Title: Blood and Butterfly Wings
Author: Syrianora
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.
Pairings: Mostly Chuck and Blair. (Implied D/S)
Summary: Chuck Bass is prepared to exact his father's most desired revenge upon the Waldorf family. However, when he meets the object of his revenge, Blair Waldorf, he finds himself entranced by the brown-eyed brunette, and risking everything to have her. AU Chuck and Blair. Mature.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry for the lack of updates: real life is in the way right now. I do hope this chapter makes up for it! As always, I want to thank every reader, reviewer, anonymous alerter, and all that wonderful jazz. You guys truly make late night writing absolutely worth it.
Chapter 21: Dramatic Gesture
"Fear
And panic in the air,
I want to be free,
From desolation and despair,
And I feel,
Like everything I sow,
Is being swept away,
Well, I refuse to let you go."
Muse, "Map of the Problematique"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bright rays of foreboding sunshine spanned through the windows of the room, unrelenting and unforgiving in its disturbing stretch to inhabit all darkened areas of the room. They sprinted rampant, extending entire lengths to engulf the silenced room in a flurry of demanding light. They ran over expensive fabrics strewn across the carpet, tangled wires and thick cords littering the floor, and finally rested upon a duo of interconnecting limbs and mussed hair.
Chuck winced slightly at the demanding streaks of light, his nose nuzzling closer to the expanse of skin before him. When a vague scent permeated his nostrils, memories of the previous night rushed through his mind, and he felt himself smile with pleasure.
Waking up beside Blair Waldorf could be a most soothing experience, indeed. There existed a certain peace within the vicinity of her presence, a somewhat glorious harmony that seemed to drown out the disturbances that his mind had deemed so valuable for thought. Instead, she seemed to demand the sole attention of the senses, breaking down the complications of thought and virtue into the simplicity of sight and sound, sense and smell.
He found it to be absolutely magnificent.
Vaguely, he recalled the trembling of her body when she had awoken, completely disoriented, in his bed and his shirt, that one treacherous night, when the workings of the world had challenged his dire loyalty, possible humanity. He could still see visions of her enraged eyes, quivering lips, and shades of crystal tears brimming deep within the surface of her orbs.
What could have began as a lovely morning and afternoon had quickly diffused into suspicion, anger, and finally a devastating resignation that had made him wonder how said workings of the world had brought him to this exact moment, his legs coiled with hers, nose buried deep into the perfumed skin.
This morning had far superceded that previous one. The two had fallen asleep atop the silken sheets, his fingers running slowly through those heavenly locks that had lulled Blair to a comfortable doze. He himself had lain awake, his fingers continuing to trek over her curls, ears trained to the engaging sounds of New York's beloved night life, eyes staring deep into the dark recesses of the room. It was his common stance during the late hours of the evening, but this time, the object of his thoughts lay beside him, serene, warm, and inviting.
He had wondered what Blair had thought when he had declared his devotion to her so desperately. He had smirked a familiar expression at the memory of Blair's generous offerings with countless bits of fruit. He had relished in the feeling of her fingers touching the angles of his face with utmost wonder.
It had been a night of remembrances, indeed.
And yet, when his father's haunting words began to tug at his conscious mind, and he had recalled Blair's innocent prodding at the number of incessant calls, he had quickly dismissed those intruding thoughts and invited sleep to overtake his exhausted body, tugging Blair closer to himself.
He had nearly crushed her against him.
He felt Blair stir before him, and he opened his eyes to gaze at the lovely creature held ever so tightly to his frame. Her dark, long lashes gracefully fell against her porcelain aura, and her mouth was parted slightly, deep, calming breaths bringing about a peaceful existence to her state. Instantly, she reminded him of a china doll, placed ever so cautiously atop an unreachable shelf, only to be gazed at with absolute curiousity at the perfected beauty so easily possessed.
Absolutely untouchable, and undoubtedly enchanting.
She looked so very calm, so very unplagued by the harshness of life and its injustice.
Could she see it in him?
Could she see the way his father's damned loyalty had overtaken him, had engulfed his entire soul with anger, had pushed him to insanity?
How it had made him a betrayar?
Or could she merely see him as the man who had charmed her with a courtship that would have put any romantic hero to shame?
Dismissing those thoughts, he continued to study Blair as she slept. Never before had he slept with no interruptions, no disturbances to lead his mind astray. His restless nights had dramatically increased after he had first met Blair Waldorf. Back then, she had been the target, the woman he was to seduce until she was limp to his will, ready to divulge any secrets that would surely ruin her and please Bart Bass's sickened desire at vengeance.
She had been an object, a mere play to his own advances, a silly little game with his father.
And yet, visions of tempting curls and bared backs began to haunt him in ways he could have never imagined. He would see images of her beneath shut lids, behind the aged bookshelves of the library he frequently visited, amidst a crowd of New Yorkers strolling along the sidewalks. Just when he thought he had escaped her, a turn of a corner would send another image to his mind, and soon enough, he began to curse the ability of the mind to hold valued images of well-worth beauty.
He could recall one night of pure delusion with a stunning clarity. As soon as he had shut his eyes, the small of Blair's back appeared before him that had him bolting up from his bed in a sweat, nearly sprinting to the decanter by his bedside, and gulping down mouthfuls of scotch until he had passed out on the floor below him in utter frustration and endless exhaustion.
It had been quite an experience, to say the least, to have his body rudely awakened by a tough prodding of a broomstick against his shin by an incredibly curious foreign maid. When he had staggered and lifted himself to his feet, the maid had glanced at him with narrowed eyes, before shaking her head in what seemed to be disappointment and muttering a few illogical words to herself.
That had certainly not been on the list of activities he was to impart upon in New York City. Instead, it only seemed to solidify the conclusion that Blair Waldorf had seeped into his skin, and she would not be very willing to depart from his subconscious.
He briefly noted their twisted legs, his arm coming to rest over her hip. With a mischevious sigh, Chuck teased his lips over hers, eyes watching her amused state as she slowly began to wake. He felt her smile beneath his lips, and he grinned slightly, pulling away.
"Good morning," she murmured with a happy sigh, her eyes still shut as a delirious feeling of comfort overcame her. Chuck's palm slowly paced around her hip, finally pressing at the skin in a protective gesture.
"A very good morning," he replied, his lips placing a soft kiss against her forehead. Her eyes revealed their color at the intensely intimate gesture as her mind noted the warmth of their closeness. His hair had taken on a life of its own, with strands of the dark locks flying in all directions. His eyes were warm and soft, his features holding a ghost of a smirk as he continued to run his thumb over the skin at her hip. He had taken off his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his shirt, top few buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the skin beneath. She was sure she could have slept for days if not for his waking; as soon as she had retired in his arms, she had encountered the most comforting doze of her entire life.
The ministrations of his fingers through her hair had been particulary helpful, of course.
Her lower back beginning to ache, she pulled herself up and stretched freely. Running a hand over her untame curls, and yet feeling absolutely no shame in her less-than-perfected appearance, she felt him rise up and curl his arms around her figure, her back resting against his chest. When his mouth ran a hot course over the nape of her neck, she chuckled gloriously, her arms coming to rest over his, rubbing gently at the hairs he so easily sported.
"I didn't know morning breath turned you on," she exclaimed, feeling him smile against her skin as his lips continued to skim over her nape, weight leaning a bit on hers.
"It's a very particular turn-on,"he replied heatedly, pulling her against him so she could feel how very lovely morning afters were for him. She tilted her head to an angle, exposing more of the skin to his greedy gaze. "You pass with flying colors."
And Chuck found himself unwilling to let her leave his embrace.
"My mother is going to kill me," she murmured lazily, eyes half-lidded as he continued to ravish her neck, her body supple to his touch. Even as she spoke, she made no move to pull herself to her feet, or even pull away from his body. "I was supposed to be in her office an hour ago."
Her eyes fluttered shut as his hot breath ran over her skin, fingers tugging at the silver strap of her dress to free her shoulder.
"I think," he murmured, placing his mouth over the bared skin of her shoulder, "that mothers," he continued, running his nose over the ball of her shoulder, "are highly overrated."
She chuckled freely at his words, turning around so that he faced her form. Her fingers ran over the standing locks of his hair, a sight she was certain she would never, and wouldn't possibly, want to forget. His hair was angled in variously messy directions, and he had a slight goofy smile plastered on his features that began to form into his familiar smirk.
"I would agree," she responded with a smile. "But not when said mothers are your employers."
He placed a gentle kiss to her awaiting lips, inhaling the sweet taste that was Blair Waldorf before he spoke.
"Have lunch with me," he suggested against her lips, hands coming up to roam over her bare arms. He spoke freely, unaware of how much she had seeped into his life, and how unwilling he was to part from her intoxicating presence. "There's this little cafe right by my hotel; quiet, small, beautiful music," he murmured, his words painting a heavenly picture of a most desirable location, with a most desirable companion. "Chocolate eclaires with dripping chocolate, maybe a walk in the park nearby..." His temptation was utterly and absolutely magnificent; Blair's eyes had shut at the image.
She groaned loudly at the suggestion, feeling his smile against her sweetened lips. "I need a couple of hours in the office," she exclaimed, her voice carrying on a depressed tone. "The plan sounds heavenly, Chuck."
He pulled away from her, and she opened her eyes to find his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Three o'clock."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Blair? Blair Waldorf, are you even listening to me?!"
Blair's eyes immediately darted from the expansive windows of the set room to the tight frown on Gloria Summer's stretched features, her eyes widened and blossoming with anger, lips thin and tight in the characteristic expression of one of the most successful women of her generation.
Gloria had been her mother's assistant since before Blair herself had been born, and the elderly woman had dutifully aided Eleanor in offshooting her fashion company in the European marketing world. The two had met in university as undergraduate roommates, and although engaging personalities always seem to clash, they blended together beautifully in a shared love of 1940's fashion among an era of decreased fashion interest. Coming from old southern money, and a vibrant backround in fashion history and trends, along with a keen tendency to obtain whatever she set her mind on, Gloria had been absolutely indispensable to Eleanor's far-reaching success in the states, as well as some offshore accounts that had eventually made Eleanor Waldorf a common household name in decent homes. The two had been nearly inseparable for the past thirty years; as a child, Blair had been consistently reminded of the aid Gloria had offered to her ever eager mother, as well as the consequences that would surely follow if they were to lose the trust that the woman had for the family.
And yet, Gloria had been one of the few motherly figures in Blair's life during her childhood. Whenever Eleanor had been vacationing in southern Italy, or shopping within the beloved stores of England, Gloria had been sitting before Blair's newest elementary school teacher, evaluating the woman's skills and care for her students in her own manner before offering the woman her adored attention. Whenever Eleanor had traveled across the globe, leaving a handwritten note of her absence to a usually understanding Gloria, Gloria would be the one who would accompany Blair to her own modeling shoots, offering the girl consistent scoldings until the young prodigy had taken one single perfect picture. Blair could still remember her younger self, frustrated, angry, and prepared to burst into tears as Gloria shouted over the camera for Blair to pose a certain way, or, even more humiliating, reprimanding Blair on a job she felt could have been better. She had been hard, harder on Blair than Eleanor had ever been, and possibly could have been, but with her advice, no matter how it was delivered, Blair became one of the most successful models in the city, a feat in itself. And Blair would always be indebted to her mother's best friend, no matter how much she tried to satisfy Gloria's near-impossible standards.
It was well-known that Gloria had a way of gaining respect as soon as she stepped through the doors of a well-received institution. Her thin, tall figure gave way to immensely emerald eyes and a bob of fiery red hair resting elegantly against her shoulders, parted in the newest fashion trend of the season. Along with a slightly curved nose and tightly-pressed lips, and an expansive forehead that always seemed creased in thought, the elderly woman demanded attention to any who came along her way.
Even with age and a variety of fine wrinkles, Gloria Summers was not a woman to be toyed with.
And yet, Blair Waldorf had stood there, eyes glued to the scenery outside of the building, memories of her time with Chuck engulfing her mind.
He had stood at the foot of the building, kissed her softly with the flakes of falling snow serenading them, his arms unwilling to allow her passage into the building. When he had begun to walk down the sidewalk after consistent pleading from Blair, she had ran after him and grabbed at his face, kissing him with every ounce of her being, until they had both pulled away breathless, pecks of snow littered in her curls, her lips whispering a promise of three o'clock.
And he had grinned immensely, his lips meeting hers for a final time before her playful shove directed him to the sidewalk.
When she had nearly danced back into the building (quite reminiscent of Sleeping Beauty, after having met the prince in the forest), a few interns catching her behavior as a delirious smile was plastered upon her features, Gloria had appeared before her, her narrowed eyes peering over red-rimmed spectacles hanging off the end of her nose, foot tapping impatiently against the tiles below her, before she had thrust a file to Blair and stomped away in pure anger at Blair's obvious lateness, and most horribly, her lack of concern, considering she had never been late her entire life.
Frustration glittered within the confines of the emerald of Gloria's orbs as she spoke. "I've been informing you about your newest shoot for the past ten minutes, and not once have you stopped staring out the window."
Blair smiled sheepily, tugging a strand behind her ear and keeping her eyes trained on her very dear friend, who was currently glaring at Blair over the rims of her glasses. "I'm sorry, Gloria. I've just had a lot on my mind."
No use to let Gloria know exactly what was drifting across Blair's mind. The woman didn't need to be aware of everything, now, did she?
Gloria's lips tightened, her feet stepping closer to Blair as she removed her glasses. Her eyes always seemed to demand more honesty when their true color was not inhibited by the red plastic of her spectacles.
And all lengths of honesty were crucial at this point.
"This doesn't have to do anything with that man you were kissing outside this building, now, does it?"
Her voice was low and dangeorus, as if questioning Blair to deny. Blair breathed deeply, pursing her lips in an effort to think of a proper response. She hadn't been aware that Gloria had seen their public display of affection, but she had assumed it to be possible, given that the woman was currently overseeing her mother's projects in the states, and would be privy to scenes happening just outside her building. The two did not gossip about Blair's love life; in fact, Gloria tended to show little to no interest in the newest man that would enter Blair's life. And it wasn't that she didn't care for the romanticism of Blair's aura; instead, as Gloria explained, she had never deemed those countless men as the one who would capture Blair's heart. And considering Gloria's taste of character was absolutely impeccable, it did not surprise Blair in the least when Gloria showed no shock over her latest break-up.
And yet, never before had a public display of affection made electricity course through her veins.
She felt her cheeks grow aflame with heat at the thought that her near-mother had caught sight of her and Chuck's furious kiss outside the building. It had been far more passionate than usual, and she wondered how wide Gloria's eyes had gotten at the display, considering that the woman was a near-advocate of 1950's virtues and customs.
When Gloria's brows lifted, urging Blair to speak, Blair caught sight of the ground before her explanation. She could deny, could continue to keep her relationship with Chuck a secret for the time being.
After all, one night together didn't qualify a boyfriend-girlfriend status, now, did it?
And yet, the larger part of her, and probably the more selfish aspect of her being, yearned to inform people of their status. She wanted to yell it out to the world, scream it out for all of New York City to hear, that the most handsome man that had ever walked its streets was hers, and no one else's. She wanted to inform all of her friends of his enviable courtship; she wanted to offer her eternal thanks to Serena for her introduction.
And yet, she wanted to be certain that he was okay with her declarations.
"His name's Chuck."
Well, a name was a somewhat worthy explanation.
Even if it was the most pathetic response to Gloria's fiery gaze.
Gloria nodded slowly, her eyes continuing to watch Blair closely. Seconds passed as the two women stood before each other, illuminated by the foreboding sunshine streaming through the windows, even amongst a New York chill.
When she seemed to deem that enough of a response, Gloria spoke. "And this... Chuck character," she said slowly, testing the name on her tongue. "He makes you happy?"
Blair opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it after a moment.
How could she explain the utter feeling of completion she felt whenever in his presence?
How could she explain the way he made her feel absolutely stunning whenever he looked at her, the way he murmured her name with such adoration that she could melt into his arms?
How could she very well, indeed?
She smiled warmly, choosing to answer the question in the most honest of ways. "He makes me feel a lot of things, Gloria."
Gloria tightened her lips, nodding slowly, her eyes finally landing to the floor below them.
A long moment of silence passed before she spoke. "There are some pieces for you on the second floor. Go ahead and meet with Andrew."
Blair nodded slowly, her eyes catching sight of the expansive window as she left the room. She hadn't been expecting more from Gloria; after all, that was her pseudomother: brief, calm, and incredibly overbearing.
And Gloria remained in the room, her eyes still trained on the tiles below her, the ticking of the clock the only sound within the confines of the room. Her mind continued to replay the scene outside the building, of Blair running down to her stranger and turning him around quickly before gracing him with another kiss.
And although it was so fleeting, and certainly not enough to make a valid argument, she had seen those eyes.
She had seen those eyes before.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Eyes blissfully shut, Chuck took a long drag of the cigarette, releasing its contents as a wave of frigid air picked up speed in the near-deserted park. His body, physically exhausted from the multitude of emotions he had experienced these past few days, laid comfortably against the bench. Although the snow had significantly ended its frantic tirade that morning, the air was still engulfed with the chills of a New York winter. Legs spread out across the expanse of the darkened wood, one arm supported his head as the other continually brought the lit cigarette to his lips. The park was quiet and still in the late afternoon, occupying no visible inhabitants within its expanse.
Chuck relished in the silence. His thoughts proved to be far more compelling within the confines of an isolated environment. In fact, before he had boarded the plane off to New York, he had spent hours in his apartment, clearly and coherently organizing his plan to bewitch the Waldorf heiress. Silence provided him comfort; with comfort came confidence, and with confidence came a worthy venturing into his mind.
His brows furrowed as he heard a far-away voice make its presence known. He had been laying across that bench for hours now; any disturbance in said peace was most easily noted. Flicking the cigarette to the floor and crushing his shoe against the shortened stick, he sat up, hands running through his hair as he attempted to find the source of disruption into his thoughts.
His eyes caught sight of a figure near the trees, voice carrying with the wind as he muttered unintelligently to his cellphone. Chuck studied the unknown stranger, his eyes roaming over the character's leather jacket and age-old jeans. The man had light brown hair and a crooked nose even visible to him from afar. He looked obviously agitated, his hands diving into the pockets of his blue jeans as he balanced the cellular device against his shoulder, feet pacing across the snow-soaked grass below him.
Chuck turned away, his eyes catching sight of a large tree glittering with snow atop its lengthened branches. He hadn't wanted to draw unnecessary attention to himself; more probing questions would leave more room for error. And he was certainly not prepared for a subtle mistake in his pre-fabricated stories that would have Blair wondering.
Although New York City was a large expanse of people and words, the Upper East Side was a tight-knit group of gossiping society women and teenagers. He was sure that any indiscretion, or inaccurate and mismatched stories, would surely reach that collection of moneymakers. So, he kept his eyes casual, easily roaming over the expanse of the park as he lay back against the bench, his fingers diving into his pockets for much-desired warmth.
His ears had been trained in eavesdropping. When he heard the young man's exclaimed curse, and his eyes had darted over to the man to see him shove his cellular device into his pocket, he smirked inwardly. Although his reaction had been far more contained within Blair's library, the man's conversation clearly reminded him of his own failed attempt to end the entire assignment with his father. He was sure that the man was contemplating crushing his phone against the ground, just as he had the night before.
And yet, Chuck willed the furious pounding in his heart to cease as the stranger tugged his jacket closer to himself and trudged over to the bench beside him. He sat beside Chuck, breathing warmth into his hands and keeping his eyes set on the scene before him, leaning his weight against his knees. Chuck remained casual, his leg bouncing up and down against the other in a rhythmic fashion as he forced his eyes to keep their gaze to the fashionable trees glittered with blanketed snow.
"Cigarette on ya?"
Chuck's head immediately darted to the man beside him, catching sight of the tired, far-away blue-grey eyes of his newest companion. The man had handsome features, and Chuck assumed he was probably married as his glassy eyes gazed pleadingly. Offering the man a lengthened stick and a lighter, the man's hands nearly shook as he lit the stick, his eyes blissfully shutting as the glorious taste of tobacco filled his lungs.
"Fuckin' women and their fuckin' marriage proposals," the man cursed, his eyes still shut as he enjoyed the simple pleasure of nicotine. "They're fuckin' psychotic, that's what."
Chuck smirked at the man's exclamation, his nostrils catching the scent of alcohol permeating around the man's frame. He had obviously been drinking, judging by the gentle slurring of his words, and once again, he was not surprised by the utter freedom captured within the city.
"They fuck with our minds, and then get pissed when we wanna fuck 'em," the man slurred. "Well, fuck 'em, that's what I say!"
Chuck's expression was filled with amusement as he continued to watch the man's drunken logic. He was going to miss New York; the people here were absolutely unforgettable.
"Here's some advice, man," the stranger exclaimed, attempting to bring some control into his words. "When you find the one you love, get her the hell out of here!" he explained, his hands lifting upward in a dramatic gesture. "The women here get fuckin' psychotic together!"
Get her the hell out of here.
Get her the hell out of here.
Chuck's eyes widened at the man's words, his mind working incessantly at the logic that the man was providing.
Get her the hell out of here.
His mouth slightly parted, he nearly jumped out in joy at the solution that the man was providing.
Why deal with his father's incessant calling when he could just... take Blair away? Get her away from the threat of her family's uncovering, and the surrounding gossiping community, and the threat of discovery of why he had initially come to New York. Get her away from the continuous missed calls his father would leave on his phone, the items he would surely get delivered, the threat of looking over his shoulder to make sure they were alone.
Get her away from the possibility of losing her.
In a perfected world, where there did not exist family vendettas, dangerous businessmen, and the possibility of destroying her, he could be free to love her.
He could be free to love her.
But where could he take her? Where could he escape where he could buy time to convince his father he was unsuccessful, where her family wouldn't question her whereabouts, where there would exist no chance of discovery?
"Paris is undoubtedly a beautiful city, Blair. But it's Venice you have to see before you die."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blair ran her hand through her perfected curls for a third time, already certain that the strands were classically falling down her back in splendid and enviable curls. Time and experience reminded her of such a worthwhile conclusion.
As well as the fact that she had ventured to the bathroom three times since she had arrived.
The cafe rested at a streetside corner near Chuck's hotel, and it had far beseeched her expectations. The tables were decorated in egg-shell white tableclothes with matching chairs. Various lights illuminated the expanse of the dining area, along with some modern pieces scattered in the area, and classical music gently pleased her ears as she sat waiting at a table set for two. Thankfully, when she had arrived, the restaurant hadn't been nearly as crowded as it should have been, so finding a table near the large expansive windows had been simple and waitless. She was extremely pleased with Chuck's choice of location; as she had passed through the desert aisle, the chocolate eclaires had looked so tantalizing that they had nearly called out for a quick taste.
Her eyes glanced at the clock hanging against the wall. She had been sitting in the cafe for nearly 40 minutes; it was now three-thirty, and Chuck hadn't arrived at the scene. It probably wouldn't have bothered Blair as intensely if the man two tables ahead of her wasn't attempting to catch eyes with her, or smile a thousand-watt smile that probably would have worked with any other woman. Blair nearly cringed at the man's wide smile; didn't men know that a smirk or a little light in the eyes was far more sexy and appealing than a full on kid-in-a-candy-store smile?
Then again, after comparing anything to the courtship of Chuck, nothing really could please her.
Her mind attempted to focus on any other object; she ran her hands over the blue skirt and white stockings, crossing her legs demurely as her fingers drummed against the countertop. Just as the man rose from his seat after leaving a generous tip (probably for her benefit, she concluded), and she was about to dart out of that cafe as quick as her Jimmy Choos would carry her, Chuck entered the cafe doors, his breath heavy and labored as he caught sight of Blair rising from her seat.
With quick, determined strides, he stalked over to her, grabbed her at her waist, and pressed his lips against hers, fingers digging into the fabric of her blue skirt.
Blair's surprised expression didn't falter the kiss; by the time she pulled away, they were both gasping for air, and she was slightly dazed from the intensity of their encounter.
"Wow," she exclaimed with a breathless sigh, ears unaware of the gossiping patrons already discussing the man who had stomped over to a woman and thrust one of the heaviest kisses they had ever seen upon her. Chuck smiled at her expression and pulled out two slips of paper from his pocket, planted them directly before her eyes, unwilling to allow her time to recover from their encounter.
Her eyes went from his to slightly focus on the words printed on the paper before her orbs.
And widened eyes returned back to his.
"Chuck..." she spoke quietly, her incredulity thrilling him to his core. "Chuck, that's a plane ticket to Venice with my name on it."
Chuck smirked classically, planting the second piece of paper before her gaze.
"And that's a plane ticket to Venice with your name on it."
Her voice was laced with disbelief and shock, and yet, he couldn't seem to will the smirk on his face to disappear.
Finally, he spoke when he was sure she had had enough time to wonder. "I had to wait in line on the phone for hours to call my office," he explained, unwilling to allow her to believe he had been late to their lunch date for the simplicities of time. "But I got the plane."
Her shocked eyes continued to stare at his before she smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and sat atop the chair to will her shaking legs to relax. Chuck joined her, placing the tickets atop the table as he faced her eyes.
"Of course, the weather isn't the best it can be," he spoke, his voice animated and quick, "and I'm sure there are other places you could suggest, but I wouldn't take you if I knew you weren't going to love it. The gelato is unforgettable; there's a little place right by our hotel that sells the best fresh gelato in the country. It's light, rich, and creamy all at the same time, and it's busy all the time, and the tourists inhabit the area, take pictures and butcher the language, but you'll be with me, and pretty soon, you'll pick up as much Italian as you can, because you're clever like that. And I can show you that scene in your painting; hell, I'll take you to all the damn museums in the country, there's literally one on every street corner and wherever you go, and the locals there are so willing to talk about art; it's their history and their pride and their joy in life. And you can sit in a gondola at night, when there's a section of the city that gets so quiet late at night that all you can hear is the slow water moving below you and nothing else. And I can picture you sitting in a gondola, and the white of your skin will shine against the blue of the water, and I'll sit right beside you and stay quiet so you can enjoy the silence, or if you want we can talk about what we did that day and who we met and what we saw and what we learned, and you'll love the fireworks in the city square because it's so alive, and the people are alive and they sing and dance and they'll show you the moon and the stars and whatever you want because you're Blair, and you say the word, and I'll have it delivered to you in a heartbeat."
He hadn't planned on rambling, but as soon as he had caught sight of her incredulous expression, the words had just sped out of his mouth. Blair watched him take a heavy breath after his speech, her eyes soft and warm upon his form as he gazed at her for a response. She was sure her heart was at the bottom of her chest as she sighed heavily, avoiding his eyes.
"Chuck..." she murmured, taking a moment of silence before continuing. "This is a beautiful gesture, and I would take it in a heartbeat, but..."
She found she couldn't continue. He had been looking at her with such adoration, and creating a heartfelt canvas of the time they would spend in one of the most romantic cities in the world, that she felt that she herself couldn't understand why she herself was declining it.
Chuck nodded slowly, his words slow and pointed. "You have work."
She glanced back at his eyes, unwilling to confront the fact that the light she had seen in them before, right before he had kissed her, had dimmed out, and all that was left was a dull brown hazel. "If it was any other time in my life..."
Chuck pursed his lips, nodding slowly and glancing back at the tickets atop the table. Silence passed as the two stared at the slips of paper, evidence of one of the most romantic and one of the most insane acts a man had ever performed for her.
"I just have this huge shoot coming up, and I've got only a few days to really step up my performance. This is one of the largest accounts in the country. My mother's counting on me."
Chuck scoffed at her words, his eyes staring outside the expansive window by his side. "I knew it."
Her eyes narrowed at his response and the callous way with which he had spoken. "You knew what?"
He turned back to her, his eyes dark and dangerous.
He knew it was a low blow, and she would react with the harshest of glares, and it certainly wasn't the way to entice her to accompany him. In fact, his mind was commanding him to pause his train of thought, retrieve the tickets, have lunch with her, and maintain some dignity in the entire operation.
And yet, logistics had not aided him for a long time.
The way she had so easily dismissed the offer with the most pathetic of excuses made him feel many emotions. Here he was, offering her an exclusive romantic getaway to Italy, and her only response was Sorry, maybe next time.
"You're afraid of love."
The moment he had said it, he yearned to take it back. Sure, he knew all about her romantic history from hours of research at the library, and he certainly couldn't be deemed an expert in her love life.
And yet, how could she say no after all they had shared?
She pulled back a bit, her eyes widened and shock coursing through her veins as her voice grew louder. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
And yet, the accusatory tone with which he spoke gave him power.
"It's why you were so quick to accuse me of hurting you that one night. You don't believe in love, so as soon as you grew suspicious, you took it. That's why you're so eager to throw your work excuse at me. You can't handle what could happen between us."
The way he spoke so slowly and deliberately, eyes meeting hers, as if challenging her to deny, made enraged chocolate eyes glared back at him.
"I'm not afraid of love! I've been in love, I'll have you know!"
His eyes showed amusement as he glared back. He knew every one of her serious boyfriends, and none of them could be deemed as her one and only. In fact, each one was worse than the next. "Oh really? Who?"
She leaned back against her chair, her voice laced with fake superiority. "I was in love in high school. A wonderful guy named Nate."
Chuck scoffed at her response. The boy's name had come up a few times in the society pages, but he wasn't too much of a celebrity anymore in the Upper East Side since moving away a few years ago. "Give me a break, Blair. High school doesn't count."
Blair shook her head at him, growing angrier by the second. The way he had just so easily dismissed what she had with Nate...
Just who did he think he was, believing he knew all about her love life and everything that had happened in her past?
"You don't even know me, Chuck. A few weeks together doesn't constitute any sort of well-based opinion."
Chuck's eyes narrowed at her form. "You want to prove I don't know you?" he exclaimed, moving closer until he was merely a few inches from her face. "Come with me to Venice."
Breathing harshly, Blair kept her enraged eyes locked with his, unwilling to prove to him that he could dictate the course of their conversation.
But even so, she couldn't deny his beauty.
"Take your ticket. I'll be waiting for you at the airport tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. If you show up, we'll go together," he explained, his words spoken clearly and slowly. "If not, then I wish you luck in your shoot, and everything else you venture into in your life."
And with that, Chuck rose from his seat, tucked his plane ticket into the inside lapel of his jacket, and departed from the restaurant.
Leaving an enraged Blair staring at the ticket before her eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As such, I'm usually insane about editing, but I gave myself a break this time :) Please let me know of any serious errors :)
As always, reviews are adored!
The CB adventure has just begun :) Next chapter should be posted within a week or two.
Thanks for reading, and enjoy your weekend!