I Will Always Love You Read online

  Gossip Girl novels created by Cecily von Ziegesar:

  Gossip Girl

  You Know You Love Me

  All I Want Is Everything

  Because I’m Worth It

  I Like It Like That

  You’re The One That I Want

  Nobody Does It Better

  Nothing Can Keep Us Together

  Only In Your Dreams

  Would I Lie To You

  Don’t You Forget About Me

  It Had To Be You

  The Carlyles

  You Just Can’t Get Enough

  Take A Chance On Me

  Love The One You’re With

  I Will Always Love You

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2009 by Alloy Entertainment

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Poppy

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: November 2009

  The characters, events, and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-08249-5

  Contents

  Gossip Girl novels created by Cecily von Ziegesar:

  Copyright

  Part I

  all b wants for christmas

  make new friends, but keep the old…

  a trip can’t last forever, even for n

  love and other impossible pursuits

  welcome back

  hey people!

  double-booking NYE is never a good idea

  fancy meeting you here

  the last moment is the one that counts

  missed connections

  the honest truth and other rewards

  breakfast of champions

  who says you can’t go home?

  nothing can ever go wrong at tiffany… right?

  it’s not acting if it’s the truth

  b’s surprise, take two

  les liaisons dangereuses: upper west side edition

  that’s what makes b a fighter

  Part II

  you never can say goodbye

  bohemian like them

  everyone loves a reunion

  for auld lang syne

  d on deadline

  the morning after is never as magical as the night before

  d earns his poetic license

  true confessions

  hey people!

  boys should always ask for directions

  you’ve got mail

  the curse of the creative power couple

  the marriage of two minds works better over beers

  if you don’t know who you’re sleeping with, who does?

  puppy love

  on some nights, frenemies beat strangers

  if all else fails, move across the ocean

  Part III

  an almost missed connection

  watching him watching her watching him

  survivor

  the more the merrier

  nice day for an imaginary white wedding

  crushes cover for each other

  dinner for eight

  love don’t live here anymore

  tangled up in s…

  when the lights go out

  things that go bump in the night

  hey people!

  the ghosts of christmas past

  heartbreak hotel

  a lot can go wrong in the cold light of day

  the end of innocence

  where do you go when you’re lonely?

  Part IV

  old rivalries, new real estate

  love is blind… and embarrassing

  great minds think alike

  good things come in small packages

  time to party…

  the best presents are surprises

  on the street where b lives

  the trouble with fairy tales is that they always end

  two girls in the bed usually means trouble

  a kiss is never just a kiss

  hey people!

  out with the old, in with the new?

  it’s called a breakup because it’s broken

  notes from around the world

  miss independent

  the final countdown…

  back to the scene of the crime

  breaking the cycle… finally

  For Anna

  Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop.

  —H. L. Mencken

  I

  hey people!

  ho, ho, ho!

  ’Tis the season to be jolly. Fa la la la la, la la la la. Don we now our gay apparel… which just so happens to have been made for us by the little elves at Givenchy or YSL or Oscar de la Renta. Who are we, you ask? The residents of Manhattan’s Golden Mile, of course—that glorious stretch of doorman buildings above Fifty-ninth Street and below Eighty-sixth. It’s Christmastime, time to deck our sprawling Upper East Side penthouses with silver and gold baubles, twinkly lights, velvet bows, and chocolates imported from belle Paris. Here the holidays are always a little more sparkly, a little brighter, a little better. It’s so, so good to be back.

  While I’m not about to tell you where I’ve been for the past few months, I will tell you that there is life after high school. Yes, it finally happened: We went to college. During the past semester we encountered people who haven’t seen us naked (yet), and who don’t know our SAT scores; who don’t remember that time we wet our pants in kindergarten, or when we got our ears pierced. We’ve learned a few new things, made a few new friends, and have even maybe met the loves our lives. We’ve changed—hopefully for the better. And we’re just as fabulous as always.

  Take B, for instance. She’s spending a perfect holiday with her perfect Yale boyfriend and his perfect family at their idyllic Vermont compound. That girl always had her eye on the prize. Speaking of prizes, what’s S up to these days? No longer hounded by overeager, fashion-conscious Constance Billard girls, she’s now trailed by the paparazzi and a posse of wannabe movie starlets while she cools her Louboutins, waiting for her nomination for the SAG Awards. No matter where she is or what she does, S will always be one to watch.

  Then there are those who’ve tried their darnedest to change: N has been sailing around the world for the last four months. But as we learned from Kant in our freshman seminars, no man is an island. He’ll be back—sooner rather than later, we hope. Then there’s D, scratching out existential poetry in his black Moleskine notebook in the Pacific Northwest. It may look like a total lifestyle change, but he still insists on Folgers crystals instead of French press in the coffee capital of the U.S. He also spends every waking moment Skyping his shaven-headed, ultra-independent filmmaker girlfriend, V, who’s at NYU and seems to almost have… hair. And friends?! And finally there’s C, last seen with a pack of flannel-wearing, log-lifting, very rugged boys out in Nevada or Montana or someplace with no cities and lots of cattle. Is he into a new type, or has he gone through yet another reinvention? That man puts Madonna to shame.

  Mistletoe and New Year’s Eve are all about kissing, and something tells me there’s going to be lots and lots of kissing this break. Lucky for you, I’ll be here to report everything w
orth reporting after the holiday lights are unplugged and the pretty velvet ribbons have been untied. Let the reunion begin!

  your e-mail

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  I’m visiting my great aunt in New York City for the holidays, and I heard that Serena van der Woodsen lives here and you know everything about her. Are you her? Oh my God, if you’re her, can you please send me an autograph? Or maybe hang out?

  —IheartSvW

  a: Dear Iheart,

  While I prefer to live my life outside the spotlight, according to my sources, your heroine’s out almost every night. You should be able to find her if you know where to look.

  —GG

  q: Dear Gossip Girl,

  My college dining hall only serves, like, deep-fried cheese balls and I may have gained some weight. Should I celebrate NYE with my high school friends, or pretend I have the flu?

  —HittingtheBuffet

  a: Dear HtheB,

  While I’m not a dietician or a therapist, I can definitely say you’re not alone. My advice: How you look is all about how you pull it off. Go out, wear your little black dress, and show off those curves. No one will even notice those tater tot pounds.

  —GG

  sightings

  B on a train from New Haven to Montpelier, Vermont, looking very out of place in a sea of multicolored plaid flannel. S with three interchangeable anorexic dyed blond girls on the red carpet for a premiere. V and some friends from NYU, including a very hot hipster teaching assistant, at a film party in Bushwick. Is someone trying to get extra credit? D and his little sister, J, splitting a plate of gooey chocolate-chip pancakes at one of those horribly crowded diners on upper Broadway. C and his new horde of cowboy boot–clad dudes ordering Cokes at the lounge at Tribeca Star. Should the hotel erect a hitching post?

  still breaking all the rules

  Technically you no longer live under your parents’ roof. You’ve already indulged them with Scrabble and decorating gingerbread men that no one’s going to eat. Now it’s time to party. You can always reform after January 1st—that’s what New Year’s resolutions are for. So go out, have fun, and show your former besties and former flames just how much better you’ve become.

  Besides, now that you know I’m watching, aren’t you just dying to put on a show? Thought so.

  You know you love me,

  gossip girl

  all b wants for christmas

  “You awake, Scout?”

  Blair Waldorf awoke from a nap to the sight of her boyfriend, Pete Carlson, gazing down at her. Pete smiled his adorable, lopsided smile. His eyes were ocean blue and framed by strawberry blond lashes, to match his thick, floppy head of hair.

  Blair threw the Black Watch–plaid duvet to the foot of the couch and discreetly checked for drool with her index finger. She loved being woken up by Pete, especially when he called her by an adorable nickname. Currently, it was Scout, because she’d directed him and his three older brothers to the best Douglas fir Christmas tree, deep in the woods of the Carlsons’ expansive Woodstock, Vermont, estate. Early this morning, they’d all opened presents underneath the magnificent tree. Pete had given Blair a pair of navy blue-and-tan North Face hiking boots with the promise that he’d bring her on some of his favorite trails when it got warmer. Blair had never been one for the great wide open, but Pete loved being outdoors, and suddenly the idea of sleeping under the stars with him at her side seemed almost romantic.

  “Of course I’m awake,” Blair lied, sitting up and yawning. It was only noon, but Pete’s adorable-but-hyper nieces and nephews had woken everyone up to open presents at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m.

  “Good.” Pete settled next to her on the worn navy blue couch, tenderly pushing Blair’s long bangs off her foxlike face. Her hair was a little shaggier than she liked, but she simply didn’t trust any of the hair salons in dingy New Haven. Besides, what were unkempt bangs when she was with a guy who truly loved her?

  “Have any dreams? You were making these little growls in your sleep. It was cute.” Pete pulled the woolen blanket off the floor and draped it over their legs.

  “Oh.” Blair frowned. She was growling?

  In truth, she’d been having a lot of weird dreams lately. Last night, she’d woken up and thought she was at a sleepover at her old best friend Serena van der Woodsen’s house, only to find herself all alone in the dark, regal guest bedroom of the Carlsons’ oversize colonial.

  Maybe it was just homesickness. After all, she didn’t have a home in New York anymore, she hadn’t seen Serena since August, and no one in her family was even in the U.S. this week. Her father, Harold, was celebrating Christmas in Provence with his boyfriend, Giles, and their adopted twins. Her stepbrother, Aaron, was on a kibbutz in Israel. Her mother, stepfather, brother, Tyler, and baby sister, Yale, had moved to LA back in August, to a gigantic, tacky Pacific Palisades mansion that they were making even bigger and tackier. While the renovations were taking place, the four were traveling in the South Pacific, visiting the islands that Eleanor Rose, in a fit of pregnancy-induced mania last spring, had bought for each member of the family. Blair had been somewhat tempted to tag along, if only to see her baby sister, the least fucked-up member of her tragically absurd family.

  That was all before she’d received the holiday card her mother had sent out. CELEBRATE THE WALDORF-ROSE FAMILY’S HOLIDAY MERGER had been written in gold script atop a photograph of her bald stepfather. Cyrus Rose was dressed in a bright red velvet Santa suit, holding an elf-costumed infant Yale in one hand, a menorah in the other. Celebrating the holiday merger suddenly seemed a whole lot less appealing. And once she’d been invited to spend Christmas with the picture-perfect Carlsons, she felt it was her duty as a girlfriend to go.

  “I was just dreaming about you. Us. I’m just so happy.” Blair sighed contentedly as she gazed into the blaze roaring in the quaint brick fireplace across the room. Outside, a thin blanket of snow covered the ground.

  “Me too.” Pete ruffled her hair and pulled her face into his for a kiss.

  “You taste nice,” Blair breathed, letting her body relax into Pete’s muscular arms. She shrugged off her black Loro Piana cashmere cardigan so she was wearing only her peach Cosabella tank top.

  It was funny how things worked out. When she arrived at Yale four months ago, Blair discovered that her incessantly perky roommate, Alana Hoffman, sang a cappella. All the time. Blair would wake up to Alana singing “Son of a Preacher Man” to her collection of Gund teddy bears. Avoiding her room, Blair spent a lot of time in the library, where Pete was writing a paper for his magical realism class. Blair hadn’t been able to so much as look at a guy ever since Nate Archibald, her high school boyfriend and the supposed love of her life, chose not to come to Yale with her, leaving her high and dry at Grand Central Station to head to college alone. But that day, spotting Pete’s adorably rugged stubble, the half-smile he always wore, and the intense concentration in his dark blue eyes as he bent over his worn paperback book, Blair felt for the first time that there could be life after Nate. She and Pete had exchanged flirty glances, and finally he invited her for coffee.

  They’d been inseparable ever since. In fact, since Thanks-giving, Blair had been practically living with Pete—and his five gin-swilling, athletic roommates—in a comfortably shabby Chapel Street town house. At first, Blair had been nervous about living with so many guys, but she sort of liked having instantaneous brothers, and most of the time being the only girl in the room. Especially when they gave her free rein of the upstairs bathroom and didn’t mind helping her with stats homework.

  It was amazing how easy everything could be with Pete. For the first time in Blair’s eighteen years, her life made sense. She loved her pre-law classes, lived in a house of boys who adored her, had a loving, handsome boyfriend, and had even found a surrogate family in the Carlsons.

  One that didn’t use the word merger.

  For the past few days, they’d spent every waking hour with the family: P
ete’s former U.S. senator dad, Chappy; his Boston debutante mom, Jane; his three older brothers, their wives, and assorted cherubic nephews and nieces whom Blair couldn’t even try to keep straight. It sounded like a nightmare, but it was actually heavenly. Mr. Carlson was barrel-chested and red-faced and told corny jokes in a way that made everyone crack up, and his mom would randomly recite Anne Sexton poetry at the dinner table without being drunk. The brothers were good-looking, friendly, and smart, their wives were polished and welcoming, and even the kids were polite. So far, it had been a perfect holiday.

  And it was about to get even better. To celebrate the New Year, Chappy had booked the entire family at an exclusive five-star resort in Costa Rica. Obviously, Blair could do without the rain forest adventure part, but she’d heard the beaches were pristine, the sun was hot, and the villas had the most incredible mattresses.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. “You kids decent?” Pete’s older brother Jason called as he entered. He had the same lanky frame as Pete. Tall, strawberry blond, and handsome, all four of the Carlson brothers—Everett, Randy, Jason, and Pete—looked like they could be quadruplets, even though there was a two-year age difference between each of them. A second-year law student at UPenn, Jason was the second youngest of the Carlson brothers. He was adorable, and Blair would’ve had a crush on him if she wasn’t dating Pete.

  At least she has a backup.

  “We’re playing charades. Carlson Christmas tradition. Your presence has been requested.”

  “Do we have to?” Blair suppressed a groan. It was cute in theory, but they’d played charades, Pictionary, and Scrabble the last three days. Blair was extremely competitive, and it was exhausting simultaneously trying to win and to not appear like all she cared about was winning.

  Maybe they should shake it up with some Truth or Dare.

  “And guess who’s requested you on his team again?” Jason smirked, flashing Blair the trademark white-toothed Carlson smile. “Our dad loves you!”