AN: With the Nate and Blair (and really rather Chair) oneshot (All the World Says It's Winter) out, I am now ready to sit and write new parts of my two current fics. Hope you enjoy.

Part 10

It was endearing how he thought she would go insane over a busy bridge full of jewelry shops. Blair raised her eyebrows when he stopped at the start of the strip. He pointed to the first shop on the left. "I know you'd want to start there." He then pointed to the gelato shop on the opposite side of the walkway. "But I was thinking of something cold first."

She was halfway to the shop when she realized she had left him behind. She looked back at him, and held out her hand. "Aren't you coming?"

He looked adorable in his hat and his shorts. Her husband—Chuck, her husband!—always did look delightful in his vacation wear. She could not appreciate them in the Hamptons because she had been so angry at him.

"Really, Blair?" he prompted. "You'd really rather go there than enjoy a nice cup of gelato with me?"

Blair glanced at the shop Chuck wanted to head to. "There are ice cream shops in New York."

"Don't let them hear you. Gelatos are far better than ice cream."

To his surprise, she jogged back towards him and raised herself on the tips of her toes. She dropped a kiss on his lips. "Buy me a scoop." And then just as quickly, she turned around and ran back towards the jewelers.

He returned to her with a scoop for himself and another for her. He entered the shop and handed her the gelato. She took it from him and licked the top. She giggled at the intensity in his eyes, then reached up a finger to wipe some cream from his upper lip. Her tongue darted out to lick at the edges of the scoop, where the gelato had softened. "You look like you're ready to buy me the whole shop."

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Keep licking it like that and I'll buy you the whole damn bridge."

God, it felt good to be in love. She parted her lips and ate more of the gelato until her inner mouth was coated with the cold cream. Other tourists walked around them, giving them distance as they stood looking at each other. He took her hand and pulled her out of the small shop, and they found themselves standing in the middle of the bridge.

A set of yellow and white gold jewelry encrusted by precious stones caught his eye from the window display of one of the shops.

"That design is called butterfly," she told him, in a teasing voice. His butterflies happened so long ago. She doubted either of them ever equated those butterflies to love.

He grabbed her hand, then asked, "You want it?"

She shook her head. Someday he would learn that gifts did not necessarily need to accompany love. She only had half a year to make him realize it, so that he could hopefully have grown in that part of his life before she had to leave. "I'm still enjoying the necklace you gave me last year." She held her hand up, showed him the diamond engagement ring and the simple wedding band that graced her fingers. "And I just got two new rings this week. Yearly diamonds." And the concept made her sad. "We can make a tradition of it." Traditions, she thought, were wonderful to think of but would die before it even carried forward.

"Pity." Her eyes widened when he took a small box from his pockets and displayed the simple studs lying on their dark velvet bed. "Because I brought you something from home and I couldn't wait til next year."

"Oh!" she gasped. Blair reached for the earrings. She held up her hand, noticed how much the diamond cut looked like the one on her engagement ring.

"I had the stones cut to be precisely like my mom's ring."

Her eyes widened. She stared down at her engagement ring, remembered what he said in his mock proposal. "Your mom's."

He nodded. "There's only one ring for the women Bass men love," he told her.

"You've got such a silver tongue," she said. She grasped the front of his shirt and drew him down for a kiss. He tasted of chocolate and his mouth was so deliciously cold that he tasted like a vacation.

He must have thought the same, because when he lifted his mouth from hers, he told her, "It's like honeymoon in your mouth, Mrs Bass."

He looked rather proud of himself when they finished their excursion to Ponte Vecchio with no purchases in hand. Blair looked down at their entwined fingers as they walked through the streets of Florence. She tightened her hand around his. It was scary to be this ecstatic. Sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, she would see a glimpse of something odd in his eyes.

He was not happy. In fact, he looked downright stressed out.

"Let's go to the Duomo," she suggested.

"Weren't we going to the Duomo after we go grape-picking in Chianti?"

His nonexistent itinerary, she remembered. She stifled a grin. "We're almost there. I can hear the bell. They're about to start the mass."

She picked up her speed, but he stopped in his tracks. "I wanted to go when there wasn't mass being held."

She walked over to him. "What better experience is there of the Duomo than attending an actual mass there?"

Chuck cursed. Her eyes widened. He muttered an apology. "I just realized the moment I said I love you, I lost all upcoming arguments."

Which just meant he was going to come. Blair dragged him along with her until they stood outside the Santa Maria del Fiore. The closer they got, the tighter his hand on hers became. The Church was surrounded by people that they could not see the steps. Chuck looked up at the large building and she looked up as well at the green, pink and marble façade.

"You want a house like that?" he said lightly.

Blair pressed close to his side. The last time he had been in a place half as ominous, half as conservative, half as traditional, was the day he buried his father. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," he rasped.

Blair made her way towards the steps, all the while grasping his hand as he reluctantly followed. She found two seats together at the back pew.

She did not understand the words of the service, but Blair looked up at the domed ceiling, the large statues and the marble angels. It was breathtaking, so much like everything she had read about the place. She was about to call Chuck's attention to the frescoes. When she turned to him, her husband sat with his head hung low, his forehead furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut.

She leaned over to him and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

Though they barely understood, Blair recognized the moment half the congregation stood. Chuck had looked up with his eyes still red. Neither of them was religious, but they were here and this was the first time she had been this satisfied with who she was. Maybe it was Italy; mostly it was because of him.

For that she was grateful. Enough to do something simple and uncharacteristic for once.

"I'm going to take communion," she told him. "Chuck, I think you should too."

He loved her. She told herself that when he snapped at her, "For the experience? No, thanks."

Blair stiffly pushed her handbag to him. She walked away from him, fought the urge to turn around and hug him. She should get used to this. This would not be the last time he would push her away. He could not help it. In the future he would push her away again and her mission was to leave before it happened.

Her heart had been broken far too many times to wait this out.

This is what she didn't want to happen. Having love in play would make it so much more difficult. Difficult, but not impossible.

She looked back at their pew. And he was gone.

~o~o~o~o~o~

He took the bag and set his jaw, watched as she walked away from him and fell in line. Watching her walk away was scary, and he almost stood up and stumbled towards her to apologize. Instead, he kept his eyes trained to the back of her head.

Prayed that after today he would never see her walking away from him like that.

Chuck rose from his seat to follow her. If a communion made her happy, then he would take communion. Sinking deep into depression over his father's loss was not going to help either of them. Bart Bass was good and buried. He rose to follow her. On the way, he felt her bag vibrate. Chuck pulled the phone out of her bag and glanced down at the caller ID.

Yale.

Her dream. She would be so disappointed if she missed it, and the least he could do was take a message. Maybe they would tell her that she made it in, and their initial rejection was a mistake. They realized the error, because it was definitely an error not to want Blair Waldorf when you can have her.

He walked to the small corridor away from the service, then raised the phone to his ear. "Hello."

The voice on the other line sounded a little confused. "I'd like to speak with Ms Waldorf, please."

"This is her phone. She's unavailable at the moment, but I can take a message." He cleared his throat. "And it's Mrs Bass now."

"Oh, well. That does make sense," said the man on the other end of the line. "We are finalizing our roster and we wanted to confirm her status."

"I'm sorry. What does that mean? What can I tell her for you?"

"Mr Bass, is it?" When Chuck confirmed his identity, the Yale caller told him, "I'm calling because we were confirmed about Ms Waldorf's—Mrs Bass' decision to refuse our acceptance. We had thought she wanted very much to enroll here. We received her request to postpone her admission and were thrown for a loop. Now it makes sense."

"Wait. Postpone? She was accepted?"

"Yes. And we received her request to push back her admission three days ago."

The day he proposed. Chuck hung up the phone and made his way back to the pews. He saw her standing by their seat looking around for him. He strode back towards where she stood. When she spotted him, she brightened. Chuck grinned and grabbed her face with both of his hands. He gave her an openmouthed kiss. Her hands looped around his neck as she met his kiss.

"I thought you left," she gasped.

He shook his head, laughing softly and then kissing her again. Around them he heard the scandalized gasps at the public display, right when the congregation was solemnly singing. "We're newlyweds," he told the old lady watching them with displeasure, holding up his finger to show his shiny new wedding band. He had never been prouder of that ring than right at that moment. He buried his lips in the crook of her neck.

His English seemed to have been translated. Coupled with the glinting rings on their fingers, the conservative congregation murmured consent at the overly affectionate show.

He pulled her towards one of the large marble pillars so they could enjoy a little bit of privacy. She kept her voice low, but her whisper still echoed, "What is with you?"

He pulled her towards him by the waist. Chuck laid his forehead on hers. "I think I just fell for you even harder," he confessed.

"Because I went to have communion?" she said lightly, confused, but trying for some humor. "I should convert."

He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "You and I really need to have a talk."

Blair licked her lips. She took her bag from him and saw the glow of her phone as it locked automatically. She picked it up and looked at the call log. Her eyes lifted to him. "You know about Yale."

The noise in the Church grew. He glanced up and realized that the service had concluded. "I know about Yale." She looked away. Gently, he took her chin with his fingers and turned her face to him. Chuck laid his lips on hers. "And I'm more in love with you than I was when I made up that ridiculous story to get you to marry me."

She pulled away, looked up at him in confusion. "Wha—"

"I'm not going to lose the company, Blair," he admitted.

Behind them, people lined up for the confessional.

tbc