AN: Hello to all my readers and merry Christmas! I was planning to write something for Christmas, but I haven't managed to finish it. However, I really wanted to give you something new for the holidays and I decided to share this multichapter story, which I finished writing exactly one year ago. It was written as a Christmas gift to Daphne and I've never posted it because I consider it pretty personal: not really for the topic, but for the fact the story, in each installment, is full of small headcanons that Daph and I came up with; silly things that made us laugh and details that come out of our long chats. This story is pretty much a journey into my imagination! You also have to know this is not a Chuck and Blair story: though Blair and CB's love will be present, the focus is on Chuck and Nate's relationship. The fanfiction follows Chuck and Nate through one of their annual lost weekends. I hope you enjoy the story regardless! Once again, happy holidays. Cris.
November 2nd, 2024
Thursday
Nate Archibald was known and admired for his utterly optimistic nature.
He liked to think of himself as a person who managed to find happiness even in the smallest and simplest things. A stranger smiling back at him, a text from his nephew, waking up to a sunny day; the occasions that caused his lips to stretch in a bright smile were many.
Chuck Bass, his best friend, would have claimed they were infinite, actually, since, according to him, Nate's joyful disposition was perpetual and indistinctively directed to everyone.
The enthusiastic beam showing on his face in that moment, though, was reserved to a truly special occasion. As he let himself fall on the couch of his living room, his eyes were glued to the invitation to the annual Lost Weekend, which rested on the coffee table in front of him with its back turned upwards to display his full name written in a baroque calligraphy – Mr. Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald.
Taking off the dark blue jacket of his suit, Nate shook his head, an amused giggle escaping his lips. It had been a week since he had found the formal invitation on the desk of his office and yet it still caused him to laugh. Chuck would have surely taken offence in his hilarity, he thought, as he carefully picked up the invitation, but he couldn't help it: his best friend's attachment to formalities was incredibly amusing to Nate, who was always quite perplexed when it came to ceremonials and their value. While Chuck considered them sacred ("It's called etiquette, Nathaniel," he had answered with a sigh of annoyance the one and only time Nate had dared to question him about the need to officially invite him to an event that was exclusively their prerogative), to him they were dull and obsolete and, for this reason, also quite comical.
Still chortling, Nate rested the invitation on the couch next to him and proceeded to get rid of the tie that had oppressed him all day. He threw it on the backrest with a long sigh of relief and stretched his long legs on the coffee table, letting go of the boredom and the tiredness of a long, tedious day of work. Once comfortable, he turned his full attention back at the cream envelope and, with a wide smile spreading across his face, he extracted a card from it.
Under Chuck's elegant signature monogram printed on the top, a few lines were written in an elaborated yet clear lettering: "Mr. Charles Bartholomew Bass requests the pleasure of the company of Mr. Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald on the occasion of the annual Lost Weekend, from Friday, November 3rd, to Monday, November 6th. "
Of course there was no information about their destination. Nate had absolutely no idea where they were heading. As the theatrical person he was, Chuck took immense delight in surprising him and, therefore, he hadn't given him any clues.
Even Blair seemed to be in the dark about the place they were going to visit. When Nate, curious and hopeful, had asked her if her husband had left anything transpire regarding the Lost Weekend, she had simply shaken her head and, smiling sweetly at him, she had replied: "Not a word, Nate. I'm sorry."
Eventually, Nate had given up on his attempt to find out. It was a losing battle anyways. He had never been a good detective; details usually slipped away from frail attention and he could never read between the lines of a speech. There was no way he would have managed to discover something that Chuck, who was possibly the most secretive and smartest man he knew, had decided to keep hidden.
His resignation, though, hadn't placated his ever-growing excitement. Full of trepidation, he was waiting for Lost Weekend with the enthusiasm of a teenage boy, counting days to the date of departure and trying to think of all the possible places Chuck could have chosen.
Over the years, his best friend's surprises had never missed to amaze him. Nate knew he spent months planning them in every minimal detail and he felt truly grateful for the way he always did his best to make these few days spent alone special.
Although they had both been everywhere and done everything life could offer to people who could afford excellence and luxury, seeing the world with his best friend had a completely different taste. It was the pleasure of reliving pieces of their youth free from the troubles and the heartache of those years, the opportunity to take a break from the demanding routine of their lives and, most of all, the chance to simply share time and space, recreating that sort of intimacy that used to be solely theirs.
As that thought crossed his mind, Nate threw his head back on the backrest and smiled once again, closing his eyes. His waiting was almost over; they were leaving for the mysterious destination tomorrow morning and three days of nothing but fun and perfect company were ahead of him. There wasn't anything he had to worry about.
Except for one thing. The moment Nate remembered the only matter he was supposed to take care of, his eyes snapped back open and widened, revealing a shocked expression. He hadn't packed.
He sat bolt upright with a jolt. They were leaving tomorrow morning and not only he hadn't packed, but he had also forgotten where he had put the dress code list Chuck had attached to the invitation, with his personal handwritten recommendation to read it and follow it.
Nate hadn't. He had taken a quick look at it and abandoned it somewhere the second his eyes had met the words "black tie required", telling himself that there was no way he would have worn uncomfortable suits on vacation. Why would he have inflicted himself such a senseless pain?
Because the alternative was dealing with Chuck's disapproving looks, head shakes and annoyed sighs for three days straight, he reminded himself as he briskly stood up.
Not to mention that his best friend would have ended up dragging him to buy "something suitable for you to wear, Nathaniel", which would have surely taken long, dull hours and caused him unspeakable embarrassment, considering how guilty and uncomfortable the way Chuck used to treat shopping assistants – with a haughtiness that was threatening and almost cruel – always made him feel.
It definitely wasn't a pleasant prospective. He had to throw some decent clothes in a suitcase and he had to do it quickly, Nate decided. The Basses usually had dinner around eight and, since he would have joined them as he did almost every night, he had more or less an hour to figure out what to do. He spun around, his brows furrowing in a confused expression as he scratched the top his head, fingers running distractedly through his messy hair, unsure where to start.
After a moment, he blinked. "Of course, closet," he whispered to himself.
He made his way to his bedroom, wondering that he should have probably been more careful with Chuck's note. At least, now he would have had an at least vague idea of what to put into the luggage.
It was with great surprise that, as he crossed the door to his room, Nate realized that he wasn't alone. Standing in front of his bed, where an orderly line of four suitcases had been arranged, was Chuck's latest valet. He was busy folding some light blue shirts Nate didn't remember he owned with meticulous care, as if they were made of the most delicate crystal instead of silk or linen.
Standing on the doorway, Nate asked himself how the man had managed to bypass security and get in. Then, shaking his head at his own foolish question, he reminded himself that he lived in the penthouse suite of one of Chuck's hotel, which meant his best friend and his staff had free access to every corner of his apartment, including his bedroom and definitely his closet.
Surprise faded, making room for a pleasant sense of familiarity. Chuck's constant and attentive presence in his life was revealed through small gestures and silent acts of kindness, such as making sure he didn't have to pack – which was something he hated doing.
"Hey, Ivan," crossing the door, Nate greeted his unexpected guest with a benevolent smile.
The valet turned and immediately abandoned the task he was focused on finishing to lace his hands together behind his back. "Good evening, Mr. Archibald," he bowed his head slightly in a discrete sign of reverence. "I hope I didn't disturb you. Mr. Bass sent me to take care of your baggage; he thought you might have needed some help."
"Some help?" Nate's words trailed off with a cheerful laughter. He stepped over to where the man was standing and patted on his shoulder. "You're saving me, buddy. I had no clue where to start."
"I'm glad to be useful, sir," Ivan – or at least that's how Chuck called him – answered him.
Sitting down on the bed, Nate shot him an amused look and then shook his head. "Look, there's no need to call me 'Sir' or 'Mr. Archibald', okay?" he said, his kind smile widening. "I'm just Nate."
"Of course, Mr. Nate," the valet nodded and smiled back politely. His expression, however, let a certain perplexity show through, indicating that he definitely wasn't used to be treated in such an informal, down to heart way. Chuck was pretty inflexible when it came to his conviction that it was only commonsense to keep a cold detachment from the people who worked for him. He would have never allowed an employee to call him "Chuck"; even "Mr. Bass" wasn't proper enough: to his staff, he was strictly "Sir".
"That's much better," Nate replied gleefully, as eyes went back to the pile of shirts he still didn't recall he had bought. Perhaps he had just forgotten them; after all, they all looked the same to him. "Where did you find those, though?" he asked, a curious frown puckering his forehead. "Did you pick them up from the dry cleaner, maybe?"
"No, Mr. Nate," the valet replied, as he proceeded to set them inside the only suitcase that was still open. "I went to pick them up from Mr. Bass' tailor. They arrive from London. Mrs. Bass ordered them a week ago; she was convinced you needed new ones, since winter season is close."
Nate eyed the light blue shirts once more before heaving a resigned sigh. He hadn't been in charge of his own closet for a long time; Chuck and especially Blair had decided it was their responsibility to make sure he was always dressed properly, "as any respectable politician in his thirty should be."
And this wasn't the only aspect of his life they managed. People would have called them intrusive, possibly even controlling, but, to Nate, their constant company didn't feel anything but comforting. They were his family in the most literal way; ever since the earliest days of their marriage, his best friend and his wife had carved out a space that belonged to him in their domestic routine.
He had never been a guest in their home. He didn't need an invitation to cross the door to the Basses' household; he actually had the keys, the alarm system's code (which he systematically forgot) and also a guest room that was always ready for him when he wanted to spend the night there – Dorota made sure there were always fresh towels, pajamas and a change of clothes waiting for him.
According to their view of family, there was nothing weird about the way they acted with him. If family was a small, elected circle of loved ones that needed to be cherished, defended and taken care of, then they had all the right – and, as they would have said, the responsibility – to guide him through life. Chuck and Blair were the brains behind most of his choices and the silent weavers of his serenity.
They had played a fundamental role in all of the steps of his adulthood. They had pushed him to run for mayor when he didn't feel capable to do it and supported him all the way up to his victory. They had been the greatest help through his four years' term and, eventually, they had been the ones to advise him against running for a second one – "Handling all that stress doesn't suit you, Nathaniel; not because you can't do it, but because you don't like it," Chuck had told him, pointing out to what, to his always attentive eyes, had been obvious for quite a while. His best friend had always been able to tell what he needed and which was the right call to make long before him.
Towers of strength in the middle of a storm, Chuck and Blair had also picked him up from the ground each time he had stumbled on the rollercoaster his relationship with Serena had been. They had given him stability and a reason to smile even through the sorrow of a divorce and several break ups.
If Nate was now a happy man, with a solid family, a concrete political career and a pleasant life, he knew he also had – and maybe above all – to thank Chuck and Blair and the way they and their son Henry had been the cornerstones of his existence.
"If Blair said so, then she must be right," Nate commented coolly and a nonchalant shrug accompanied his words. The corners of his lips tilted up in a new, placid smile. "She's the boss of all of us for a good reason."
With that last observation, he stood up. "Well, I suppose I'm not much help here. It's not like I have a say in this matter," he said with a chuckle, approaching the valet. "I'm gonna let you finish, Ivan," he told him. He patted once again on his shoulder, friendly as his never fading, open grin. "I'll give you a ride to Chuck and Blair's after you're done. I'm going there anyways."
Ivan raised his eyes on him and darted him a rather unsure look. "Mr. Nate, I don't think Mr. Bass would approve," he replied hesitantly. "He usually leaves me some money for cabs in case I've got errands to run for him."
Nate, who was already walking to the door, turned, shaking his head at Chuck's bizarre severity once again. "Oh, what Mr. Bass doesn't know can't hurt his pride, right?" he joked, winking at the man in front of him. Always genuinely happy to be kind, he didn't give his best friend's valet the time to refuse his offer and quickly left the room, ready to enjoy a beer and a good videogame before leaving for the Basses' place.
There was something about Chuck and Blair's house that never missed to make Nate wonder how anyone could live surrounded by such an exaggerated opulence without feeling oppressed by a sense of inadequacy.
He suspected it was an intentional effect. The splendor of the place was so evident and so perfectly well-finished that a guest blessed with the privilege of walking through the rooms of the residence had the impression to be inside a royal palace, majestic and imposing as the personalities of those who owned it. It was a pure exhibition of power, a statement made even clearer by the eclectic touches and the lavish art pieces the townhouse was filled with; details to remind whoever entered that rules didn't apply to the Basses and that nothing was ever too much for them.
As he stepped into the foyer – and ensemble of baroque furniture set in a triumph of black and gold – Nate's gaze was drawn by the family portray towering on the wall opposite to the door. He smiled at the sight of his best friends and his nephew's images staring back at him from inside an elaborated gilded frame. In the painting, Chuck's arm was tightly laced around Blair's waist and his other hand gently placed on Henry's shoulder. The three of them had the exact same pose; they stood upright, proud eyes and regal pose.
He supposed Chuck and Blair had placed it there to make sure it was the first thing a visitor's eyes could catch; a megalomaniac display of their grandeur other than the strength of their marriage, intimidating and, at the same time, enviable.
To Nate, instead, the portrait was just a reminiscence of a happy moment. He was there the day it had been painted; a snowy Sunday afternoon of two years ago, which he had spent giggling at Chuck and Henry's matching outfits and at Blair's attempts to make her husband and son stay still. They had resisted less than ten minutes. Patience wasn't a quality a Bass needed, Chuck had said, declaring that a competent painter would have been able to make an accurate job without needing them to "model like puppets". Needless to say, the portraitist had been forced to work without his capricious subjects.
With a sigh of relief, Nate left the suitcase he was carrying on the floor.
"Give it to me, Mr. Nate," Chuck's valet said immediately after. He had just crossed the front door with the rest of Nate's luggage and, when Nate turned, he was already approaching him with his rapid pace and always courteous expression. "I'll bring it to your guestroom with the others."
Nate smiled. "Oh, there's no need," he replied cheerfully. "I'm sure you're busy enough without having to worry about me too," he added, wondering what kind of traumatic experience packing for Chuck had to be.
Ivan shook his head. "I must insist, Mr. Nate," he retorted strictly. He reached out to the suitcase and promptly picked it up, leaving Nate to stare at him with a perplexed frown wrinkling his forehead.
"But —"
"I'd appreciate if you just let Ivan do his job, Nate," sharp and authoritarian, Blair's voice interrupted Nate's attempt to persuade the valet and forced him to spun around to see her crossing the family room's door and pacing towards them with her always so resolute expression, followed by her assistant. The poor woman, Nate noticed, looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown trying to keep up with Blair while frantically writing notes on a tablet.
"God forbids Chuck finds out you gave him a ride and even carried your own luggage. You'd cause this young man to be fired and I don't think Dorota could handle putting together another selection of candidates, much less instructing a new person on the endless list of your best friend's demands and obsessions. She's had enough for this month," she concluded as she stopped right in front of Nate.
Nate's mouth opened slightly in confusion as he bent his head to side; his brow furrowed, giving him a completely disoriented look. "Why would that happen?"
Blair rolled her eyes at his question, sighing as she reached out to his shoulders and smoothed the creases of his jacket. "For reasons you wouldn't understand," she said, her tone as indulgent as the smile she offered him before placing a quick kiss on his cheek.
"Ivan," she called for the valet when she pulled away from Nate; she nodded at the suitcases occupying the antique carpet on the floor and motioned for the servant to take care of them.
The sweet expression she had reserved for Nate had completely disappeared when she turned her head towards her assistant, who stood a couple of steps behind her. Blair darted her a stern look. "Revise the guest list. Twice. Invitations must be sent not later than tomorrow morning," she ordered, her eyes carefully following the valet as he proceeded to place Nate's luggage into the elevator. "Call the florist. Make sure the sure he understood that yellow roses can't be used for the decorations and tell him I want a sample of the table arrangements ready by Monday. Versailles isn't an easy theme to follow, it's necessary to be careful with every detail."
Nate, who had listened to the conversation without really understanding what Blair was talking about, grew curious. "Are you planning a party?" he asked, watching as the assistant rapidly left the foyer. Chuck and Blair's staff gave him the creeps sometimes; it was like staring at an army of robots.
Blair turned her attention back at him. Her severe pose softened and she smiled sweetly at him. "Not just a party, Nate. I'm planning the party: my birthday. It'll be celebrated in ten days exactly," she answered gaily, her voice vibrant with excitement. "Didn't Chuck mention it to you?"
Nate blinked. Chuck had said something about a masquerade ball, but he couldn't remember other details. "Oh, of course," he still smiled back, hoping she hadn't noticed his indecision. "A ball, right?"
"Precisely," Blair nodded, taking him by the arm. "We'll use The Empire's ballroom as venue." She started leading him towards the kitchen's anteroom and Nate followed her without hesitation. Having known Blair for his whole life, he knew it was better to show full interest for her birthday.
"As you well know my actual birthday is in two weeks, but Chuck planned a trip to Paris for that date," she explained as they sat down at the breakfast table set in the middle of the small room. "We're hosting my parents at our penthouse."
The Basses' Parisian residence, an enormous attic overlooking the Eiffel Tower, had been Chuck's gift for Blair's thirtieth birthday and for the past five years it had been the location of their New Year's Eve parties. Nate had beautiful memories there.
It was also the place where he and Serena had spent their last romantic weekend together, his ultimate attempt to make her realize they could have the free and adventurous life she wanted together. It had been three years already, he thought, and the nostalgic smile that had curled his lips at the reminiscence of those few, perfect days slowly faded.
The art of catching even the minutest emotions on people's faces had always been one of Blair's most developed talents; a natural ability that almost twenty years spent deciphering Chuck's enigmatic glances and silences had only managed to improve. Nate, whose expressions were always pretty blatant, was an incredibly easy book to read for her. So, understanding what he was wondering about, she patted lightly on his arm and grinned.
"You're going to need a costume for the ball and, of course, a dame," she said, choosing a jaunty, high-pitched tone to draw his attention. Nate's eyes met hers before narrowing under a confused frown, to which Blair smiled once again. "You don't have to worry about neither. I'll take care of both for you."
Nate sighed. Blair had spent the past two years trying to find him "a suitable girlfriend" and setting up dates for him. All the women she had introduced him had turned out to be a disappointment for Nate. She had picked smart and beautiful girls, but he felt like they were always missing something; none of them was carefree enough, funny enough, wild enough, blonde enough…
His frown deepened as he realized he had ended up thinking of his ex-wife. "Blair, I really don't want a date," he told her disconsolately. "I'd rather come as solo."
Blair huffed. "Nonsense," she said, moving her hand in a dismissive wave. "Our autumn/winter collection top model will be the perfect fit. She has an aristocratic look," she declared firmly, in a way that didn't admit replies. "You're going to like her," she assured him. "She's blonde."
"Mom, uncle Nate doesn't need a date." Henry's voice caught their attentions and made them turn. Nate smiled at the sight of his nephew, who had just appeared on the doorway, and at his words. "He has us. Aren't we more than enough?"
The widest beam spread across Blair's face. "Once again you sound just like your father. Exactly like him," she said, pushing her chair back and standing up to greet him with a hug and a kiss.
Watching him, Nate couldn't help but agree. Leaned casually against the doorjamb, a smirk curving his thin lips and perfectly cut dark hair brushing his forehead, he looked exactly like Chuck at the age of ten. They shared the same features, the same elegant way of moving and that bit of ever-present sarcasm in their equally posh tones.
Being around him, to Nate, often felt like traveling back in time and reaching a day of twenty-five years ago, when he was kid with an adult looking best friend. Henry looked and sounded older than his age too; his vocabulary and his manners were refined, veiled by that haughtiness he had learnt from his father. He resembled him in every possible way, except for his eyes; other than being copies of Blair's, they still preserved the vivid light of childhood, a lively carefreeness and serenity that Nate had never found in Chuck's gaze.
"How was practice, sweetie?" Blair asked as she freed her son from a thigh embrace. She carefully fixed the collar of his monogrammed polo shirt as she pulled back and stroked his hair gently.
A rather smug smile showed on Henry's face and Nate felt suddenly proud and amused. His nephew had been riding horse since the age of four and, a couple of years ago, he had joined the polo junior team. Nate wasn't such a fan of that sport – it was a way too snobbish environment for him – but Henry loved it and so he hadn't missed a game ever since the kid had started playing regularly.
"It was excellent," Henry replied with a self-satisfied expression. "Augustus is superb."
"Wait," Nate interrupted him, shooting him a quizzical look. "Who's Augustus?"
Blair sighed, turning her head towards him. "Augustus is your best friend's latest 'I was away for two weeks and now I feel guilty' gift," she explained. Behind her, Henry started to chuckle, clearly entertained by his mother's disapproval. "It's a horse. A horse Henry didn't need, since he already owns a stable with other six wonderful stallions."
At her last remark, the kid's expression changed. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Blair straight-faced, visibly offended. He looked so insulted that Nate had to keep himself from laughing, as it happened every time his nephew did something that reminded him of Chuck. Father and son were equally touchy and he found that common trait particularly hilarious.
"That's not quite correct, mother," Henry replied promptly, uttering every word with a deliberate slowness that perfectly matched his serious, flat tone. "Augustus isn't just 'a horse'; he's a black Arabian pureblood," he specified smugly. "And I did need him."
There was no one in the world who could have spoken to Blair so arrogantly except for her son. While any other mother would have admonished that insolence, Blair seemed to be completely in love with it. Her eyes sparkled with pride and genuine admiration when, amazed, she beamed at Henry once again, and Nate got the impression that she looked like she had never seen anything so precious before.
"Take off your riding boots before Dorota sees you walking around the house with them on," she said, softly ruffling the kid's hair. "But give me a kiss first."
Henry rolled his eyes at his mother's request. Still, he lifted himself up a little as she bent forward and smirked before pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. "Where's dad?" he asked right after, as he sat down on the floor to remove the boots. "Is he back from work?"
"Right," Nate took the chance to butt in. Telling himself it was wise to go see his best friend before Blair had the occasion to come back at the table and start talking about possible dates again, he stood up. "Where is he?"
Stared by two pairs of equally hopeful eyes, Blair nodded. "He's upstairs in his office," she informed them. "But Jack is here; they came home together. I suppose Chuck wanted to make sure everything will be taken care of while he's away."
Henry grinned joyfully. "Awesome!" he exclaimed, jumping up. "Uncle Jack needs to see pictures of Augustus. He hasn't seen him yet."
Next to him, Nate frowned. He was so used to have all of Henry's attention that when Chuck's uncle was around he couldn't help but feeling somewhat jealous. Jack wasn't the kind of person who was supposed to be around a kid, he said to himself to justify his irrational feeling. It was only logic to be bothered by his presence; he was only being protecting with his nephew. "I haven't either, buddy," he stated. "Can I see them?"
Henry shrugged. "Sure," he answered. "Come with me, uncle Nate. Daddy has beautiful photos on his iPad that both you and uncle Jack can look at."
It wasn't the answer Nate had hoped for. He would have liked to sit on the couch in the family room with Henry and, looking at the pictures the kid was so excited about, be the only one to smile of his enthusiasm and happiness, but the only choice he had was to share that moment. So he followed his barefoot, gleefully hipping nephew to the foyer and then into the elevator, hoping Jack wasn't in the mood to ruin his night.
The knock at the mahogany door of his home office made Chuck turn silent. He raised his hand slightly in a mute demand to his uncle to stop talking and turned his entire attention at the sound.
It was the touch of a polite yet secure hand, a repeated beat he would have recognized even between the loudest noises, for the fact he knew it was the joyful prelude to his son's entrance. His lips stretched in a genuine, instinctive smile.
"It's Henry," he explained in a whisper, answering to his uncle's quizzical stare.
Seeing the delighted expression on his nephew's face, Jack smirked. "Ah, the little devil," he commented amusedly. "It's always a pleasure to see him."
Chuck rolled his eyes at the nickname the older man had used before darting him a warning glance; his uncle had been calling Henry like that for years and, as much as it made Chuck vaguely pleased, he still knew Blair hated it.
"Come in, Henry," he said, raising his voice to make sure the kid could hear him and to cover Jack's mocking snicker.
As soon as he pronounced those words, the heavy door opened and Henry rushed into the extensive room, excitedly making his way towards his father. Longing to embrace his son, Chuck pushed the large throne shaped chair back and spread out his arms, ready to welcome him on his knees.
A nostalgic smile curled his lips, as he watched Henry running through the office. The days when he could walk to the door and scoop him up without causing himself the most horrible backache were long gone. His son wasn't that tiny anymore; he was a healthy ten years old boy who had become too big to be carried.
The smile still hadn't faded when Henry finally reached his lap. Chuck squeezed him a tight hug, making him giggle and letting him cling to his neck and sink his face against his shoulder. Breathing him in, he placed a light kiss on his temple. "How are you, Henry?" he asked right after, guiding his hand to his son's head and smoothing his hair with a gentle caress. "Did you enjoy practice?"
Henry made himself more comfortable on Chuck's lap before answering. He took a few seconds to compose himself after their enthusiastic greeting, fixing the collar of his polo and straightening his back. He then smirked at his father. "I did," he declared with a nod. "Augustus and I are an impeccable match; he's a remarkable example of his breed and I'm a rather skilled player."
The sophisticated choice of words and the composed, graceful pose Henry had assumed made Chuck smile proudly. Watching him grow was a privilege he could have never renounced to; it was incredible to see him become a bit less childlike every day, although he was grateful for the moments of pure spontaneity Henry still conceded him, such as the way he never missed to hold on to him after a long day spent apart.
"I'm glad, although I'm not surprised," Chuck replied, staring at him right in the eyes; the kid had Blair's sharp, gorgeous deep brown eyes and he could never avert his gaze from them. "I knew he was the perfect fit for you the moment I saw him. Has grandma come to see you?" he wondered. "She called me to say she would."
Henry was about to respond when Jack cleared his throat, reminding father and son that they weren't alone in the room. "Young Bass," he uttered the words with raised eyebrows when his youngest nephew finally looked at him. "Won't you say hi to your favorite uncle?"
The kid eyed him for a second, attentively studying his expression. It was only when he decided that his uncle wasn't accusing him of being impolite that he stood up. He came around the desk and stopped in front of the chair where Jack was sitting, lifting his chin a little in a clear attempt to look prouder and superior. "Good evening, uncle Jack," he said, extending his arm to shake the man's hand.
Jack's lips curved in an oblique smile. Henry adored to act and be treated like an adult – like the very authoritarian person his father was – and it was something the man couldn't help but enjoy. He had never liked children, but Henry was special. Other than being extraordinarily clever, he had his parents' scheming, cunning mind, their taste for power and the class of an old soul. He was a Bass through and through.
Indulging the kid's formal manners, Jack squeezed his hand. "Good evening to you, young man. Please, take a seat," he said, pointing at the free chair next to him. "Tell us more about the newest addition to your horses."
Henry shook his head. "We must wait for uncle Nate," he stated firmly as he sat down on the lather armchair next to his great uncle. His tone was inflexible. "He wanted to see pictures of Augustus as well. He'll join us in a few minutes; he went to his room to change before dinner."
Jack snickered. "As you say, boss," he joked, receiving a sly, satisfied smile from Henry. "You're doing a good job with this little devil, nephew," he then commented, turning towards Chuck, who smirked pleased. "He's a natural leader. In no time, he'll be ruling over a reign of terror just like his father."
"Well, as a Waldorf- Bass, dominance is in his blood," Chuck commented, winking at his son.
Henry, flattered by the way they were talking about him, grinned. A self-satisfied flash sparkled in his eyes. "Mom says that 'generations of breeding and wealth had to come together to produce me'."
"As it often happens, your mother is absolutely right," Chuck confirmed, amused by the fact his son had literally quoted one of his wife's favorite statements. He took a mental note to tell her, knowing she would have been delighted to know her teachings had successfully sunk in. "So, you were telling us that uncle Nate is already here?" he asked after.
The satisfied tone tinging his question let all of his contentment show through. He had planned three perfect days to spend with his best friend and he was surely excited to start their traditional Lost Weekend with a pleasant family dinner, an occasion to enjoy some time all together before their short retreat.
"Of course he is," Jack sneered, rolling his eyes. "He's always here. That poor man has no idea what to do with his free time, except for sitting and waiting for your voluble step-sister to decide she wants him again. It's quite pathetic, to be honest. How long has it been since he enjoyed the company of woman?"
Chuck, who never let anyone talk about Nathaniel that way, looked daggers at his uncle, ready to reply with poisonous words (a reminder of how Georgina had managed to make the infamous Jack Xavier Bass follow her all the way to Morocco and gift her with a yacht to get her back the last time they had broken up), but his son was faster.
"Uncle Nate visits us every day because he's family, not because he has nothing to do," he answered strictly, his words coming out in an annoyed yet glacial tone. "And, as dad and I keep telling mom, he doesn't need a woman. He has us."
Jack shook his head. "Well, I hope your father will at least provide him with some fun during this weekend," he pointed out sarcastically. "Believe me, Hen. Your uncle needs a few days of perdition more than anything."
Chuck smirked, looking back at his uncle with a proud expression. "Nathaniel will enjoy our annual Bohemian adventure as usual, uncle," he affirmed securely. "I happen to know exactly what's necessary to my best friend."
The older man had only the time to scoff before a knock drew all of the three Basses' gazes to the door. As it often happened, Nate entered the office without waiting for his best friend to let him in.
While Chuck would have normally gotten irritated by such an impolite behavior, the fact that Nate felt free and at ease enough to simply be himself – casual, spontaneous and always so unconcerned – gave him a warm sense of familiarity. It wasn't an act of rudeness or disrespect; it was purely a matter of habit and intimacy, an unspoken revelation of trust. So he welcomed his best friend with a sincere smile, motioning for him to come closer.
"Hey man," Nate almost shouted as he crossed the doorstep, beaming happily at Chuck and at Henry, who had turned to look at his uncle with a wide grin showing on his face. He then directed his gaze on Jack and, as soon as he met the man's sardonic, conceited stare, he scowled. "Jack," he greeted him coldly, receiving a mere indifferent nod as an answer.
"Good evening, Nathaniel," Chuck said as Nate paced to the desk. "I'm glad to see you. We were waiting for you."
Jack smirked. "Yes, the little devil here is quite excited to show us his new horse," he confirmed, crossing his legs and leaning his head against the armchair's backrest with the obvious intention to make it clear that Nate's arrival didn't interest him. If anything, by the slow, vaguely bored tone of his words, it was evident he hadn't enjoyed having to wait for him. "Although I wonder how could you possibly appreciate the beauty of such a magnificent creature. If I recall, you aren't a good equestrian."
Chuck observed how Nate blinked, unsure how to reply to the comment. He sighed, grabbing his iPad. "He doesn't need to be one to understand," he stepped in, shooting his uncle a threatening glance as he handed the tablet to his son. "The splendor of some things is so blatant that it's clear to everybody's eyes, right Henry?"
Henry smiled. "Augustus is indeed beautiful, you'll see," he declared, standing up. "Let's go sit over there," he told his uncles, indicating the sitting area of the office as he carefully smoothed the collar of his dark red polo shirt. "We'll be more comfortable."
His proposition sounded more like a strict order, Chuck detected with immense satisfaction, and, observing his son's secure, always so demanding manners, he couldn't help but smirk.
Watching as the two men followed Henry to the opposite side of the room and sat down on the plush armchairs set in front of the couch that the kid had taken all for himself, he took a moment to adjust his tie and straighten the jacket of his suit, before standing up as well.
Once Henry started with the passionate and accurate description of his new horse, making sure Jack and Nate examined attentively every picture, Chuck opened a drawer of his desk and extracted a small remoter. As soon as he pointed it towards the wall on his right, two of the dark wood panels that covered it slid open, revealing a fully equipped home bar.
He paced over to the marble counter and reached for the scotch decanter, before pouring the fine amber liquor into three glasses, making sure to add ice in one of them, well aware that his best friend didn't enjoy a neat drink. Then, thoughtful as he always was when he came to his son, he quickly prepared a Shirley Temple for Henry, knowing that there was nothing his kid hated more than feeling excluded from a grown-up activity.
By the time Chuck arranged the drinks on a sterling silver tray and started making his way to the sitting area, Henry had finished exhibiting the pictures and he was now smirking pleased at his uncles' enthusiastic comments.
"He looks awesome, buddy," Nate was saying just as Chuck rested the tray on the coffee table. "Maybe we could go ride together next week," he proposed with a hopeful smile. "You know, I'm not such an expert, but I guess I can manage."
The words – and possibly the optimistic tone they had been pronounced with – caused Jack to let out a mocking sound and Henry to stare at his younger uncle skeptically. Chuck, sensing his best friend's distress, squeezed his son's shoulder as he sat down on the sofa next to him, letting him understand he should have answered kindly.
At the touch, Henry smiled. "It's a really good idea," he replied, before turning his head towards his father. "When are you and uncle Nate coming back, dad?"
"On Monday afternoon," Chuck answered, a pinch of guilt in his voice. He took Henry's cocktail from the coffee table and handed it to him with a somewhat cautious smile. "It's a short trip, Henry," he assured, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "I won't be taking long ones for a month."
Jack took a sip of his drink. "Yeah, because I will," he commented with a sigh. "Your father filled my schedule with an unbearable amount of work," he stated dramatically. When Chuck chortled satisfied at the dramatic declaration, he rolled his eyes at him. "I hope you'll at least appreciate the result of the project I've worked on for the past six months, since you're going there."
"What?" Nate exclaimed, making his dubious eyes travel between Chuck and his uncle. Fixing his gaze on his best friend, he frowned. "He knows where we're going?"
Chuck opened his mouth to answer, but Jack stopped him. "Of course I do, kid," he said, fake surprise tinging his tone with irony and a vein of disdain. "Why? Don't you?"
Henry smirked. "I know too, uncle Nate," he stated proudly. "I helped dad planning your vacation. I know everything about it."
An even more confused and now also slightly offended expression crossed Nate's face. "I thought it was supposed to be top-secret," he protested, pursing his lips in a small pout. "I've been asking you to tell me for weeks, man. It's not fair."
Meeting his best friend's not so vaguely upset gaze, Chuck heaved a sigh. "If it makes you feel better, they're the only ones who know. Jack curated the acquisition and the renovations of the hotel we'll be staying at, I had to let him know for obvious reasons. And, as you well know, I tell Henry everything. Besides, you're the one our destination has to be a surprise to, Nathaniel," he explained, his eyes benevolent and placid like the sound of his words. "It's a tradition. It's what we've done since we graduated high-school."
Nate looked down. A shy smile curled Nate's lips and, to Chuck, it was a small, simple reminder of his best friend's pure heart and docile soul. His forgiveness was always sincere and completely innocent; he was easily hurt, but also so quick to heal.
"Well, your surprises are always incredible," he said, raising his eyes on Chuck again. He grinned at his best friend, letting him know that his accurate justification had been enough to make his cheerfulness and excitement come back. "As you said…it's tradition."
The joyful sparkle in Nate's stare made Chuck smirk pleased. He raised his drink in a toast, a toast that was solely theirs, and, when their crystal glasses clinked together, they both felt like they were taking the first taste of a glorious weekend.