Hi. This story just popped in my head yesterday when I was reading Where We Belong by Emily Giffin (That was my 'day out' change from school readings.) So I've written prologue quickly, loosely based on that book. I hope you like the idea. I bet there is similar fic somewhere written stunningly by talented author but I've decided to go with it anyway.
I still have a lot of work in school and in life so sorry for lack of updates. I will continue this one when I finish Eileen. But I can't promise new chapter anytime soon. So sorry.
As always my apologies for all terrifying mistakes and errors.
One Day (Part 1)
How to describe Blair Waldorf?
Successful and beautiful 36-year-old woman, casual observer would say. Independent, strong and sharp Graduate of Sorbonne, someone would add. Hard-working and demanding founder of her own fashion magazine. Visionary. Trend-setter. Fundraiser.
Outwardly she leads perfect life with perfect fiancé. But the truth can be harsh.
She comes back home earlier than she should from charity event she organized herself. She was tired and restless whole evening, sitting there was useless anyway. Her fiancé Nate Archibald wasn't with her, but it was not a reason of her uneasiness. His absence was rather good thing. She didn't have to pretend how happy they are and praise the blissfulness of their engagement time, which is only for show.
But she must admit that she is good at making stories up – where they spent their vacation, how many children they want to have, how supportive her flawless fiancé is. The topics are endless. Sometimes she even believes in them herself. The truth is that they have two separate bedrooms and that this 'relationship' is the most loveless of all in Upper East Side.
Blair walks in the living-room where Nate is watching football match. "Hi." He says. "How was your party?"
"Good. Thanks." Blair answers.
"Enough money… for children."
"Yes, not bad." Nate nods approvingly still looking directly on TV. "How was your day in work?" She asks politely.
"Good." He takes a sip of his beer.
They are just roommates not even close ones. That expensive ring she is wearing in public is just pure business. He proves his father that he is responsible and settled down man, who can finally be in charge of big company. While Blair helps her mother's company survives. She feels that she owes her that. She can't explain it, but she feels guilty every time she says 'no' to her. She is not able to protest or oppose to Eleanor's will. That how it was when she was younger and how it is now.
Blair wonders sometimes how she ends up in this farce. Then she concludes that she deserves it, that this is just well-earned punishment. 'I do not deserve to be happy.' This is a line, she repeats constantly every night before sleep.
Luckily their awkward and forced conversation is disturbed by a sound of a doorbell. "I'll get it." She runs up to the front door thankfully. When she opens it she sees a young, tall man in blue jeans, black, down jacket and leather shoes, with kitbag hung over his shoulder. She stands there, still in her fancy ball gown, heels and unbuttoned coat, completely dumbfounded with wide opened eyes and parted lips.
"Good evening." The boy says nervously, with slight French accent. "Are you Blair Waldorf?" He asks. She doesn't say anything. She just stares at his easily recognizable bone structure and dark, curly hair. Tears fill her eyes. "I'm Philip Moore…"
Blair slams the door in his face thoughtlessly when she felt unbearable heat in her chest. Her heart is beating at a furious pace now, her mind is galloping and her knees become so weak that she has to take her shoes off. Deep inside she expected it to happen. Deeper inside she wanted it to happen. But it doesn't change a fact that his presence in her life –again– knocks her out.
"Who was that?" Nate asks uninterested.
"Nobody." She mutters. "Homeless…" She stammers, patting her chest to calm herself down.
Homeless people in top security building are not very believable lie but Nate doesn't seem to care. "So maybe you should invite him inside to show charity in real life." He laughs sarcastically. "Maybe he is hungry or something."
Without a blink she is out of her apartment. She runs down the stairs because she thought it's faster than elevator. She rushes through the lobby barefoot. "Miss Blair!" Vanya calls out. But she doesn't react, leaving the building in a hurry. She looks around the street impatiently, hoping that he doesn't go far enough. Then she spots him on the bench at the end of the pavement, he is looking for something in his bag. She approaches to him quickly.
"Hi." She says shyly. He doesn't even turn around to face her. "I know who you are." She tells him with trembling voice.
"I know you do." He retorts curtly. Her reaction up there was too evident for him.
"Are you… are you hungry?" She starts. "Do you have place to overnight?" She begins to search in her clutch bag. "Take these please." She hands him two 100 dollar bills.
He eyes her contemptuously. "I don't want or need your money." He stresses. "I'm fine. Don't worry." He says acidly and starts to go away.
"Hey!" She screams in horror. "Where are you going?!" She follows, trying to stop him. "Wait. Here…" She brings a pen and piece of paper out her bag and writes something. "Please go there." 'I will be calmer.' She adds in her mind and gives him an address. "Promise me you go there." She looks up at handsome, exactly 18 year and 11 day old boy. "Promise me." She repeats pleadingly. He finally nods finding the man's name on a card familiar.
She sighs in relief and hails a cab. She swears that she hails a cab for the first time in her life. When car drove away, she stands in the middle of the sidewalk alone who knows for how long. "Philip." She says her son's name dreamily after a while. Then with one strong wind blow, which messes her hairdo, she realizes what she has done. She puts her hand on her mouth in panic.
That is just the beginning of the thunderstorm.
That seems to be this day, this one day when all secrets come out, all facades and illusions come down.
You can run but you can't hide.
.
.
.
Philip climbs up the stairs of the Brooklyn's building. Standing in front of the wooden door of communal loft, he hesitates a bit. Then he takes a deep, shaky breath and knocks.
Dan Humphrey looks at his front door suspiciously from behind a kitchen counter, glancing at the clock –11.20– he frowns at the timing of the visitor. He opens it and he is not entirely sure what is going on. They both aren't. They look at each other as if they are their own reflections in the mirror. Similarity is unmistakable.
"Hi." The boy starts diffidently. "I'm Philip Moore." He pauses rumpling a card with address from Blair in his hand. "You are probably my biological father."
.
.
.
tbc