"Didn't we agree, when you left your father's company and I graduated, that we were done with obligatory events of my grandparents? Especially any event that protected a rare flower or plant or raised money for the damn DAR?" Rory moved in to straighten the tie of her fiance, her face with more of a grimace than a smile.

"What can I say? I managed to push off the engagement party, though God only knows for how much longer, but Emily Gilmore didn't manage to sell enough chairs at the table for this and it apparently benefits really sick kids, so not even your mom and dad could possibly say no- and you know how hard they tried. So we'll go, we'll eat terrible chicken or some kind of cold and dry roast beef- we'll dance once or twice, terribly, and we'll be done."

"Thank god, because this wig itches so much and I can only manage to wear it for a few hours without screaming at someone, which is unlikely to help us tonight."

She had been using the wigs for 11 weeks now, obviously minus her stint in the hospital, and while they were pretty- in fact one or two of them had been downright fun, she really hated how much they itched and made her sweat… when going out, she mostly stuck to the one closest to her normal hair- long and curly, auburn locks, which tonight she had pulled to the side with a sparkling barrette, letting them cascade down her shoulder.

"Well, regardless how you feel in that wig, I don't know that you've ever been more beautiful."

"You know you say that to me all the time, right?" She smiled at him as she reached behind her, trying to fasten her necklace, something that was much harder these days since chemo had made her nails so brittle and gross she had kept them too short to be any help these days. Logan noticed her fumbling and moved behind her, standing much closer than was strictly necessary as he took it from her and fasted it himself. They both smiled as he leaned in, caressing the nape of her neck with his lips- whispering against skin.

"Well, that's because everytime I see you, I feel like you're more gorgeous than you were even one day before. It's just something you have to come to terms with because it's never going to change."

And she was still beautiful- stunning. For tonight's event, raising money for some horrible children's disease, Rory had borrowed from Honor a simple long, black gown that hugged her curves with a deep v, a sparkling belt at the waist and a high slit. That was one of the things he loved most about her, she didn't need fancy designer clothes or long days at the spa- she was so naturally stunning that in the simplest item, she took his breath away.

She leaned back into him, enjoying the feel of his lips on her neck, exploring, enjoying… she reached her arm back to play with his hair, encouraging every second of intimacy.

"It's never going to change?" She turned into him, both arms around his neck, looking into his eyes, living in the moment.

"Never." He leaned in for a deep kiss- she could always fix her lipstick in the car.

"What about when I'm 60 and wearing velour tracksuits everywhere?"

"Find me a matching suit so I can keep up with you."

"Oh really? And when I'm 80? And I don't remember where I left my teeth the night before?"

"I'm telling you Ace, you don't seem to get it, but you're always going to be the most beautiful woman in any room and I'll never stop being astounded you picked me." She leaned in to kiss him again, her hands roaming the front of his shirt, under the jacket, fiddling with the buttons, desperate to get lost in him.

She groaned as he pulled away from her, trying to bring him back to her.

"Ace, I would love nothing more than taking you right out of that gown, no matter how beautiful you look right now; but your grandmother has been calling every 10 minutes for the last 45 to make sure we will be on time and I really don't want her sending anyone to come look for us.

She just looked up at him, pouting.

"Oh, come on, that just isn't fair. You know how much I want to be here with you, but the only person on this earth who can scare me enough to deny that pout is your grandmother, so I suggest we get going and when we come back, I promise, you can have me anyway, anywhere you want me, as many times as you want."

She sighed, clearly deciding to be noble and go along with his plan- but as she stepped outside, waiting for him to lock up the pool house, she quirked her head to the side and wondered aloud, "Do you think we still have any whipping cream in the fridge?"

"Oh Rory, you joined us for breakfast, how lovely! To what do we owe this treat?" Richard was not wrong, it was 7:30, not an hour that Rory was usually up and about, let alone looking for breakfast- she tended to go through almost a pot of coffee in the pool house before coming over to scrounge for a muffin- as though that was sufficient nourishment.

"Oh, Logan had an early call- something is happening in Munich that is apparently terribly important and whenever Logan tries to speak German he gets very loud." She moved over to her normal seat in between her grandparents as the current maid brought in a cup of coffee.

"German is an angry language, isn't it? I sometimes wonder if Hitler could have been created if he came about in a country with a more mellifluous language."

"Mussolini, Franco, Robespierre… I'm not entirely sure the mellifluousness of the language can be faulted."

"You're much too clever before your first cup of coffee- some of us need more of a head start."

"Well, you used the word mellifluous before 8:00 am, I'd say you're doing pretty well."

"I suppose I'll have to console myself in the use of one poetic term and breakfast with my lovely granddaughter." She smiled as she began looking for a section of the paper to read.

"That's strange, I don't see the Courant." Her grandfather looked up, confused.

"Well of course it's there, I just finished it and your grandmother would have only taken the Arts & Leisure section."

"Grandma? Do you know where the Courant is?" Emily came into the room, looking strange.

"Rory! You're here. But it's so early."

"Yes, Emily the early hour has been established- it seems as though Logan had something of a Prussian emergency this morning Rory decided to seek refuge here with us while he handles whatever emergency it is."

Confused and a bit slow this morning, Emily looked at Rory.

"What on earth is he talking about?"

"Logan had an early call with Munich. He's trying to speak German."

"Oh, horrid language. There's simply no way not to sound angry when speaking it."

"That has been established." Rory took another sip of coffee. "Umm, Grandma, do you know where the Courant is this morning? I can't find it on the table."

"Oh, I'm not sure it came this morning."

"What do you mean, Emily? Of course it came this morning- there was that lovely photo of Rory and Logan in it from the event Friday night."

"There was a photo? Of us?" She smiled to herself, she was starting to get used to the fact that she and Logan were a more and more popular couple for the press to cover here in Hartford and even, occasionally, in Manhattan.

"Oh, yes, of course. That's right- I decided to have it sent out for framing, it was such a beautiful picture of the two of you dancing." Emily was definitely acting strangely, but, for all Rory knew, she was planning on having the image added to some kind of secret shrine to Rory and Logan at which she prayed for their fecundity, hoping to guarantee a litter of blond hair and blue eyed babies. "But the Times is there and your grandfather has moved on to the FT, so it's all yours."

Rory tried to shake it off as she picked up the Times and moved through the front page and then onto the Politics section- a friend of hers from the trail had recently had a few articles published in the Times and she was curious what Meredith had to say.

15 minutes later she was enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs when out of nowhere her grandmother spoke up.

"You know, Rory, one thing we haven't discussed at all for the wedding is your trousseau." Rory looked at her grandmother.

"My trousseau? Am I in an Edith Wharton novel?"

"Don't be silly, it's not as old fashioned as all that. I'm not suggesting we put together a hope chest with your hand stitched linens and a silver tea set. A trousseau is simply a way for the bride's family to make sure that she is well-set for a new life as a wife of a certain station. After all, you and Logan, no matter how you may deny it, you're both people of consequence and substance and we need to make sure that you're well-stocked with the appropriate wardrobe." Rory had sudden flashbacks to the time she had lived here, her lost period during Yale- her grandmother cleaning out her wardrobe for the Fall and approving her outfit before an event.

"And that's a lovely sentiment, Grandma, but honestly, Mom took me shopping before I went on the Road and I spent a few early paychecks trying to fill it out- I honestly have most of what I need, being a print reporter doesn't exactly make me camera fodder."

"But what about events? You know, as the wife of an important man like Logan, a man essentially trying to build a large company, you're of course going to have numerous cocktail parties and fundraisers, not to mention dinners with partners and investors, teas with their wives… and at some point he'll be joining some kind of athletic or country club… and that's to say nothing of corporate retreats and travel opportunities."

"Well, yes, of course some of those things will come up, but not all at once, and you know how Mom and I are when it comes to hunting for a bargain- it was practically mom's major."

"And you have both found some lovely items over the years, Rory, that's not in dispute. But, you are entering a very different stage of your life and you will be socializing in circles very different from the Campaign or Yale and I would so like to do this for you, make sure you are equipped for this stage, the best stage. I want your honeymoon period to go on and on and I don't want you to be worried about trying to find the perfect outfit or pair of shoes in some kind of bargain basement or sample sale when you should be out reporting on the scandal that will win you the Pulitzer."

"Well…" Rory was weakening. Her grandmother wasn't wrong, Rory's clothes were mostly Ann Taylor/Banana Republic/Nordstrom Rack with a few excellent from when she lived with Emily Junior year and a few items left over from the very few times her mom had gotten her to take advantage of her dad's insane credit limit. There were times, like when she prepared for the event the other night, that she wished she had some new pieces, that she could afford to be a bit more stylish- it might be nice to have the right thing at her fingertips, rather than having to search for it and stress about it for hours in advance.

"It doesn't have to be anything too elaborate. We don't have to go into New York or anything, I won't even call in Miss Celine. Perhaps we can just go to Bergdorf's or Neiman Marcus? Perhaps we could invite Honor, she always looks so put together and has the perfect idea of what someone like you would need."

"I promise, Grandma, I'll think about it."

"Wonderful. Oh, I'll just feel so much better, since you insist that your father will pay for the wedding."

"Grandma, we have talked about this- it's perfectly normal that Dad pay for the wedding of his oldest daughter."

"Of course, after he flies in and pays for Yale- your father had to send such an expensive case of Scotch to the Bursar's office to make up for that debacle."

"Grandma, I can't possibly keep having this same conversation over and over again."

"I'm only saying, Rory, that although your father was practically absent most of your life, all of a sudden he comes and takes over…"

"Fine, Grandma, fine. Make an appointment, I'll call Honor, maybe Steph, we can make a day of it and you can help me figure out my trousseau."

"Really? Oh, Rory, I'm so thrilled you're going to let me do this for you and Logan." She stood up and hugged Rory from behind while Rory sat there, shaking her head, hoping she could find some kind of diamond encrusted penis t-shirt on her shopping spree.

Later that afternoon as Rory was trying to take Mr. Medina's advice and not work on her blog, but just sit and read a book- finally tearing through Eric Clapton's autobiography, a book she had bought as a present for Lane, but couldn't resist the urge to crack it open. She had been so lost in the story behind Layla that she almost jumped out of her skin when her phone almost buzzed right off the table.

Rosemary:

Hey hon, just saw the Courant and that person is an idiot, you looked gorgeous Friday night. SCREW HER!

Stephanie:

Girlie, don't you listen to a word that idiot said! I know sometimes they seem to hate you, but they just don't get it- they don't know what to do with someone with a brain and beauty who doesn't want to spend all day working on it.

Paris:

The Courant blows, journalism is dead. It's not too late for you to go to law school.

What the hell were they talking about?

She ran to her laptop on the island in the kitchen and pulled up the Courant's website- what the hell was going on? A quick search on the site and she clicked on a picture of her and Logan from the other night. They were smiling, she was looking up at him as they danced… Grandma was right, it was a nice picture. But the one next to it? She was standing stiffly next to him as he was shanghaied by some friend of his father's who wanted to say hi as they were leaving- her feet hurt, her head was itching like crazy and she just needed to head home and sleep.

She looked pissed. Her hip popped to the side that was stretching out her dress in a weird way and her mouth was open. She didn't look her best, but when she saw the caption next to the image- she was not ready for it. Not at all

There is no denying that Rory Gilmore is a natural beauty, and of course we're crazy about her hair. But, especially as the woman on the arm of America's most eligible bachelor (although, we did notice that sizeable ring on a very telling finger of her's, so maybe soon not to be a bachelor anymore?) one would think that she would try a bit harder than an old Bridesmaids dress- frumpy, overly-simple without an ounce of serious adornment or a single interesting detail. All in all? An absolute snooze- hopefully she's interesting in other ways, or perhaps Huntzberger may be back on the market after all.

"Are they fucking kidding me?" She couldn't help it, she said it out loud. Why the fuck was the Hartford Courant trying to make the Sunday Style section read like a bitchy gossip website?

Wait, if the Courant was covering her and Logan… she scrambled to Google her name +fashion +Style.

127 hits? There were 127 instances of people discussing her fashion? At least a few were about her on the trail, especially her on-air segment. Thank God for her birthday mom gave her a gorgeous teal cashmere sweater, a perfect pencil skirt just past her knee and a pair of tall boots. The entire outfit was probably worth the same as one of her paltry paychecks, but it had been put to perfect use that day- and the internet seemed to agree. With that look.

And there were a few from Senior year at Yale, a couple of pictures of her and Logan- one at that stupid cocktail party for Logan's launch, the commentary was pretty nice about that cute trapeze dress (did she still have that?), but some people thought her bangs a bit aggressive. One intrepid reporter had gone back and found pictures from her damn cotillion- really? Generally the commentary on her dress was positive (with the caveat that it was not a bright year for cotillion fashion, whatever the hell that meant), and opinions on her hair were incredibly mixed- some suggested she looked ready to dance as the Sugar Plum Fairy (was that supposed to be a slam?) and others thought she had one of the better looks of the Debs that season, and at least she managed to avoid being belligerently drunk by the fan dance, so she was in the evening's win column.

But then, there was an article from months ago, the picture was of her going into a coffee shop near their hotel in Manhattan, while she was getting the consult at Sloane Kettering!

Logan Huntzberger's Women

Over time Huntzberger has escorted a South African tennis star, a Chilean supermodel, one of the Bush twins and has even been seen snuggled up to more than women somewhat associated with the adult film industry. Even his sister, Honor Hopewell, is consistently flawless with a style somewhere between Princess Kate and Blake Lively. She always knows the right amount of skin to show, what up-and-coming designer we should be looking to and, let's face it, her smile is so electric, she makes just about everything pop.

So it leads us to wonder, what is it that he sees in his current love interest, Rory Gilmore? Although Miss Gilmore has recently made a bit of a name for herself as a reporter on the historic Obama campaign, she seems more at home in an Ann Taylor Loft skirt suit and low-rent black pumps than haute couture- something of a shame; we think if she ever took her hair down from that perfect ballerina bun and precise bangs, she could be a knockout. But apparently, though she is fearless in her open and honest questioning of the Senator in press conferences, she seems uncomfortable outside of her austere and sensible uniform- and does she ever smile?

"What the fuck does that mean, do I ever smile? Of course I smile you nitwitted fuckwads, but not necessarily when I'm asking Senator Obama questions about his intentions to close Guantanamo Bay and he's evading me. I'm a journalist, not a goddamn beauty queen you moth-eaten maggot!"

Wait, how many times had someone written about that picture?

Rory Gilmore, seen here getting coffee in Manhattan- maybe this small town girl can dress like this at home, but in the Big Apple? It's a big snooze, is that why we've never seen her without a cup of coffee in hand?

Us Weekly posted on Twitter about her? Seriously?

Of course we all like to see how the stars are "just like us", but Rory Gilmore is trying much too hard for that title. Seen here, rumored paramour of THE Logan Huntzberger was seen yet again in Old Navy jeans, an ill-fitted long-sleeve t-shirt, a baseball cap and some sort of moccasin on her feet. It makes a person wonder, if she's that boring on the streets, how incredible must she be in the sheets to have captured the attention of the brilliant CEO?

What even was her life?