Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(29)

“Blair Cornelia Waldorf!”

There was more pounding. It was her mother and her voice sounded . . . different. Was she sick? Did she have something in her mouth?

Eleanor Rose pushed the door open and stomped into the dark bedroom, perching on the edge of the mattress. She was carrying a mug of coffee and was dressed in her summertime sleep outfit, a flouncy, way-too-short peachy Eberjey slip and matching robe.

“Wake up!” she shrieked hoarsely.

Blair pulled the covers over her head and moaned. Why was her mother carrying on like this so early in the morning?

“Blair Waldorf,” her mom hissed. “I’m serious, young lady. Come out from under there. We need to have a little chat.”

“I hope you know I barely slept,” Blair snapped, sitting up and snatching the coffee from her mother’s hands. She took a long sip and tugged at the flimsy white Hanro camisole she’d chosen to sleep in.

“First,” Eleanor ranted, “what are you doing home?” Gripping her robe with one hand, she leaned in and studied her daughter’s face. “You’re supposed to be in London!”

For a fiftysomething-year-old who’d just had a baby, Eleanor looked pretty good in the morning. Blair wondered if her mom had had something done to her face while she was away, or maybe it was some new eye cream Blair would eventually steal.

“Something came up.” Blair reached for the green-tea-soaked eyepads she kept in a drawer in her bedside table, placing one over each eye.

“Well, next time you might think to give me a call and let me know what you’re up to.” Eleanor snatched the eye pads away. “I had a call this morning from American Express. I don’t like it when my credit card company knows my daughter’s whereabouts before I do.”

“What?” Blair demanded, sitting up a little straighter.

“American Express called because someone charged a $4,000 plane ticket to my account,” Eleanor scolded. “I was about to call the police. Then I noticed the new blue leather Hermès luggage set in the foyer.”

“I came in late,” Blair explained. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That’s only part of the problem.” Eleanor stood and paced around the room. “Blair, it’s about time you learned some responsibility. You’re not a child anymore. You’re going to have to learn how to manage your money.”

This from the woman who bought each of her children a private island in the South Pacific!

“Mom,” Blair whined.

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” Eleanor ordered sharply. “You know I never say no to my children, you know that, don’t you? I’ve always given you whatever you wanted, haven’t I?”

Well, wasn’t that her job?

“Yes, I have.” Eleanor had never given a parental lecture before, and Blair could see she was getting into it. “But this is too much. I talked it over with Cyrus and we agreed that something has to be done.”

Excuse me, why was her mother discussing her private business with Cyrus Rose, her stupid, red-faced, tacky-assed stepfather? “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Blair yawned, draining the coffee cup. She wondered how long this particular chat was going to last. The whole thing was just so ... boring. She needed more sleep, and a long bath, and a facial to get rid of all the London grime, and maybe a haircut and a few face-framing highlights to go with her cleansed and exfoliated face.

“What I’m talking about, Blair, is this American Express bill.” Eleanor shook a wrinkled fax. “I had them send it over as soon as the woman on the phone told me about your . . . shopping exploits.”

Oops.

“Well, Mom,” Blair admitted, “I might have gone a little overboard on the wedding dress, but once you see it, I know you’ll agree—”

“Wedding dress?” her mother gasped. “I guess that explains the eighteen-thousand-dollar charge. What is this about a wedding?” She sat down on the bed and fanned herself with her diamond-encrusted fingers. “I feel like I’m going to faint! You’re getting married? Oh, Blair! I don’t know what to say!” She threw her arms around Blair and burst into noisy tears. Then she abruptly sat up. “No, wait, I do: over my dead damn body you’re getting married! Have you lost your mind?!”

Blair rolled her eyes. “No, Mom, I’m not getting married. At least, not right away. Anyway, that dress was only ten thousand, not eighteen.”

Oh, yes, that’s much better.

“No, my dear, innocent child.” Eleanor shook her head. “Didn’t you realize that the exchange rate is almost two to one?”

“Look,” Blair declared hurriedly, “I’m sorry, okay? I only bought a few things, and they’re all for school.”

Yeah. We all wear wedding gowns to freshman orientation.

It didn’t look like she was going to escape any time soon. Blair picked up the new issue of W she’d left on the night table. She’d bought the oversize magazine to keep her occupied on the long flight, but the complimentary Maker’s Mark bourbon had ended up being a much more interesting diversion.

“Blair.” Eleanor sighed and squeezed Blair’s knee through the purplish-brown hemp-blend bedspread. “I don’t mind you buying a few things—but a wedding dress?” She paused. “Still, I bet it’s quite a dress.”