First of all, I need to make a statement regarding the accusations on Ed Westwick to share my position. This account, my life on the internet in general, is dedicated to Chuck and Blair and to Chuck, especially. I'm a Chuck stan and I'm a CB shipper; I've been a fan of these characters for the past 8 years and that won't change. Characters are fictional and have nothing to do with the actors that play them and I don't feel ashamed of my passion. I'm not stopping my writing activity, or my Tumblr art: it would cause me pointless pain. That being said, as a general rule, I do not believe accusations until accusations are proved and this case makes no difference for me. If the accusation on Ed are true, his behaviour would be criminal and inexcusable. Keep up with the Chair love, guys. Chuck and Blair do not exist in this ugly world and they don't deserve the hate. Cris.

The chapter has been ready for a few days, but I waited today to post to make Limoversary a bit more special for those who read my stories. I wanted to apologize about the long time it took me to update. This chapter has been especially hard to write: it's long and detailed and coming up with a characterization that satisfied me wasn't easy. Also, I've started university about two months ago, and I have a bit less time to dedicate to fanfictions. I'm still very much involved with Chuck and Blair, though, and I won't stop writing. Hopefully I'll be able to update In The Real Of The Basses around Christmas.


Vienna, December 19th, 2012

When Chuck and Blair landed in Vienna, the day after, the light rain they had left in Innsbruck had turned heavy; it poured down over the International Airport, covering it in a bleary grey curtain.

Slipping on her green and blue tartan patterned coat, Blair peeked out one of the plane's round windows and her lips pursed in a small pout. "This weather is going to ruin my hair," she complained, as, eyes narrowed, she stared at the copious drops drumming over the glass and blurring her sight of the landing strip. "I don't want to arrive at the hotel looking like a damp poodle dog."

Chuck didn't answer right away; instead, he took the time to inhale a deep breath before speaking. "We won't get wet, Blair. The flight assistant will escort us with an umbrella to the car that is most certainly waiting for us," he eventually commented in a distracted tone. In the short pause that followed that statement, she heard him tap his fingers on the armrest in a nervous gesture. "However," he kept on, "we're in no rush. We can wait for the rain to diminish a bit."

The hesitance and the barely repressed tension of his voice caused Blair to let out a sharp sigh, as she acknowledged once again his lack of enthusiasm. In spite of her attempts to brighten up his mood, Chuck had been pensive ever since they had left the chalet; all through the short flight, he had only uttered a few words – and none of them had sounded pleased. Trying to contain the bit of frustration she felt at the thought that she hadn't been able to break through the indefinite apathy that seemed to be keeping him from enjoying their arrival in the Austrian capital, she averted her gaze from the torrential rain and turned her head to look at him.

Chuck was still sitting, his legs crossed and his eyes unfocused as he stared at an imprecise spot beyond the window at his side. His coat, which the flight assistant had brought him a couple of minutes before, laid untouched on the seat next to his, folded as if he had no intention of putting it on.

As she eyed him attentively, the corners of Blair's mouth curled in tiny, gloomy smile. He was scared, she could sense it; scared at the idea of not being hidden in a secluded place anymore, scared of being exposed. Vienna wasn't a shelter and their presence there wasn't meant to be a retreat. They were there to enjoy the city, to live it: even if small, it was a step closer to reality - a threatening one to take for him. The chalet had been a refuge; it had conceded him the illusion of an utter serenity and leaving it, letting go of the comfort of isolation, had inevitably upset him.

"Do you think we should?" she asked him, leaving him the choice to answer to that vague question in the way that caused him less discomfort. Softened by a thoughtful patience, its deeper meaning had a little to do with rain and, when Chuck finally glanced back at her, Blair realized he had read through its lines correctly from the way he was only able to hold her gaze for the split of a second.

His response, however, didn't come; he consigned the shamed admission of his fear to a silence that didn't deny it or confirmed it.

Drawn by that silence, Blair moved closer to him and, resting a hand on his shoulder, she leaned forward, driving his eyes to follow her gestures and focus back on her. "Chuck, we don't have to get off this plane if you don't think it's time to," she told him softly, as her palm trailed down to his forearm in a caress. "We can go back to the chalet."

Immediately, Chuck shook his head. "I promised you a journey," he stated, as his expression darkened with a shade of unrepressed anger, "not a reclusion. We can't hide forever – we shouldn't."

Once again, Blair sighed. The irritation and the rigidity in the way he had spoken let the self-loathing he was torturing himself with show through; he couldn't forgive himself for feeling afraid and, as long as he didn't, she knew he wouldn't have given in to what he saw as a weakness. He would have never allowed himself to come back where he felt safe. "But I don't need to travel to enjoy our honeymoon," she still made another attempt to convince him, as, sliding her free arm over his shoulders, she sat down on his knees. "I just need you to be fine."

As those words came out of her lips, Chuck embraced her. He pulled her close to his chest, resting his forehead over her shoulder; he inhaled a deep breath and the, slowly, he tilted his head to side to place a kiss on the portion of her neck the coat left exposed. "I am fine, Blair," he said at last.

The statement, pronounced against her skin, reached Blair's ears as if chocked. Painfully conscious that there was no point in contradicting him with the truth that he couldn't be fine, she let him grant himself a couple of wordless seconds and, when he raised his head again to lock eyes with her again, she smiled calmly at him and conveyed her indulgence in a silent nod.

The hint of a smirk rose to Chuck's lips. "It's just rain, after all," he told her, bringing the conversation back to its original pretext with the intention to put an end to it. "I think we can face it."

Blair's eyes lingered on his face a second more searching his expression, before she guided her hands to his cheeks. "We can," she agreed, careful to give her voice a firmness that didn't match her thoughts perfectly.

Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his lips. Exposure wasn't as harmless as rain and she knew it could have cracked his fragile balance. Yet, she also understood there was a certain wisdom in Chuck's refusal to bend before his fears: they had left for their honeymoon with the precise intent to prepare themselves for their life together and that meant there were challenges they couldn't avoid – that it was right not to avoid.


The Imperial Hotel, where Chuck and Blair would have stayed for the next three days, was located along the Ringstrasse. Once been the residence of the Prince of Württemberg, the neoclassical palatial building overlooked the Karntner Ring boulevard. As the limousine slowly pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the entrance, Blair was stuck staring at the Italian neo-Renaissance façade. Not even the torrential rain still pouring down managed to dim its beauty; illuminated by the warm lights inside, it stood out against the dark sky of that winter late afternoon in all its opulence.

The captivated twinkle glistening in his wife's eyes made the corners of Chuck's lips tilt up in a small smile, as he let his gaze follow the line of her profile. The blissful glow of Blair's face was unmistakable and its clarity relieving; it soothed the restlessness still weighting over his chest, reassuring him with the confirm that he was living up to his promise of giving her the grand honeymoon he had promised her.

His smile, however, wasn't lacking of tension. He was reluctant to get off the car. Something about the prospect of entering the lobby of a luxurious hotel struck him as oddly threatening; he felt exhausted at the mere thought, and the fact that couldn't grasp the sense of his irrational nervousness added irritation to his distress.

Chuck would have wanted to share Blair's excitement and her readiness, but, in truth, it was only looking at her charmed expression that he found a reason not to wish they were still living secluded. The joy she let show through filled his heart with the desire not only to preserve it, but to make it deeper and brighter. Though he knew she would have accepted to spend the month they had for themselves isolated, and that maybe part of her even craved quietness as much as he did, it was with strictness that he kept reminding himself that he could have never allowed the sense of oppression he felt condition or undermine the journey he had planned for them.

As they waited for the driver to come open the car door, Chuck inhaled a long breath before grasping Blair's hand and leaving his touch to lure her attention. "What do you think?" he asked. He did his best to look relaxed before her eyes; when she turned, his smile had become a proud smirk. "Is it majestic enough for your taste?"

Eyeing him, Blair slid closer to him on the leather seat; she reached out to his face and, in silence, she cupped his cheek with her palm. Her warm stare was immobile as she looked at him. It scrutinized his face deliberately, as if she was trying to read through the pleased expression he was displaying and comprehend how much distress he was trying to conceal behind it. Then, slowly, her mouth stretched in a wide, affectionate beam. "It looks like a royal palace," she answered, and bowed her head a little to skim her lips over his jaw.

Chuck's smirk sharpened with satisfaction at the touch of her soft kiss. He trapped her shoulders under his arm and squeezed her hand in his once again. "That was the idea," he told her, his fingers sliding up and down her forearm. "I seem to recall telling you our honeymoon was going to be glorious. The places I picked for us can't be any less than that."

Laughing softly at his statement, Blair looked down and shook her head. Then, raising her eyes on him again, she smiled amused at the sight of the complacent expression showing on his face. "You're such a megalomaniac person," she commented.

Her tone, so full of a tenderness despite the joke, softened his smirk. "And you love it," he replied, pulling her closer.

Blair deserved magnificence, he told himself once more as, indifferent to the car door opening, he leaned in to kiss her. He couldn't give her that while hiding. Making her feel like the proud, graceful queen he saw when he looked at her was a mission he would have never wanted to back out of, even if in that moment it meant he had to ignore the sense of fright raising to his chest and trying to force him to see that he wasn't prepared to step back into the world they were greedy to conquer together.


The lobby was as impressive as the front of the building promised. Illuminated by a series of opulent, glittering chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, it was dressed in golden finishes and marble. On both sides of the room, the walls housed paintings of the Austrian emperors, enclosed by elaborated reliefs; raising eyes on them, guests could catch a glimpse of the first-floor balcony, which, behind a grand balustrade, overlooked the entire hall.

Crossing the entrance, Chuck took a quick peek around at the location he had so carefully selected for their stay in Vienna before resting his eyes on Blair. She was keeping a firm grip on his hand; it would have been impossible to notice for the strangers who had turned to at them, but she was leading him. Though they were walking unhurriedly side by side, it was with strength that she squeezed his palm as they paced towards the concierge desk and gently pulled him.

To Chuck, that imperceptible gesture was essential. He had given in to its subtle insistence the moment they had exited the car, when, exchanging a look with his wife, he had let her empathy catch in his secretive glance the words he didn't know how to utter. Blair had understood he was silently asking her to guide him inside in a moment, and she had accepted the task his eyes had trusted her with in the most delicate way. Grabbing his hand, a small smile of reassurance had taken shape on her lips; then, he had felt the clutch of her fingers curling around his and a slight tug, firm enough to make him move a step.

When they reached the concierge desk, Chuck was still following Blair's hold quietly, refusing to avert his gaze from her pleased and calm expression. He didn't stop looking at her as the hotel's manager welcomed them; he barely glanced up at him when he accepted to shake the man's hand and nodded distractedly as he offered to escort them to their suite.

"The Royal Suite is on the first floor," the manager told them as he guided them past the desk. "I suggest you to take the stairs rather than the lift. It's really worth seeing the staircase, if it's you're visiting the hotel for the first time."

Chuck realized immediately that Blair seemed to be intentioned to follow the advice. She was clearly in awe with the environment and, more than that, it appeared to him that she fit perfectly in it; he had the sudden impression that she belonged to the opulence of the place, to its aristocrat flair and its imperial history, and he got the further confirm that he had picked the perfect setting for their first reunification with the world. Though he couldn't wait to close their room's door behind them and give in to the need to recreate the boundless intimacy they had lived in for the past days, he wasn't going take the relish of appreciating every detail of the space surrounding them away from her.

He let go of her hand to lace his arm around her waist and, leaning over, he brushed his lips over her cheek kissing her. "I think we should do as he says," he said to her. "It must be beautiful."

Blair accepted his proposition with a wide grin, before demanding the manager to show them the way. A few seconds later, they were led at the bottom of the so called Royal staircase. The grand stairway definitely lived up to its name; well-lighted from the elaborately decorated ceiling by another splendid chandelier, it was given further majesty by the marble walls siding it and the plush crimson red carpet that ran up the steps all the way to the floor-landing.

As they slowly went up looking around, Chuck gave a gentle squeeze to his wife's hip, pulling her closer and forcing her to stop and turn her attention to him. "You look impressed," he whispered in her ear, making sure she'd catch his words over the manager's ones, who was giving them a detailed description of the hotel's long and notable past.

With a small giggle, Blair pulled back from his hold only to climb a step a settle herself in front of him. "You were right," she answered quietly as, looking down at him satisfied, she laced her arms around his neck. "I'm utterly in love with your mania of grandeur."

Chuck smirked at her reply, his arm finding its way back around her waist, and took a second more to look at her before leaning forward to let her know he wanted her to kiss him. He closed his eyes when she did, and, brushed by her lips, his smirk softened in a pleased smile. Had they been alone, he thought, he would have tugged her in his embrace, picked her up and carried her to their room as a proper bride, and it was with a tad of disappointment that, realizing the sudden silence around them, he had to remind himself that Blair was actually enjoying the small tour they were being given.

When she pulled back, he reached her on the step where she was standing and darted a glance at the manager to let him know that they were ready to go ahead and that he could keep on with his explanation.

It was then that Chuck's content smile faded. As soon as he met the manager's eyes, he couldn't help but notice that he was staring at them in a rather inappropriate way: there was no admiration or envy in his look, but, most of all, a persistent curiosity that made Chuck frown immediately. That unfortunate eye-contact lasted only an instant. The moment the man caught Chuck's glare, he promptly corrected his expression; he smiled and, bowing his head slightly, he turned and started to describe the painting waiting for them at the top of the staircase.

His eyes still narrowed, Chuck clutched Blair's waist tighter as they proceeded along the last few steps. He was once again impatient to be alone with her, to be hidden from prying glances, and he tried, with that abrupt and impulsive clutch, to deaden the feeling of discomfort come back to hound him.

With a sigh, Blair shifted her gaze from the portrayal of Franz Joseph I to eye her husband. Detecting the change of his expression, she shot him a quizzical and vaguely worried look. "Hey," she reached out to his hand rested on her side and clasped it, "what's wrong?"

Chuck hesitated. His gaze lowered to their laced fingers and, at the sight, he shook his head; he couldn't let one indiscreet look distracting him from the one thing that truly mattered: her wedding band and the reality of their marriage. "It's nothing," he said, and, pronouncing that statement, he repeated to himself that his distress was unreasonable and that, therefore, it didn't deserve her concern.

Staring at him, Blair searched his face in silence for a moment. She didn't believe him, he could tell, and when he saw her pursing her lips, Chuck knew she was making an effort to hold back the questioning words she felt the need to utter. Accepting his terse answer costed her patience and determination, and it was with relief that Chuck welcomed her pale smile.

"Come on," she told him, giving his hand a little squeeze as they reached the floor landing, "I can't wait to see our room."

Grateful for her tact and her implicit understanding, Chuck smiled back at her and tilted his head placing a kiss on her temple. Walking in a tight hug, they followed the manager along the hallway to an inlaid double door, bordered by a marble fame.

"The Royal Suite is the hotel's crown jewel," the manager said as he slid the suite's keycard into its slot. "I'm sure it'll live up to your expectations."

While the man opened the door, Chuck lowered his hand to the small of Blair's back and, darting her a satisfied look, he guided her inside. As soon as they stepped past the doorway, he found himself smirking proudly at the immediate amazement that had lighted up her face.

The door had opened onto a sumptuous living room, which, in its blaze of gold and dark royal blue, had clearly left her stunned. Just like the rest of the Royal Suite, the room was a nostalgic, splendid tribute to the grandeur of the empire Austria had once been; the regal colors graced each authentic piece of palatial style furniture in a blur of damask fabrics and framed the tall windows in heavy draperies. The silk-upholstered walls and the seven-meter high stucco decorated ceilings were given light by the same opulent chandeliers that had accompanied them since they had entered the hotel's lobby.

The suite was clearly designed to make its guests feel like the crowned heads that, over the time, had paced over the antique parquet floors and the lavish carpets, and that was exactly the reason why Chuck had chosen it: so that Blair, wandering around the chambers, would have felt like royalty.

He didn't speak as the manager showed them the bedroom, the bathrooms and the walk-in closet, and introduced them to the butler that would have been at their service during the stay. Instead, he remained in silence watching her and enjoyed the sense of reassurance her glowing face gave him and the sweet reminder that he wasn't failing her.

As they came back into the living room, Blair slowed down her steps and let her palm slither over the sleeve of Chuck's jacket in a stroke. "This place feels like a dream," she told him.

Chuck stopped pacing and locked eyes with her. There was something in her words that made him deeply happy and that, at the same time, left him unbearably tired, unable to silence the thought telling him that, in spite of his efforts, he wasn't always going to be capable of making her feel like she was living in a dream.

Yet, he forced a smile on his lips and, clutching her side tighter, he pulled her in front of him. "It isn't," he said, lacing her waist with both his arms. He squeezed her in his hold and, pushing her back against his chest, he bowed his head and pressed a kiss on the side of her neck. "It's all real."

And he would have done anything in his power, he wondered as he buried his face against her shoulder, to keep that gilded reality he had designed for the first weeks of their marriage true and unspoiled.


A couple of hours later the suite's splendor had given way to a warmer atmosphere. The grand chandeliers' lights had been turned out, leaving the appliques to illuminate the living room with their dimmer glow, and the heavy curtains closed. Mozart music played discreetly in the background, as Chuck and Blair sipped the Martinis he had prepared for them a few minutes before.

Sat on the Louis XIV sofa by the tall windows, Blair smiled at her husband, who stood in front of her in his excessively garish purple and golden silk robe. He looked more relaxed now that they were settled and alone, and she mentally congratulated herself on deciding to dine in their room.

Well aware that Chuck would have never swallowed a bit of his stubborn pride and proposed her to stay in – but equally conscious of the fact that it was what he truly wished and needed – Blair had opted for a passive tactic that had hardly ever failed with him: taking on his desire of quietness as hers, she had left him free to accept it without turning it into an intolerable fault.

Equipped with her most innocent tone and languid eyes, Blair had confessed her husband to be tired and asked him if he minded ordering room service instead of sticking with the reservation they had at the hotel's restaurant. "I really don't feel like dressing up," she had added with a sigh.

Chuck had reached out to her waist and pulled her in a hug. "As you wish," he had told her, running a finger down her cheek. "I'll call the reception and cancel."

Blair had nodded, smirking content at the way he was holding her: she had been overseeing the butler as he unpacked before coming back into the living room to talk to Chuck, and the less than thirty minutes she had spent away from his sight had already managed to tighten his embrace and turn it into a possessive clutch. It had been the relieved expression crossing his face, though, that had filled her heart with tenderness. "Thank you," she had replied, standing up on her toes to kiss him.

Unaware of the nature of her gratitude – which, more than about his clear desire to spoil her, was about the comfort she felt knowing she had the chance to take care of him –, Chuck had let her lips dwell upon his for a moment before excusing himself to go make the call.

Blair had therefore demanded the butler to set the table in the living room, which she was now starting at with plain satisfaction at the thought that she and Chuck would have soon enjoyed an intimate candlelit dinner.

"What's with that pleased smile?" Chuck's voice, veiled with interest, broke her relaxed silence and made her glance up on him again.

She shrugged. "It's a smile of appreciation for your talent as a barman," she replied without admitting the true reason of her gladness. Eyeing him, she raised her glass a little before lifting the stick to her lips and biting one of the two green olives poked at the top of it. "This is a perfect Martini, Bass: shaken, not stirred. And made with gin, as it should be."

Chuck took a step towards the sofa, a smirk curling his lips. He took a sip of his own cocktail and then commented: "Spoken like a Bond girl."

As she watched him taking a seat next to her, her eyebrows raised. "I hope not," she answered in a playfully accusing tone and darted him an eloquent look. "James has a different one in each movie. I wouldn't fall for such a voluble man."

At her statement, Chuck's mischievous smile stretched, taking an oblique shape. "You did fall for me, though," he affirmed, and his tone was tinged with obvious self-satisfaction.

Blair held back a giggle that would have surely offended his pride by taking another taste of Martini. "Your reputation doesn't give you justice," she answered, as she leaned in to place the still unfinished drink on the coffee table. She took his hand, which he had rested over her knee, and ran her finger along the wedding band he had been wearing for the past seven says. "You're not voluble," she added, smiling tenderly at the ring. "You happen to be the most faithful man I know."

Chuck's smirk softened. He put his empty glass down next to hers and then bent over towards Blair and, as he ducked his head closer to his face, he slid his palm under her nightgown, giving her thigh a delicate squeeze. "That I am," he told her. "Only a fool wouldn't be faithful to you."

The kiss he stole from her kept Blair's smile from widening. She closed her eyes, trying to relish that moment fully. It had the taste of the days they had spent at the chalet, the taste of lightness, and she clung to it as she had held on every instant of their retreat; with the awareness that such moments of peace – moments that reminded her of less scarred versions of themselves, of their juvenile love made of flirtatious glances and theatrical declarations – would have become harder to find once back home.

The sound of a knock at the door forced to part. Pulling back from Chuck at the noise, Blair heaved a long sigh of reluctance. "I think our dinner is here," she uttered lazily in a disappointed voice tone, as her eyes went open again.

Chuck reached out to her chin and rubbed it with his thumb, smirking at the saddened, childish pout pursing her bare lips. "Finish your Martini," he told her, stroking her leg as he slithered his hand back from under the satin chemise she was wearing beneath the nightgown. He stood up and took the glass she had left on the coffee table. "It would be a waste to leave it unfinished," he added with a wink when she took it, "especially after I put so much effort into preparing it."

"It would," Blair conceded and raised the crystal cup to her lips to take the last sips.

Chuck conceded himself the pleasure of darting her one last, long look before pacing away from the couch. He made his way to the door and, opening it, he allowed the waitress who had come to serve them dinner to come in with a silent nod.

As the young woman settled the serving cart by the table, Chuck walked back to his wife, who had stood up. He placed his hand on her lower back and led her to her chair; in a gallant gesture, he slid it back and waited for her to be sat before taking the seat next to her. He kept staring at her as she adjusted the coat napkin on her lap and it was only when the waitress set the plates down in front of them that he averted his gaze.

"Boiled beef served with hash browned potatoes, cream spinach, apple-horseradish-sauce and chive-sauce," the woman carefully described the dish.

While she spoke, Chuck quickly glimpsed at his plate and then raised his eyes back on Blair to try to understand from her expression if she was happy with his choice. "I took the liberty to choose for both of us," he said, motioning for the waitress to pour wine into his glass. "I hope it's okay."

Blair grinned at him. "It is," she answered. She rested her hand over the table, as if to ask him to take it, and told him: "It looks delicious."

As a pleased smile rose to his lips, Chuck cupped her hand with his, squeezing it lightly. "It's good to know my taste doesn't disappoint you."

"Has it ever?" Blair joked, the hint of a chuckle tickling her voice.

The corners of his mouth curled up at her reply, turning his satisfied smirk more vivid. He took a sip of Cabernet Sauvignon and savored it slowly before nodding at the waitress, who proceeded to fill Blair's glass. As she did so, though, Chuck realized something that caused his brow to wrinkle instinctively: just as it had happened earlier with the man who had escorted them to the suite, the waitress had shoot Blair a maliciously curious look. It had been brief, but evident enough for him to notice it.

Blair, on the other hand, didn't seem to have detected it; her face had the most serene glow and, when she picked up her glass to take a sip of red wine as well, she didn't miss the chance to glance temptingly at him.

Chuck managed to answer to that furtive look with a weak smile and then looked down to his plate. He couldn't help but wondering, acknowledging Blair's relaxed and apparently unaware demeanor, if the inquiring gazes that had seemed to be so obvious to him were, in truth, just a product of his mind. Was it the fear of disappointing Blair's expectations that made him believe that every person they had met had stared at her in disbelief in front of the fact she had married him?

And if they were actually real, how many of them had he missed while unable to give his attention to anything that wasn't his bride? How many times the eyes of strangers had scanned her and then filled with commiseration and criticism? They had run away to Europe with the intent to escape the oppressing shadow of what he had done – or of what he hadn't done –, but maybe the rumors had followed them. Maybe, looking at Blair, people saw a fool who refused to see the viciousness of the man she had vowed to love forever. Maybe he had condemned her to be labeled as guilty of her misfortune. The mere idea hurt him; it infuriated him, filling his chest with a crushing sense of shame.

Lost in his brooding, Chuck let Blair dismiss the waitress and started eating in silence. He knew his wife had perceived the sudden change of his mood, but he couldn't find the nerve to look up and meet her gaze; though he felt its weight and its intensity hovering over him, he knew that giving in to it would have marked his failure. One single glance, the romantic, quiet atmosphere he had been trying to maintain all day would have shattered. Blair wouldn't have allowed him to shut her out of his thoughts any longer: she would have forced words out of his tensely pursed lips and those words wouldn't have been the joyful and blissful ones she deserved. Inevitably, they would have poisoned their idyll with gloom and bitterness.

Wordless seconds went by and turned into two entire minutes before the clink of Blair's fork against the china plate finally obliged Chuck to stop ignoring her presence; it resonated clear and sharp over the melancholic sound of clarinet piped in through the speakers and forced him to lift his eyes on her.

Her stare was piercingly and immobile. There was a hardness about it, a categorical determination that would have made him glance back down immediately in only she hadn't reached out to his arm and clasped it with such a strength that kept him from turning aside.

"Chuck, you need to tell me what's wrong," she stated firmly. Her voice hadn't lost its softness, but it was inflexible; it told him, with every resolute note, that this time she had no intention of letting the conversation go.

Chuck rested the cutlery over his plate and heaved a long sigh before replying. "It's nothing," he tried to deflect.

Blair pressed her lips in a thin line. "I've already heard this today, and I know it's not true." Her grip on his arm tightened as she clutched it again; she shook her head, taking a deep breath. "I don't want you to hide from me."

Staring at her, Chuck covered her hand with his and answered to her touch with a squeeze. "I'm not," he replied, offering her a slight smile. "It just isn't important."

Blair stared at him in silence for a moment. The sight of her gaze, now veiled by the sadness his resistance had caused, made him duck his head and lower his eyes to his lap. Immediately, he sensed her hand freeing itself from his hold and, a second later, her palm pressed against his cheek as she cupped his face. Then, he heard her utter: "Tell me. Let me decide whether it is important or not."

Trailing off, her words had shuddered with a vehemence she hadn't been able to contain, a passionate quiver that was full of love and fear, and it was catching it that Chuck convinced himself to surrender to the fact he wouldn't have been able to keep on concealing his feeling; not even if he felt humiliated, not if his attempt to give her something perfect ended up hurting her instead.

He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. "It's the way people look at you, Blair," he eventually confessed. Still refusing to look back at her, he guided his free hand to his face. "As if they were incredulous to see you by my side," he explained after a pause, rubbing his forehead nervously. He sucked in a deep breath and, as he tentatively raised his eyes on her, he added: "As if they pitied you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Chuck saw Blair's brow wrinkling in a slight frown of confusion that revealed his admission had left him surprised. Then, ducking her head, Blair looked down and let her lips curl up in the hint of a smile.

"Oh, Chuck," she uttered his name with a small sigh, her fingertips tracing his face in a delicate stroke s she pulled back from him a little. "They do pity me, but not because I'm with you. They pity me because they can't understand what I did," she told him. A deep end of resignation had accompanied her words and, when she glanced up on him again, Chuck realized that her expression was as stoic and as calm as her tone had sounded. "We're in Europe," she added, as, with a delicate gesture, she reached out to his hand on the table and started running her thumb over its back in circles. "To these people I'm the heartless American witch who broke poor Prince Louis' heart: they're always going to stare at me that way."

Immediately Chuck felt the impulse to free his hand from the weight of hers; he did it abruptly, instinctually, as if burnt by what Blair had said and by her touch. All of sudden, his chest was heavy with an unexplainable anger and his throat tight with the effort of containing it. Her tolerant, unconcerned attitude irritated him to the point that he couldn't look at her; though he knew she had meant her words to be clear and comforting, what she had said had made the sight of her become intolerable to his eyes.

In a fit of rage, he turned his head and shut his eyes. "Of course," he hissed, and his jaw clenched with the effort of speaking. "How could I forget your royal marriage?"

His bitter, sarcastic tone made Blair exhale a long breath. The tense silence that followed pounded in his ears like a wrathful accusation: his reaction had upset her, and, perceiving it, he clenched his hand into a fist, trying to swallow the self-hatred that kept him from offering her the comfort of a look.

"You said it yourself that it doesn't matter anymore now that you're the one I'm married to," she stated after a second. The tone of her voice was flat, sharpened only by a grave note. "I'm not going to let anyone's judgement ruin these weeks," she declared with conviction, "and neither should you."

Speaking, Blair had rested her palm over his arm and Chuck gulped at the contact. The moment she had reminded him of his own words, of what he had told her only a few days before about the insignificance of her past now that they were married, his heart had started racing. He didn't know how to explain her why, all of sudden, it didn't seem so meaningless anymore; he didn't even know how to explain it to himself. "You're right," he retorted sternly. "There's no need to talk about it."

Pronouncing his reply, Chuck gave in to the need he felt to stand up and distance himself from her. He moved a few steps away from the table and found himself staring at the door. He had wished to be alone in that room with Blair all day, but now everything about what surrounded them exasperated him. It looked like every single opulent, gilded detail was there to remind him that the best he could offer her was a make-believe: a pretense of royalty when there was nothing regal about him, a façade of wedded bliss when in truth their happiness was tainted by his faults.

Anger turned into sadness as he came to understand its sense. It hadn't been jealously to enrage him and neither had been possessiveness; it had been the same fear that had accompanied him all day, the unbearable thought that, choosing him, Blair had blemished her life with the dirt of his crimes.

He closed his eyes when he heard her pushing her chair back and then her footsteps approaching him. He carved to listen to the comforting words she was about to utter, but the way he needed them, the way he was holding his breath waiting for the embrace of arms, made him feel even less worthy of their devotion and strength. When she hugged him and he sensed the pressure of her forehead laid against his back, the sigh of relief he couldn't contain caused his lips tremble.

Blair's grip tightened. "I really don't care about what people think, Chuck," she told him, her fingers clutching his robe and curling around the fabric. "I'm right where I want to be; where I've always wanted to be."

It struck him then that her voice had lost its calmness; it was brittle now, as if weakened by unshed tears, and the sound of it made Chuck's chest burn with guilt. He inhaled a deep breath and forced himself to turn in her hold and lay his gaze on her. The moment he saw her eyes glistening with the hurt he was causing her, he succumbed to the urge to pull her close.

"I'm sorry," his apology came out in a strangled, worn out whisper, as, pressing his forehead against hers with his eyes shut, he guided a hand to her head. He grasped her hair and repeated the mortified sentence louder.

He opened his eyes in time to see a tear slid down Blair's cheek. She shook her head, pushing her palm against his chest. "Please, try to let it go," she murmured.

Could he? Could he stop fearing that one day she would have looked at her life and asked herself if spending it by his side had been a mistake?

Chuck didn't dare to give himself the answer that turned his mouth dry fright. He just kept stroking her hair slowly and, breathing her in at every motion of his hand, he tried to find in her closeness the courage to confess her the thought that had raised his anger. "They do have a point, Blair," he told her at last "You were married to a prince and now you're the wife of…" he let his voice drift into a pause of silence and exhaled a sharp sigh, "…of a parricide."

Suddenly Blair gasped; he felt her body tensing up in his hold and then pulling away him in a swift movement. In an instant she was staring at him, her eyes wide with a mix of dread and wrath. "Do not call yourself that way," she said. Her statement came out as something in between an order and a plea as she once again shook her head. "You didn't —"

The end of that sentence was never pronounced. Chuck suffocated the words she was about to utter – the ones he didn't want to hear – guided by an immediate instinct: he leaned in and, tugging her into his grip, he captured her parted lips in an impulsive kiss.

Immediately, as if crazed, his hands started moving frantically up her sides and he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He had lost every bit of the control he had been trying to keep. Each gesture and touch was the impellent answer to a desperate need of numbing whatever tangle of feelings that was making his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat; pain, fear and anger blurred together into lust. He yearned for oblivion as much as he ached for having her, and the line between the desires became ever less clear as he shoved the nightgown down her shoulders.

Blair did nothing to resist his rush of passion at first, but then, unexpectedly, she twitched in his hold. She tilted her head back interrupting the kiss and sighed. "Chuck, please," she mumbled breathlessly, glancing up at him with a pained look. "You're not guilty."

Again, Chuck stopped her from saying anything else by covering her mouth with his; he gave her another kiss, this time barely skimming his lips over hers, and pressed her body tighter against his chest. "Don't," he begged her in a hoarse whisper as his forehead came to rest against hers once more. As if to cling to her, he bent over, his open palms shuddering over her shoulders. "Not yet."

Blair's gaze searched his face for a long moment before her eyes went shut. All of sudden she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same violent fervor that had guided him.

Her tacit, willful consent was a statement of understanding and Chuck's heart filled with relief and gratitude. In an avid, rapid movement, he slid his hands down her sides and then under her chemise. His fingers didn't waste time lingering on the hem of her panties as he usually enjoyed; instead, they grabbed the thin fabric and tore them away in one impetuous gesture.

Blair let out a moan. She clasped his hair at the contact and her teeth bit his bottom lip as she kept on kissing him. Chuck didn't feel the sharp pain in his mouth nor the metallic taste of blood; driven by the wildest desire and need, he cupped her bottom and lifted her up. Instantly her legs tangles around his waist; her mouth kept searching and finding his as he spun around and rushed his steps towards the door.

It was only when he pushed her back against the white and glided wood that she ducked her head, burying her face into his shoulder. She placed a kiss below his ear as she freed him from his robe and then, sliding her hands in between their bodies, she continued to skim her lips down his neck. At last, with a hasty gesture, she pulled down the pants of his pajama.

The sex was rough. Every motion was unrestrained and each thrust frantic with need. There was no gentleness about it; no loving words were uttered in between panting breaths and no deliberateness was conceded to pleasure. It was brief and intense and, after, neither of them moved or said anything for a while; they stayed still, Blair's legs still tangled around him and his forehead placed over the crook of his shoulder.

It was Chuck who spoke first. He guided a hand to her face and, placing his palm over her cheek, he stared at her; sweat damped her skin, making it glow, and her eyes were half closed, heavy with exhaustion. He took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he told her once again, though this time he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. He felt worn out, empty, and his hands were trembling.

Blair's eyelids fluttered open. Looking back at him, the corners of her mouth curled in a soft smile. "Don't be," she told him and shook her head slowly before bowing her head to kiss his shoulder. "I love you, Chuck," she whispered in his ear after a second.

Chuck sunk his nose into her hair, breathing her in. "I love you too," he replied tiredly.

Finally, closing his eyes, he allowed himself to back in the warm feeling of her fingers running slowly through his hair. She loved him and he ended up repeating himself that the rest didn't and couldn't matter.


Vienna, December 20th, 2012

It was the visceral consciousness that Chuck wasn't by her side that woke Blair up hours later. The feeling had insinuated into the dream she was having; it had creeped in the back of her mind like a gradually louder echo, till it had succeeded in bringing her back to reality.

Startled, she reached out to her sleep mask and, in a twitch, tossed it away as sat up against the headboard. Eyes wide open, she looked around the bedroom trying to find her husband. The room was almost pitch black, except for the pale morning light that had started to seep through the partially closed curtains covering the lateral windows. Standing in front of one of the two was Chuck, his back turned to her; in the dark, all Blair could catch of him was a shadowy shape, but that indistinct sight was enough to make her heave a long sigh of relief.

He hadn't gone away, she reminded herself, as she tried to swallow the sense of alarm that had tightened her throat.

In her dream, she and Chuck were dancing, drawing invisible circles around a crowded ballroom as they spun to the music of a minuet. Blair could sense the pressure of his hand against her side and the clutch of his fingers around her hand as he guided her steps; his lead, secure and strong, made her feel as light as feather and turned every person looking at them into blurred stains of color. Chuck was the only person she managed to see clearly; a younger Chuck, she had realized, with longer hair and a sharper smirk, dressed in a shimmering black suit. Smiling at his garish jacket, Blair had run her palm over the glittery fabric and stroked his arm.

It had been exactly in that moment that the dream had changed and a sensation of emptiness had started growing inside her. Suddenly the music had slowed down; grave notes had given it a melancholic rhythm and, following it, their movements had lost energy. In a moment, the packet ballroom had emptied out; it became darker at every step they took, just as Chuck's hold on her turned weaker with every unsteady twirl. When, finally, they had stopped, Blair could barely perceive his touch. Gripped by fear, she had shut her eyes and clung to him as if to keep him from vanishing.

But he had. Before she could realize, he had let go of her hand and his palm had slid away from her side in an almost imperceptible gesture, leaving her to find out that she had no voice to utter his name and beg him not to leave her.

Now that she was awake and calmer, Blair knew that in her vision she had danced with the last memory she had of her husband before he had lost that bit of youthful spirit he used to have as a boy to the weight of an impossibly tough life. A tortuous path of pain, of struggle and resilience, had left a heaviness in him: it was brittleness and wisdom; it was gravity and gloom, it was cynic disenchantment, but also a boundless ability to understand and forgive. In spite of his actual age, his soul seemed to own a complexity reached through a long existence,

But he was young. There was a long list of things he had no true knowledge of and that Blair had promised herself she would have brought into his life; things that could bring back the passion and the fierceness that had faded bit by bit from his eyes and that now only showed in brief glimpses. They had an entire future to build together and to stud with shared joys and sorrows, with experiences and, above all, with love.

She could grant him the warmth, the shelter and also the challenges of a family; she was going to be the mother of his child one day and build a home for them – made of dear people, habits, small gestures. She could nourish his great talent with her faith in him, support his ambition, push him to thrive. It was all in her power, and that awareness, which had once been a weight and an oppressing responsibility, had now the beauty and the importance of a privilege.

She loved Chuck with every thick scar and ever bleeding wound. She saw and felt them all; she knew them and, because she understood them, she respected them and even treasured them as parts of him. A few hours before, as she surrendered to the bittersweet pleasure of his need, she had once again been faced by the certainness and the firmness of her belonging. No matter how broken he was and how permanent and crippling was damage, it was in between the sharp edges and cracks of his heart that she fitted; maybe not without effort, but still perfectly. And it was her love for his darkness – for his harsh insecurities, for his deep fragility – that, by contrast, never made her lose the sight of the fact there was more in him: there was gentleness, devotion and a crave for love – for her love – that was as powerful as his fear of not deserving it.

Blair let her eyes linger on the shadow of Chuck's barely distinct figure one second more before she moved to the side of the bed he had left empty. The sheets were still warm. He hadn't been up for long, she realized, and smiled to herself wondering that, in her sleep, she had sensed his absence immediately.

She silently pushed the duvet back and slid out of bed. She wanted to approach him, but she didn't want to startle him; he seemed to be so absorbed in his thought that she knew he wouldn't have heard the faint sound of her steps, muffled by the carpets covering the floor. So she paced up to where he was standing deliberately and, when she got close enough, she gently touched his back to let him know she was behind him.

Still, the moment her fingers brushed over his robe, his shoulders shuddered with the gasp of surprise he let out. Once again, Blair's lips stretched in a tender smile. "It's just me," she told him in a whisper, as she finally put her arms around him, hugging him from behind.

Chuck reached out to his stomach and cupped her laced hands. "I didn't mean to wake you," he replied.

His voice had an uncharacteristic flat tone; it had the resigned calmness of exhaustion and the sound of it made Blair tighten her hold on him. She rubbed her forehead against his back. "You didn't," she answered. "Your absence did."

Heaving a sigh, Chuck looked over his shoulder. "Isn't it the same?" he wondered.

Blair turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his profile softly illuminated by the glow of dawn before closing her eyes. "No, it isn't," she answered, as her forehead came to rest over his back once more. She placed a kiss in between his shoulders and then added: "I'd rather be woken by you than by the feeling you're not close to me. It's a dreadful sensation."

Chuck turned in her embrace. She let him capture a strand of her hair and, sighing contentedly at the delicate, reassuring touch, she waited for him to tuck it behind her ear before glancing up on him. Now that his face was so close, she could vaguely catch, despite the darkness, the hint of a smile stretching his lips and contrasting the somberness of his expression.

He brushed his fingers down her cheek. "I was close," he spoke quietly. "I just couldn't sleep. I had to get up."

Blair nodded her head. "I know," she uttered, as his arms wrapped her waist. She laid her head on the top of his chest and, for a couple of seconds, she didn't say anything.

Chuck's gestures were careful, even tentative. It was with hesitance that he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck; an innocent kiss, stripped of any trace of the unrestrained need he had held her with the night before. His arms didn't trap her firmly; they stayed laced around her as if unsure she wanted them to squeeze her in a tight hug. Insinuated in that wavering, Blair found the guilt he felt and, perceiving it, a lump of sadness tightened in her throat. Knowing that he thought of the way they had made love as something he had to be ashamed of caused her pain; there had been no shame in it, and it was up to her to let him see that.

Blair ran her palm up his back. "I was dreaming of you," she confessed, breaking the silence.

In another occasion, he would have smirked satisfied at that admission, full of self-satisfaction. In that moment, however, he limited himself to toy languidly with her hair that fell loose over her shoulders and shyly asked: "Was it a good dream or a bad dream?"

"It was both," Blair told him, as, with the tip of her fingers, she stroked his back tracing imaginary circles. "Being awake with you is so much better. It's real."

Slowly, Chuck pulled back from her, forcing her to raise her head from his chest and look up. Like in her dream, her hands slid to her sides and clung to them, but this time, in the moment she was actually living with him, he didn't slip away. He just bowed his head in front of her, lowering his eyes to escape even the slight sight of her gaze the dim light cutting through the darkness allowed him to see. "About last night…" he started in a low voice, "I'm —"

Before he could pronounce an apology she didn't want to listen to, Blair lifted her hand and pressed her index against his mouth, shutting him up. "Please, don't say you're sorry again," she said. "You do not get to apologize for making love to me, Chuck. Never."

He gently took her wrist, moving her finger from his lips. "It wasn't that," he answered, shaking his head. "It was something else. It was selfish."

Blair guided her hand down to his chest and clutched his robe in an abrupt, impatient movement. She couldn't stand the condemnation in his voice. "Stop it," she stated with conviction, grasping the fabric with such a strength that she could sense his skin underneath it. "It was love and it was trust; and it was beautiful for me."

Chuck remained silent for a moment. Then, letting out a sharp sigh, he pulled back from her a little. "You deserve better," he said. His voice was barely a murmur, as if the words had struggled to come out, and his hand, laid hesitantly on her hip, quivered with the tension of an unexpressed movement. He wanted to let go of her, she felt it, but he couldn't.

Blair pursed her lips, trying to contain the anger that had raised to her chest. The portray of their love that came out of his words was so false and unfair that it made her want to yell at him and scream that he had no right of turning the choices she was so proud of into the actions of a martyr, nor to dare to think she had sacrificed herself and her life by marrying him.

Still, she didn't. With a draining effort of patience, she had to remind herself that, in truth, it wasn't his trust in her that was vacillating and neither was his trust in their union. The sense of guilt that made him talk like that, she knew, was stronger than his ability to discern it and accept where it came from; shapeless and nameless, it spread like a dark stain and invaded each of his thoughts.

She couldn't brush it away; but she could do something to stop him from questioning the happiness he gave her.

Suddenly Blair parted from him. She walked past him and stopped by the window to reach out to the curtains and pull them open; she let the pale light in before turning to look at him, finally free from the limits of darkness.

When she did, she felt her constricting. The apathy of Chuck's expression was painful to look at, emphasized as it was by the strained pallor of his face; his gaze, heavy with exhaustion, seemed to be almost empty in its darkness, as he stared back at her. Blair had to stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck and force him back into her arms. It wouldn't have made a difference in that moment; the comfort of a gesture was only momentary and what he needed was to hear her out and let her bring some clarity into the self-loathe he had slipped into.

She took a deep breath and tried to collect the words she was going to utter and the firmness she would have put into pronouncing them and that would have obligated him to listen. "It's not about what you claim I deserve," she told him, her eyes immobile on him. In that short pause of silence that followed that statement, she took a step towards and placed herself in front of him again. "It's about what I want. And what I want is you: I want your best moments," she took his right hand and squeezed it before reaching out to his left with her free one, clasping it as well, "and I want your worst ones. It's what being married means."

Chuck's eyes had gone shut at her touch, desperate for a moment of rest. When he opened them again, though, Blair was relieved to see them locking with hers; he gazed at her without speaking for a second and then replied: "For better or for worse shouldn't be as hard as it is with me, Blair. Look at the situation I put you into..." his voice faded into a sigh, as, glancing down, he shook his head in a worn-out movement. "We had to get married to avoid a murder investigation and then fled to another continent."

His words had made her fingers curl tighter around his in a new surge of anger; yet, even that rebellious rush surrendered to the sadness hearing him so resigned and regretful caused her. Blair let go of his hand and reached out to his chin, lifting his head enough to bring him to look up. "You didn't force me to marry you, Chuck," she declared when she met his gaze again. The statement came out shaky with emotion and she paused to catch her breath. As she fought to hold back the tears piercing in her eyes, she slid her palm to his cheek, cupping his face. "No one did," she kept on. "I didn't do it out of necessity or out of pity. I married you because I love you and because I want to grow old you. Didn't you marry me for the same reasons?"

Suddenly, Chuck frowned. Looking back at her, he seemed surprised and somewhat hurt by the question. "Of course I did," he replied right away.

At the play of emotions now showing on his face, that her small provocation had aroused, a thin smile rose to Blair's lips. Stroking the side of his face, she said: "I'm well aware our life isn't going to be easy. But then again, all the best thing take effort."

Again, it took Chuck a few seconds to reply. He squeezed her hand before speaking, as his free one clutched her side. "But I can't fail at making you happy," he told her in a whisper.

"Then don't try to decide what I can and I can't take," Blair answered. The touch of her fingers on his jaw was slow and gentle, but her voice was now steady and calm in its determination. "Don't put me on a pedestal. It's not where I belong. I belong by your side, whatever that implies; it's where I feel the strongest and the most powerful. And it's the only place where I can truly be happy."

His stunned expression made her smile by instinct. She had sworn unconditional love to him before, more than once, and the fact that, in spite of the many confirms, her vow never ceased to surprise him gave her a tender, affectionate feeling of melancholy. In the subtle sadness of her smile was the awareness that it wouldn't have been the last time she repeated those brave words. In every future scenario she could picture, Chuck needed to hear them again and again.

Eventually, the only answer he managed to give her didn't come through his voice. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide open with astonishment, and then, in an unsure movement, he clumsily pulled her closer. He kissed her temple and bowed his head to sink his nose into her hair, breathing her in.

At the touch of his lips, Blair's smile trembled with emotion, as she let a tear roll down her cheek. She could feel the gratitude in his gesture as clearly as she had sensed his fear and the weight of his guilt; it was sincere and deep as his breaths while, wrapping his arms around her, her held her close to his chest. She closed her eyes and, embracing him as well, she told herself she would have never stopped reminding him that her love for him was absolute, categorial as the choice she had made when she had accepted to marry him.


Vienna, December 22nd, 2012

The following two days went by more serenely. Chuck and Blair enjoyed the city at their pace; strolls along a snow-clad Ringstrasse to admire the beautiful palaces overlooking the boulevard and concerts attended at the Musikverein were spaced out by hours spent alone in their suite and intimate meals consumed in reserved rooms of the restaurants they selected. It was all done with a leisureliness and calmness that normally didn't belong to their habits, but that inevitably ended up marking their short stay; they drank hot Viennese coffee in traditional cafés, relished in the atmosphere of the old imperial side of Vienna and took the time to listen to classical music in silence, exchanging glances over chocolate desserts.

It was a pleasant, reassuring compromise between need and desire, that Chuck accepted by allowing himself to rely on Blair's ability to understand his limits. At some point in the future, he promised himself, he would have brought her back there and made sure to give her a full experience of the city, but for those days he let her decide that dancing to waltz in their suite was as magical as doing it in a fancy ball room.

On the last day of their stay, Chuck and Blair visited the Klimt collection at the Upper Belvedere Museum. They had spent the morning shopping all around the Goldenes Quartier and, when they crossed the door to the room dedicated Klimt's portrays, they were dressed in the coordinate clothes they had purchased a few hours before.

"Don't you adore 'The Kiss'?" Blair wondered with a sigh as they stopped before the painting, which stood in isolation on a stark, black wall.

Chuck, who had visited the museum before and was more enchanted by the glistening of her eyes as she gazed at the golden details of the figures with a dreamy expression, tightened his hold around her waist and pulled her a bit closer. He reached out to her hair with his free hand and tucked a strand behind her ear, as, leaning in, he whispered: "Not as much as I adore kissing you."

Blair rolled her eyes, though her lips stretched in a smile. She turned her head slightly to eye him. "Is sex really all you can think about?"

Chuck snorted. "Can you honestly tell me aren't you thinking about it too?" he retorted in a low voice. He shot a glance at The Kiss before looking back at her again. "You're staring at two lovers covered in gold and stylized sexual symbols." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I would be surprised if sex wasn't the first thing on your mind right now."

His smirk sharpened when he saw her cheeks blush. He watched pleased as she inhaled a deep breath, trying to stop herself from biting her bottom lip in embarrassment. "Chuck, the painting is about intimacy," she stated, giving him a resolute look, "and love."

Again, Chuck smiled slyly before ducking his head closer to her ear. "And mutual desire," he went on, making sure to speak so quietly that only she could hear him. He brushed his lips under her lobe and, when he was about to place a kiss on the side of her neck, he said: "It's about a fusion: of symbols," he moved his mouth to her jaw, "of bodies…"

His intention was to reach her lips by pronouncing the word souls, but Blair kissed him before he had the time to utter anything. She shoved her hand into his hair and grasped the strands as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. She only parted from him when she was breathless.

A smile, a barely hinted smile that had something naughty about it, tilted up the corners of her lips, making Chuck smirk again. The few people in the room with them were doing their best not to stare at them but, now that she had given in to her instinct, Blair didn't seem to mind anymore.

He squeezed her waist as she guided her hand to his head and fixed his hair. "You know what that smile reminds me of?" he asked her.

Blair, now running her palms over his chest to smooth his jacket, looked up and eyed him with curiosity. "Enlighten me, Bass."

Chuck nodded his head towards a point behind her back. When she turned to see what her husband was talking about, her eyes found a smaller painting on the wall at their side. It was Judith I.

Blair's eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Judith?" she wondered confused, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Yes," he replied, as he settled himself next to her. "She's a fierce queen," he explained, pointing at the woman portrayed with a wave of his hand. "She has just seduced and beheaded a man and yet she looks proud."

Blair was silent for a couple of seconds. Then, taking a step closer to the wall, she commented: "She does seem pleased holding Holofernes' head."

"She is," Chuck replied, wrapping his arm back around her. He averted his eyes from the painting to lay them on her and, as his gaze lingered over her profile, he kept on: "That's why she's so sensual; because she's aware of her power. She won't do anything to hide it."

"Why does it make you think of me?" Blair asked after another pause. She had turned her head as well from Judith and she was now staring at him.

Chuck brought his free hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his finger. "Because of what you said the other night about not wanting to be put on a pedestal," he told her, as his expression grew more serious. "Because of the bravery of your decisions. I am, after all, one of those choices."

A different smile stretched Blair's lips at his words; a calm one, tinged with a pale touch of wisdom. "I told you," she said, "it's with you that I truly feel powerful. I was a princess on a pedestal for a while and I hated every minute of it. Having to win people's approval, having to be kind and approachable..." letting out a sigh, she shook her head. "It was exhausting, Chuck. It was like living in a cage. But with you I can always be who I am."

"You're a queen," Chuck concluded. He held her tighter, turning her in his embrace so that he could face her and catch the beauty of her expression fully: she looked proud and fierce as the Judith in the painting. "You'll never have to worry about being affable. You'll rule over our world with the admiration and the fear you inspire; higher than anybody else, unreachable. I promise you."

It wasn't what people would have called a promise of love, but it was for them. When Blair kissed Chuck again, she couldn't help but thinking that life spent with him was going to be a blaze of glory, even just for the fact that it was going to be built on the certainness that he was the only one capable of understanding her completely – and wanting her with no exceptions.


Notes:

[1] Locations, outfits, food ecc all exist. I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. As usual, you find all the details on my Tumblr blog, under the tag Journey To Glory. Feel free to contact me in you have any questions regarding the story or the chapter.

[2] I suggest you to take a look at the two paintings I mentioned (Judith I and The Kiss, by Klimt) if you don't know them. They're breathtaking!

[3] Again, thanks to my dear Daphne for her support.