You Know You Love Me Page 3

  Dan nodded. Do you have to go? He was afraid to open his mouth in case he said the words that had been threatening to escape all night. I love you. He was still so afraid of scaring her away.

  He watched Serena run across the street, her pale hair streaming out behind her. The doorman held the door to her building open, and she disappeared.

  Serena rode up in the elevator, jangling her keys in her coat pocket. A few weeks ago she would have been sitting at home on a Friday night, watching TV and feeling sorry for herself. How lucky she was to have made a new friend in Dan.

  Dan sat on the Met steps for a few more minutes until the lights came on in the top floor of the building across the street. He imagined Serena kicking off her boots in the hall and dropping her coat in a chair for the maid to pick up. She’d change into a long, white silk nightgown and sit in front of a gilt-framed mirror, brushing her long, golden hair, like a princess in a fairy tale. Dan touched his lower lip with his index finger. Had he really kissed her? He’d done it so many times in his dreams it was almost impossible to believe that it had actually happened.

  He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms up high above his head. God, he felt good. It was funny—all of a sudden, he was the guy he usually hated reading about in books. The happiest guy alive.

  strike two!

  “I don’t see why you have to go to Brown on the same weekend that I’m going to Yale,” Blair called out to Nate from inside her bathroom. Nate was lying on her bed in the adjoining room, snaking one of Blair’s belts around on top of the bedspread for Kitty Minky, Blair’s Russian Blue cat, to chase. The lights were out, the candles were lit, Macy Gray was playing on the stereo, and Nate had his shirt off.

  “Nate?” Blair repeated impatiently. She began to take off her clothes and pile them on the bathroom floor. Her plan had been for them to go up to New Haven together that weekend. They could rent a car and stay at a romantic bed-and-breakfast, as if they were on their honeymoon.

  “Yeah,” Nate finally answered. “I don’t know. That’s just when Brown scheduled my interview. Sorry.” He snapped the belt from between Kitty Minky’s paws and cracked it in the air above her head, sending her streaking into the closet. Then he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting.

  The last time he and Blair had been about to have sex, Nate had spilled the beans about doing it with Serena the summer before she’d gone away to boarding school. It had just seemed too slimy to go through with it without Blair knowing that A) it wasn’t his first time and B) he’d done it with her former best friend. Of course, once he’d confessed, Blair hadn’t wanted to do it anymore. She’d been furious.

  Thankfully, all that was behind them. Well, sort of.

  Blair finished strapping on the Manolos and spritzed herself with perfume. She closed her eyes and counted to three. One, two, three. In those three seconds she played a short film in her head, imagining the incredible night she and Nate were about to have. They were childhood lovers, destined to be together, giving themselves wholly to one another. She opened her eyes and ran the brush through her hair one more time, checking out her reflection in the mirror. She looked confident and ready. She looked like someone who always got what she wanted. She was the girl who was going to get into Yale and marry the boy. If only her nostrils weren’t quite so big or her breasts so small, but whatever.

  She pushed open the bathroom door.

  Nate looked up and was surprised to find himself immediately turned on. Maybe it was the champagne or the steak. He closed his eyes and opened them again. No, Blair really did look that good. He reached for her hand and pulled her down on top of him. They kissed, their lips and tongues playing the same games with each other that they’d been playing for two years. But this time the game wasn’t going to be like some four-hour session of Monopoly that the players eventually got sick of and abandoned. This game was going somewhere, and they weren’t going to stop until they had bought up every piece of real estate they could lay their hands on.

  Blair closed her eyes and pretended she was Audrey Hepburn in Love in the Afternoon. She loved old movies, particularly ones with Audrey Hepburn in them. They never showed the characters having sex in those movies. The love scenes were always romantic and tasteful, with lots of long, heartfelt kisses, great outfits, and cool hairdos. Blair tried to keep her shoulders down and her neck stretched long so she would feel tall and lean and sensuous in Nate’s arms.

  Nate accidentally jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow. “Ow,” Blair said, pulling away. She hadn’t meant to sound scared when she said it, but she was, a little. Audrey Hepburn never got jabbed in the ribs by Cary Grant, not even accidentally. He treated her like a china doll.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Nate. “Here.” He reached for a pillow and slid it under her so that her head and shoulders were propped up comfortably. Blair lifted her head and fanned her hair out prettily around her face. Then she reached up and bit Nate on the shoulder, leaving an o of white teeth marks on his skin.

  “There, that’s what you get for hurting me,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

  “I promise to be careful,” said Nate seriously, sliding his hand over her hip and down her leg.

  Blair took a deep breath and tried to relax her whole body. This wasn’t like any of the love scenes in any of her favorite old movies. She hadn’t thought it would feel this real or be quite so awkward.

  Nothing ever looks as good as it does in the movies, but it should still feel nice.

  Nate kissed Blair softly, and she touched the back of his neck and smelled his familiar Nate smell. Bravely, she reached down with her other hand and tried to unbuckle his belt.

  “It’s stuck,” she said, plucking at the confusing tangle of leather and metal. Her cheeks flamed uncomfortably. She’d never felt so uncoordinated.

  “I’ll do it,” Nate offered. He quickly undid the buckle as Blair cast her gaze around her room, her eyes settling on an old oil painting of her grandmother as a young girl, holding a basket of rose petals. Blair suddenly felt very naked.

  She turned back to Nate, watching as he pulled his pants down, kicking them off over his ankles and feet. The crotch of his red-and-white checked boxers stuck out, tentlike.

  She sucked in her breath.

  Then the front door to the apartment creaked open and slammed loudly shut.

  “Hello? Anyone home?”

  It was Blair’s mother.

  Blair and Nate both froze. Her mother and Cyrus, her mother’s new boyfriend, had gone to the opera. They weren’t supposed to be home for hours.

  “Blair darling? Are you here? Cyrus and I have something exciting to tell you!”

  “Blair?” Cyrus’s loud voice reverberated against the walls.

  Blair pushed Nate off of her and pulled the comforter up to her neck.

  “What should we do?” Nate whispered. He slid his hand under the comforter and touched Blair’s stomach.

  Bad move. Never touch a girl’s stomach unless she asks you to. It makes her feel fat.

  Blair shrank away from him and rolled over, dropping her feet to the floor.

  “Blair?” Her mother’s voice was just outside the bedroom door. “Can I come in for a moment? It’s important.”

  Whoa.

  “Hold on!” Blair shouted. She lunged for her closet and whipped out a pair of sweatpants. “Get dressed,” she hissed at Nate. She kicked off her Manolos and scrambled into her sweatpants and her father’s old Yale sweatshirt. Nate pulled his pants back on and redid his belt buckle. Strike two on the sex thing.

  “Ready?” Blair whispered.

  Disappointed, Nate nodded silently in response.

  Blair pushed open her bedroom door to find her mother waiting for her in the hallway. Eleanor Waldorf beamed happily at her daughter, her cheeks flushed with red wine and excitement.

  “Notice anything different?” she asked, waggling the fingers of her left hand in the air. On her ring finger flashed an enor
mous diamond set in gold. It looked like a traditional engagement ring, just four times the usual size. It was ridiculous.

  Blair stared at it, frozen in the doorway to her bedroom. She could feel Nate’s breath on her ear from where he stood behind her. Neither of them said anything.

  “Cyrus asked me to marry him!” her mother exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Blair stared at her in disbelief.

  Cyrus Rose was balding and had a small, bristly mustache. He wore a gold bracelet and ugly, double-breasted pinstriped suits. Her mother had met him last spring in the cosmetics department at Saks. He was shopping for perfume for his mother and Eleanor had offered to help him. She came home reeking of the stuff, Blair remembered. “I even gave him my number,” her mother had said with a giggle, making Blair want to puke. Much to Blair’s disgust and dismay, Cyrus had called and kept calling. And now they were getting married.

  Just then, Cyrus Rose appeared at the end of the hall. “Whaddya think, Blair?” he asked, winking at her. He was wearing a blue double-breasted suit and shiny black shoes. His face was red. His stomach stuck out. His eyes bulged out of his head like those of a blowfish. He rubbed together his fat, stubby hands with their hairy wrists and cheesy gold jewelry.

  Her new stepfather. Blair’s stomach churned queasily. So much for losing her virginity to the boy she loved. The movie of her actual life was turning out to be much more tragic and much more absurd.

  Blair pursed her lips and gave her mother a small, stiff peck on the cheek. “Congratulations, Mom,” she said.

  “Thatta girl,” boomed Cyrus.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Waldorf,” said Nate, stepping around Blair.

  He felt awkward participating in such an intimate family moment. Couldn’t Blair have just told her mom to wait and talked to her in the morning?

  Mrs. Waldorf kept hugging him. “Isn’t life wonderful?” she said.

  Nate wasn’t so sure.

  Blair sighed resignedly and padded down the hall in her bare feet to congratulate Cyrus. He smelled like bleu cheese-and sweat. He had hair growing out of the top of his nose. He was going to be her new stepdad. She still refused to believe it.

  “I’m happy for you, Cyrus,” Blair said stiffly. She stood on tiptoe and put her smooth, cool cheek near his hot, whiskery mouth.

  “We’re the luckiest people in the world,” Cyrus said, giving her a revolting wet kiss on the cheek.

  Blair didn’t feel very lucky.

  Eleanor released Nate. “The best part is we’re doing it fast,” she said. Blair turned to her mother and blinked. “We’re getting married the Saturday after Thanksgiving,” her mother continued. “That’s only three weeks away!”

  Blair stopped blinking. The Saturday after Thanksgiving? But that was her birthday. Her seventeenth.

  “It’s going to be at the St. Claire. And I want lots of bridesmaids. My sisters and your friends. Of course, you’ll be the maid of honor. You can help me plan. It’s going to be so much fun, Blair,” her mother said breathlessly. “I just love weddings!”

  “Okay,” Blair responded, her voice completely devoid of emotion. “Should I tell Dad?”

  Her mother paused, remembering. “How’s your father?” she asked, still beaming. Nothing was going to put a damper on her bliss.

  “Great.” Blair shrugged. “He got me a pair of shoes. And a really nice cake.”

  “Cake?” Cyrus asked eagerly.

  Pig, Blair thought. At least her father had given her a birthday, because it didn’t look like her real one was going to be much fun. “Sorry we didn’t bring any home,” she said. “I forgot.”

  Eleanor ran her hands over her hips. “Well, I can’t eat any anyway. The bride has to watch her figure!” She glanced at Cyrus and giggled.

  “Mom?” Blair said.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Do you mind if Nate and I go back in my room and watch some TV?” Blair asked.

  “Of course not. You go right ahead,” her mother said, smiling knowingly at Nate.

  Cyrus winked at them. “Nighty-night, Blair,” he said. “Night, Nate.”

  “Good night, Mr. Rose,” Nate said and followed Blair back into her bedroom.

  The minute Nate shut the door, Blair threw herself onto her bed facedown, her head buried in her arms.

  “Come on, Blair,” Nate said, sitting down at the end of the bed and rubbing her feet. “Cyrus is okay. I mean, it could be worse, right? He could be a total asshole.”

  “He is a total asshole,” Blair murmured. “I hate him.” All of a sudden she wished Nate would just leave her alone to suffer. He couldn’t understand; no one could.

  Nate lay down beside her and stroked her hair.

  “Am I a total asshole?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “No,” Blair said into the comforter.

  “Come here,” Nate said, tugging on her arm.

  He pulled her toward him and slid his hands beneath her sweatshirt, hoping they’d get back to where they’d left off. He kissed her neck.

  Blair closed her eyes and tried to relax. She could do this. She could go ahead and have sex and millions of orgasms even though her mother and Cyrus were in the next room. She could.

  Except she couldn’t. Blair wanted her first time to be perfect, and this was anything but. Her mom and Cyrus were probably fooling around in her mom’s bedroom right now. Just thinking about it made her feel like her skin was crawling with lice or something.

  This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. Her life was a complete disaster.

  Blair pulled away from Nate and buried her face in a pillow. “I’m sorry,” she said, although she didn’t feel very sorry. This was no time for the pleasures of the flesh. She felt like Joan of Arc as played by Ingrid Bergman in the original movie—a beautiful, untouchable martyr.

  Nate went back to stroking her hair and rubbing the small of her back, hoping she’d change her mind. But Blair kept her face stubbornly pressed into the pillow. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever really intended to do it with him.

  After a few minutes he stopped rubbing her back and stood up. It was late, and he was getting tired and bored.

  “I have to get home,” he said.

  Blair pretended not to hear him. She was too caught up in the drama of her own misery.

  “Call me,” Nate said.

  And then he left.

  s is determined to stay lucky

  On Saturday morning, Serena woke to the sound of her mother’s voice.

  “Serena? Can I come in?”

  “What?” said Serena, sitting up in bed. She still wasn’t used to living with her parents again. It kind of sucked.

  The door opened a few inches. “I have some news for you,” her mother told her.

  Serena didn’t really mind that her mother had woken her up, but she didn’t want her mother to think she could just barge into her room uninvited any time she felt like it. “Okay,” she said, sounding more annoyed than she really felt.

  Mrs. van der Woodsen came in and sat down on the end of the bed. She was wearing a navy blue silk dressing gown by Oscar de la Renta and matching navy blue silk slippers. Her wavy blond-highlighted hair was pulled up in a loose bun on top of her head, and her pale skin had a pearly sheen from years of using La Mer skin cream. She smelled like Chanel No. 5.

  Serena pulled her knees up under her chin and covered her legs with the comforter. “What’s up?” she said.

  “Eleanor Waldorf just called a minute ago,” her mother told her. “And guess what?”

  Serena rolled her eyes at her mother’s attempt at suspense. “What?”

  “She’s getting married.”

  “To that Cyrus guy?”

  “Yes, of course. Who else would she marry?” her mother said, brushing imaginary crumbs from her dressing gown.

  “I don’t know,” Serena said. She frowned, wondering how Blair had taken the news. Probably no
t very well. Even though Blair hadn’t been very nice to Serena lately, Serena could still empathize with her old friend.

  “The unusual thing is,” continued Mrs. van der Woodsen, “they’re doing it just like that.” She snapped her bejeweled fingers.

  “What do you mean?” Serena said.

  “Thanksgiving weekend,” her mother whispered and raised her eyebrows to make the point that this was very unusual indeed. “The Saturday after Thanksgiving. That’s the wedding date. And she wants you to be a bridesmaid. I’m sure Blair will fill you in on all the details. She’s the maid of honor.”

  Mrs. Waldorf stood up and began straightening the scattered Creed perfume bottles, little boxes of Tiffany jewelry, and tubes of Stila makeup on top of Serena’s dresser.

  “Don’t do that, Mom,” Serena whined and closed her eyes.

  The Saturday after Thanksgiving. That was only three weeks away. It was also Blair’s birthday, Serena realized. Poor Blair. She loved her birthday. It was her day. Obviously not this year, though.

  And what was it going to be like to be a bridesmaid when Blair was the maid of honor? Would Blair purposely make her wear a dress that didn’t fit? Would she spike her champagne? Make her walk down the aisle with Chuck Bass, the slimiest boy in their old circle of friends? It was too weird to even imagine.

  Her mother sat down on the bed again and stroked Serena’s hair. “What’s wrong, darling?” she asked, worriedly. “I thought you’d be excited about being a bridesmaid.”

  Serena opened her eyes. “I have a headache, that’s all,” she sighed, pulling the comforter around her. “I think I’m going to just lie here and watch TV for a while, okay?”

  Her mother patted her foot. “All right. I’ll send Deidre in with some coffee and juice for you. I think she bought some croissants, too.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Serena said.

  Her mother stood up and went to the door. She paused and turned around to smile brilliantly at her daughter. “Autumn weddings are always so lovely. I think this is quite exciting.”

  “Yes,” Serena said, fluffing up her pillow. “It’s going to be great.”