Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(36)

Ahem. Not unless she changed her name to Sir Blair.

She turned and glanced over her shoulder to catch her reflection from a different angle. Getting this interview had been even easier than she’d hoped—all it had taken was a call from Eleanor Rose—but this was her big chance and she didn’t want to blow it.

Serena could have her Hollywood stardom; Blair would have a career in fashion. She knew all the right designers, stores, and magazines: she really understood clothes and how to wear them. One day very soon she’d be a world-famous fashion muse. She’d sit in the front row at every Bailey Winter show, have a fragrance named after her, and appear in his ad campaigns. Their relationship would be just like Audrey Hepburn’s relationship with the house of Givenchy—the stuff of legend. Let Serena play at being Audrey Hepburn onscreen: Blair would be Audrey Hepburn in real life.

But didn’t Serena already have a perfume named after her? Oops.

The insistent chime of her Vertu cell phone echoed from Aaron’s old room, interrupting her daydream. She’d been back in New York for forty-eight hours, but no one had called her, on either her U.K. line, which only Lord Marcus had the number to, or her regular phone, which was how the whole world reached her. She was living in exile, she told herself, and refused to rejoin society until she could make some dramatic statement—for example, that she’d flown back from the U.K. at Bailey Winter’s special request. She couldn’t have it leaking out that she was back because Lord Marcus was more interested in making googly eyes at his horse-faced cousin than in ravishing Blair in her huge hotel bed.

As if we don’t have ways of finding out the truth.

She dashed back to Aaron’s room and whisked the phone off the bureau. The display read MARCUS. His Lordship himself.

She pressed the receive button. “What?” she demanded rudely.

“Blair, darling, what happened? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I don’t really see what we have to talk about,” Blair replied icily. “If you wanted to talk, you had plenty of time when we were still on the same continent.”

“You mean you’ve left?” Lord Marcus remarked, clearly surprised. “I thought maybe you’d just moved hotels or gone off to Paris to see your father or something. I was so worried.”

“I’m sure you were,” Blair snapped sarcastically, heading back toward Yale’s room.

“This isn’t about Camilla, is it, dearest? Because, you see, we’re second cousins, so of course—”

“Of course what?” Blair demanded, watching her face flush in the full-length mirror. “To be honest, I’d rather not know, honestly. If you want to get all Flowers in the Attic, it’s your business. Anyway, I don’t have time for this—I’m a woman in demand. I’m a muse!”

“You’re amused, love? It was all a misunderstanding then?” Lord Marcus responded happily. “Camilla is asking about you as well. She’ll be so relieved.”

“Send her my regards,” Blair quipped. She pressed end, then slipped the battery out of the telephone’s body and it went dead. After inspecting it closely to make sure there were no tiny parts that might come off, she left it in baby Yale’s crib.

Because you’re never too young for your first cell.

Blair glanced at her Chanel bracelet-watch. She was due at Bailey Winter’s soon, and it wouldn’t do to be late. She walked down the long hall toward the kitchen, where she found her mother stationed at the marble-topped island, nibbling on a cold rillette sandwich despite the fact that they were supposed to be leaving any minute. Blair’s younger brother, Tyler, and his girlfriend, Jasmine, were clustered around her on low-backed stools, sipping Cokes.

“Nice to see you again, Blair.” Jasmine beamed an adoring smile across the cool white kitchen.

Jasmine was Blair’s stalker. This had become infinitely clear when she showed up at Blair’s graduation party wearing the exact same white Oscar de la Renta suit Blair was wearing. Her nearly-black hair was remarkably shiny and healthy looking, but she was probably the most annoying person alive.

“Mom,” Blair ordered, ignoring Jasmine. “Put that down. We’ve got to get going.”

“Hush,” her mother reprimanded, dusting some invisible crumbs off the marble-topped island. “We’ve got time. Besides, I’ve been going to Bailey Winter’s house for years. That man is always ten minutes late. It’s a known fact.” She took another bite of her sandwich.

“Bailey Winter?” Jasmine looked excited. She spied Blair’s shoes. “Those are Bailey Winter! I have the same ones in black. I should’ve gotten the ivory.”

Blair glared at her.

“Hey Blair?” asked Tyler as he simultaneously downloaded songs onto his iPod and sent a text message. His eyes kept darting from one screen to the next.

“Yes?” She tapped her stilettoed foot impatiently. Could they please just get the f*ck out of here?

“Did you really go all the way to London and not bring me, like, even one present?”

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I came back in kind of a hurry.”

“Although you certainly found time to buy yourself a few things,” Eleanor observed, popping a picholine olive between her lips.

“I’m Jasmine.” Tyler’s girlfriend hopped to her feet and extended her hand to Blair. “You’re Blair, of course. We actually met before, but you were hosting your graduation party, so you may not remember.”