A/N Hey guys, I'm really, really sorry for the long wait. It's been a rough ride this year, and I didn't do so good on my EOYS and you can say my parents aren't pleased about it. Next year's the big tests so I'll definitely be working my ass off even more. I just wanted to say thanks to all those people who put it on Story Alert, or Author Alert or God bless you, Favorite Stories and whatnots. And of course, a big thank you to those who reviewed - I really do appreciate it so much and it means a lot that you guys are still willing to wait when I slowly churn out a new chapter. I rushed to finish this, so like before, I might add in a new section later on; I'm not sure. Anyway, if you have any concerns regarding the characterisations drop me a review or a message and I'll try to explain my twisted logic in it. Read and Review!


She says head case head case
Turn that thing around
Let's play a game when you hear me make a sound
Just go quite a bit faster
Pretend that I'm gagged and bound
Oh how I love to hear that sound
Milkshake milkshake I love to feel you sweat
We don't have to go to the pool
If you want me to make you wet
Can you keep a secret
Because the best little secrets are kept

And you're my best little secret yet

- Pledge of Allegiance, Louis XIV


Chapter 4

"Are you sure this place is appropriate for a meeting like this, van der Woodsen?"

"Well, what suggestions do you have, Bass? A strip club?"

"Well, I must say that option is more…enjoyable to this cosy little diner. What is it, a family restaurant?"

Serena van der Woodsen huffs a little at the derogatory tone in his sneer and folds her arms across her chest, glaring a challenge to her brother (was that what he was? She could never get used to the idea of them ever being related). She doesn't know quite what to call him – she definitely only had one brother Eric, but brother-in-law seemed to suggest him being married to a sister which she definitely wasn't aware of. He was her brother by marriage, though – just by their parents' marriage.

Said brother smirks the patented Bass smirk at her, infuriating her even more.

Good to know he still hasn't changed the slightest bit. Serena muses to herself as she heaps sugar into her iced tea, with a sliced lemon on the side. She distractedly notices how she is in dire need of a manicure, her nail polished chipped and nail wearied down to her fingers by her teeth.

She'd got home just yesterday, with Nate, and had hit the showers and then the bed. She hasn't even said hi to Dan yet – she'd flown home straight as soon as she heard that Blair was missing. Guilt stirs in her – she knew Blair, wherever she was, hated her right now. Hell, she was probably throwing diamond-encrusted darts at her picture now. And Serena does understand, really. She'd regretted not telling Blair the minute she'd let Carter lead her off to the airport with her bag tucked under his arm and his lips on hers and his hands in her back pockets. But even when Carter had proven himself a bastard and left, Serena still didn't call Blair. She'd called Nate instead. And she knew Blair would probably never forgive that.

Sipping her tea, Serena glances about the room. They should have chosen a better location, she admits. The café is packed with the poorer Upper East Siders (an oxymoron?), because most Upper East Siders – at least the one she knows anyway – would be having their catered Sunday brunch with gourmet food and silver plates and socializing.

Two little Sacred Heart girls in their cute red and white checked pinafores walk an enormous black (pedigree) Rottweiler past the diner. They press their cheek to the glass as they pass, cupping their faces to peer into the café and giggle flirtatiously at Chuck. Chuck raises his glass of wine – Serena is surprised it's not his usual scotch – and leers at them, causing them to shriek and run away delightedly in mock horror, the Rottweiler dragging behind them howling angrily in protest.

Serena rolls her eyes. "Still lusting over underage girls, Bass? And where's the afternoon scotch?"

Chuck glances at her. "I don't drink scotch anymore. It's not worth it." As if to prove his point, he takes a lingering, slow sip from his wine glass, eyes closed. "Where's Archibald?"

"Here," Nate Archibald announces as he arrives at that moment, dropping into his seat and his hand rubbing his face wearily. "Grandfather wanted to introduce me to an associate." He glances at them, and his eyes locks on Serena's for longer than necessary.

Serena tears her gaze away from his hazel eyes and forces herself to look down, where her delicate hands are clenched and long fingers knotted about the tablecloth on her end.

Chuck notices it anyway. "Granderbilt still giving you problems, eh, Archibald?"

"You have no idea," Nate grunts and Chuck glimpses a flash of desire and guilt in his voice as he slowly turns from Serena to glance at Chuck. "He's still dropping hints that it's not too late for me to go to Harvard if I change my mind. Apparently he 'knows' some people on the top. And he mentioned he has a friend, whose daughter is my age and apparently gorgeous and smart and single, and of course, totally into the Archibald name. Well, he didn't exactly say that part out loud, but-"

"Well," Serena interrupts, a bit too hastily and her voice pitched a bit too high for her intention to be genuine. "We'd better get down to business."

Chuck sobers up and pushes the disturbing image of his sister (not that he ever had one, or even wants to refer to Serena was one, but still) and his best friend out of his mind. He can deal with that later, as long as Blair was here to deal with it with him. Personally, he couldn't care less, but he knows Blair would have an entirely different opinion.

"I've trying to get a lock on Blair's location for days. With the help of a professionally trained P.I for chrissakes. However did you manage to get the location so fast? Did the nice little Pragueists help you with that one, van der Woodsen?" he jibes.

"Technically, it's Czech." Nate offers feebly.

Both Serena and Chuck ignore him.

Serena flips her blond halo of hair over her head and shoots Chuck a defiant stare. "Well, what can I say? I'm extremely persuasive."

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck sees Nate nodding a bit too fervently, before he catches himself doing it and stops. Chuck smirks, a little too slightly, before narrowing his eyes and returning to the staredown with Serena. "What did Dorota tell you, Serena?"

Serena sighs. "Fine. I went to ask Dorota – nicely," she adds, just as Chuck opens his mouth to interrupt. "She doesn't take kindly to certain ex-boyfriends of her employer's daughter attempting to bribe her, blackmail her, to threaten her, and when all else fails, God help me, attempts to seduce out of her information that Blair entrusted to her before she jetsetted off."

"You seduced Dorota?" Nate asks, brown eyes wide with a palette of horror, disbelief and amusement.

"Tried to," Chuck corrects immediately, although he does shiver at the recollection of it. He had been rather desperate at that time. "Turns out she's not very partial to handsome, young billionaires with agency to choose from a million other girls throwing themselves at him."

Serena snorts.

Nate chokes on his tea.

"She's somewhere around the state of Washington," Serena announces, and Chuck's eyes snap to her. "Some town…Forks? Forks, yeah, I remember now. Forks."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Nate says suddenly, and there is an excited gleam in his eyes as he stands up. "I can steal the Vanderbilt plane for a trip there. Grandfather will probably lend it to me with heartfelt blessings if I agree to a blind date with Whatsherface."

"You don't have to do that, Nate-" Serena says, but Nate shakes his head.

"No. I have to do this, Serena," he says, but this time he is looking straight at Chuck, and Chuck registers this is Nate's way of making up for his actions; how he had treated Blair in the past.

"Nate, don't be stupid, your Grandfather will still kill you. Besides, you don't have to do this, and listen to him all the time, you don't have to become just another Vanderbilt when you're an Archibald, Nate Archibald-"

"As much as I enjoy this little romantic pep talk, I have to interrupt," Chuck sneers as he stands up loudly, sending the cheap chair crashing to the floor. Everyone in the diner now is staring at him, but Chuck ignores them. "I'm taking the Bass helicopter."

Nate blinks. "But the Bass helicopter's only a two-seater."

Chuck doesn't say anything, but watches his best friend with hooded eyes, feeling a grim satisfaction when realization dawns on Nate and his large eyes widen even more in disbelief. "What are you getting at, Chuck?" He asks, but everyone at the table sees that Nate is just acting stupid because he knows, he has known Chuck since forever and Nate probably knows what Chuck wants to do, what he needs to do.

"Absolutely not, Chuck." Serena folds her arms across her chest. "This is my best friend you're talking about, and I do know you can't be trusted with her heart. The last time you were alone with Blair – well, she's not here anymore, is she?"

Chuck narrows his eyes at her but he can't find the words to return her spite, because deep down in his heart he knows she's right. "That's precisely why I have to be the only one, van der Woodsen. It's my fault. I have to be the one to make it up to her."

"That's stupid," Nate ejects immediately, half-rising out of his seat. "If you want to go at it that way, you might as well say it's equally Serena's fault for breaking her promise to Blair and leaving without telling her again. And it's my fault too, for leaving her for Europe and leaving her for Serena again, without telling her. And you might say I'm more to blame than you, because of all the things I did to her when we were together; or rather all the things I didn't do that I never properly apologized for-"

Chuck shakes his head and his eyes glitters savagely in the light. "She didn't love you, Nate. She loved me."

He watches as Nate is struck dumb with the blunt snipe. His mouth opens and closes, his throat works, but he cannot deny the truth of this claim and instead he snaps his mouth shut, nods tersely and falls back into his seat in resigned concurrence with the statement. Serena is still watching, her blue eyes tense and yet alight with understanding as she shakes her head. Her voice is filled with incredulity and admiration as he turns to leave.

"You really love her, don't you?"

Chuck doesn't turn around, although her words freeze him to the spot. "Van der Woodsen, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Without another word, he leaves.

Nate is sinking lower and lower in his chair in embarrassment staring at his crème brulee. Serena is sure as hell going to be pissed about Chuck, and as much as he lov- liked her as a friend he knows she has a heck of a temper. But when he finally dares to chance a peek over his dessert, Serena is staring after Chuck with a thoughtful expression on her face and a tiny, knowing smirk at the edges of her perfectly-shaped lips. Nate coughs awkwardly.

"Serena – do you think he might be serious? About you know – loving Blair?"

Serena turns to him, and the smile that lights up her face is so brilliant he can't help but fumble, his brain short-circuiting and he forgets his own name for a moment. "Honestly, Nate, and I thought Chuck and Blair were the only blind, oblivious idiots around here." Her laugh is soft and feminine without sounding too giggly, and Nate is forcibly reminded of the tinkle of Disney stars arching across space.

He thinks he might be able to listen to that laugh for forever.


Blair's had just about enough of Bella's laugh.

She's about to go fucking crazy with Bella's pale, trembly hands and wide frantic eyes and constant stuttering. And the fact that Blair has dragged Bella to about five of the most expensive stores Port Angeles could offer – shopping with an ulterior motive is still shopping, after all – and the only thing Bella liked was a maroon sweatshirt from some thrift store.

Maroon.

Sweatshirt.

.Thrift store.

Forks was mad, the whole lot of them.

"I can't go out, Blair," Bella's muffled voice rings out from behind the door of the changing room.

Blair impatiently puffs on her cigarette and she glares hard at the door of the changing room. "For God's sake, Bella, it's only a dress."

"I can't go out." Bella's voice is panicked.

Blair rolls her eyes and sneers at the door. She huffs her cigarette impatiently and allows herself to be tempted, just for a moment, what would happen if she just dumped Bella's clothes (faded jeans and a dowdy black shirt) in the nearest bin and took off. It takes almost all of her willpower to grit her teeth and force the image out of her mind.

Why the hell had she even insisted on shopping with Bella anyway?

Edward. Edward Cullen. Oh, right. The boy doesn't know half of the trouble he's worth. Blair curses under her breath as she drops her cigarette and grinds it under her heel, imagining Bella's remarkably unremarkable face under it.

"Blair?!"

Blair rolls her eyes again. "I'm coming," she snaps at the white door. "I'll get you a new one and even if you don't like it you're going to wear it, understand?"

Blair spins on her heel and catches the mousy shop assistant by surprise, who jumps at least a foot up in the air when she catches Blair's hostile glare.

"You-" a shove of the black dress and she almost falls over with shock- "are going to help me find a nice, fashionable little black dress for my friend back there. I'll be back for her soon-" she can't help but smirk a little when the assistant swallows audibly – "She better be satisfied when I get back-" she sees her little feet shake in the oversized Doc Martens and her smile widens- "Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Blair flips her bouncy curls and strides out of the store. She needs a goddamn breather from all the Bella-ness of the entire trip. In all her life shopping for clothes, she has never known shopping to be so tedious. And the worst part was, Bella actually seemed to be enjoying herself despite Blair's snappish mood. Or was it because of Blair's snappish mood?

The little twat.

Blair has to admit, she'd only asked Bella along to dig deeper about Edward Cullen, but now she's not quite sure if she wants to know the dirty on him. She's not only unprepared with having to deal with the bundle of Bella Swan that came with the package but now, she's also afraid. Afraid that this inquisitive, nosy nature of hers poking around and getting the sordid details might somehow bond her to Forks in a way that it becomes much, much more than just one of the many bad, reckless decisions Blair has had made. That somehow, Forks might – just might – evolve into something bigger than something forgettable, like a faint line in the exterior of Upper East persona Blair has had painstakingly crafted slowly emerging as a fault line.

That somehow, Blair might just see Edward Cullen than more than just a beautiful boy.

Blair's fingers start to itch and she absently draws another cigarette and lights it, smoking against the dusky sky. It's possible, she supposes. She's attracted as hell to him and he must feel a little something back for her. They've both been ditched by their loser exes, even though they're both certainly good-looking enough not to stay single for long. If only he would just open his mouth and ask her out. Sure, she might play a little hard to get, but she would make sure her eyes sparkled and her lips twisted coyly and besides; guys liked it if a girl played hard to get.

Didn't they?

"Waldorf."

Blair turns and her cigarette falls out of her hand in surprise when she sees the familiar tussled bronze hair and alabaster skin (hidden under a drab gray hoodie with the hood up) and murderous molten gold eyes peeking out of sunglasses.

Holy shit.

Edward Cullen. The boy did seem to show up everywhere she went, didn't he?

Blair tries to ignore the pounding of her heart and sneers valiantly instead. "Stalking much, Cullen?"

His gaze doesn't waver, and she knows; it's not one of those little petty staring games played out between them from the different corners of the cafeteria at lunch time anymore. She's interfered (out of the box) with Edward's darling little ex-girlfriend, and he doesn't look none too happy about it. She's brought the game to a whole new level; so above the petty ones they've amused themselves playing before that Blair's not quite sure whether it's quite the same game anymore.

Different set of rules, Waldorf, his eyes seem to purr as they flicker over hers and although her gaze doesn't waver as it matches his, she swallows hard.

She's brought in a whole new variable into the equation of torn hearts and sparkling meadows and summer houses and it's a problem both know neither can solve.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, bringing Bella here?"

Blair's not quite sure she wants to play anymore.

She throws her hair back against the wind and rests against the railing to stare out at the port. It's a gorgeous day and the sun is gleaming down on the scales of blue arching against the port. She wishes, briefly, that she is halfway around the world in the Hamptons lounging on a chair in her Pucci bikini and eating grapes and laughing about boys with Serena. She cannot acknowledge that she is stuck in some port in Washington State staring at seagulls eating spilled hotdogs from the floor and two metres from a boy clothed head to toe and equipped with a baseball cap, no less.

She tries to ignore the pang of jealousy that races through her when he mentions Bella's name a second time, a little softer.

"Why the hell are you dressed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving?"

Edward doesn't even blink. "I'm allergic to the sun."

Blair fights the urge to look at him, because she knows if she looks at him once more, in the ridiculous outfit that makes him and his perfect body look like a dumpy spy out of a really bad action movie, she might just start to laugh about the bitter situation she's found herself fallen in again. Her life's so twisted from the ideal fairytale with bitter lies and more Chuck Bass than she'd care to admit; that she doesn't quite know what the happy ending might turn out to be. Edward Cullen isn't the dashing white knight to save her from the grasping clutches of social pariah and lovelorn heartbreak; they're not going to fall in love in first sight and she's not going to elope with him and live happily ever after. She's just a richer-than-average, prettier-than-average girl who's gotten her second heartbreak in the span of a few months and he's just a handsomer-than-average boy dressed in dumpy clothes.

"Where's Bella?"

"God, can you not make this about Bella all the time?" Blair finally snaps. She turns her head sharply to catch his expression, but his glittering eyes are now hidden behind sunglasses too out of place with his outfit – she'd have expected monocles instead. A more Colonel Mustard getup; it would match the absurdly yellow trench coat of his.

"I care about her."

"You and every fucking guy on the street," Blair spits. "Just because she has accidents happen to her all the time and everything just revolves around her and she just has to get caught up in it all and everybody- with genitalia remotely resembling a male's- within a five-mile radius has this compelling need to save the damsel in distress-"

She can see Edward's smooth forehead crinkle with confusion as he stares at her.

"-Blair?"

"But you know something? She's the kind that will always fall down, and she doesn't even to have to pick herself up. Because men like you exist to pick girls like her up. And of course, she's fully aware of her effect on men. She's stupid, not blind. All she has to do is flip her blond hair and boys like you with testosterone and an active sex drives just drop everything you have; everything you own; everybody who loves you just to run and-"

She's vaguely aware that she's not talking about Bella anymore, but the long-kept bitterness is finally spewing from her mouth and she finds she can't stop; won't stop –

Until a pair of cold, pale lips close over her flushed, furious ones and before she knows it they're kissing. They're kissing.

When Blair has kissed a total of eleven men in her life, and out of the many stolen kisses and secret smiles only three really matter.

Kissing Nate was like kissing a brother – without the gross implication of incest, of course. It was warm and sweet, and it made her feel safe and protected and content, but never satisfied. Kissing Chuck was fire on fire, and it was always about passion and wrestling for dominance and finding pleasure in the struggle itself. Chuck knew how to please her, of course, but he could never make her feel safe. It was always like trudging through a minefield in a war-torn country with him.

With Edward – it's different.

He's like a mix of Chuck and Nate – Nate's bronze hair, but his eyes (at times) are as dark as Chuck's and the look in them is equally dangerous and inviting. Kissing him is like kissing both of them at the same time. His lips are cold, Blair vaguely thinks it might be like kissing granite or glass. But strangely enough, there's a warm, fuzzy feeling snuggling in her that refuses to go away despite her attempts to shoo it out of her system. She feels like she may just fall deeper and deeper into his strong, cold arms and she moans into his mouth at the thought. For a cold kiss, she feels strangely warm all over.

She doesn't mind kissing him even though he's cold all over because Hell has probably enough fire to keep them warm for a long, long time. Dante and his Nine Circles can go to hell (pun unintended) because right now, for the first time in her unravelled, disgraced life, Blair feels content.

She doesn't feel butterflies, or some awakening Mount Vesuvius inside her that's about to erupt as high as kingdom come (Chuck would have a field day with the unintended innuendos in her head, she briefly thinks) or some palpable chemistry in her heart (not her groin, but she figures that's pretty close anyway) or some little Voice whispering in her this is the one. For once, Blair just forgets about the chick-flicks she used to curl up in bed watching after a bad breakup watching all night, and she forgets about the little fairytale she's planned, and she forgets about how her white knight would have to have gorgeous blue eyes (she thinks she's quite partial to gold now) and curly blond hair and dimples –

She doesn't feel like what all the books say she should, but she feels like she can live in this contentment forever and that's good enough for her. Right now, Blair doesn't give a damn about fairy tales. All she wants right now - all she needs right now; really – is this. She moans a little and throws her hands into his hair, dragging him closer, because close is just not close enough for her to be with him; to feel him.

Edward gives a soft growl that she can hear reverberate about his cold chest and Blair smirks a little into the kiss because it's pleasing to know he wants her just about as much as she wants him; and she's melted that ice cold sculpture for him to respond this way to her

"Hey Blair, I just wanted to say the dress you picked for me was beautiful, but I can't wear it out without looking like a potato in a sack so – oh my God!"

Edward is already pulling back, but as his lips graze her ear so briefly Blair thinks it just might've been a trick on her already overloaded senses, she hears a hiss, "Five o'clock." And she can't help nodding numbly and shivering as his equally cold breath breeze past her ear. And then he's untangled himself from her arms and drawing back into his trench coat, his eyes hooded and impenetrable.

And Bella is still hyperventilating on the sidewalk. "I – you – her – Edward, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Edward says coolly, fixing his gaze on her that doesn't quite promise love and undying devotion (the way Blair prefers) but makes Blair heat up all over again anyway. "See you, Blair. Bella." He turns and walks away, the ridiculously large coat almost knocking a short man over.

Blair watches him until he's out of sight, and turns to Bella, looking frail and thoroughly shocked with her sickly face even paler and her eyes wider than possible. Blair can't help but take note the shopping bag crumpled in her tiny hands, white-fisted in her grip.

Blair smiles brightly, a bright smile poised and sharpened to perfection with years of practice.

"What do you say we hit the delis?"


Well, well. Looks like someone isn't over their ex.

C seen leaving on the Bass helicopter with the determination of a man on a mission. Is he looking for new kingdoms to conquer, or trying to find his runaway queen B? We all know a royal usurpation is in order. You know you love me,

xoxo

Gossip Girl.


A/N Blair doesn't like Bella, as you can tell. Clue it in on Cullen-jealousy or just plain dislike for non-fashionistas who prefers sweatshirts over couture anyday. For those Jacob fans, yes, Bella does like Edward still, if only for a little bit. The girl thought Edward was the love of her life. Even if you choose a hairy wolf over him, it doesn't mean she still doesn't feel anything for him; she does. It's just that she would take Jacob if it really came down to it. It's natural that she would feel shocked (Edward was practically celibate before he met her, after all) and jealous. Don't worry, I hope to bring that jealousy in next chapter.

Kudos to those of you die-hard fans who recognised the reference to page 86 in the first novel of Gossip Girl: "Two little Sacred Heart girls in their cute red and white checked pinafores were walking an enormous black Rottweiler." I don't know, but I felt this urge to add it in somehow.

Read and Review!