Our Love to Admire: Chapter 2
Chapter Two: Leave or Coming Undone
Grace Lillian Bass had been sitting in the library window seat for the past hour listening to the crashing and screaming coming from her parents’ second floor bedroom. She didn’t know how it happened, but from a universe away, her mother had found out the information that she already knew. Rebecca Grey, the hostile bitch from Boston that was tearing her family to shreds.
*xoxo*
It had all happened by accident. She had gone back to the office after her normal hours looking for her father. He was late for dinner and she needed him. Jeremy Fisk had broken her heart and slept with Charlotte Ford. She needed her father to stroke her hair and call her his princess. Put back together the shards that Jeremy had left in his wake. The office was almost completely deserted at this hour but she said a pleasant hello to the few familiar faces she saw on her way. Pushing back tears as her father had taught her she opened the door to his office without knocking. She looked into the darkness, but she was sure she had heard voices on her way to the door. “Dad?” she had questioned tentatively.
“Shit,” her father said, but his voice was replaced quickly by a feminine groan in Grace’s ears.
Her hand flew to her mouth and the fresh tears she had been controlling flowed freely down her face. “Oh god…” was all she managed before running back to the elevators that had brought her to this revelation.
Her father was chasing her through the winding halls of his office building and screaming her name, begging her to stop, to wait. But she couldn’t, the only thing she could think was that her father was just like Jeremy. He took a nose-dive from the pedestal that his princess Grace had held him on for almost sixteen years. Grace was frantically pressing the elevator call button, fearing that she would die of asphyxiation if she didn’t get outside at that very moment.
“Princess,” her father said as he grabbed her wrist; he was struggling to catch his breath.
Grace wheeled around and slapped him with her free hand, leaving a burning red hand print on her father’s cheek. “How could you,” was all she managed before she saw Rebecca saunter towards the elevators from the direction of her father’s office. She yanked her arm away from his and rushed into the waiting elevator, collapsing in a heap of tears in the corner.
Chuck rushed in after, quickly pressing the ‘door close’ button to offer them some privacy from Rebecca’s prying gaze. He kneeled in front of his daughter the way he had Blair five years ago. Kissing her head and trying to wrap his arms around her shrunken frame whispering “my princess,” rather than ‘my queen’.
When they reached the lobby, Grace pushed the tears out of her eyes and stood with eerie composure. She turned to her father’s kneeling form, “Tell her. Swear to me you’ll tell my mother the truth,”
“Grace…” he struggled with the words and he rose from his knees. It was so much more complicated than his innocent fifteen year old realized. She stared through him with steely determination, his wife’s eyes. “You’re right, I’ll tell her princess.”
She put a hand out as she diverted her eyes. “Don’t call me that ever again. I was only a princess when you were the king.”
*xoxo*
Dorota was screaming in Polish, banging against the heavy oak door, when Grace heard a car pull into the gravel driveway of their house. She saw her father’s chauffeured Bentley pulling towards the front door and she held the place in her book in order to greet him at the front door.
Chuck watched the twelve-foot door open half expecting his wife to be there to greet him after six days of separation, but when he saw his princess Grace staring at him with determined eyes, his heart dropped into the floor. “Grace?” he questioned when he stepped from the car without waiting for his driver’s assistance.
“She knows,” Grace stated simply. “I don’t know how, but she does. Go upstairs and fix my mother.” She stated simply before walking away from her father’s defeated glare. She put her book into the basket of her bicycle and pedaled away without a second glance.
Dorota ran to the top of the stairs when she heard the heavy front door slam. “Mr. Chuck!” she yelled down to her employer when she saw him approach her. “Miss Blair, she make herself sick with yelling. She no open the door. I think she break something, too.”
‘No Dorota, I did,’ he thought to himself as he reached the door of his bedroom. “Blair,” he called out to her hoping to bridge the gap that had become to distant between him and his wife. She yanked the door open in front of him, her hair was wild, and her eyes were enraged. He watched her pick up the priceless Austrian vase that sat on his side of the bed. “Blair, don’t, it’s an antique!” he yelled before the porcelain was sailing towards his head. He ducked down to protect himself and the vase went flying over the railing before crashing into a thousand pieces in the foyer. He ignored Dorota as she screamed and hustled down the stairs to clean the mess.
“Get out! Get the fuck out of this house Chuck!” she yelled as he walked into the room and locked the door behind himself. She went back to the closet to collect another pile of his shirts that she had spent the past hour folding and packing. When she turned around, she saw his bewildered face at the door to the walk-in. “Go back to Manhattan! Back to your whore! Or Europe! Or off the top of your fucking office building and straight to hell for all I care! Just get the fuck out of this house!” her voice was hoarse from all the screaming and vomiting. Somehow, she felt the need to empty her stomach again, even though she knew there was nothing left inside her.
Defeated he turned away from her and looked to the bed where two suitcases sat loaded with the garments his secretary had sent at the beginning of the summer so he wouldn’t need to pack for the weekends. Then he heard her again.
“That’s it? You prick! You fucking coward!” she dropped the clothing she was holding and pushed at his back trying to get him to face her again, just so he could see the damage in her eyes. “You rip my heart to shreds, stomp on my dignity, and fuck with my mind for seventeen years and that’s it!? You turn your pompous back and walk away!?”
His shoulders slumped at her words but he still would not turn to meet her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Blair?” he choked on her name, holding back the emotions making his throat swell.
“Tell me you hate me,” she began in a low voice that cracked on every other word. “Tell me you made the biggest mistake of your life the day you married me. Tell me that this is my fault because I never loved you enough, or because my body has not been the same since I gave birth. Tell me all the million things that have been racing through my head for the past two hours since I got a phone call from Rebecca Grey.”
He was having a heart attack. His chest was caving in and the corners of his vision were fuzzy. This had to be what a heart attack felt like. “She called you?”
She couldn’t take this anymore. She pushed past him and started towards their bedroom door until he grabbed her arm. Instinctively she turned around and slapped his face with all the energy she had left to muster. The moment seemed to last for hours, even days, two oceans of brown eyes plowing into each other. “I’m expected at my mother’s, when I get back don’t be here.”
“Blair, you’re my queen, the only one who ever mattered.” He was drowning. He was dying. It felt like when his father died, no it was worse. He couldn’t breathe.
Without responding, she pulled her arm from his weakened grasp and picked up her new purse on the way out the door. He could take her heart, her soul, her family, but damned if he took her Chanel.
Grace Lillian Bass had been sitting in the library window seat for the past hour listening to the crashing and screaming coming from her parents’ second floor bedroom. She didn’t know how it happened, but from a universe away, her mother had found out the information that she already knew. Rebecca Grey, the hostile bitch from Boston that was tearing her family to shreds.
*xoxo*
It had all happened by accident. She had gone back to the office after her normal hours looking for her father. He was late for dinner and she needed him. Jeremy Fisk had broken her heart and slept with Charlotte Ford. She needed her father to stroke her hair and call her his princess. Put back together the shards that Jeremy had left in his wake. The office was almost completely deserted at this hour but she said a pleasant hello to the few familiar faces she saw on her way. Pushing back tears as her father had taught her she opened the door to his office without knocking. She looked into the darkness, but she was sure she had heard voices on her way to the door. “Dad?” she had questioned tentatively.
“Shit,” her father said, but his voice was replaced quickly by a feminine groan in Grace’s ears.
Her hand flew to her mouth and the fresh tears she had been controlling flowed freely down her face. “Oh god…” was all she managed before running back to the elevators that had brought her to this revelation.
Her father was chasing her through the winding halls of his office building and screaming her name, begging her to stop, to wait. But she couldn’t, the only thing she could think was that her father was just like Jeremy. He took a nose-dive from the pedestal that his princess Grace had held him on for almost sixteen years. Grace was frantically pressing the elevator call button, fearing that she would die of asphyxiation if she didn’t get outside at that very moment.
“Princess,” her father said as he grabbed her wrist; he was struggling to catch his breath.
Grace wheeled around and slapped him with her free hand, leaving a burning red hand print on her father’s cheek. “How could you,” was all she managed before she saw Rebecca saunter towards the elevators from the direction of her father’s office. She yanked her arm away from his and rushed into the waiting elevator, collapsing in a heap of tears in the corner.
Chuck rushed in after, quickly pressing the ‘door close’ button to offer them some privacy from Rebecca’s prying gaze. He kneeled in front of his daughter the way he had Blair five years ago. Kissing her head and trying to wrap his arms around her shrunken frame whispering “my princess,” rather than ‘my queen’.
When they reached the lobby, Grace pushed the tears out of her eyes and stood with eerie composure. She turned to her father’s kneeling form, “Tell her. Swear to me you’ll tell my mother the truth,”
“Grace…” he struggled with the words and he rose from his knees. It was so much more complicated than his innocent fifteen year old realized. She stared through him with steely determination, his wife’s eyes. “You’re right, I’ll tell her princess.”
She put a hand out as she diverted her eyes. “Don’t call me that ever again. I was only a princess when you were the king.”
*xoxo*
Dorota was screaming in Polish, banging against the heavy oak door, when Grace heard a car pull into the gravel driveway of their house. She saw her father’s chauffeured Bentley pulling towards the front door and she held the place in her book in order to greet him at the front door.
Chuck watched the twelve-foot door open half expecting his wife to be there to greet him after six days of separation, but when he saw his princess Grace staring at him with determined eyes, his heart dropped into the floor. “Grace?” he questioned when he stepped from the car without waiting for his driver’s assistance.
“She knows,” Grace stated simply. “I don’t know how, but she does. Go upstairs and fix my mother.” She stated simply before walking away from her father’s defeated glare. She put her book into the basket of her bicycle and pedaled away without a second glance.
Dorota ran to the top of the stairs when she heard the heavy front door slam. “Mr. Chuck!” she yelled down to her employer when she saw him approach her. “Miss Blair, she make herself sick with yelling. She no open the door. I think she break something, too.”
‘No Dorota, I did,’ he thought to himself as he reached the door of his bedroom. “Blair,” he called out to her hoping to bridge the gap that had become to distant between him and his wife. She yanked the door open in front of him, her hair was wild, and her eyes were enraged. He watched her pick up the priceless Austrian vase that sat on his side of the bed. “Blair, don’t, it’s an antique!” he yelled before the porcelain was sailing towards his head. He ducked down to protect himself and the vase went flying over the railing before crashing into a thousand pieces in the foyer. He ignored Dorota as she screamed and hustled down the stairs to clean the mess.
“Get out! Get the fuck out of this house Chuck!” she yelled as he walked into the room and locked the door behind himself. She went back to the closet to collect another pile of his shirts that she had spent the past hour folding and packing. When she turned around, she saw his bewildered face at the door to the walk-in. “Go back to Manhattan! Back to your whore! Or Europe! Or off the top of your fucking office building and straight to hell for all I care! Just get the fuck out of this house!” her voice was hoarse from all the screaming and vomiting. Somehow, she felt the need to empty her stomach again, even though she knew there was nothing left inside her.
Defeated he turned away from her and looked to the bed where two suitcases sat loaded with the garments his secretary had sent at the beginning of the summer so he wouldn’t need to pack for the weekends. Then he heard her again.
“That’s it? You prick! You fucking coward!” she dropped the clothing she was holding and pushed at his back trying to get him to face her again, just so he could see the damage in her eyes. “You rip my heart to shreds, stomp on my dignity, and fuck with my mind for seventeen years and that’s it!? You turn your pompous back and walk away!?”
His shoulders slumped at her words but he still would not turn to meet her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Blair?” he choked on her name, holding back the emotions making his throat swell.
“Tell me you hate me,” she began in a low voice that cracked on every other word. “Tell me you made the biggest mistake of your life the day you married me. Tell me that this is my fault because I never loved you enough, or because my body has not been the same since I gave birth. Tell me all the million things that have been racing through my head for the past two hours since I got a phone call from Rebecca Grey.”
He was having a heart attack. His chest was caving in and the corners of his vision were fuzzy. This had to be what a heart attack felt like. “She called you?”
She couldn’t take this anymore. She pushed past him and started towards their bedroom door until he grabbed her arm. Instinctively she turned around and slapped his face with all the energy she had left to muster. The moment seemed to last for hours, even days, two oceans of brown eyes plowing into each other. “I’m expected at my mother’s, when I get back don’t be here.”
“Blair, you’re my queen, the only one who ever mattered.” He was drowning. He was dying. It felt like when his father died, no it was worse. He couldn’t breathe.
Without responding, she pulled her arm from his weakened grasp and picked up her new purse on the way out the door. He could take her heart, her soul, her family, but damned if he took her Chanel.