The screech of his phone had never been so loud. Five calls in two hours was a bit much, even for Blair. Nate was officially drunk, which was a good thing, because the bar fridge was dry.
Nathaniel hadn't wanted to talk to Blair, but there's something about a ringing phone that's impossible to ignore.
"Nate! Where've you been?"
The best way to hide inebriation is staying as quiet as possible. "Park."
Midnight had passed hours ago in Paris and it had to have been dark for ages in New York. Blair let it slide. If one thing had remained unchanged in the Upper East Side, it was that secrets never kept. Not for long. "I've got a surprise!" she gushed, not put off in the slightest by Nate's silence.
Nate winced. The last time he'd heard that phrase Blair was pregnant. Which wouldn't have been so bad except their country was collapsing, and more importantly, their lifestyle. And Serena, never one to be outdone, had married Tripp, out of spite, Nate was certain. Still, the six-month marriage had hurt Serena more than anyone else.
"I'm flying out in a couple hours! I'll be home tomorrow."
"Ts'good," he slurred.
Blair rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you're in a better mood tomorrow. We'll do something nice."
Something nice? Nice was just girl-code for expensive.
Nate gave the apartment a quick once over. Too clean and Blair would be suspicious. Though wine glasses with Serena's lipstick stains on the edge wouldn't reassure a highly-strung wife—ex-wife if he didn't do the dishes.
Lying didn't come naturally to Nate, and guilt sat heavily in his stomach, but some truths are just unnatural enough to seal the lips. This was one of them. He had failed as a husband, but the least he could do was prevent Blair from ever finding out.
xoxo
Serena brushed the tangles from her hair. When did something as simple as sleep become a hassle? The days of falling asleep in jeans and heels were long gone. Now a bath, teeth, face, hair all seemed to take longer.
"Vanity thy name is—"
Serena's eyes snapped to Chuck's reflection in her mirror. "Don't bother finishing that sentence—we both know who's clocked up more hours in the bathroom."
"That wasn't on account of my hair. I was busy deflowering your shower," he shot back easily.
"Then you were years too late."
Chuck ignored her words, his face as emotionless as usual. If Serena had ever cared enough, she would have realised the mask never reached his eyes. But she didn't, and so the oncoming storm went unnoticed and her husband was forgotten between the next strokes of her brush.
As a child, and even later, Serena had never paid much attention to her looks. They were there, they were good, and that was enough. But the gap separating her from thirty was closing with every breath, and the years between thirty and unattractiveness were unknowable. Unknowable and terrifying.
Maybe if she'd had something else…But always it was fuck, you're hot or something indistinguishably similar. So an hour spent in front of the mirror didn't seem like a lot when faced with losing her only asset.
"How'd you spend your day?" Chuck smoothed his cuffs, never moving his eyes from Serena's mirror.
"Shopping. I bought a new watch." Serena snuck a glance at his face before quickly hurrying on, "Vintage Cartier—my mother would have loved it."
Chuck gave her a disbelieving smirk. "May I see it? I like to know what useless trinkets my hard-earned money procures."
Serena's eyes widened in alarm. Her arm fell to her side as she no longer bothered to keep up the pretence of brushing her hair.
"You're a horrible liar, S. And to bring Lily into your little games of deceit seems low, even for you." Serena had known the guilt he had for Lily's death. Her name was just a ploy to throw him off the scent.
She turned to glare at him hatefully. "After living with you for so many years who could possibly blame for sinking to your level?"
"It's no use. Jennifer stopped by my office today." He moved closer, reclining against her bed banister. "She told me all about your romantic afternoon with Nathaniel."
Serena brushed off any discomfort with a flick of her hair. "Her? Little J lies with every breath!"
He knew Jenny lied. "So you didn't spend all day secluded in Nate's apartment?"
"Why do you even listen to her? She's always hated me." Serena didn't bother to explain why, because it would seem even more incriminating.
"I guess I don't need to hear the words." Chuck smiled bitterly. "We had a deal Serena."
She hated to be reminded of how easily she'd been bought. "I haven't done anything. Yes, I went there, but it wasn't for that. He needed help with something. And we're friends."
"You're help? What could you possibly help him with? No, don't bother—I can guess. Blair's still visiting her mother. I suppose Archibald got lonely. And of course you were there. You usually are."
Chuck's lecherous sneer made her skin crawl. "Blair's my best friend, do you think I would—"
"Yeah, I do. I knew what you were when I married you, I just mistakenly believed the ring on your finger ensured I'd be your only trick."
With all her strength Serena threw her brush, hitting him squarely in the chest. "You're disgusting! Just because you know nothing but filth—"
Chuck snatched her arm, swinging her forcefully onto the bed. "Shut up," he hissed.
"Fine," she seethed. "Just get out. I can't—" She smiled wanly as her attention focused elsewhere. "Honey-boy, why do you always hide in the shadows like that?"
Chuck turned to see Hunter pressed into a hallway wall, evading the light.
"Come here, honey." Serena held out her arms. Her smile wavered as her son hesitated before reluctantly moving towards her, dragging his feet with every step. Stiffly he let Chuck muss his hair and his mother hug him before slinking off to stand by her dresser. He fingered her make-up, and creams, sneaking glances at his parents.
Chuck had had his doubts about his seven year old son. Bartholomew Hunter Bass was born eight months after a hasty marriage. Premature, Serena and her doctor had told him. How convenient. Two years later he'd done his best to avoid the child with brilliant golden hair, huge blue eyes and his wife's smile. Nathaniel and Serena, his mind had whispered, fool, fool, fool. But by Hunter's fourth birthday Chuck had known the truth. The sullen child, prone to tantrums and distrustful looks was not his best friend's son.
He watched as the boy spun from the dressing table, simultaneously knocking an antique bottle of perfume onto the hardwood floors. It smashed instantly. "Hunter!" Serena snapped. "Did you do that on purpose?"
Hunter just glared back at her balefully, refusing to answer.
Chuck wanted to yell at her. Hunter was simply an awkward child. Like he had been. Hunter disappeared down the hall. His nanny would probably find a room full of broken toys in the morning. Chuck would replace them before Serena found out.
Serena kneeled to clean the mess, the musky scent making her stomach churn uneasily. She didn't want to fight with Chuck anymore. One more ugly word and she wouldn't forgive him. Not this time.
Chuck shut the bedroom door. He didn't want to plead; he didn't even know if he wanted the truth. "If you aren't sleeping with Nate, just tell me why you were there."
Serena closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. "I'm going to sleep. Chuck. I don't care where you go, as long as it isn't near me."
xoxo