Chapter 19
Blair grasped loosely onto Serena's hand as they stumbled out of the limo, giggling about something that the blonde had murmured quietly enough that neither of the guys could hear them. They sauntered into the club together, their hips swaying dramatically as if they knew that Nate and Chuck's eyes would automatically be drawn to their movements. As the two men followed the girls through the door, Nate raised his eyebrow in his friend's direction, to which Chuck simply shrugged and shook his head with a defeated sigh. Blair had already abandoned her self-imposed rules of appropriate social etiquette for a princess-to-be, and she was barely tipsy from the champagne they'd consumed on the way. He was on high alert, his body stiff and his muscles aching from the tension that her raw sensuality produced.
The ride in the limo was an excruciating test of his willpower; in the first ten minutes, Serena had pushed her way into Nate's arms, purring into his ear and teasing the lapels of his jacket with her fingers. Her actions weren't indecent, but Chuck was certain that the words she whispered to him were when he watched a reddish tinge creep into Nate's cheeks. Their little game of seduction left Chuck and Blair seated on the back bench, alone, with their thighs pressed together. The position hadn't been so strange when Serena was beside Blair, but as soon as she moved into Nate's lap, the brunettes were stuck in an awkward position, where Blair could either scoot over and bring attention to their proximity or remain where she was and pretend like she didn't notice the lack of space between their bodies. Blair had chosen ignorance, so Chuck had to force himself to ignore the heat emanating from her exposed leg where her dress had ridden up to the point that he could see the dark mole on her upper thigh. The memories he had of that mole were enough to drive him mad. From his position, he could smell her Dior perfume, the one she reserved for special occasions, and it made those memories even more vivid. It was torture, and she seemed to have no knowledge of the effect that she was having on him by simply sitting close to him. He finally breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived at the club, glad to have a little reprieve from the aching in his chest, but then she started sashaying her hips in a way that made the ache travel further south into other regions of his body. He wasn't the playboy he used to be, but he still enjoyed the many pleasures that a female companion could offer. Since Eva returned to France two months earlier, he'd remained celibate, despite the aching need he felt around Blair. With each passing week, he grew increasingly aroused in her presence, and this dress seemed to be designed to tease him in the cruelest of ways.
The atmosphere of the club was electric, and Blair felt like her every nerve-ending was pumping along with the loud beat of the music. Blues and purple hues illuminated the walls and the ceilings with low lit chandeliers. Strobe lights glistened above an already packed dance floor, and four bars decorated with hanging lights were nestled in each of the corners of the room. The tables and chairs were stark white, indicating the cleanliness of the club in spite of its numerous intoxicated partiers. Serena grabbed Blair's hand and led her to a winding staircase on the far end of the wall that led to the VIP section of the club. As they ascended the stairs hand-in-hand, she could feel the eyes of the masses boring into them. She didn't feel self-conscious; she felt empowered. No one approached her, but everyone seemed to want to be her. She decided that the name of the establishment, Club NV, was an appropriate moniker because the dim room did little to hide the looks of envy on the faces of the club's patrons.
Chuck tipped the bouncer handsomely on his way up to bring them the finest bottle of champagne they had in stock, intent on making sure that Blair was relaxed enough to let loose and enjoy herself. He intended to keep his guard up, but he wanted her to have fun without the pressure of living up to the unrealistic expectations that society placed on a woman of her caliber. He knew better than anyone the standards that Blair held herself to and the stress that it caused her. It was a shame, he thought, that she didn't give herself room to make mistakes, and she rarely got the chance to just be a 20-something woman living in New York. He hoped she would give herself the opportunity to be free and uninhibited sometimes, that she wouldn't let the titles of mother, fiance, and CEO keep her from experiencing life. Images of a carefree Blair dancing on the stage at Victrola flashed in his mind, and he felt a small pang in his chest akin to loss and regret.
The VIP section on the upstairs deck offered several private booths with plush sofas of varying jewel tones piled with expensive throw pillows in complementary colors. The four members of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club were seated at the most lush booth, and Chuck and Nate immediately took the couch in the center of the booth, while Serena pulled Blair toward the VIP's private dance floor, which was substantially less crowded than the one downstairs. Chuck poured two glasses of scotch - one for himself and one for Nate - figuring that a drink or two wouldn't hurt anything as long as he paced himself. Chuck Bass's version of sobriety was different than most people's, after all.
He brought the tumbler to his lips, keeping his eyes trained on Blair and Serena, dancing together as if they were the only two people in the entire building. Blair raised her arms high above her head, shaking her hips to the thumping rhythm of the music. The smile on her face, her head thrown back in laughter caused those butterflies that he'd talked to Cora about to flutter violently inside his chest. He'd tried his best to suppress his feelings when he left New York and even after he returned, but, God, watching her now, he knew that he would always be doomed.
Nate voiced the same thoughts as he watched the emotions flicker across Chuck's face, startling him from his reverie, "You still love her, huh?"
"Can't imagine the day I won't." He raised the glass to his mouth again, seeing no reason to lie to Nate. He hadn't admitted as much to Serena, choosing instead to remain stubbornly quiet, but wasn't it obvious? What difference did it make if Nate knew? He would never act on his feelings; Blair was definitely better off without him weighing her down. A platonic, co-parenting relationship was the best he would get out of her, and he didn't even deserve that. "But I'm too late; she's with Louis."
"Man," Nate started, glancing from the girls dancing back to Chuck, anxiously pondering whether it was his place to say anything, "Doesn't it strike you as a bit odd that she's still not married yet?"
"She's engaged," Chuck scowled, throwing a look of irritation at Nate, "What's your point?"
"Engaged, yes, but not married," Nate shrugged, lifting his glass to take a sip, "Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but the timing of everything seems a little coincidental. He proposed six months ago, and she wouldn't give him an answer. She didn't say yes until you returned, but last I heard, she won't even set a date."
"That doesn't mean anything. She's cautious now. I burned her so badly that I'm sure she's just taking it slow. Besides, she's thinking about Cora." Chuck's tone was gruff, a warning for Nate to choose his words carefully.
"Maybe so," Nate responded, pointing his finger in Blair's direction, "But that look she's giving you right now doesn't exactly scream 'hands off.'"
Chuck's gaze followed Nate's finger, but he didn't find Blair giving him bedroom eyes as Nate had suggested. Instead, he saw a younger guy - probably in his late teens or early 20s - sidling up to Blair and attempting to coax her into dancing with him. She laughed flirtatiously, a clear indication that she had moved beyond tipsy into another level of intoxication, and shoved him lightly on the shoulder, shaking her head to convey that she was perfectly content dancing with Serena. The guy didn't seem to take a hint, and he placed his hands on her hips, forcing her to turn around and face him. Her hands landed on his shoulders, resting there for just a moment as if she was considering relenting to his persistent quest for a dance. Slowly, though, Chuck watched her body language change; she pushed harder against him, trying to extract herself from his grasp, but the asshole held her tighter, pulling her flush against him. She struggled against him, but no one seemed to notice. Blair wasn't some damsel who needed saving, but in this case, her equilibrium was compromised and she couldn't seem to wrench herself free of the intrusion.
"Motherfucker," Chuck cursed beneath clenched jaws, gritting his teeth until they ached, willing the rage rushing through his veins to subside. When the guy's fingers skimmed over the swells of Blair's hips, reaching toward her backside, he was no longer in control of his actions. Before he knew what he was doing, he shoved the guy away from Blair with more aggression than he'd shown anyone in recent years. He wrapped his arm protectively around her waist, moving his body between her and the offender. "You don't ever lay your fucking hands on her," his voice was thick, anger seeping from his words.
The younger guy turned toward Chuck, bowing up ready to escalate the altercation, but he found something in Chuck's blazing eyes that dissuaded him from further action. Chuck's expression was wild, like he was one step away from losing all forms of self-restraint. Relenting, the frat boy threw his hands up in surrender and said, "Sorry, dude, I didn't know she had a boyfriend. You should keep a closer eye on your girl, though; she's shaking her ass at every guy in this place and then expecting us not to react."
Chuck clenched his fists at his side and growled, "Get the hell out of here before I do something I regret." He hadn't noticed Nate following him, until he was standing beside him, ready to throw a punch if needed, with Serena peering over his shoulder, teetering on her stilettos. Nate subconsciously reached around to steady her, while keeping his eyes trained on Blair's harasser.
Clearly intimidated by the older men's display, the kid threw his hands up at his friends gesturing toward the exit, "Fuck these rich bitches."
Chuck's shoulders remained tense as he watched the group leave the club. He vaguely heard Serena tell Nate that she needed to use the restroom, and he led her by the hand toward the stairs, unwilling to risk her falling down them in her inebriated state. Eventually he felt Blair's hand resting gently against his arm, and he turned toward her, his face softening exponentially when he found her doe eyes wide with worry. "Chuck?" she questioned, turning so that his hands came to rest lightly on each of her hips.
His thumbs drew circles against her hips, toying with the intricate beadwork on her dress. The anger surging through him dissipated when her hands found purchase on his shoulders. He exhaled slowly, leaning in until his forehead rested against hers, their noses nearly touching at the tip. He closed his eyes and rasped out, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she murmured; her knees felt weak, and she was thankful for his tight grasp around her waist, so she didn't tumble over. She leaned into him as a new song started over the speakers; it was upbeat, but not quite as booming as the previous tune. She wasn't ready to let go, or to think about what their current position meant in terms of their complicated relationship, so she whispered, "Dance with me, Chuck."
"Blair," his voice shook from underneath uneven breaths that burned his throat on each exhalation.
"Just for a moment," the smooth skin of her temple brushed against the rough stubble of his jaw, sending a shiver down his spine, "Just until Serena comes back."
She moved her hips to the beat, trailing her hand from his shoulder, slowly down his arm until she entwined their fingers together. His entire body was flushed with the heat that seemed to pass from her hand into his, and he was careful to keep his lower half a few inches away from hers. His heart beat rapidly against his chest, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his hands grew increasingly clammy with the nerves that seemed to rack his muddled mind. Blair didn't seem to notice - or at least care - about any of these reactions, though. If she pressed any closer to him, he would lose it; he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer, and in the morning, he would be evicted from her life completely. As good as she felt, as incredible as she looked, he couldn't risk all of the progress that they had made on physical desires, but, dammit, he was certain that Blair felt it, too. Her skin was flushed a deep shade of crimson, her lips parted, pink tongue darting out to moisten them. Her mouth was so pouty, and she smelled so good; he was overcome with the urge to kiss her, to find out if she still tasted like raspberries. His body grew warm with desire, his hands flexing subconsciously against her hips. She shuddered against him, and he slowly pushed her back so that the only part of them left touching was their hands. She gave him a confused look that pained him, and he said, "You're killing me, Blair."
Something in his words seemed to sober her, as if she just now realized the position that she'd entangled herself in, and she dropped her hands from his. Tears flashed across her eyes, and he knew that it was just the alcohol messing with her emotions, making her feel a pang of rejection, even though it wasn't really there. She turned on her heels and said, "I need air. It's hot in here."
"Let me help you," he tried to grab her arm to escort her back to the booth, but she yanked it back.
"No, I'm fine," she snapped, heading toward the stairs.
"I'll be damned if I'm letting you go alone," he growled back at her.
"I don't need a babysitter," she gripped the banister tightly, stomping down the stairs, irrationally angry at Chuck's choice to follow her.
"You're tipsy. Half the men here are ogling you."
"Screw you, Chuck," she yelled over her shoulder, reaching the final step and shoving her way through the crowd. "You're not my knight in shining armor, so stop trying to play the part."
"Dammit, Blair," he squeezed between bouncing bodies to catch up to her, "You know damn well that that's not what I'm doing."
She didn't respond as she shoved open the door to the club, crossing her arms over her chest in indignation. The alcohol was clouding her judgment, and she wasn't even sure why she was so angry. Chuck hadn't done anything wrong; he'd only helped her fend off unwanted advances from a guy who was getting a little too handsy. She asked him to dance, and he obliged while remaining respectful. Her stubborn pride refused to let her apologize, though, so she didn't meet his eyes when he finally approached her a few moments later. "I'm fine I said," she huffed, turning away from him.
"Yeah, I know," he agreed, "But you're also going to have a killer hangover in the morning." He directed her to a bench on the side of the building, gently pushing her back until she sat on the cold wrought iron seat. He lowered himself beside her and handed her a bottle of water, "Drink this."
She accepted the bottle from him, guzzling it without regard for propriety as some of the liquid dribbled down the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry," she muttered without much enthusiasm, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Don't be sorry," he responded, "You looked like you were having fun, at least until that asshole put his hands on you. It's been a while since I've seen you so uninhibited, so free."
She shrugged, licking her lips and passing the bottle back to him. "Sometimes I forget that I'm 25 years-old. I didn't really have the whole college experience; I didn't celebrate my 21st birthday by making embarrassing choices fueled by alcohol. I was a mother at 20, Chuck. I escaped being a teenage parent by two months. I love Cora, but…" She turned away, shame weighing heavily on her chest.
"Don't you dare do that," he grasped her chin firmly and forced her eyes to his. "Don't you dare feel guilty for those words. Anyone would feel that way, Blair. Your twenties were stolen from you, and you have every right to mourn that fact. None of that makes you a bad mother because you are really fucking incredible. You're a better mother than Eleanor or Lily could ever hope to be. You were thrust into this because of me, and you -" he inhaled sharply, cursing again beneath his breath, "You're amazing, Blair. I really can't figure out how you did it. You have to see that. You have to see your own strength."
"How do you always do that?" she questioned quietly, eyes red with dry tears, "How do you always know exactly what to say?"
He smirked, sadness and understanding etched into the tight line of his lips, "I know you better than I know myself, remember?"
She smiled back at him, "Even when I didn't want you to see the parts I tried to keep hidden, you could always see them."
"I always saw you, Blair," he agreed. "I still do."
"What do you see, Chuck?" She asked softly, a self-deprecating doubt clouding her eyes. "There's no mystery left; I'm a shell of who Blair Waldorf used to be."
He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the patterns of the gravel on the ground beneath his feet. He could be gentle with her by telling her about the amazing woman he saw - the mother, the friend, the strong, capable woman who made him feel weak and vulnerable. That wasn't what she needed now though; it wasn't what her watery eyes were asking for. She wanted honesty, something that no one else really seemed to give her lately. "You're not a shell, Blair, but you have become complacent. You've let your circumstances determine who you are, instead of fighting for who you want to be. You're a mother, yes, but that role doesn't define you."
"Then what defines me?" she challenged, a hint of intrigue playing in her curious eyes. Chuck was right; he knew her well, probably better than anyone else, and she was desperate to hear his answer.
"Nothing, not a single thing defines you, Blair," he explained, "Don't you see? You're Blair Waldorf, and that's enough. All the rest is just a piece of who you are, but it doesn't define you. You're not just a mother, or just a fiance, or just a friend. You're everything."
"It doesn't feel that way," she whispered.
He stroked his thumb against her knuckles, interlocking their fingers and bringing their clasped hands into his lap. He squeezed gently, and asked, "Why are you working for Waldorf Designs, Blair?"
The question surprised her, and she found his eyes studying her carefully, but there was no judgment in his gaze. "My mother needs me."
"That's bullshit," he shook his head, "There are hundreds of qualified designers to head her company. You have no experience and no desire to lead a fashion company, unless something has changed since the many conversations that we had about this exact topic six years ago."
"What else am I going to do, Chuck?" she asked sharply, "You're right about me not having any experience or qualifications beyond being my mother's daughter. I am a Yale reject and a Columbia drop-out. I would be a fool to pass up the chance to head a multi-million dollar company."
"What's stopping you from finishing your degree, Blair? What's stopping you from doing what you want without worrying about what your mother wants or what you think society expects from you?" He was frustrated with her willingness to just accept her current situation; where was her fire? Her persistence? Her drive to stop at nothing until she got everything she wanted?
Her lips pursed together, and she pulled her hand away from his, not out of anger, but as a means of changing the subject. She clearly didn't want to talk about herself anymore, so she turned the tables on him, "What about you, Chuck? You've been back in New York for almost three months, and yet you've pretty much just rolled over for Jack to keep control of your company. Why aren't you doing anything about that?"
"In case you haven't noticed," he scoffed, "I've been a little busy since finding out that I have an offspring that I didn't know anything about until a few months ago. She's kind of occupying my time."
"Exactly, parental responsibilities come first, so stop pushing me when you're doing the same thing."
He shook his head in frustration; they were clearly at an impasse. "C'mon," he said, offering her his hand to help her from the bench, "Let's go find Nate and Serena. They're probably wondering where we ended up."
"Or they're still having sex in the bathroom," Blair joked, and Chuck laughed aloud, realizing that she was probably right.
"God," he groaned, "Not much has changed, I guess - weddings, coat closets, public restrooms, my kitchen. They have to have set the record for most obscure places to have sex."
She quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement. "The record, you say?"
He rolled his eyes, desperately trying to ignore the stirring in his groin, "Point taken, but we were teenagers; it was kind of expected of us to fool around in random places."
"Let's be real," she smiled up at him, eyes shining brightly from the combination of alcohol and the exhilaration of letting loose, "You and I were never really teenagers. We grew up way too fast with too few boundaries. Teenagers may have sex, but very few do the things we were doing at that age."
His pulse quickened, and he almost stumbled over his own feet on the way back up the stairs. This was Blair at her most dangerous - seemingly innocent but sneaking in naughty insinuations that could bring him to his knees. Love and lust were two very powerful emotions with the capacity to destroy his ability to think logically. His carnal desires were strong, and his feelings for Blair amplified those emotions. He needed to get away from her before she realized exactly how explicit his memories of those moments were. Fortunately, the music grew louder the closer they got to the second floor, so he didn't have to respond. Every word playing in his mind at that moment would be highly inappropriate to speak to an engaged woman who'd had a little too much champagne.
He thanked a deity he didn't really believe in when they made it back to their booth, and Serena grabbed Blair's hand, pulling her in the direction of the dance floor. Blair started to protest, her legs too tired for more dancing, but instead, Serena steered her to a couple of chairs on the other side of the club. The blonde had sobered considerably, and she wanted a chance to speak to Blair alone while the alcohol still had her guard down.
"What are you doing, Blair?" she asked, once they were both seated in the oversized chairs.
"What do you mean?" Blair furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm dancing, drinking, and enjoying myself, like you urged me to do."
"No, I mean what are you doing with Chuck?" Her voice grew quieter as she snuck a peek at the boys who'd resumed their position on the sofa on the other side of the club.
"Dancing? Talking? Being civil?"
"You're flirting with him, Blair."
Blair laughed aloud, shaking her head at Serena incredulously, "Hardly."
Serena pursed her lips and held her hand up in emphasis, "You haven't stopped touching him all evening - hands on his shoulders, on his chest, holding his hand. You can't stop staring at him and smiling at him. You look like a little school girl with a crush."
"Oh, please, Serena, if that's all you've noticed then I must still have feelings for Nate, too? I hug him, look at him, smile at him. Is that how low the bar is for measuring a woman's interest in a man? Any level of friendly interaction?"
"There is nothing friendly about your dress and the way he can't keep his eyes off of you."
"There's always been a certain level of physical attraction between the two of us," Blair waved her hand dismissively, "Just because we aren't in love anymore doesn't mean we don't find each other attractive."
"So you still find him attractive?"
"I mean, he looks good. He's aged well. I'd have to be blind not to notice," she shrugged, making a show of picking at her fingernails.
"You told me you have butterflies around him." Serena was relentless, refusing to let Blair worm her way out of the conversation, when she was clearly experiencing some form of denial.
"I said that I get butterflies before he comes over, before he sees Cora because I'm nervous and excited for my daughter. It doesn't have a single thing to do with my feelings…because I don't have any!" Her voice grew shrill. "I have no feelings for Chuck…other than anger and acceptance. He's in my life so I deal with it. That's all. We've made an effort to be…friendlier for Cora's sake. That's what I'm doing."
"Where's your engagement ring, Blair?" Serena asked, her tone so arrogant that it caused Blair to grind her teeth together.
"I left it in the safe," she growled.
"And why would you do that?"
"Because a massive yellow diamond is a little garish to wear to a nightclub where I'm trying to be inconspicuous," she glowered at her friend, daring her to challenge her further.
"Hmmhmm," her flippant response dripped with condescension, clearly indicating that she didn't believe Blair, "Just don't lead him on, okay?"
Blair's face contorted with anger at Serena's continued accusations. She had been completely clear with Chuck about his position in her life; she'd been honest about her relationship with Louis. She had done nothing to give him any kind of mixed signals; not that it even mattered because Chuck didn't care about her in that way anymore. "And how could I even do that, Serena? He doesn't feel that way about me; I don't feel that way about him. We wouldn't even be in each other's lives if we weren't still connected by Cora. Chuck knows that."
"Do you really believe that, Blair?" Serena scoffed, taking a sip from her water bottle, "Have you not seen the way he looks at you? That man is still as enamored with you as he was six years ago."
"You're projecting. You've always been on Team Chuck, and it's getting a little annoying, Serena. We're not teenagers anymore."
"Think about it, Blair. He was with Eva for six years, and he didn't even put up a fight when she left. He barely batted an eye when she boarded a plane, but you talked him into staying in New York. Half a decade of separation, and you still hold more power over him than anyone else in the world."
"It's just our history," Blair responded weakly, "And even if it wasn't, I could never love him again. Not after what he did, not after what I went through. He knows that; we talked about it this morning on the patio. He knows I'll never be able to forgive him, not completely."
Serena could read the surrender in Blair's eyes; she was growing defeated, and the chandelier reflected unshed tears in her lower lashline. Serena took her hand gently, and said, "Maybe he does know that; maybe he doesn't, but you need to talk to him. A real, honest, raw conversation. There's still so much unspoken tension between you two."
XOXO
Around two in the morning, Nate called an Uber to take him and Serena back to the Hamptons because Blair insisted on getting something to eat. Her lack of dinner and considerable alcohol consumption left her feeling a sensation of dizziness and hunger. Chuck told Nate it was fine, that he would see that she got some food before they returned, since Serena was close to falling asleep standing up. Options were slim given the time of night, but Arthur was able to find a little 24 hour pizzeria not too far off their path.
Chuck was wary of feeding Blair's sensitive digestive system anything too spicy, so he settled for a simple, plain cheese pizza and led her to a table. She threw all of her social graces out the window and scarfed down the giant slice like it would be her last meal. "Chuck," she said between bites, "Can I ask you a question? A hard question."
He cleared his throat, handing her a stack of napkins when sauce smeared across her cheek. At any other moment, he would've taken a picture to taunt her with later. Blair Waldorf was a walking billboard of sophistication and sex appeal, and yet she devoured this slice of pizza like a ravenous beast. "Of course you can."
She took a sip from her diet soda; her tone was quiet, her eyes anxious. "Why didn't you come home? Why…" her voice broke, the words sounding painful as they left her mouth, "Why did you run away? How could you just abandon us?"
She was barely tipsy anymore, but he hadn't anticipated such a heavy question. His eyes studied her, and he could see a battle raging in her mind. Hadn't he already explained this to her? Had he not been clear? "I…" he swallowed hard, "God, Blair, you have to understand that I thought I was doing the most selfless thing I could by you. I know now that it was selfish and reckless, but I wanted to take the pain that I caused you away, and the only way I knew how to do that was to remove myself from your life so that I couldn't hurt you anymore. You deserved so much better than anything I could ever give you. All I did was destroy you at every turn, and you are too good, too perfect and pure to be treated that way. I thought you were better off without me. When I told you that I didn't care if I lived or died, it was true. I didn't care what happened to me as long as I couldn't hurt you anymore. I guess," he looked down, shame etched into his downcast features, "In the end, I would always hurt you, whether I was there or not. It's just who I am, and I'm sorry that I ever -"
"Don't say it, Chuck," she whispered, the tears that she'd kept hidden falling freely from her eyes, "Don't say you wish we'd never happened. Please don't say that."
"It's the only way I know that I could've saved you from the pain," he spoke quietly, the only evidence of his emotions was outlined in his quivering jaw, "Sometimes…sometimes I think you - everyone, really - would've been better off if that bullet had done its job."
"Oh, God," she choked, reaching a trembling hand across the tabletop to grasp his, "When I stopped you at the airport, you said that no one was coming to look for you. That wasn't true, Chuck." He looked up at her, confusion written in his eyes. "Lily and I both hired private investigators to search for you. I was at the police station every other day demanding updates. In September, when they told me that they were ceasing the search and that they presumed you were dead -" she sobbed aloud, her entire body shaking beneath the weight of her emotions, "That was the worst day of my life because it meant that you were really gone, that I would never hear your voice again, hold your hand," she subconsciously tightened her grip around his clammy fingers, "I would never see you again, hug you, yell at you, roll my eyes at you. That thought was the most painful thing I've ever experienced in my entire life. Nothing that you did before hurt me nearly as much as not having you anymore." She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to look him in the eye, "So, no, Chuck, we weren't better off without you."
"Blair -" he rasped.
"I want you to know that I'm glad you're back. I'm glad you're in my life and in Cora's life. Your presence has filled a missing piece, a hole that was left by your absence. I know that Cora's afraid of Louis replacing you when we get married -" She emphasized the point firmly, Serena's warning playing in her ears, "But, I promise you, that I will make sure she knows that no one can ever replace you. You're her only father. You're irreplaceable. You are a part of this big, strange, unconventional family, and that's why -" she dropped his hand, placing hers into her lap to fiddle with the edge of her napkin, "I hope that you'll come to the wedding. For Cora, she'll need your support. It'll be an emotional day for her."
She forced a confident smile that was almost enough to convince herself that she was making the right decision.
A/N: I know, no Cora in this chapter, but she's snuggled warmly in her bed dreaming of her Mommy and Daddy. She'll be back soon. :)