Three months later.
From: Chuck
Miserable without me?
From: Blair
I don't have time for booty calls, Bass
From: Chuck
I'll take that as a yes.
Meet me in twenty?
From: Blair
Whatever kind of secret rendezvous it is that you have planned, it's out of the question.
From: Chuck
I want to show you something.
From: Blair
You showed me that this morning.
From: Chuck
Get your mind out of the gutter, Waldorf
From: Blair
Fine, give me thirty minutes.
Where?
"How's the show coming along? I'm so happy we'll get back in time." Serena asks over the phone from a sunny beach in the Caribbean, and the surge of nervous adrenaline is instant at the mentioning of her up-coming exhibition. She has spent the last month in frenzy; meeting with Adrian and the gallery, shooting, developing, and discussing lighting and guest lists. With no more than one week left, she has spent the last days altering between 'feigned calm' and 'nervous wreck'. Luckily Chuck is very adept in the art of stress-relief.
The memory of their text conversation earlier has a smile playing on her lips as she tells her honeymooning BFF all about the preparations, and the photographs, and Adrian's blind faith in her being the 'next big thing'.
"…Nate! I'm on the phone!" Serena suddenly laughs over the line, and Blair cringes – holding the phone a good four inches away from her ear.
"Serena, please make that man-bang-sporting husband of yours go away, this is important!" she demands, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. It's not that she doesn't approve of the other half of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club being nauseatingly happy and head-over-heels for each other, she just prefers to be happy for them without the visual and/or audible evidence.
"Sorry B," Serena laughs, and even though she can tell quite easily from her friend's tone of voice that earlier mentioned husband is still within reaching distance she doesn't say anything.
"You should be." She points out wryly, because she might approve but she doesn't necessarily need them to know that she does - that she is one hundred percent pro-Mr. and Mrs.-Nathaniel-Archibald. There is no immediate answer on the other end of the line, and when a muffled giggle reaches her ears she lets out a yelp and is quick to hang up with a roll of her eyes.
The cab parks behind a very familiar limo and she steps out into the soft September sunlight. She has never been to this address before and looks around curiously as she gets out of the car. The - for New York - unusually peaceful dead-end street is encircled by old brownstone buildings that have been carefully restored to their former glory. She spots him immediately, leaning against the limo, arms crossed over his chest and that ever-present smirk playing on his lips.
"Bass."
"Blair," he greets her as she walks up to him, and she is quick to notice the hint of uncertainty in his eyes before he kisses her hello. He kisses her properly though, his kisses are never uncertain or hesitant, no matter how soft or brief there is always the confident, passionate trace of 'Chuck Bass' in them, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
"So, what is it that you wanted to show me?" She asks him moments later, and gives his hand a barely noticeable, reassuring, squeeze as their fingers lace together.
"This." He nods in direction of the building closest to them. They're standing in front of a gorgeous brownstone house with wrought iron details and ivy covering parts of the façade. The house is by far the prettiest in sight and for a millisecond she can picture dark-haired children bouncing down the steps, heading for the waiting limo, dressed in perfectly ironed school uniforms.
"It's a beautiful house," she says, wondering what kind of new business plan he is working on that has him venturing towards private homes.
"You think?" He questions, and she nods in reassurance. He straightens a little where he is standing, and his grip of her hand seems to relax. "Come on, I'll show you the inside."
He can see her eyes narrow in confusion the moment he motions in direction of the house, and the expression only deepens as he pulls the key out of his own pocket and unlocks the front door. Ignoring the buzzing sound forming in his ears, he gestures for her to enter and hesitates for a second before following her inside.
They step into a bright foyer, still smelling vaguely of fresh paint, and the sound of her heels echo in the empty space. The dark wood of the staircase leading to the second floor is to the left, and there is a hallway leading to the rest of the downstairs' rooms right in front of them. The house is beautiful, perfect in every single way. He already knows that, and because of that concentrates solemnly on her face as they walk through the various rooms, all freshly renovated and with walls still waiting for a final decision regarding wallpapers or paint colours.
Her confusion is still prominent, visible in the slight furrow of her brow and that familiar line her mouth is forming. But the more she sees of the house, the more the puzzlement is replaced by soft smiles and eager anticipation. When she breathes in awe at the sight of the lavish master bedroom, he has to keep from grinning and for a second almost forgets about the weight of their future inside his pocket.
Apart from the doors leading to the master bathroom and the huge walk-in closet, there is another door leading to a room that could easily be transformed into an office. They look around and he is silently waiting for her to notice the door to the right inside the 'office'. When she does, and finds the small (but big enough) and unfurnished studio and darkroom, she turns to him with eyes wide in disbelief.
"There's even a darkroom!" She exclaims, and he knows right that instant that he can't put off the inevitable, the purpose of this spontaneous house tour, any longer.
"Do you like it?"
"Are you kidding me?" She breathes, forgetting all about manners and ladylike behaviour when faced with her dream house. "This house is perfect!"
"Good," he smirks, "I was hoping you'd say that, since I bought it this morning."
"You bought it?" She experiences a brief pang of envy for the lucky people that will get to live here. "Why? What are you going to do with it?"
"I wanted to." He replies with such relaxed ease that she is reminded of just how easy spending money has always been to him. But then she picks up on the dwelling uncertainty in the way he carries himself, and cocks an eyebrow in question.
It is not that he doubts her answer, not at all. He is Chuck Bass for fuck's sake, he is a catch. So there really isn't a reason good enough as to why his heart is racing in his chest, and his throat is suddenly so dry he can't speak.
There are a few seconds of silence in which she is waiting for an answer with a frown lacing her features, and he is trying not to choke. Then, with a casual shrug of his shoulder and a slight tilt of his head he jumps off the deep end.
"You always talked about how you didn't want your kids to grow up in an apartment, or a suite at some hotel." He begins, and watches her expression change from confusion to incredulity.
"Wha..you…kids?" She stutters, and he smirks. Her apparent loss of words is definitely a positive thing, and he can stop himself from having a little fun with it.
"Kids, Waldorf." He drawls, "Tiny, wailing, humans that comes from sex, preferably lots and lots of it if you ask me. A family usually consists of a few of them. I'm not picky when it comes to numbers, but having been an only child most of my life I'd prefer to have at least two."
She is staring at him in shocked silence, looking as if he just grew two (devilishly attractive) heads.
"Family?" Her voice is much softer now, and she is slowly moving closer to him.
"Yes. Family." He agrees, brushing a piece of lint off his sleeve. "I have considered you family since we were fourteen, if not before that, but when we get married we'll become family in the more legal way of the word. Families should live in houses, and there should be kids involved somehow, hence the purchase of this house you seem so very infatuated with."
She is pretty sure that the world just stopped in its tracks. That doomsday has arrived or that pigs are flying by outside the window. Because Chuck Bass just spoke words such as family and kids and marriage, and kept a straight face the entire time. Either that or she is having some kind of seizure because her entire body is buzzing with some kind of electrical current.
"What did you say?" She whispers, because he really kind of lost her at the word 'married',
"You are going to marry me, Waldorf."
He says it with such casual ease, and a shrug of his shoulder as had he just suggested they got take-out for dinner, that for a second she is wholly convinced she heard wrong.
"I…What?"
"You and I are going to get married." He repeats in the voice of someone spelling something out to a complete imbecile, but his eyes glitter in amusement as he does. She is merely staring back at him, a voice somewhere at the back of her head telling her that this is probably something she should respond to.
The smirk on his lips widen into a amused grin and suddenly he is right in front of her, his hands finding hers - hanging limp at her sides - and intertwine their fingers again. It is still one of her favourite physical feelings in the whole world, even with all the mind-blowing, toe-curling feelings he can provoke in her, the sensation of his fingers entwined with hers still makes her breath hitch. With her head bowed down, she looks at their hands in silence, slowly feeling the confusion and shock leaving room for an overwhelming emotion that kick-starts the world back into moving again. Then his thumb brushes over the back of her hand, the only sign that he is waiting for a response of some sort, and the voice at the back of her head is finally able to swamp the wild buzzing noise.
Had he been any less self-secure, her silence would have been excruciating. Now it's only completely and utterly nerve-wracking. Did he do this all wrong? Too soon? Four months together isn't really a long time, even though it feels like years in some ways. Or did he say something bad? What if she says no?
The second he is about to open his mouth and say something she tilts her head up and looks at him, and he can breathe an inwardly sigh of relief.
"Is that so?" She says, mischief and joy dancing in her eyes, and he knows right in that second that she is all in. "And why would I consider such an offer?"
"Because you can't resist my devilishly good looks or overwhelming sexual appeal." He drawls in complete confidence. "I'm considered quite the catch, you know."
"Is that so?"
"It is, I read it in a magazine." He winks, and she shoots him a look as if telling him to go on. "And you would get to live here, in this house."
She pretends to contemplate her decision.
"It is a lovely house." She agrees, like that is the sole reason for her to accept his offer, and if he wasn't so freakishly overwhelmed by this whole thing he would laugh out loud. But he still can't quite relax and believe in what is happening, and right then all he wants is to make it official - see his ring on her finger.
He untangles his fingers from her grasp, and reaches inside the pocket of his jacket to retrieve the familiar-looking blue box. He can hear her awed gasp when he opens the box and reveals the platinum, cushion diamond ring, and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for a ring well picked.
"I love you," he tells her softly, eyes still glued on the box in his hand and suddenly feeling very, uncharacteristically, humble because really, who is he to ask her - Blair Waldorf - to be his wife? He doesn't come close to deserving her, but he wants her and loves her so he asks her anyway because she might be Blair Waldorf but he is still Chuck Bass and he makes sure he gets what he wants. And he wants her, no one but her, forever. "You are everything to me, Blair. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?"
He looks up at her as he finishes his confession, and finds that she is crying. Tears are falling down her cheeks in a seemingly never-ending stream, but she is smiling and nodding her head vigorously.
"Yes." She breathes, feeling like a fool for crying but unable to stop. It was never a sliver of a doubt in her mind that she would say anything but yes, did he ever ask her, but she barely believe she will actually get to have him, only him, forever. "Yes, Chuck, I'll marry you. I love you."
He smiles at that - one of those genuine smiles that she doesn't get to see that often - and that few people ever see in the first place, and then proceeds to slide the ring onto her finger.
It fits her perfectly and she knows she will never, ever want to take it off again. She spends a good ten seconds admiring her ring, only brought out of her revelry when he grabs her wrist with an impatient growl and crashes his lips against hers. Moments later they are stumbling towards the still undecorated and unfurnished bedroom, all forgotten except the burning need to feel skin against skin, and feeling it inside what will become their master bedroom when they live in their house with their family.
"So, what's next, now that our master bedroom has been properly christened, Waldorf-soon-to-be-Bass?" He murmurs against her neck a while later, in between lazy nips and licks. His hand is already skimming down her waist and leaving goose-bumps in its wake. She swears this man is insatiable.
"Waldorf-…Bass." She sighs, her objection nearly swallowed completely by a moan. The hyphen has his hand coming to an abrupt stop, and she whimpers in protest as he pulls back to look at her.
"Waldorf-Bass," She repeats, more firmly now, because marriage or no marriage (perfect bliss or even more perfect bliss) she has no intention of being named 'Blair Bass'. Then she might as well change her name to Baby, buy a Chihuahua, book her first Botox appointment.
His eyes narrow at her objection, but then his hand resume its ministrations. When she shudders and bites her lip to suppress a moan, he smirks and there is a silent challenge in his eyes that she can easily detect.
If I can make you come…
She accepts with a slow, deliberate stroke, a smirk lacing also her features when he sucks in a breath.
…before I do,I win.
There are seventeen rooms in their new home, he told her earlier. Uneven numbers, a tie is not possible. They both know that this latest 'game' of theirs - no matter the outcome - is really a case of a win-win situation.
tbc