AN: I want you to know how grateful I am for your support. Thank you.
Part 2
The white stretch limousine, the Chariot, stopped in front of the building that Blair Waldorf occupied. At the sight of the regal vehicle Eleanor Waldorf rushed her young daughter down the flight of steps and into the elevator. They were minutes after Dorota, late enough not to be considered overeager and just early enough not to be labeled tardy.
The young man who stepped out of the Chariot was handsome. He fixed his black silk bowtie and looked at his reflection in the mirror. When he straightened to his full height, a portion of his hair flopped over his forehead and across his eyes.
When he brushed the hair away, Blair's maid appeared in front of him, her hands clasped together. "You look like a White Knight, Mr Nate."
"Dorota!" he greeted in surprise. "I didn't see you there."
Dorota shook her head; her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm always silent, Mr Nate. I should always be quiet," she added. "And you always look so handsome."
"Do I, Dorota?" He smiled. The White Knight, of course, knew how much that would delight the woman in front of him. But then, one of the first things he learned over the course of his courtship of Blair Waldorf was that the way to the Blair's heart was through Dorota. "Is my princess ready and waiting?"
"Mr Nate, Miss Blair is queen," Dorota lectured. "Not less than queen. Definitely no princess," added Dorota with a look of disgust on her face. Her voice dropped. "You be careful. You know how she is."
"I'll be careful, Dorota. Thank you."
At his words the maid flushed. He always had such effect, no matter how much Dorota tried not to be obvious. Certainly, as built up as he had become in the media, everyone who tuned in to news reports about Nate Archibald and the dynasty that was the Vanderbilts would put him up on a pedestal.
Deserved or not.
The doormen flung the gilded doors of the building open. Nate held his breath. The darkened roofed entryway flooded with light. On cue. Eleanor stepped outside with outstretched arms. Nate bowed in greeting, and Blair mother cooed, "Such a gentleman." Eleanor turned to Blair and said, "Such a gentleman, Blair."
"Yes, mom," Blair allowed. "I know he's a gentleman." Nate stepped forward and kissed Eleanor's hand, then proceeded to Blair. Blair smiled up at her boyfriend, then raised her face up to him to offer a kiss. Nate kissed the corner of her lips. Blair's lips parted in surprise, but did not protest. She told her mother, "That's why I'm dating him."
They settled into the comfortable seats at the back of the Chariot, and Nate turned to her and said, "So you're dating me because I'm a gentleman. That's interesting."
"Well obviously there are other things about you," Blair pointed out.
"Like what?" he prodded, the White Knight's dreamy blue eyes sparkling.
She started to answer, then cocked her head to the side. Blair opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Yes?"
She shook her head, wide-eyed. And then she let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. "I've gone blank."
But her White Knight was in love with her. Everyone knew it. And everyone only awaited the news that was sure to come in a few months time. If they were lucky, maybe the invitation.
It was a tradition after all. The Vanderbilts always married right out of graduation. They announced it with aplomb, in the grandest, largest, most spectacular party in the Upper East Side. Together with either the first business handed down to the Vanderbilt, or an announcement of which political steps he would follow after—the next Vanderbilt heir took a wife.
Blair should grow out her hair, maybe have it straightened too.
Very soon, she was going to have a nice portrait taken. She was, after all, a sure bet to be First Lady.
Because the White Knight and the Queen B were going to end up together. Everyone in Constance knew it. Everyone in St Jude's knew it. Soon, everyone in Manhattan would know it too.
That is, if Mr and Mrs Archibald had their way.
There was even a Vanderbilt ring sitting in Nate's sock drawer waiting to land on Blair Waldorf's finger.
"That's alright," Nate answered, pulling her up close to him and tilting her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "Before the end of the night you would remember exactly why."
Her eyes sparkled. Then again, they always did. After all, she was a queen. She shone and twinkled and sparkled more than all the diamonds in the jewelry boxes of Manhattan's elite. "This sounds like a promising night."
"Believe me. It is," Nate swore to her.
The Archibald townhouse was lit up like a firefly nest. Every moment of the party had been planned. When Nate stepped out of the Chariot and held out his hand to Blair, camera bulbs flashed like frenzy. Nate Archibald ruled the Upper East Side of glitz and glamour, down there where there was light. It was so bright, and Blair Waldorf sparkled in the glory of it all.
Nate pulled her up to his side, then stopped in the middle of the walkway with his arm around her waist. Blair smiled then looked to the left. Blinding flash. She looked to the front. Shocking white. And then she looked to her right. Blank, blank, light.
"Alright. Enough."
"Thank you," Blair murmured graciously, and allowed Nate to pull her along to enter the house.
"You'll get used to it," Nate advised.
And she nodded. "Although this has always been more Serena's cup of tea."
"You were made for the limelight," he told her.
She was made for this. Her mother told her so, when Eleanor pulled her from the window that looked over the Palace and the gloomy darkness up above, with the haunting, piercing lights, and turned her to the vivid whiteness of the Archibald's.
The Queen B was always made to rule with her iron fist, and a Vanderbilt could give her all of New York City.
That was, of course, as long as the Dark Prince allowed.
Nate scanned the crowd for his grandfather and found him nowhere. Where else would the Vanderbilt patriarch be, on this day of all days?
There was a story, told in hushed whisper in the Archibald home. At times Nate would happen upon a conversation among his parents and his grandfather, and they were pieces of the puzzle that began when he first heard the chauffeur mention the Bass name to the maids. It was a secret so prized that the maids tried to convince him that he had heard wrong.
There was a story, and now that he was eighteen it was rather believable.
After all, it was the day he turned eighteen, and his grandfather was in another young man's celebration, praying homage in the high floors of the Palace, making sure that Bart Bass found him among the guests.
There was a rumor, in the lower reaches of Manhattan—a rumor that reached Brooklyn and told to him by an interesting young woman who hung around St Jude's—that Bass money funded every Vanderbilt campaign, and put the Vanderbilts in power.
Unfounded, Nate had chosen to believe.
But he had been bundled and rushed to the top of the Palace far too many times at a child, to play with a spoiled hotheaded little boy.
"Nathaniel," his mother greeted. Anne Archibald, elegant and beautiful in her long gown and gloves, kissed his date on both her cheeks. "We're about to sit down for dinner."
Nate's face cleared, then he cleared his throat and excused himself, as expected. Every move was measured and planned, and at this point he needed to run to his room and take the most precious item he had in his possession.
Nate opened his sock drawer and took out the ring. The diamond was insane. Sitting on his mother's finger, it has looked preposterous. On Blair's finger it would look ridiculous.
But it was the Vanderbilt ring and it was made to astound.
He drew a deep breath, then blew out the air.
Nate heard the series of beeps, then turned around and saw the videophone light blink. And then a dark, shadowed figure took form on the plasma screen.
What Nate could clearly see was the wild party happening behind the darkened figure. He shook his head. He could barely imagine his grandfather there, or all the other heads of families who were sure to be present. Of course, the patriarchs who paid tribute to the Dark Prince on his special day were likely not with the young man, but were instead huddled inside a room with Big Bad Bart.
"You're not here," commented the voice from the surrounding speakers.
Nate grinned. He had gotten used to the sheer arrogance that was the Dark Prince of Manhattan. "I have my own party happening here."
"Please, Nathaniel, what ball can your mother throw that can compete with this?"
The Dark Prince activated the software installed in his videophone, and Nate was treated to a sight of drunken foreign princes and magnate's children—billionaires and trillionaires in their own right—stumbling across the floor with bottles clutched in hand, to heiresses and princesses gyrating against gilded poles that Chuck Bass had specially installed for the occasion.
"As a matter of fact, I am getting engaged today. This is the most that my mother has spent on a party."
"Show me," commanded the Dark Prince.
And even though they had built up a tentative friendship (which Nate suspected was the closest relationship the other young man ever had with any other person in his life) Nate heeded the command within an instant. Nate activated the Looking Glass software, and the plasma screen faded to a slow panning view of the ballroom. Nate watched closely and saw the guests, smiled a little as he spied Blair's best friend among the women below. Serena wore a low-cut bright blue gown, and more of her cleavage showed as she threw her head back in laughter as she talked to one of his classmates, Daniel Humphrey. And then the panning sight passed by Serena's brother, then landed on Blair Waldorf as she scanned the crowd with her chin held up high.
Nate turned off the program, and he saw that Chuck had leaned forward and exposed the angles of his face to the light as he watched intently.
"Beautiful people," Chuck murmured with a slight smile on his face.
"Of course. Foreign princes and Moroccan heiresses are not the only pretty people in the world."
"Someone in particular looks delicious." Chuck smirked. "One of these days, I might just attend one of your affairs."
"The blonde? I know you like blondes," Nate offered. "I can set something up for you."
Chuck shook his head. Nate pressed the blue button on the control. A small screen appeared on the bottom right corner of the screen, with the Dark Prince shown looking in interest at his screen as Nate projected the view of the ball. Chuck's finger went to the lens, highlighting a specific point on the screen.
Nate blanched.
"Her," pronounced the Dark Prince.
Nate stared at the screen as the face that the Dark Prince chose grew larger as the rest of the screen was cropped.
"I want her, Archibald. Get me her."
Nate looked at Chuck in disbelief. Then he sputtered, "No."
Nate watched as the Dark Prince's face grew dark with the shock that his answer provided. Chuck appeared astounded, and then his expression grew dark. Chuck drew back and burrowed again in the darkened shadow of his seat. "No?" Chuck whispered.
"No!"
"Why not?"
Nate held up the ring between his fingers. "I'm getting engaged today."
"Ah. To her."
"Yes!" Nate exclaimed. "Blair Waldorf."
The Dark Prince shook his head. "But I want her."
"Well you can't have her."
Chuck scoffed, as if the very idea was preposterous. Nate locked his jaw, then said, "If you'll excuse me." Without waiting for a response, he turned off the videophone. He felt a cold finger creep down his spine at the very action. His parents would kill him. His grandfather would have a heart attack.
Nate rushed down the stairs, noisily enough to get the attention of everyone in the ballroom. He stopped midway down the flight of stairs, then assessed the crowd below. In his mother's plans, he was supposed to stop in front of Blair, bring her to the center of the ballroom and wait for her pick of song. And then, Nate should kneel.
He saw his father took his phone from his pocket. The Captain looked up at him with a frown, then turned to search for Blair in the crowd.
The Dark Prince worked fast.
Nate's lips thinned.
"Blair!" he yelled from the stairs.
Blair Waldorf craned her neck and found him. She threw him a puzzled smile at the crude call.
Howard started to make his way towards Anne.
And Anne could put a stop to the entire thing.
Nate held out the ring, the sparkling, ostentatious Vanderbilt ring. Blair gasped, so did the crowd. "Blair Waldorf, will you marry me?"
The corner of her lips curved. "What?"
"Let's get married," he called out.
Blair looked around her, at the swooning or jealous young population of the Upper East Side. This was it. This was what she was meant for. Nate knew she knew it. When she looked back up at him, his heart tripped. She answered, "I don't know, Nate."
tbc
