Forgetting the Past to Start a Future

by nondescriptf

Slight AU future fic post 4x09 - only the conversation at the saints and sinners ball ended with Blair walking away from Chuck. Set 5 years in the future. C/B.

25. epilogue: without a doubt

A fresh dusting of snow settled on the rooftops and city streets of Paris. It was early afternoon just three days before Christmas, and while the sun shined brightly, there was still a crisp chill in the air. As he walked along the crowded Boulevard, he slipped into the popular department store, Printemps, to locate the Agent Provocateur shop he had been instructed was inside. Stepping into the building, he shook his head, freeing some loose snow from his dark hair. He pulled off his gloves and slipped them into his coat pocket and slowly made his way to the escalator that would lead him downstairs to the underground level that housed the famed lingerie store.

It was a bit of a madhouse all around, last minute shopping for the Joyeux Noel just around the corner, being the largest culprit. Walking through the glass doors, he realized he was entering a place where women went in preparation for the seduction of their male counterparts. He noted that the store was filled with more men than women, as he watched some of his fellow, yet clearly clueless, brethren try to explain to the helpful sales staff what size they thought their significant other might wear. He slowly spun around taking in the sights of the beautifully displayed creations of decadent fabrics—all designed to allure and entice.

Making his way towards the back wall, he began to flip through row after row of slips made from the smoothest silks and beautifully stitched laces. Almost every item in the shop was something he wanted to peel off the new woman in his life—it had only been a short couple of weeks since he had met her, but she had started to mend his heart that had been devastated by the loss of Blair. Part of him was tempted to simply purchase everything he fancied, but it might be a little too soon to shower her with too many tokens of his affection. He wanted to proceed cautiously this time—take things slow, do things right—actually paying attention to what the signs were telling him and not just what he wanted to hear.

His eyes fastened onto a white lacy babydoll slip, trimmed with marabou, a white satin ribbon tied into a bow worn across one shoulder. It was luxurious, but had just a hint of tawdry, and the idea of presenting it to Celeste excited him. He visualized untying the ribbon with his teeth and he had no doubt that the statuesque blonde would squeal in delight before sinking to her knees to show her gratitude. The further away he got from dark-haired brunettes with porcelain skin and ruby red lips, the better it would be for him.

As he kept assessing piece after piece of lingerie, all of which he assumed would only enhance Celeste's many charms, he got closer and closer towards the door that led to the private dressing rooms. From the corner of his eye, on the rack of items to be returned to the sales floor, he spotted a black sheer mesh corset that screamed so much more naughty than he had originally planned on. He hesitated a moment before entering the lounge area, but a quick glance told him that no sales attendant would be available for him, and it wasn't as if he was going into one of the rooms to peep. Laughing at himself for his unexpectedly prudish behavior, he charged up to the rack holding the tempting fabric. He noted with irony that it just happened to be Celeste's size—he had dutifully taken note of all the measurements that corresponded with her preferred brands.

While debating if purchasing both items would be viewed as too much of a declaration of interest, he distantly heard the sounds of heated grunting and moaning. As he stretched out an arm to take the garment off of the rack, a hauntingly familiar, but not quite placeable, feminine voice let off an impassioned curse—fuck me harder, now! His eyes widened in merriment at the rather adventurous couple taking advantage of the holiday crush to make their own yuletide memories. Grabbing the corset, as he did not wish to play auditory voyeur, he was about to make his way back into the showroom, when the woman started moaning louder and louder—Yes! Just like that! He couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew that voice, it was so distinct. He uncharacteristically flushed a shade of red as she started to climax and he quickly stepped out of earshot.

Still, he managed to linger close by the dressing rooms—it wouldn't hurt to see who came out. He would make sure to be discreet, and the lady in question would have no idea that he bore witness to her little show. While loitering, he went back to the white babydoll that had first caught his eye, and selected Celeste's size—one for Noel and one for New Year's, he rationalized.

"We really do have to stop meeting like this." A deeply satisfied, gravelly male voice said.

His head snapped up as he recognized the one male voice he would know anywhere. Suddenly, he shuddered as he realized who the amorous occupants of the dressing room were.

"Perhaps if you kept your hands to yourself, I could spend my time actually trying on these items instead of you ripping my clothes off of me," the female voice huffed.

"Did I attack myself while we were at La Perla?" The man mused out loud. "I do recall an insatiable brunette grabbing me by my tie and dragging me into their dressing room. There is nothing more enjoyable than personally pulling your La Perlas in a bunch."

"That was almost two hours ago, Chuck," his ex-fiancé reasoned. Her voice was sultry and full of mischief, he noted. He could hear the happiness oozing out of her voice, and strangely he knew that it had absolutely nothing to do with her sexual satisfaction.

"When we arrive at Chantal Thomass, I may find the need to remind you of that, should you need convincing," Chuck smarmed.

From the mirror, Louis was unable to stop watching them, captivated by the couple's interactions.

Blair crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "If you think you'll get a repeat performance while they're fitting me for my custom items, you have another thing coming to you, Bass."

"Promises, promises," Chuck laughed. There was a playful glint in his eyes as he reached out and pulled Blair close to him.

She rolled her eyes, as her hands went straight to his tie, smoothing it to lie properly. Blair proceeded to run her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the same locks that she assuredly disarrayed.

Louis noted that there was no engagement ring on her finger, but found himself even more shocked when Blair tugged on Chuck's jacket lapels and pulled him towards her so she could brush her lips against his. But the kiss he witnessed—a mere three feet behind him—was no simple peck, it was an I'm kissing you as though it were my last time type of kiss, in full view of everyone. When Chuck pulled away, he growled at her and Blair bit her lip as her eyes seemed to flood with a resurgence of lust. Louis grew uncomfortable as he debated between making a quick dash to the cash register or if he should just make a clean getaway and come back later after Chuck and Blair had left the shop.

"If you want, we can skip Carine Gilson and call it an early night," Blair offered.

Chuck snorted. "Please, so you can hold it over my head that you didn't get to go to every lingerie shop in Paris? We flew out an entire day early just so we could fulfill this request of yours."

"Well if someone would stop ruining all my delicates, than we wouldn't need to replace them all, would we?"

"That's impossible, Waldorf," Chuck said softly. "That would somehow imply that I didn't find you to be the sexiest and most fuckable woman alive—or that I have some semblance of self-control around you."

Blair's eyes twinkled as she glowed from his words. With a sly smile, she gently teased back, "I love how you make it seem like lingerie shopping is all about me, when you and I both know it's more like you're buying yourself a present you'll be unwrapping later."

Chuck shrugged. "I can't help it if I derive pleasure out of your spending my money."

"Well if that's the case, why don't we get two more of that Baroness Slip, I absolutely adore it, and so did you. Besides, it'll annoy me to no end when you shred it later tonight," Blair said cheekily.

"Whatever you want," Chuck said with a wink. "I'll have the sales girl add it to our pile."

"Don't be silly, I can just grab them myself. I don't want to wait forever. Plus, I'm suddenly ravenous for macarons. Nothing is better than knowing that Pierre Hermes is just around the block. Besides, the slips should be in the corner right there—Oompf!"

He cursed himself for being a half-step too slow. He had been so caught up in listening to their banter, that he hadn't managed to avoid Blair walking directly into him. As he bent down to pick up the items that fell from his hands, he heard a sharp intake of breath—one that belonged to someone very male.

"Louis," Blair greeted him warmly, as she leaned over and kissed each of his cheeks.

She looked absolutely beautiful, as always. It was almost startling that while his heart still skipped a beat, he didn't feel overwhelmed by the flood of emotions.

"Blair," he returned politely. He could feel the glare of her lover, boring into the side of his face as he pulled out of her light embrace. Louis nodded his head. "Bass."

"Grimaldi," Chuck clipped back, as he wrapped his arms around Blair's waist holding her close to him.

He noted how Chuck's stance was overtly possessive, but that Blair leaned back against him, as though it was the only place she was supposed to be—at his side.

"Joyeux Noel!" Blair said. She was either clearly unaware of the animosity between the two of them or entirely too amused.

"What brings you back to Paris?" He inquired.

"My parents, of course," she answered simply. Then she looked up at Chuck and with a wicked smile on her face said, "This one begged me to let him tagalong, went so far as to sneak into my carry-on. Now I'm subjected to his company for the next two weeks."

"You may want to check with your parental units, Waldorf. They called me daily, trying to insure that I'd accompany you. I think they miss me more than they miss you," Chuck answered wryly. He ignored Blair's faux indignation and carried on. "In fact, the day before we left, Cyrus called me four times, and that was in addition to Eleanor's three calls."

Louis ignored the pang of irritation at the revelation that Cyrus preferred Chuck to him. He was well aware of Blair's very unorthodox, but close-knit relationship with her stepfather. She had always confided in Cyrus in a way she did not with her mother nor her father or Roman. Cyrus had always been perfectly friendly towards him, but Louis had never felt any sort of genuine warmth. Now, he understood the why, he apparently was championing Chuck's cause. And if that wasn't enough, he could not remember Eleanor ever calling him, unless it was to return one of his calls. After he had proposed to Blair, however, there were frequent phone calls—but only to discuss the details of their engagement party.

"In that case, you can miss me while you pay for my items. I'm going to Pierre Hermes, I'll meet you at the limo?"

It seemed as though Blair's blatant distaste for limousines had disappeared with the reemergence of Chuck in her life. It was yet another reminder of how different this version of Blair was to the one he had been with.

"As you wish," Chuck agreed.

Blair turned back to him and looked at the items in his hands and smiled. "It seems like you're doing well, Louis. It was good to see you. Joyeux Noel!"

"It was good to see you, too," Louis admitted honestly. He couldn't help but add with just a hint of bitterness, "I don't think I've ever seen you happier."

She smiled back at him with a rueful, albeit radiant smile, before gazing at Chuck. She stood on her tip-toes and brushed her lips lightly against Chuck's. Without breaking eye contact from her lover, she answered, "I've never been happier in my life."

Louis watched as Chuck's entire countenance shifted. In adoration, Chuck brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed each finger tip, causing Blair to flush as she tugged her hand free reluctantly. Finally she turned to wave goodbye at him, before she shot one last look at Chuck and disappeared out the door.

The two men stared at each other warily. Louis was the first to look away. He turned his focus to the cash register that had only one customer in line, as the store had thinned out during their all too awkward encounter. Gesturing towards the register, Chuck nodded while leaning over to acquire the two slips Blair had requested, before following him into line.

"Congratulations on winning Blair," Louis said stiltedly.

"No thanks to you," Chuck acknowledged with a hint of an edge. "But from the looks of it, you seem to be moving on."

Briefly his thoughts turned to Celeste and he couldn't help but smile. "I am. And strangely, I think it's for the best, everything worked out as it should."

Chuck grunted as both men stood there unhappily.

"I'm surprised to see the absence of an engagement ring on Blair's finger," Louis admitted. "I thought that was the first thing you would do the moment she returned to you."

"You know nothing about me or my relationship with Blair," Chuck hissed icily.

His eyes widened in shock. Clearly, this was a touchy subject. Instead of backing off, he found a strange joy in getting under Chuck's skin. After all, had the man in front of him not swooped in and stolen his future? Perhaps, it wasn't in the cards for he and Blair, but it could've been. Unable to stop himself, Louis continued to poke at the younger man. "If I were you, I would ask her, and quickly—she has been known to change her mind."

Before Chuck could open his mouth, another sales girl came up and began to ring up the large pile of items that Blair had collected. Louis internally chortled with glee that he had managed to get the last word.

When it was his turn to be rung up, the two men stood side by side, paying for the astronomically pricy scraps of fabric. Louis did his best not to gawk at the five-figure total Chuck had amassed. As the two men finished their transactions simultaneously, they both made their way out the door—Louis with his singular bag, Chuck with his half dozen.

Louis flashed a strained smile in the direction of his former opponent. "Hopefully we won't have to run into one another again. And as you Americans say, Merry Christmas."

He turned to make his way back to the escalator when Chuck's voice stopped him.

"Grimaldi."

Forced to turn back around, Louis met Chuck's eyes.

"If I were you, I'd watch your back. Despite the fact that you meddled, things worked out between Blair and myself—as they were destined to." Chuck issued out a warning, "However, payback is my middle name. And you might find yourself battling against enemies you hadn't known existed."

He was confused by the younger man's words. What in the world was Chuck talking about? "Excuse me?"

"I've taken a recent interest in French pharmaceuticals. It's amazing how easy it was to accumulate a large block of shares, if you're willing to pay the right price," Chuck elaborated. "It would be a shame to see your family lose the strong grasp they have on the Board of Directors."

Louis was speechless as his head started to pound. "Are you threatening me?"

"I prefer the term friendly reminder," Chuck said coolly. "I'm not planning on doing anything, yet. Perhaps, never."

"Blair wouldn't—"

"You don't know her like I do, never have, never will," Chuck mocked. "Besides, who do you think tipped me in that direction?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You never know when I may wake up and decide that today is the day I need to seek vengeance on you. The idea of watching you squirm brings me great pleasure," Chuck finished with steel in voice. "Joyeux Noel."

With that, Chuck turned on his heel and disappeared into the throng of the holiday shoppers, leaving a gaping Louis Grimaldi staring after his wake.

.

.

.

The drive from Paris to Harold and Roman's vineyard in Lyon was approximately five hours, give or take, depending on the traffic. They hadn't even been in the limo for an hour when Blair stretched out and laid her head into his lap and promptly fell asleep. After the unfortunate run-in with Louis, he had been insatiable last night—keeping her up until nearly six a.m. The unnecessary reminder that he had almost lost her to that frog disguised as a prince drove his need for the physical reassurance that she was his—and only his. Blair had smiled indulgently, before she allowed herself to be ravished and then the smile had slipped from her lips as he made her sob his name all night. And the silk slip of lingerie purchased earlier that afternoon had been shredded to pieces—it really was a good thing they had bought more than one.

Chuck stroked her hair as she let out a slightly breathy moan. He loved staring at her in slumber, a habit they both shared, as one never tired of watching the other sleep. Using his forefinger, he started tracing the delicate lines of her face, before lingering to repeatedly run his finger against her lips. Regretfully, he forced himself to withdraw his hand, not wanting to wake her from her much needed rest—he had gotten to sleep until almost noon, while she had a nine a.m. breakfast date with Eleanor, Dorota and Anastasia. He and Blair were driving down to Lyon a day earlier than the Roses, who were to arrive in time for Christmas Eve dinner.

In all honesty, he was surprised that he had been unable to outsmart Blair and gain an audience alone with Eleanor and Cyrus. Although Harold may be her biological father, Chuck somehow knew that getting the Roses' permission to marry Blair would be equally as important. He had been certain that Blair would meet up with a friend or two, but she had surprised him when she told him that it was a family only trip.

She had looked him squarely in the eyes and said, "Other than Mother, Cyrus, Daddy and Roman—you are the only person I want to spend time with."

When he had inquired if that excluded Dorota and Anastasia, Blair hadn't even bothered to answer him and just rolled her eyes. She knew he was purposely being obtuse, as they clearly fell in her special category of both the help and family. Besides, why else would Chuck loan Dorota and her family the private jet so she could spend the holidays in Poland, if she wasn't family?

In a last ditch effort to steal a moment alone with Eleanor and Cyrus, Chuck had mentioned how he noticed that she hadn't bought her ridiculously large candy canes to bring to Lyon. Blair had paused for a moment and looked at him strangely, only to inform him that she had ordered them online and had them shipped directly to the vineyard at the beginning of the month. There was nothing else he could do but force a proud smile at her ingenuity.

Chuck sighed as he realized the need to plot out a way to get all four of her parents into a room and ask them for permission to marry their daughter. He was certain they would be thrilled that he had even bothered to ask, he would just have to omit the fact that he had already tried to propose on four separate occasions, and failed miserably. Well, technically, he had actually proposed the first time, but it had been unplanned and did it count as a proposal if Blair had never heard or acknowledged it?

He was fuming as he paced back and forth on the jet. He might have to fire Sam for scheduling this trip. He recalled his personal assistant promising that it was unavoidable—it would just be a short day trip to Chicago.

Ever since he and Blair returned from their week-long vacation to Greece—most of which had been spent on a private yacht, he couldn't remember being any happier. There was something eternally magical about Blair and how she managed to make each day more perfect than the last. He knew he was travelling into nauseatingly sappy territory—but he couldn't help that it was the case. He had never been filled with such peace before.

Unfortunately, the day before the Make-A-Wish Foundation fundraiser, that was being hosted by the NYU Business School, was when this urgent meeting was scheduled to take place. He had hoped that Blair would want to make the trip with him, seeing as her closest schoolmate from Yale resided there. But Blair had managed to finagle a spot on the planning committee earlier that month, despite her deferred status as a student. When she had shared the good news with him, she told him how thrilled she was that no one had even brought up his name or inquired if she could work her magic on him. She had managed to charm the committee by dangling her meticulous social connections alone, and therefore declined the offer to accompany him to the windy city. But not before she informed him that Bass Industries would be making a sizable donation, and he had been all too happy to open his checkbook.

What was supposed to be a six-hour trip, snowballed into an overnight stay when a leak had been discovered with the Bass jet. Of course Sam had taken advantage of the delay and scheduled three additional meetings for the following day—seeing as Chuck was already in Chicago. And then, if that hadn't been enough to keep him out of New York—a ten-car pile up on the way to O'Hare had set him back two more hours. This further soured his mood—he was already grumpy from having been unable to spend the night with Blair, in their bed. He knew that he was lucky that they had managed to fix his jet in such an expedient manner, but due to the massive car accident that caused his tardiness, his jet had to wait to depart. As he sat in frustration, he decided that if his plane wasn't off the ground in ten minutes, he was prepared to fly commercial, just so he could show up to the fundraising event.

When he had spoken to Blair earlier while sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic waiting for the accident to be cleared, he could hear the disappointment in her voice. He knew she wasn't upset with him, and if anything, she completely understood. That had only amplified his desire to make it to the event, and he had teasingly reminded her that she had promised to wear the Herve Leger dress that he had custom made for her. But as the minutes ticked by, he knew she had left for the fundraiser without him to escort her, and he had been unable to stop pacing, refusing to buckle into his seat as the plane landed.

He all but ran down the plane stairs and leapt into the limo. Before he could decide if his suit would be sufficient for the event or if he had to stop at home to change, Arthur informed him that his tuxedo was hanging in the back of the car, as per Miss Waldorf's instruction. Chuck smiled gratefully as he raised the divider so he could slip into his formalwear. He sat back in his seat restlessly, while fiddling with his birthday cufflinks. A quick glance at his watch told him that he had missed the dinner outright, but he would make it in time for the schmoozing and dancing.

Arthur could not open the door fast enough as Chuck rushed through media row in hot pursuit of his girlfriend. This was an important evening for her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel as though her victories were less valuable than his—he wanted her to know he supported her completely. His eyes quickly scanned the room in search of his favorite brunette. He recognized the nape of her neck from a mile away and started to make his way through the crowded room. It was nearly thirty minutes later when he finally reached her—there were far too many familiar faces that had urged him to stop and chat that he simply could not ignore.

To his great displeasure, the sight that welcomed him was anything but. His exquisite girlfriend who looked absolutely fuckworthy in that short, black dress was locked into a far too animated discussion with a man whose eyes were hanging out of its sockets and all but staring down her dress. Chuck suppressed the urge to walk over and punch the man in his face, as Blair reached out and touched the stranger on his arm, while she threw her head back in laughter. The man leaned in closer, and whispered in her ear as she listened in rapt fascination. Unable to tolerate it any longer, he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush against his as he pressed kisses onto her bare shoulder.

"Chuck!" Blair squealed as she turned around to throw her arms around him.

Ignoring the man in their presence, he let his hands roam up and down her back, as he proceeded to kiss her possessively, leaving her breathless when he finally drew away minutes later. She pulled away from him slowly, lust clouding her eyes, but he detected the hint of confusion at his over-the-top display.

The jealousy that emanated in him reared its ugly head when Blair turned back to the stranger and tried to introduce him.

"Chuck, this is Tom Simons, he's a prof—"

"Blair's boyfriend, Chuck Bass," he interrupted icily. He glared at the man whose eyes widened in recognition.

She looked at him oddly as he half-heartedly shook the man's hand. Tom glanced briefly over at Blair and back to him before he quickly made his excuses and left.

Before Blair could even say a word, he pulled her back into his arms and pressed his forehead against hers. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she said softly with a smile. "You made it."

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything—I was even willing to fly commercial for you," he said conspiratorially.

"My knight in shining armor," she said mockingly as she adjusted his bowtie.

He smirked at her as she kept toying with his neckwear.

"So, what was that all about with Tom?" She asked casually. "That was a bit rude, wouldn't you say?"

"Rude?" Chuck scoffed.

"Yes, rude," Blair said tightly.

He gently removed her hands from his neck, as he laced their fingers together.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said smoothly. "You know I get tunnel vision when I see you—and it's been nearly thirty-six hours."

She pursed her lips for a moment before plastering on her society face. As the Holmbergs approached them, she murmured to him softly, "We'll talk about this when we get home."

"Not if I can help it," he muttered under his breath before greeting the chairman of the BI Board of Directors.

Despite the tension that was bubbling beneath the surface, they had managed to avoid letting it ruin the night. Blair even sat in his lap on the ride home as they made out like high schoolers. But just as they stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse, the mood shifted.

As Blair slipped out of her shoes and walked into her closet, she called out behind her, "Are you going to explain that little scene from earlier tonight?"

"What scene? We were scene-free," Chuck countered as he shrugged out of his coat, and undid his bow tie. He moved to the doorway of her closet and watched her place her shoes onto a shelf, before slipping off her earrings.

"Oh, so I was imagining the fact that you were being rude and dismissive to Tom when you arrived?" She asked as she turned around to face him.

"Yes," he said nonchalantly.

"I don't believe you," Blair said flatly. "What is this all about?"

He shrugged.

"Just tell me what happened that made you behave like a jackass after you mauled me in front of a colleague?" She said in exasperation.

He crossed his arms and said nothing. But Blair stared him down until he was forced to speak.

"You," Chuck accused with a scowl on his face, "were doing that Waldorf thing."

"Excuse me?" Blair sneered. "And what exactly is a 'Waldorf' thing?"

"Like you don't know," he childishly spat.

She threw her arms up in disbelief as she hissed at him, "No, you idiot, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. So please enlighten me, just what is it that I've done."

"You know what you did, Blair," Chuck said stubbornly. He shook his head and refused to make eye contact with her. He had only been late two hours, and it hadn't even been his fault!

"How old are you—six? Anastasia is better behaved than the way you're acting right now."

"I'm eight and a half," he said petulantly.

"Chuck," Blair said icily. "You have exactly sixty seconds to tell me what you meant, or so help me—I will kick you out of my penthouse for the night."

"That's a little extreme, wouldn't you say?" He finally turned and arched a brow at her.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, lifting her dainty wrist and tapping on an imaginary watch.

"Very well," he said crossly. "You were doing that thing, where you give your complete and full attention to a man, and fool him into thinking you're interested in him. You just turn those eyes of yours into limpid pools and make a man drown in your presence. And you were letting that stiff think he actually had a chance with you."

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Blair sputtered.

"Nope."

"Chuck, if you had let me introduce you, you would know that he's a professor at NYU! I'll be taking classes with him next semester."

"I'm sure he'd just love some one-on-one private tutoring," he said sarcastically. He shook his head. "Blair, the man was undressing you with his eyes. Believe me when I tell you he had absolutely no interest in that devious little brain of yours. Your delectable body, however—now that was something that held his complete attention."

Blair stood in front of him in utter shock.

"If you saw the expression on his face when I kissed you, you would believe me. Men cannot be trusted around beautiful women, and Blair, no one is more stunning than you are," Chuck said in a matter of fact voice. He couldn't resist adding, "You know, it wouldn't have hurt to let him know that you're taken. I'm sure your 'professor' has heard of me."

"You are fucking unbelievable!" Blair shrilled. "I'll have you know, we were just discussing the required reading. He was about to suggest some additional texts I might find interesting, seeing as I wanted a leg up on the competition. And for your information, he's married with a baby on the way."

"And you believed him?" Chuck scoffed. "It's not in you to be so gullible, Waldorf. But don't think you're blameless. Did you really have to wear that dress?"

He should have known that he crossed the line when she froze in place. But he was far too irritated with the fact that he had witnessed this man practically drooling over Blair and she had been actively encouraging him.

"Are you talking about this dress?" She gestured towards the skintight garment on her body. "That you bought for me?"

"I bought it for you to wear, when escorted by me."

"Then I guess someone should have been on time tonight, shouldn't he?"

"I told you, Blair, it wasn't my fault that there was a car accident on my way to O'Hare. I got here as quickly as possible. It's a miracle I was only two hours late."

She ignored him as she continued on. "And I wore this dress because you asked me to wear it tonight. In fact, if I recall correctly, yesterday morning before you left, you told me that nothing would make you happier than if I wore this dress to the benefit. And then later this afternoon when you called, you reminded me just how much you wanted to see me in this dress. But apparently, I should've known better than to wear it anyway. Poor little, stupid Blair, can't be left unattended, because if she is, she will undoubtedly let every single man on the planet hit on her, and daresay, encourage him, all because some Basshole is late!"

"Blair, that's not what I said." Chuck gritted his teeth.

"You are fucking ridiculous! Are you even hearing yourself? Do I ever tell you you're doing that Bass thing, when you smirk at the twelve million women who throw themselves at you?" She shrieked at him.

"Blair—"

"No! You listen to me! I want to know how engaging in a conversation with a member of the opposite sex is suddenly something I do? Am I not allowed to smile at a man? Should you write me a pre-approved list of men I'm allowed to interact with? Because if you think that's going to happen, you are sadly mistaken." She railed at him. "I don't even bat an eye when those gold digging hussies sidle up, put their hands all over you and try to shove their tongues down your throat! Do I cause a scene? Do I thrust myself between you and whomever, simply because you're being polite and smiling as to not draw attention to it? Of course not, because I'm not a NeanderBass!"

Her eyes were blazing and completely furious. And if he hadn't burst out into laughter in that exact moment, he was quite convinced she would have carried on for at least another hour. Once he started laughing, he just couldn't stop. This was their first real fight and there wasn't a single ounce of him that was scared he was going to lose her. He wanted to fight with her, and only her, for the rest of his life.

As a wide grin crossed his face, Blair screamed in frustration as she grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head.

"Now, Blair," he started to say. "You exaggerate when you say twelve million women, perhaps there have been a couple of dozen, but—"

"URGH! I hate you!"

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him towards the door.

"Blair, it's not what you think, I'm not laughing at you—"

She pushed him even harder as she hissed at him. "No, why would I think that? Could it be your uncontrollable bout of, I don't know, laughter?"

He wanted to stop laughing, really he did, but she was being so adorable and he was so happy, that he just couldn't keep a straight face.

"Well, you enjoy yourself in the guest room tonight, because you sure as hell aren't sleeping in here!"

The door slammed loudly and he heard the click of the lock falling into place. A smile remained on his face as he jiggled the handle to confirm what he already knew to be true.

"Blair," he whispered loudly.

He leaned against the door with a goofy smile on his face as his ear strained to hear a response.

"Blair!" He sing-songed a minute later.

When it had been another few minutes free of any retorts, it became apparent he was receiving the silent treatment. He was curious to see how long that was going to last, especially with what he planned on saying next.

Clearing his throat before using his most cajoling voice, he said, "Blair, I know you can hear me. And I'm sure you're so fucking annoyed with me that you want to kick me repeatedly. But the reason I was laughing isn't for the reason you think. It made me realize how lucky I am. There is no one else in the world I'd rather fight with, for the rest of my life, than you. So what do you say, Waldorf? Let's make it official—marry me."

He stood up straight and waited for the Blair to open the door or say something. It had been well over fifteen minutes when he realized that he was still waiting for an indication that she had even heard him. He pounded on the door.

"I'm more than willing to beg, grovel at your feet, but make no mistake—we're getting married. A yes would be an appropriate answer," Chuck said.

Still, there was no sign of life from the other side. He pressed his ear against the door but couldn't hear a thing. Maybe she was just making him wait? Willing to humor her, he plopped down on the floor and twiddled his thumbs. The distant sound of her cell phone ringing unanswered gave him an idea. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and quickly shot off a text—I'm still waiting for an answer.

Half an hour later, his humor started to fade, but he was determined to get her to break. He walked down the hall into his office and opened his safe to pull out the ring he had purchased so many years ago. He made his way back in front of their locked bedroom door and knocked firmly.

"If you say yes, it means I can never accuse you of doing that Waldorf thing—because then it would be that Bass thing," he teased. "And the minute I slide this ring on your finger, you're one step closer to becoming a Bass."

When two full hours had passed without a response he glared at the door as he stood up. Angrily he returned the ring to its home in the safe before heading to the living room to pour himself a scotch and then sprawled out on the couch.

It was four a.m. when the door to the master bedroom creaked opened and a figure made her way down the hall. She checked the other two bedrooms that were empty, before padding into the pitch-black living room where he laid, fast asleep.

"Chuck!" Blair whispered into his ear as she leaned over.

When he didn't move, she sat on the edge of couch and ran her hand through his hair before tugging lightly on his ear. She called his name, a fair bit louder, this time, "Chuck!"

He blinked open his eyes to a sheepish looking Blair.

"What?" He growled at her. If she thought it would be cute to wake him up in the middle of the night to answer his question, she had another thing coming.

"I can't sleep," she admitted.

"And how is that my problem?"

"Will you come to bed, Chuck?" She asked sweetly. "I can't fall asleep without you."

"No," he pouted. "If you're not going to answer my question, then I'm not going to help you fall sleep."

"What question?" Blair asked.

"The one I asked you while you were locking me out of our bedroom," he clarified. As if there could be any other question he could be talking about.

"If you asked me a question, I didn't hear you," she confessed. "I was so mad at you and I knew you were going to say something ridiculously sweet that would make me un-mad so I put on my headphones and watched a movie on my laptop."

He scowled at her—had his marriage proposal seriously fallen upon deaf ears?

"If you ask me again, I promise to answer," she propositioned.

"No," he said crossly. "It was a one time offer."

She looked at him in confusion. Rationally he knew it wasn't her fault that she hadn't heard him ask, but he was far too cranky to ask her again now. The moment had been lost—he'd have to come up with another way to ask her when he was being less bratty. Plus, he was still bitter that he hadn't been the one to remove the dress she wore earlier that evening. He closed his eyes and turned on his side, facing away from her.

"Chuck, please come to bed," Blair asked again, while she traced a pattern on his back.

He shook his head and tried to ignore the tingle in his spine that came from her gentle touch.

"Fine!"

He heard her walk out of the room and down the hall back to their bedroom. He hoped that he was going to be able to fall back asleep. A minute later he heard Blair's footsteps return.

"Move over," she muttered.

"Huh?" Chuck rolled back over to look up at her.

In each hand was a pillow, with a blanket tucked under her arm.

"Even though you were a total asshole tonight, I can't seem to fall asleep without you. So move over."

He took the pillows and then shifted to make room for her on the couch. She curled up next to him, dragging the blanket with her. It only took a moment for them to find a position that suited them both. Blair breathed a sigh of relief as she threw her leg over his, and burrowed her face into his neck as Chuck nuzzled her ear. Their hands were entwined on his chest.

Just before he drifted back to sleep he murmured, "I love you, Blair."

"I love you, too," was her sleepy reply back.

The next morning, he had woken up before she did, and carried her back to their room.

After that first botched proposal attempt, he became determined to propose to Blair, properly. As much as the romantic in him wanted to make it splashy and unforgettable, his heart told him that it just needed to be private and thoughtful—something simple to underlie just how right it really was.

In an ironic twist, the three other members of his inner circle were solely responsible for each of the next three failed proposal attempts. Perhaps if he had informed Nate, Serena and Hen ahead of time, that he had intended to propose, it might have aided his cause. But truthfully, there seemed to be something so wrong about letting anyone know of his intentions before Blair did. And somehow, he didn't think that she'd appreciate being the last to find out.

He gazed outside the tinted windows of the limo, as it steadily made its way through the roads, the city of Paris far behind them. The snow had stopped falling for a while now, and Chuck hoped that there would be no major delays getting to the vineyard. His hand absently played with the ends of Blair's hair, as she slept, oblivious to the outside world. She shifted positions and shivered. Moving gingerly, he reached for his thick, wool coat he had thrown on the seat adjacent to him when they first got into the car. Carefully he tucked it around her petite body, like a blanket, smiling as she snuggled closer to him, rubbing her chin slowly against his knee. She let out a sigh of contentment and continued to doze.

The first planned attempt of a proposal should have been perfect. In honor of the anniversary of his fall from the ranks of UES playboy to a boy hopelessly in love, he closed down Victrola two days before her 25th birthday. He ordered the staff to scrub the stage floors meticulously, and planned for hundreds of candles and a bed of pillows for an indoor picnic. It seemed fitting for him to ask Blair to be his at the place he first saw her. Everything had been arranged, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling all day. But when he got home to pick her up for their date—he had left instructions that she dress enticingly for a surprise evening—she was nowhere to be found. With the blindfold he had brought in hand, he made his way to their master bath, only to find her pale-faced and clutching the toilet as she wretched loudly. He had worriedly run to her in concern.

Apparently, Serena had begged her to come over earlier and sample her attempts at cooking. In an effort to be more wifely, his blonde-haired sister had started taking private lessons from a chef, and wanted Blair's opinion on her progress. The end-result was food poisoning. All night, he sat on the floor of the bathroom with Blair, holding back her hair as she tried to expel the culinary disaster that Serena had made for her. Instead of slipping the ring on her finger and asking her to be his, he spent the evening being dispatched to fetch her sparkling water or a particular brand of crackers or wiping the sweat off her brow or cuddling with her on the cool limestone tile floors. Blair was whiny in her discomfort and had no wish to move a single muscle. Silently, Chuck had cursed the name Carter Baizen all night, because even though Serena had been the one to make Blair ill, the fault clearly had to be laid at that insect's feet. He knew Carter was not to be trusted, and leave it to him to ruin the most important evening of his life.

On the plus side, Chuck managed to figure out a different way to propose while he had kept her company watching Breakfast at Tiffany's on his laptop, while sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against their Jacuzzi tub. Somewhere around two in the morning, Blair had finally been ready to crawl into bed and ordered him to carry her. When they were finally snuggled and about to fall asleep, she whispered her apologies to him and thanked him for being so sweet, and that she would more than make it up to him—she had something special planned for him. He had kissed her softly on the forehead and assured her it was fine.

When Thanksgiving rolled around and Blair had spent the morning helping Serena arrange the late lunch, Chuck was thrilled. She had wryly informed him the week before that Serena needed her. Their original plans were to spend the turkey day in bed, just the two of them. But Lily and Rufus had decided to go to Dan and his wife's home this year, so Serena had jumped on the opportunity to play hostess as the newly minted Mrs. Baizen. Based on the food poisoning incident a few days prior, Chuck had adamantly refused to attend Serena's holiday meal—although truthfully, he didn't want her to ruin his third attempt at a proposal. Blair swore up and down that the meal in its entirety was being catered, and the most that Serena would do was open a bottle of wine, in order to get his compliance.

It had worked out to his advantage, because the minute Blair stepped into the limo, Dorota slid in through the main entrance door. Chuck spent his morning, under Dorota's tutelage, learning to bake Harold Waldorf's pumpkin pie. While it may not have looked as pristine as the ones Blair baked, he had done it himself, every last bit. He had been grateful that the trusty maid hadn't even asked him why he wanted to learn to bake on this particular occasion, but he didn't miss her knowing smile. Later that night, when they returned home from what was sure to be an eventful Thanksgiving meal, he wanted to surprise Blair with champagne, homemade pie and the ring. He was certain that this time nothing could go wrong.

To his satisfaction, everything was going smoothly when he arrived at Serena and Carter's home. It appeared that his Queen B of the Met Steps had everything well in hand, ordering the staff around as she had her minions back at Constance. Midway through the meal, a drunken Nate stumbled in, ruining the overly perfect and postcard feeling of the holiday lunch. It only took one veiled insult to turn the peaceful meal into a shouting match, as Nate continued to antagonize Serena and Blair. Carter had silently begged him to remove his friend from the premises, and one look at a teary-eyed Serena had him complying. Blair dragged Nate by the ear out of the Baizens' home and into the limo where he had broken down and started crying loudly. Chuck had exchanged a look with Blair, as they both were completely clueless as to what was going on with their friend. Surely this couldn't be because they were still ignoring him, could it?

They brought Nate back to the penthouse hoping to talk some sense into him. He had managed to stop blubbering when they stepped into the elevator. Still lacking sobriety, Nate first demanded a tour of the penthouse before asking for something to eat. When Blair led him into the kitchen, Nate's eyes lit up at the sight of the pumpkin pie Chuck had left on the counter. Before he could stop his friend, Nate grabbed a fork and started shoveling mouthfuls directly from the pie tin. Blair watched fascinated, while Chuck used every last shred of control not to leap over and snatch his gift for Blair. He was fuming and only slightly mollified by Nate's comments that the pie was pretty tasty.

Nate asking for something to drink was the final straw. Chuck hissed at his friend to tell him what was wrong, before he kicked him out. This was not how he wanted to propose to Blair. Hopefully if he could just get Archibald to answer his question, then perhaps the evening would not be completely ruined—even if his pie had already been spoiled. After a labored sigh, and a puppy dog sadface look towards Blair, who rolled her eyes and got him a glass of milk, Nate finally admitted that his grandfather had been the cause of all of it. While at the Vanderbilt compound, apparently William had taken to lecturing him about the state of his love life—citing Serena, Blair and Chuck as examples of how to properly conduct a relationship. He had continued to scold him about having let both Serena and Blair slip through his fingers, and if even someone like Chuck could maintain a monogamous relationship, there was no reason why Nate couldn't. If those barbs hadn't been bad enough, his grandfather had proceeded to inform him that a short list of women acceptable for Nate to be seen cavorting with would be provided. It was only when Nate had looked at him and asked Why is it wrong for me to want to find what you have with Blair? Just because I'm exercising my right to be a manwhore, doesn't mean I don't want to fall in love that all the anger in Chuck faded away.

Blair had clucked in understanding as she slipped out of the room to give her two boys a moment alone. But Chuck suspected that she left more so she could call Serena and explain Nate's horrendous behavior. Nate had just sat on the counter and started pouring his heart out to him, talking about his ideas of love and why he found it so hard to settle down. It had gone on for over two hours, and any hopes of a romantic evening with his girlfriend—note, not fiancé, had vanished into thin air. Nate had promptly passed out on the couch shortly after his heartfelt confession.

When Dorota arrived the following morning as the trio ate breakfast, Blair thanked her maid for baking the pie, although it hadn't been up to her usual standards. Fortunately she didn't notice Chuck shaking his head furiously and silently communicating to Dorota not to say a word about his baking lesson. He watched as her maid glanced at Blair's bare ring finger before looking back at him, with a sympathetic look.

After that, Chuck decided he was taking no further chances and was trying to formulate a foolproof plan. When he spoke to Hen later that day, she mentioned that her and Hugh were throwing a housewarming party the following week, and extended the obligatory invitation to him and Blair—clearly expecting him to decline. As he was about to beg off, he realized that going to visit Hen would be the perfect guise to spirit Blair away from all of their friends and obligations. Other than the party, the weekend would be theirs, and better yet, no interruptions!

The party was set for Friday evening, and so Chuck planned to have them chauffeured to Napa the following afternoon for wine tasting, before surprising her with a Hot Air Balloon ride and proposing. It would be somewhat unconventional, more than a bit cheesy and definitely memorable. He was far too relaxed and too confident as they flew to the West Coast—but he should've known better. In fact, if he hadn't been certain that Blair wanted to marry him, he would accuse her of self-sabotage. They hadn't been at Hen's new home for more than twenty minutes when Blair informed him that Hugh and Hen were joining them for wine tasting the following day. He had smiled easily while mentally stabbing himself in the eye a thousand times. Chuck was going to have to find a way for the newlyweds to rescind their acceptance without tipping his hand.

At brunch the following morning, Hen had turned to him and said that she and Hugh had hastily accepted the invitation and they would not be joining them. Chuck had breathed an internal sigh of relief, he knew he could count on Hen not to screw with his plans the way Serena and Nate had. He made all the right sounds of disappointment, but oversold it as Blair had found it necessary to kick him under the table. He managed to remain silent for most of the meal, happy in the knowledge that he would not have to cancel any of his plans. But as brunch wound down, and they were lingering over coffee, Hen had looked over at Hugh, who nodded and she cleared her throat.

Chuck knew in that moment with absolute certainty, whatever was about to happen was going to put more than a small road bump in their weekend plans. And a minute later, Hen announced that they were pregnant—ten weeks, but since they were family, she had forgone the mandatory three-month cone of silence. His girlfriend—again, note, not fiancé, squealed with joy and demanded they start shopping for the bundle of joy that very afternoon. A beat later, Hugh asked them both to be their unborn child's godparents—and Chuck was speechless. He was humbled by their request and thrilled for Hen, knowing just how desperately she wanted to have a baby. But there was a part of him that couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated as he wondered if there was ever going to be a time where some external factor wouldn't cause his plans to go awry. Needless to say, they did not make it to Napa that day, nor did Blair receive her proposal.

On the flight back to New York, Chuck spirits had been buoyed by the realization that Christmas was just over two weeks away. And perhaps, this was how it had been intended to be. With the holidays being spent in the company of Blair's family, perhaps the proper thing to do would be to ask her mother and all three of her fathers for her hand in marriage. It was just the sort of classic, traditional detail that Blair would love. And maybe, just maybe that was thereason behind all the missteps—because until he had her parents' stamp of approval, it wouldn't be right. Especially since Christmas was going to be just the six of them at the vineyard, Chuck was certain that he would manage to garner an audience with each of them, seeking their blessing. Then when he took her to New Zealand to ring in the New Year he could propose.

Blair stirred in his lap, as she stretched her arms and yawned loudly. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and she greeted him with her signature smile. His stomach fluttered. Sleepily she said, "Hi."

Eight more days.

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.

It was the crunch of the gravel and the sound of a car door slamming that served as an alarm to welcome in Christmas Eve. He blinked his eyes slowly as he let out a yawn. Chuck looked down to see Blair still deep asleep and snuggled up against him. It amazed him that he never tired of waking up next to her and how it always brought a smile to his face—it was going to remain in his top three favorite sensations of all time. A quick look at the clock told him it was eight a.m., and when he heard the front door shut and footsteps below, he slowly began to creep out of bed. Although highly unlikely, it was quite possible that the Roses had arrived, and if he remembered correctly, Harold and Roman were quite the early birds. With Blair fast asleep, he could sneak down and speak to at least two of her parents, and then return with a breakfast tray, leaving her none the wiser.

Just as he managed to pull his arm from underneath her head, Blair shifted, causing him to wince and freeze his movement. There was no doubt that if he were able to watch himself, he'd find it comical—sitcom material really. But when she turned to her side and snuggled deeper into her pillow, he breathed a sigh of relief. Attempting to be as soundless as possible, he reached for his smoking jacket and slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"Good morning, Chuck," Harold greeted him warmly as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Mr. Waldorf," he answered with a smile.

"Coffee?" Roman inquired.

"Thank you," he said appreciatively.

Roman reached up and opened a cabinet drawer, pulling out a cup and saucer to pour in the piping hot beverage. Chuck walked over to the kitchen's center island and reached for the carafe of cream, carrying it and the coffee to the breakfast room table.

"What are you doing up so early? Is Blair awake?" Harold asked as he took the seat across from him.

"She was still sleeping when I came down. I heard a car and woke up," he admitted as he poured just a hint of cream. "I thought it might be Blair's mother and Cyrus."

"Oh, they won't be here for hours, you must have heard Gustav, he was delivering some bread," Harold explained.

"Wishful thinking on my part," he acknowledged. He took a sip of his coffee and savored the warm liquid as it made its way down his throat. Not wanting to chance any further delay, he took a deep breath and said, "I was actually hoping to have a private word with the four of you. There was some I wanted to ask."

"And what might that be?" Blair asked as she waltzed into the room. "Morning Daddy! Morning Roman!"

"Good morning, sweetheart!" "Blair!" Her two fathers returned the greeting.

Chuck swallowed nervously, wondering just how much she had overheard.

"You!" She accused, before making herself comfortable on his lap and kissing him soundly.

For a moment he forgot where he was and just enjoyed the feel of her soft lips, as her tongue danced with his. Mornings never felt complete without a wake up kiss from her.

Harold cleared his throat loudly as Roman chuckled indulgently.

Blair ran a hand through his hair as she wrinkled her nose at him. "You know I hate waking up without you next to me, almost as much as you do. It's Christmas Eve and I woke up and you were gone!"

He playfully nipped at her lips before explaining, "I was just having a cup of coffee with your father and Roman, before I prepared a tray for you—I know how fond you are of breakfast in bed."

She pouted at him, before conceding, "It's true, you have me spoiled rotten."

"If you want, you can crawl back into bed, and I'll make you your tray as planned and bring it up. We can pretend to start the morning all over again," Chuck offered gallantly.

Blair cocked her head to the side as she stared at him, all the while deliberating.

"French toast made with the brioche that was just delivered?" He tried to coax her into returning upstairs.

"So very tempting—but it's too late, I'm already up." She took a large sip of his coffee and snuggled against him, retaining her position on his lap. Blair made a face and reached for the cream, topping off his cup with a healthy splash. "You know how I feel about carbs for breakfast. Besides, I want to know what it is you were about to ask Daddy."

Chuck forced a mask of blankness to cross his face. For a moment he wondered if Blair suspected what was going on and was amusing herself by making him work very, very hard for it. Really there could be no other explanation for her unwillingness to let him out of her sight or alone with any of her family members, but he highly doubted that it was the case. If she only knew how much she was cock-blocking herself from getting proposed to, he couldn't help but smirk at the thought.

"Blair, we were just going to talk about men things," Roman jumped in, winking at him when she turned her head to look at all three of them appraisingly.

"But you were a male fashion model," Blair said bluntly to Roman. Squinting in confusion she continued her assessment. "And Daddy is your lover. Chuck is probably the gayest straight man you'll ever meet—have you seen the color of his scarves and his bow tie collection? What possible men things could you have to talk about that I wouldn't be privy to?"

He bit back a laugh as Harold barked his daughter's name and Roman made a face at her. He had to hand it to her, all her points were valid. Finally he said glibly, "It was a question about your Christmas gift, Waldorf. Don't be so nosy, it will come to no good."

"Oh, then I'm definitely going to stay put," she said as she reached over and ruffled his hair. Pressing a kiss on his cheek she stood up and made her way to the refrigerator. With an airy wave of her hand she instructed them, "Go ahead, pretend I'm not here and have your little discussion while I find myself something to eat."

As her head disappeared into the refrigerator, he wondered if it was wrong that he really wished he could strangle her. Roman stared at him sympathetically as Harold stood up to join his daughter, and the two Waldorfs started rummaging for something that would suit her discerning palette. Chuck just shook his head, he didn't know why he was even surprised by this latest hiccup—apparently proposing to Blair would be the biggest challenge of his life.

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.

He reached for his wine glass and took a large gulp. Why hadn't he just poured himself a scotch? His eyes closed briefly as he wondered how many more not-so-subtle digs both he and Blair were going to be subjected to during dinner. Was this not the season to be jolly? The answer was no, not if your names were Eleanor Waldorf-Rose and Harold Waldorf. What made their behavior even stranger was that Blair's parents had been perfectly amicable when they hadn't been in the other's presence.

In the days leading up to the holidays, both Eleanor and Harold had taken to calling him personally, just to confirm minor details such as itineraries and food preferences. Dinner with the Roses in Paris had been relaxing, as they sat around the kitchen drinking champagne while waiting for the duck cassoulet Cyrus had experimented with to come out of the oven. They had been so tipsy that by the time it was ready to be served, they just grabbed forks and ate directly from the La Creuset Dutch Oven, and had laughed all evening long. The evening spent with Harold and Roman last night had also been leisurely as they uncorked bottle after bottle of wine. Dinner had been even more informal as they lounged around the library near the fireplace, nibbling on cheese and fruit. Chuck loved how welcoming her parents had been, and was almost relieved that his prior proposal attempts had gone awry, just because he hadn't realized how much he wanted and craved their approval.

But as Blair stabbed her leg of lamb with a bit too much emphasis, he rubbed a reassuring hand against her knee. She put her fork down as she laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand tightly, before letting go to resume butchering her meal. He hoped that her parents would realize how uncomfortable they were making Blair, as Cyrus and Roman's attempts to deflect their attention had fallen short. Chuck didn't even know what exactly it was he had said or done that could be responsible for the shift from warmth to blatant hostility. They had been relentless throughout the entire meal as they kept referencing the future. Despite the fact that he wanted to keep his plans for proposing on New Year's Eve a secret, he was on the verge of bluntly asking if her parents wanted a detailed outline of his exact intentions towards Blair.

His attention was solely focused on Blair's distress that he missed Eleanor's last comment completely. He only noted that Blair's posture was completely rigid and her eyes were narrowing in anger.

"I, for one, am curious to see how long you two plan on playing house with none of the commitment," Harold said flippantly.

"Excellent point! Really, Blair, will this be continuing while you're getting your MBA? Will it extend beyond the next two years?" Eleanor continued to drill. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not getting any younger, and neither am I. Quite frankly, it would be nice to have grandchildren this decade—while I still have the energy."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Harold nodded admiringly.

"Eleanor!" "Harold!" Cyrus and Roman simultaneously yelled.

"Mother! Daddy! Sidebar—now!" Blair hissed as she stood up. She was visibly shaking in anger, and it took everything in Chuck's power not to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

When neither parent made an effort to move or to verbally acknowledge her, Blair stamped her foot and huffed in frustration. He could only watch as she threw her napkin onto the table and stomped to the doorway. She turned back and icily said, "I will be waiting for you two in the library."

Eleanor and Harold stared at each other in feigned confusion as they all heard the echo of library doors slamming.

"I wonder what could have put her in such a snit. Really, I don't know what's gotten into her," Eleanor said indignantly. "What did we say that was untrue? I mean, all we did was ask questions any parent in their right mind would want answered!"

"Perhaps it would be best if you two do not keep her waiting," Roman said too helpfully. "Blair seemed very upset, no?"

"Yes, yes!" Cyrus jumped in. "Off you go!"

Again, Blair's parents exchanged glances before they pushed back their chairs from the table and made their way down the hall.

Chuck had remained silent for this entire exchange as the enormity of all the veiled comments fell like a crushing weight on his chest. He didn't know if he should be livid or devastated, because it had become clear that Blair's parents questioned the longevity of their relationship. In a quiet and pained voice he confessed to her stepfathers, "I love Blair more than anything. Since I've arrived, I've been trying to have a private word with her parents. I wanted to ask them in person, if they would have me for their daughter."

Not wanting Blair to have to fend for herself, Chuck stood up and said, "She shouldn't have to do this alone—please, excuse me."

"Chuck!" Cyrus called out.

He paused and turned around.

"I know it's not the same as having her mother say it, but I would have you for our Blair. There's no one else I would rather have than you. And Eleanor may put up a tough front, but she would choose you, too," Cyrus said cheerfully.

"No one makes Blair glow the way you do, Chuck," Roman agreed. "I have never seen her as happy as when she is with you, and I know that Harold knows this. You are the only choice for her—for both her father and I."

Chuck smiled gratefully at them.

"Good luck," Cyrus said with a wink.

Roman lifted his wine glass and toasted him.

He nodded before he strode down the hallway, relieved to know that he was fifty percent of the way through with his goal for this holiday. But as he reached the library doors, he began to dread what he was going to be walking into. The irony of it all was not lost on him—Blair was again in the unenviable position of defending the legitimacy of their relationship. It was bad enough he had fought her on this issue, and if he had just been given the chance to discuss his position on the matter privately, it would all have been avoidable. It was foolish of him to have hoped that he could secure their blessing without it being such a production. He could hear voices through the door that had been left slightly ajar. As he reached for the knob the conversation caused him to falter.

"Nothing I said was anything your father wasn't thinking. Am I wrong, Harold?"

"Mother," Blair said irritably. "You do realize you're just making this worse, don't you? Both you and Daddy think you're helping but you're not. Chuck wants propose to me, and he will, when the time is right for us. Maybe you two don't believe it, but we are completely committed to one another—our relationship isn't some sort of nostalgic lark. That penthouse we're living in? He bought it for me and put it in my name only, while I was living with Louis."

"Blair Bear, real estate is all well and good, but that doesn't necessarily equate undying love," Harold said.

"You and Roman bought a vineyard together," Blair countered.

"Darling, if he's so serious about you, then there's nothing wrong with proving it, is there? It's not as if he has to worry that you're only after him for his money," Eleanor interrupted. "Besides, doesn't he realize that you've passed up on two heirloom rings now? He should know what's expected of him."

"The Vanderbilt ring and the Grimaldi ring?" Blair asked condescendingly. "Why would I settle for either one of those when the one Chuck bought for me is better?"

"Wait—he already bought you a ring?" Harold asked.

"Yes, Daddy, over five years ago, but he never got to ask me back then."

"Blair, you might have wanted to mention that to us before," Eleanor scolded. "Although, one would think that if he hadn't gotten to ask you before, he'd be desperate to ask you now. Nonetheless, had we known, we wouldn't've have said anything."

"It's not exactly something one brings up in casual conversation, Mother," Blair snapped. "I don't know why you two are trying to pressure him into proposing—Chuck and I are infinite, and the absence of a wedding band isn't going to change that."

There was a pause.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense—tell me about the ring!" Eleanor exclaimed.

"It's perfect," Blair whispered. "I only saw it once, but it was so beautiful I never forgot it."

"Details, Blair, details!" Her mother demanded impatiently.

"Harry Winston—cushion cut, eight carat tapered baguette in a platinum setting."

Harold let out a low whistle of approval as Eleanor gasped.

"But you know what the best part is?" Blair asked softly. "It will always be my ring, because it was purchased for me, and it will become the Blair Bass ring. And one day, our son will ask me if he can have it to give to his future wife. And then it will be passed down to my grandson or my granddaughter, and so forth. And Chuck's love for me will never die."

His heart skipped a beat at her words—they were beautiful and they were perfect and it was as if she could read his soul. Blair understood him so completely, and he didn't know what he had ever done to deserve her.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, if we offended you," Harold said apologetically. "But you have to understand, you'll always be our baby girl and we just want what's best for you."

"We'll speak to Charles, let him know that perhaps we were a bit harsh," Eleanor chimed in contritely.

"A bit?"

He could picture Blair with her arms crossed and raising a brow. Chuck knocked loudly on the door before pushing it open.

"Chuck!" Blair exclaimed as a look of concern crossed her face. She walked towards him and placed her hands on his chest. His hands instinctively fell to her waist and pulled her against him.

"I need a word with your parents," he said quietly but firmly. "In private."

She shook her head. "Chuck, please, you don't have to—"

"Blair," he said softly as he looked into her eyes. "There's something I need to say to your parents."

She bit her lip as she hesitated for a moment. Looking up at him, Blair gazed into his eyes carefully and when she found what she was looking for she nodded.

He smiled at her and brushed his lips against hers. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, I love you. As she pulled away, she shot her parents a look of warning before shutting the door behind her and making her way back to the dining room.

Harold gestured for him to sit in the chair across from them.

As Chuck sat down, he took a deep breath. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

.

.

.

More than an hour later, he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist, as Blair pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. With a sigh of contentment, he slipped his hands out of his pockets and closed them around hers. He had stepped outside to wrap his head around his encounter with her parents—trying to regain some equilibrium from the highs and lows of the evening. He hadn't realized how cold it was outside or how much Blair's presence could bring so much warmth.

As they stood wrapped up in the simple embrace, he was still in awe of what her parents had said to him during their private meeting. It had been difficult and uncomfortable, but he had pledged his unwavering devotion and desire for them to approve of him. He had asked that they find him worthy enough to bestow the honor of Blair's hand in marriage. The former Waldorfs had their game faces on as they had led him through a series of deep inquiries, snarky remarks and not-so-veiled threats, making him feel as though their answer was going to be no. It had been one of the most excruciating hours of his life—but it had been absolutely worth it.

Even now, he was still in awe at the ability of the older couple to have played him and Blair so convincingly well. Once they had extracted all the information they wanted and felt secure in his feelings, their masks of stoic indifference had melted away.

"You'll have to forgive Eleanor and myself for wanting to test you a bit, make sure that you are everything you represented yourself to be," Harold explained. "We're just protective of our only daughter, especially since you've made her both the happiest and most miserable we've ever seen."

"Plus, where do you think she gets her devious nature from? Genetics," Eleanor said with a cheeky smile.

Harold put an arm around him and said, "Just don't keep Blair waiting too long. We trust you'll do what's best."

"You two weren't so naïve and foolish to believe you were the only couple ever to plot together on the UES, did you?" Eleanor clucked. She smirked at the speechless look that must have been painted on his face. "Oh, you did, how sweet."

"Dear, what was our old expression? The couple that plots together, stays together, was it?" Harold asked with a boyish grin on his face. "Well, maybe we didn't stay together, but we still make for a wonderful team."

"After all the theatrics of this performance, I certainly am in the mood for some of that divine sherry we had last time. Do you still have some left?" Eleanor asked breezily.

Her ex-husband stood up and offered her his arm. Facing her he said, "I've tucked a bottle away for you, just in case."

As Blair's parents made their way to the door, Harold paused and looked at him. "We already consider you family, Chuck, it's just up to you to make it official. Come join us for dessert when you're ready."

Although he had been bested by seasoned veterans in the game of manipulation, it had warmed his heart that they were so accepting of him. Truthfully, he admired the fact that her parents had been so devious. It only foreshadowed what he and Blair would have to prepare for with their own children in the distant future.

The comfortable silence was interrupted by a soft sigh from Blair. He smiled as he waited for her to pose her question.

"So when were you planning on asking me?" She asked quietly.

"Asking you what?" He attempted to play dumb.

"I found the ring box in your suitcase just now," she said casually. "When you didn't join us for dessert…"

He sighed loudly before admitting, "New Year's Eve."

"Where?" She asked curiously.

"New Zealand."

"Why there?"

"Because I didn't want to wait a moment longer that I had to. And yes, I factored in that we would be flying well over twenty-four hours, but considering they celebrate New Year's first…I thought the sooner I could rush in the New Year, the sooner I could announce to the world that you're mine," he confessed.

"I've been yours," she teased.

He chuckled softly as he started to toy with her fingers.

"Don't ask me, ok?" Blair said suddenly.

Chuck froze and turned around to face her. "I want—"

"I know," she interrupted. "But after the lovely display my parents put on tonight…"

He looked at her searchingly.

"…it kinda feels like they've stolen the moment from us, you know? Like it's not…"

"Ours," he finished for her.

"Yeah," she said softly. "And when you ask me, I don't want it to be about anything other than you and me."

"Is anything in this world ever not about you or me?" He asked playfully.

"Of course not." She grinned at him, but then she turned serious again. "So don't ask me—not yet."

He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't be wise to be seen capitulating to your parents so early on."

"Show them no fear," Blair acknowledged. "Otherwise, they'll think they can have final say on everything—like our wedding date."

"Or where we go on our honeymoon."

"Or where we summer."

"Or what we name our first child," he concluded.

He watched as Blair bit her lip, trying to hide her pleasure at his words—that he had voiced it first.

"I think it would behoove my parents to suffer a bit—worry that their attempts to control the situation may have caused a delay in their preferred timeline."

"Such is the burden of the parents of a tyrant," Chuck said devilishly.

She shrugged indifferently. "Sins of the father and mother, more like it."

He laughed softly and leaned down to kiss her.

"Cancel New Zealand," she murmured as they broke apart reluctantly. "Let's spend New Year's at home, just you and me, and us not getting engaged."

"Is that what you want?" He asked.

Blair nodded.

"Ok," he agreed.

She reached out to take his hand as they headed back inside—Chuck and Blair, holding hands.

.

.

.

It should come to no surprise that it was a run-of-the-mill completely average Wednesday when it finally happened. In fact, what made the day so remarkable was the fact that there was nothing special about that day. The Wednesday in question was so common it could have been exchanged seamlessly with any number of other days—it held absolutely no distinction.

New Year's had come and gone as Blair had requested—just the two of them alone in her penthouse and no engagement. But just because he had promised her that he wouldn't propose as planned, didn't mean that he wouldn't ask at the first opportunity that presented itself. As he gathered the reports on his desk that he needed to review at home tonight, he still shook his head at the fact that he let the perfect opportunity to pop the question slip him by.

On the second day of the New Year, Blair dragged him out of their penthouse, wanting to take advantage of his last weekend of vacation. She announced to him over breakfast just how much she missed ice skating outdoors, especially in Central Park. When he offered to reserve the rink in its entirety, Blair simply rolled her eyes.

"It wouldn't kill you to mingle with the masses."

"Who are you, and what have you done to Blair Waldorf?"

"It's ice skating, Chuck," she answered. "I promise it's the only time I'll make you rub shoulders with plebeians."

"I should get this in writing," he muttered.

"And you have to skate with me," she added pleadingly.

"Blair, you know I'm a terrible skater, just as bad as Roman. Wasn't it enough that we went ice skating on Christmas?" He reminded her. "It was on an actual pond, this won't compare."

She let out a loud sigh of disappointment and crossed her arms.

Three full minutes passed before he irritably consented. "Fine!"

The radiant smile on her face was enough to offset his annoyance, as she bounced out of the room to get dressed.

An hour later they had finished lacing up their skates and he awkwardly stepped onto the ice, attempting to avoid the children who whizzed right by him. Blair glided backwards, throwing in the occasional simple jump, while he tried his best to keep his balance. This was not a fun routine—it would take close to thirty minutes for him to feel even remotely comfortable circling the rink more than two feet from the railing.

It must have been because they had gone skating less than a couple of weeks ago, that it only took him a few minutes to orient himself. She was spinning in circles angelically when he caught up to her. He offered his hand when she turned his way, and with their fingers linked they made their way around the large rink. There was a light and chilly breeze in the air and a rosy glow to Blair's cheeks. Despite the fact that they were in a public ice skating rink and surrounded by pre-pubescent adolescents and middle-class families, he loved how at home he felt with her, even when participating in an activity that he was not fond of. On their third lap, he could feel her restlessness and let go of her hand, gesturing for her to roam freely.

Just as she was stepping into a twirling motion, a pimply-faced teenager came out of nowhere, and slammed into her. Before he could call out her name in warning, she was sprawled out on her back, and the culprit responsible for the fall was long gone. When he reached her, she had pushed herself up on one elbow as she rubbed her hip.

As he crouched down to make sure she was ok, she pouted. "I can't believe that kid pushed me! This must be the first time I've fallen in nearly two years."

"I can't believe you ended up on your ass before I did," he teased her.

"Help me up?" She asked grumpily.

"Of course," he said with a smile, holding out his hand.

He should have expected it, but he didn't. When Blair tugged on him with all of her might, he ended up toppled on the ice next to her.

"Oops," she said with no trace of remorse. "Oh well, your not falling wasn't going to last anyway. Best to get it out of the way, don't you think?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes at her. Of all the childish things! He opened his mouth to snap out a retort, as Blair stared at him, her eyes twinkling in merriment. The only words that came to mind were marry me. All of a sudden, his throat closed up as his heart sped up and he wanted to give voice to those two magical words. He reached his hand in his pocket and realized that he didn't have the ring.

"Come on, Bass, let's get off the floor," Blair said before she kissed him softly on the mouth. She stood up and dusted the ice off of her skirt. Looking back at him she asked, "Are you coming?"

And just as quickly as the moment had come, it had disappeared. After that, he had been on the lookout for another chance to ask the all important question. When he proposed, he wanted it to feel just like the first time he had—he wanted it to be instinctual and unplanned. But replicating that feeling was proving to be impossible, and before he knew it, it was Blair's first day of school, and all he could do was bemoan the missed opportunity.

The first couple of weeks of the semester proved to be a major adjustment period, as they were confronted with significantly less amount of time spent together. But instead of complaining, they both made do—as Blair was in her element, thriving in the academic environment, and fixated on being top in her class. So, as much as the itch to propose plagued him, Chuck hadn't wanted to rob her of her moment with any distractions.

Soon, Valentine's Day was just around the corner and he still hadn't proposed. Because it was far too tacky and un-Blair-like, he decided that he would wait until after the holiday had passed to ask her. He was more than aware of how foolish it would be to even consider asking her on that day—but it didn't mean he still wouldn't plan something romantic. When he mentioned a special surprise for the commercially manufactured day, Blair had glared at him and said, don't you dare. Her negative reaction amused him so much, he thought perhaps it would be better if she did think he was going to propose that day, so when he actually did a few days later, she could be surprised.

He had organized a full day of pampering for her, followed by a short scavenger hunt—leading her to gift after gift for her to wear to their dinner that evening. On their rooftop, Chuck had ordered for a tent to be erected for a candlelit dinner. To further add to the illusion of a proposal, he had trailed rose petals from their bedroom door leading towards the elevator with a note taped to the call button—up.

He met her with a glass of champagne and a smile, noticing the tightness around her mouth.

As they sat down for the catered meal, she had been unable to stop herself from blurting out, "You're not going to ask me tonight, are you?"

He allowed for a look of disappointment to cross his face as he quickly masked it with one of denial. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at Blair's look of disdain.

"Of course not," he forced himself to sputter.

Blair sighed loudly as she crossed her arms. "Because you know I'll have to say no if you ask me tonight. What would I tell our children, Chuck? That their father wasn't clever enough to find a creative way to propose? That we share our engagement date with half the people across the country?"

He wisely chose to keep his mouth closed to see how much further she was going to dig her own grave.

"How is it possible that you would settle on the most un-romantic day of the year, when you are the most romantic person I know?" She continued to expound.

He knew it was wrong, but there was something undeniably irresistible about Blair when she was bitchy and angry. And despite the fact that he had no intention of proposing to her tonight, her reaction was enough to tempt him to ask her anyway.

"This was not a solid effort on your part, Bass," she finished her ranting a minute later.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not asking you tonight, isn't it?" he snipped.

They had managed to get through the meal without any further incident, and he would have proposed to her the following weekend at Victrola—he didn't see why he couldn't recycle one of his failed proposal attempts if she were none the wiser—if he hadn't overheard her phone conversation the next morning. He didn't know if she hadn't realized he was nearby or if she had done it on purpose, but she was in her closet with her parents on speakerphone as she dressed for school.

"Wait, he did what?" Eleanor asked.

"I know! Do you believe he was going to ask me to marry him on Valentine's Day?" Blair said condescendingly.

"Well, that seems lazy, almost. No effort, really," Harold agreed.

Chuck could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"I stopped him before he made the cardinal mistake, Daddy," Blair assured him. "But this really makes me rethink saying yes when he actually asks. After the debacle that could have been last night, I may have to punish him."

"He would be fully deserving of it," Eleanor opined.

"I don't know why he had to go all out and over-the-top to begin with. He knows I want to marry him, but yet he insists on all the theatrics," Blair said with a labored sigh.

He backed away from the closet, stunned and nearly shaking with rage. After everything that had happened, he couldn't believe what he had just heard. It made him want to scream in frustration—grab her by the shoulders and ask her if she had any inkling of what he had been through trying to make the proposal unforgettable.

When she came out of her closet a minute later, he was still sitting on their bed, his eyes glazed. She did not look surprised at all that he was sitting there, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. He hadn't been able to stop himself from pulling away at the last minute and stepping away from her. Blair looked confused more than hurt.

"Chuck, is everything ok?" She asked.

He refused to look at her as he stared outside the window.

"Chuck?" She repeated, as she stood next to him.

When he still hadn't answered, she wedged herself between he and the wall of glass, placing her hands on his face and forcing him to look at her.

"What's wrong?"

"You are aware that there's nothing wrong with my hearing, aren't you?" He bit out icily.

As Blair realized what this was all about, she dropped her hands from his face and rolled her eyes. "Maybe some of us shouldn't eavesdrop on conversations."

"You were on speakerphone, Blair. What was I supposed to do? Stick my fingers in my ears and start humming loudly?" He asked acidly.

"Please! You act like you overheard something shocking and revealing. I said almost the same thing to your face, verbatim, last night." Blair scoffed. "What's the big deal? Boo fucking hoo, Chuck, sometimes the truth hurts."

He opened his mouth to object and then suddenly he closed it. No. He had nothing more to say to her.

She watched him as he silently walked into the closet to find a coat. When he walked by her wordlessly, she followed, as he picked up his briefcase and pushed the call button for the elevator.

"Cat got your tongue, Bass?"

He stared ahead at the elevator doors.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment?" She asked in astonishment, when he hadn't answered a minute later. "You're really not going to talk to me?"

The doors slid open and he stepped inside.

"Good to know you're handling this in a mature fashion, Chuck," Blair laughed. As the doors drew closed she added, "Call me later."

Chuck had been certain that the irritation would have subsided by the end of the day, but as he made his way home, he still found himself highly annoyed. Blair sat at the dining room table with her books waiting for him. She smiled at him in amusement, due to his refusal to pick up the phone for any of her calls and the fact that he hadn't returned a single text message either. Any form of communication between the two of them had gone through Sam.

As if to illustrate her lack of contrition, she talked at him the entire time he ate, pausing only to see if he'd answer any of the questions she threw his way. His silence only fueled Blair's high spirits as she told him all about her classmate who she thought would be perfect for Nate. When he had finished eating, she brought him a scotch. Ignoring her gesture, he stood up to make his way to his office.

Sensing where he was headed, Blair moved quickly to stand in his way. She placed her hands on his chest and said, "If you don't want to talk to me, fine. But you do not get to go hide in your office like a sulking little child."

With that she walked back to the dining room table and grabbed a textbook, a notepad, a pen and a highlighter, before making her way to the couch. She looked up at him and patted the seat next to her. He hesitated only for a fraction of a second before he picked up his briefcase and sat down, pulling out last quarter's financial statements. He was the one who shifted over to close the four inch gap that separated them. When she rested her cheek against his shoulder as she continued to read, he struggled to keep the smile off his face. And later that night, when they were in bed—he couldn't help himself from reaching out and using his finger to spell out the words I love you on her bare shoulder blade before she fell asleep.

The silent treatment had lasted all of four days, as Blair had a big presentation to prepare for. It had set their schedule for the next week upside down, as they only saw each other in the morning when they woke or at night as they went to bed. He probably would have prolonged the strike, but it seemed pointless when he realized how melodramatic he was being. Plus, he just plain missed talking to her too much.

When he finished closing his briefcase, he slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket. The ring sat burning in his pocket—same as it had since two days after Valentine's Day. It had become an adventure of sorts, seeing if he could sneak the ring in and out of his pockets without Blair finding it or noticing. There had only truly been two close calls. But as he fished out the ring to stare at it, it almost slipped off of his pinky finger and onto the floor. This had become part of his daily ritual, examining the ring before leaving the office, seeing if today would be the day that it would all be made official. For the first time, he felt a throng of nervous energy, a sense of anticipation in the air.

Just as he stepped outside of the Bass Industries building, Arthur made his way from the driver's side to hold the door open for him. Blair was already inside, her books on the seat, as she grilled Nate about his fourth date in as many days with her classmate she had introduced him to. She paused her conversation long enough to lean over and greet him with an enthusiastic kiss hello, before resuming her animated interrogation.

He watched as Blair laughed loudly while she listened to Archibald's inane rambling. He glanced at his briefcase full of reports that needed his approval—preferably first thing tomorrow morning. It looked like tonight would be another typical weeknight—some paperwork for him and studying for her. There was absolutely nothing noteworthy or special about today. The absurd normality of it all was offset by the fact that from her simple kiss hello, his lips still tingled and the butterflies that had never been murdered, were fluttering out of control. And despite the fact that he could predict exactly what was to occur from the moment she got off the phone until the moment they fell asleep—Blair was still the most fascinating and interesting person he knew. Even the idea of sitting on the couch later that evening with her legs tucked underneath his thigh (her feet were always so cold) while he flipped through reports and she furiously typed on her laptop, sounded like the most appealing thing in the world. This was their everyday and it would continue to be so in the future, and he had complete faith that he needed to ask her right now.

While Nate was gushing about how much he owed her for introducing him to Fiona, Blair managed to slip her legs over Chuck's, and rest her head against his shoulder. Just as she was about to ask Nate when they should set up a double date, she felt her phone being pulled out of her hand. She looked up to see Chuck calmly pressing the end button before tossing her phone down towards the front of the limo.

"Chuck!" She scolded him with a glare. Could he not wait a mere two minutes for her to end the call? With a sigh she untangled her legs from him so she could shimmy down the adjacent seat to retrieve her phone that had already started to ring again. Just as she stood up, he pulled her down onto his lap so she was straddling him.

Without another word, he rained soft kisses against her jawline, before molding his lips to hers. Her hands slid up his chest as he began kissing her so desperately and passionately that her toes curled up as she melted into his embrace—her ringing phone a distant memory.

Her eyes were hooded as her body tingled with lust when he finally pulled away. She leaned forward to press her forehead against his and purred in contentment. "Hi."

Before she could dive back in to kiss him again, Chuck pulled back a fraction and whispered, "Marry me."

Her eyes flew open as her heart jumped in her throat. She felt her eyes tear up as her body was flooded with so much elation that she didn't know if she could breathe. Blair leveraged herself off his shoulders to create some distance between them—she needed to see his eyes. She didn't see a trace of uncertainty, but instead felt his hand cover hers, a ring slipping onto her left finger. The edges of her lips started to twitch into a smile.

She whispered right back, "You sure?"

He lifted her left hand and kissed her palm, showing her how absolutely perfect the ring looked on her finger—where it was meant to be. A moment later her lips crashed down against his. This was their favorite dance—an old and familiar one. There was no doubt to what both of their answers would be.

Yes.

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the end.

---

A/N: I hope you the epilogue met your expectations, I wrote the final scene in December of last year, and had been ITCHING to write the rest of it, much of which had been in the works for quite some time now. Despite the fact that I loathe epic-length epilogues, I just couldn't resist the scenes and moments that kept popping into my head. It was originally only supposed to be about a thousand words, so much for brevity (a word I don't pretend to know the meaning of). And yay! It's official—stick a fork, I am done with this story! Woo hoo!

This chapter is dedicated to Iluvenis, who appreciates nuance in ways that I cannot even describe. I am so glad that we've become friends, and I hope that it was worth all the torture of my vague descriptions that hinted at nothing except to taunt you with the fact that I knew what was in it and you did not. Oh, and for the record – SMFOL!

For Ollie, my partner in crime for driving Dovvy crazy, in a way that only we can (ok, definitely more me than you). I can't believe you put up with my neurotic shit and you are way too kind, in general. Oh, and in case I didn't tell you, I don't think I could have written this without you. Seriously, you were my sounding board and support system and I will forever love you for it.

Uncorazonquebrado—thank you for the last minute suggestion, you are my favorite MLP: TS, EVER.

Thank you to Noirreigne for beta-ing.

To the best readers and reviewers, thank you a million times, I'm humbled by your support and interest.

And of course, last but not least, sorry to keep having to do this, but as it keeps happening, please if you could refrain from mentioning the show to me in any way, I would greatly appreciate it. I stopped watching post 4x11, and I would like to remain in my bubble of not knowing. Thanks.