll be spending the Christmas at daddy's?" she exclaimed, bringing her hand to her chest. She felt a moved tear rolling down her cheek and rushed to wipe it away.
Though she hadn't really allowed herself to think about it, she had deeply missed her father at the ceremony and she knew he felt the same way. He had been overjoyed with the news that she had married Chuck when she had called him yesterday during the reception, but she had still perceived his sad disappointment at the realization that he hadn't witnessed such a fundamental moment of her life.
Chuck reached out to her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I thought it was right to pay him a visit since he wasn't at our wedding," he told her. "We had the chance to talk over the phone this afternoon. He was delighted to know we'll be staying at the chateaux for a few days."
Blair's smile trembled a little. "Are you sure it's what you want, Chuck?" she asked in a lower voice. "It's our honeymoon. You shouldn't have to share my attention with anyone."
He shook his head firmly. "He's your father," he affirmed. "He's important to you and I'm always going to respect that," guiding his hand to her cheek, he tenderly ran his thumb over her lips, causing her unsure smile to stretch into a bright one. "Besides," he shot her an eloquent glance, "I have the rest of my life to take pleasure in your attention; starting with New Year's Eve, which we'll spend alone in Paris."
In a rush of excitement, Blair set the list aside and threw her arms around his neck. Kissing him deeply, she pushed him down on the couch, a faithful replica of what he had done a few minutes before. She would have read about Moscow, Milan and Venice later; it was now time to indulge the feeling of immense love making her heart pound with thankfulness and joy.
Past after midnight, they were both still awake. Tiredness hadn't discouraged their excitement; they had been discussing the trip for the past hour, ever since Blair had finished packing and joined Chuck in bed. Legs waved together and no distance between them, Chuck and Blair had been talking dreamingly about each stop of their honeymoon with the most ardent fervor.
Toying distractedly with Chuck's hand, Blair heaved a pleased sigh. "I want to go at the opera in Moscow," she said, sliding her fingers further between his, "make a tour of the best shops in Milan and pass under the Bridge of Sighs in Venice."
Chuck lifted their laced hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on hers. "We'll do all of this," he promised her, "and much more."
Blair smiled blissfully to herself. Her eyes went shut as she took a deep breath. Inebriating and heartwarming, it made her mind drift into a vivid envisioning of how the next weeks were going to be: romantic, passionate, healing. Then, suddenly, a thought came to her mind and broke her fantasizing.
"Chuck," she called him with a tad of suspect in her voice.
He turned slightly to side to face her better. "Tell me," he replied, skimming his thumb over her cheek.
"I was thinking about the list you gave me," she eyed him with furrowed eyebrows that matched her doubtful tone. "It starts with December 19th," she stated, "but we're living tomorrow, which is December 14th."
A self-satisfied smirk curled his lips. "We are," he answered laconically.
Blair pursed his lips. "Bass," she darted him a vaguely bothered glance, "you forgot to tell me where we're going first."
His smirk became more evident and so did her frown. "That, my darling, is a surprise," he said, laughing softly at the now obviously annoyed look she was staring at him with. "Don't scowl," she told her. He kissed her forehead, which relaxed under that touch. When he pulled back to rest his eyes on her again, she was fighting the need to smile. "You're going to love it."
Rolling her eyes, Blair sighed. "Well, you proved to be worthy of trust," she conceded. Then, gazing back at him, she smiled sweetly. "We should sleep, Chuck," she told him, sliding her fingers slowly along his face.
He didn't avert his eyes from hers for a few seconds and Blair saw them becoming tense with fear. She knew he was scared of closing his eyes and giving in to sleep; awake, he could control his thoughts and repress his emotions, but he had no power over his dreams. She laced her arms tight around him and buried her face into the crook of his neck. "It'll be fine," she assured him, her lips pressed against his shoulder in a soft kiss.
Chuck pulled her even closer and bowed his head, breathing her in. "I'm tired," he told her in a faint whisper.
That small confession, the maximum he could manage to express, filled Blair's eyes with tears, for she understood that he had given a deeper meaning to it. Sleep would have helped to heal the tiredness of his body but not the exhaustion of his cruelly tormented mind and soul.
"I know," she answered, her voice shuddering from the lump in her throat. "It'll be better, Chuck. Tomorrow we'll leave and put it all behind our backs for a while."
She felt him nodding. "I love you," he told her. The three words came out quivering with sincerity, with need and with pain.
Blair took a deep breath. She couldn't promise she would have fixed what had gotten broken inside him. No one could, not even time. What she could promise, though, was to help him live with the scars; to do her best to give him happiness in spite of them.
"I love you too," she answered, leaving that simple, perfect statement to seal her vow.
Notes:
[1] Honeymoon, Lana Del Rey
[2] As I'm sure you noticed, this entire chapter was written from Blair's POV. There's an explanation for it: I felt it was the best way to give an insight on Chuck's emotional state.
[3] As usual, all my gratitude to my wonderful Daphne for her constant and patient support.