Chapter 6

In Blair's very own monochromatic world, her surroundings flickered and jumped, and the scratchy film of her imagination burst into motion.

It was the perfect Parisian fairytale. The swell of La Vie en Rose. The sensation of effervescent bubbles sliding down her throat. The taste of Dom Pérignon and Oysters au Gratin. The giddy excitement of being swept off her feet by a timeless romance.

The moonlight danced on the silver surface as the boat glided gently through the water, casting a soft glow all around. The Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance, accompanied by the soft golden lights of a dozen charming riverside cafés.

(Audrey) Blair clutched the railing, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingertips as she gazed out at the Seine. Her perfectly styled beehive hair had a few tasteful strands out of place, and she smoothed out her dark two-piece suit–feeling every inch of a 1960s movie star.

"I don't understand you at all, one minute we're fine and the next you're accusing me of cheating with Serena."

(Cary Grant's) Nate's footsteps echoed behind her, his presence felt before he had even begun to speak.

Blair couldn't bring herself to turn around, already knowing what she would find if she did: a set of big blue eyes, floppy hair, and a heartwarmingly sincere smile that had been the subject of her daydreams ever since she was a little girl.

"And didn't you?" she asked, frowning.

Nate didn't argue, but his voice was desperate. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded.

Blair crossed her arms, considering whether the desperation in his voice was sufficient to warrant hearing him out.

Admittedly, the option of letting Nate grovel a little longer was a tempting one.

But then again, wasn't (Audrey) Blair supposed to be the epitome of grace and humility? The leading lady who forgave all manner of sins with a smile and a loving embrace? The leading lady who kissed the hero soundly as the music swelled and the looping letters that spelled out 'The End' filled the screen?

"I suppose I can't leave without water wings, can I?", Blair replied with a hint of resignation.

A nervous chuckle escaped Nate's lips and he moved tentatively closer.

As his chest brushed against her back, Blair felt her resolve weakening and couldn't help but melt into his warm familiar touch. Nate's fingers entwined with hers on the railing, holding her like she always hoped he would.

Life was just simpler, brighter, when they were together. Everything was perfect. Just like her beloved classic movies.

But then—something shifted. A chill. Blair felt a warm breath caress her ear, the edge of a smirk brushing her cheek.

The body pressed against hers from behind was suddenly different from Nate's. Shorter, stockier and exuding a certainty that was distinctly not-Nate. He seemed startlingly aware of the space he occupied and made no apologies about claiming it.

The familiar scent of aged scotch, half-smoked cigarettes, and Dior Farenheit invaded her nostrils. Blair would recognise that particular musk anywhere.

Fingers snaked around her waist, teasing her hipbone before settling on her stomach—somehow both thrilling and unnerving.

Blair's eyes closed instinctively, an uncontrollable surge of warmth coursing through her veins and pooling like molten lava beneath his hand.

She couldn't explain the feeling. She wasn't sure she had to...

"You and Nate," he began, his teeth boldly grazing her ear lobe. Voice no louder than a whisper, he was treading a fine line between cruelty and honesty— a delicate balance they only ever truly found with each other. "There's clearly no spark."

Blair tensed with anger, ready to confront the unwelcome, irritating, self-satisfied intruder of her dream—

—before jolting awake with a gasp.

...

The Waldorf penthouse dining room looked no different than it had every Monday morning since Blair was a little girl. Her mother was already at the atelier, her father was out at an early morning brunch meeting with a client and Dorota was a busy as ever, cheerfully cleaning and singing.

"Manic Monday. Wish it a Sunday. Cos that my fun day..."

Without looking up, Blair cautiously observed her regular bowl of porridge, yoghurt and mixed berries.

On a normal day she'd have told Dorota off for singing or made some scathing remark about The Bangles.

But Blair was preoccupied.

She felt flustered, her mind racing incessantly.

She thought of Nate. Of Serena. Of Chuck. Of herself. Ever in each other's orbit, they were a universe of four–their own little world.

A world that seemed to be crumbling apart.

The memories of that night at the Campbell Bar flooded her mind. The taste of alcohol, the sting of betrayal, the sickness and the relief after purging it all out.

Blair hadn't felt hungry since then, but that didn't have to mean anything. She was better now. Her problem was gone.

She had bigger brighter better things to focus on.

Forty-eight hours later, the events of Saturday night felt less chaotic and feverish–like the whole sorry situation was starting to feel more manageable.

She recalled Serena's tearful apologies, Nate's defeated sighs, and Chuck's penetrating gaze that exposed him more than it did her.

Blair wasn't going to loose any of them!

She felt Dorota's concerned gaze fall on her. The Polish maid's bustling and singing immediately stopped.

"You no eat breakfast Miss Blair. Doctor said—"

"I'm fine, Dorota," Blair snapped immediately, with a derisive sniff. She couldn't bring herself to lie outrightly, especially with Dorota looking at her with huge concerned eyes.

But she did her best.

"I'm fine," Blair repeated, assuring herself every bit as much as her maid. She felt a surge of pride at how evenly her voice had come out. "I just feel a bit queasy this morning."

Dorota seemed to observe her for signs of deception and Blair offered her most award winning smile in return.

Nodding deliberately, Dorota seemed satisfied with her response. "Ahhh same sickness as Mister Nate at wedding."

Blair frowned for a moment.

Sensing her confusion, Dorota immediately rushed to remind her young mistress.

"You come home late Saturday night and I ask why Mister Nate not drop you home. You said he left wedding earlier becuase he not feel well."

Not missing a beat, Blair immediately nodded. "Yes, Mister Nate wasn't feeling his best," she affirmed, sticking to the story her tired and slightly intoxicated self had fabricated before disappearing under the duvet.

"You must have forgot you tell me."

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

Internally, Blair scolded herself for not coming up with a better lie. She was definitely off her game.

Not noticing, Dorota clucked sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Miss Blair," she reassured warmly, her voice filled with an optimism that hit Blair like a ton of bricks. "We send special chicken soup to Mister Nate. It always make you feel better even when you were but smallest dziewczynka. Mister Nate is strong. He be back to normal in no time."

Blair bit her lip, holding back a sigh.

The memory of walking in on Nate and Serena flooded Blair's mind once again. And faintly, she wondered what Dorota would do if she discovered their betrayal.

The thought almost made her smile.

She could only hope that Dorota's words would ring true. That things would indeed be back to normal in no time

"That won't be necessary..."

Before Dorota could question her further, something out of the ordinary caught Blair's eye on one of the small largely ornamental tables at the far corner of the room. Something new.

A flower arrangement, likely fresh from the florist on East 57th Street.

It wasn't exactly her mother's style, nor was it her own favorite blush pink peonies, but it was tastefully chosen all the same.

Lavender, lilac, roses, and baby's breath.

A confection of purple and white.

Curious, Blair asked with a frown, "Who ordered flowers?"

Dorota's gaze followed hers and she nodded slightly. "I brought flowers in to brighten up dining room. Nice French gentleman delivered them this morning after your parents leave for work."

"What French gentleman?"

Dorota shrugged. "Nice french gentleman in leather jacket. He left note."

Her breakfast immediately forgotten, Blair covered the distance between the flowers and her seat at the dining room table in record time.

Casting a critically eye over the blooms in question, her fingers closed around a small piece of parchment. Blair untied it from a cluster of baby's breath and lavender. A handwritten note.

"Oh ! si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t'ai mise!" -R.G

A/N: So this one's a little shorter than my last few chapters, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I love hearing your thoughts as I'm writing this. It's lovely to hear what people are thinking. Any guesses about R.G?

Also–with all the dream sequences in the last couple chapters. What can I say? The dream sequences of Gossip Girl have a special place in my heart (And honesty after getting several of Blair's Audrey dreams, one of Serena's Marilyn dreams and one of Chuck's 50s thriller-esque dreams on the show, I low key think we were robbed of having a Nate Sound of Music dream hahaha)

Anyways, Hope you enjoyed this and are having a great day xx