Read Online Don't You Forget About Me by Cecily von Ziegesar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cecily von Ziegesar
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until I got home last night,” Nate offered weakly. “Really.”
“Let’s go to the Plaza, then,” Blair suggested, doing her best to shrug off the nagging sensation that things were just not right between them. She knew Nate was lying, but
why?
“Blair, I can’t.” He was starting to get annoyed with her—she could hear it in his voice. “I
told
you, I have some stuff to do right now. Maybe later?” “Fine. Whatever.” She closed her cell phone with a hard snap and threw it across the room, where it landed with a thump on a pile of needing-to-be-hand-washed Wolford stockings.Why was Nate being so secretive all of a sudden?
Blair heard the low murmuring of voices in the hallway and her bedroom door flew open to reveal her mother, dressed in a gray silk Oscar de la Renta blouse, black Cynthia Rowley pencil skirt, and gray suede Manolo sling-backs. A woman in her early forties stood behind her carrying a red crocodile Hermès Birkin bag, her whip-thin body encased in a red-and-brown tropical-print Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Her definitely-not-natural-red hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, and black, rectangular-framed Alain Mikli glasses perched on her nose. She sniffed the air delicately.
“Blair, this is Diana Riggs from Sotheby’s. She’s the real estate agent in charge of selling our apartment!” The real estate broker’s eyes swept the room. “Another great bedroom, Eleanor.” She attempted to wrinkle her Botoxed forehead and counted on her fingers, “One, two . . .” she muttered distractedly, “four beds total?” She grabbed Eleanor’s arm for emphasis as she spoke. “I know the
perfect
family for this apartment—they have the most gorgeous triplets!”
Blair stared at her mother in horror as she cooed appreciatively at Diana.
Triplets?
She was being forced out of the only home she’d ever known so a bunch of test-tube infertility treatment triplet fuckfaces could slobber and vomit all over it?
“The Carlyles—do you know them?” Diana asked. “Edie Carlyle? I believe she grew up in the city as well.” “Oh my goodness, of course!” Eleanor squealed. “I attended Constance with Edie. Where has she
been
? I haven’t see her since, well . . . it must have been seventeen years ago!” Blair jumped off her bed and pushed past her mother and the broker standing in the doorway. Who cared if Nate was busy? Fuck busy. Wasn’t he supposed to be there for her in her time of need? She was his girlfriend, and he was going to pay attention to her—whether he liked it or not.
She fumed all the way down in the elevator and into the bright Saturday afternoon, replaying the scene over and over in her mind as she marched determinedly toward Nate’s house. Triplets. Living in
her
house—some annoyingly perfect family taking over her space? She stomped along in her new D&G coral ballet flats as cabs rushed by in the street. As she turned away from the park, she remembered how when she and Nate first got together, they’d meet in Sheep Meadow after school and make out for hours, lying in the grass. Maybe she’d yank him away from whatever the hell he was doing and they could go over to Sheep Meadow and repeat history.
Then, just as Blair began crossing the street to Nate’s town house, a
very
familiar-looking blond in worn True
Religion jeans and a black Tory Burch logo tank rounded the corner. With her huge black Chanel sunglasses covering half her face, Serena looked like she was dressed for a stealth mission. And as she pushed open the heavy door to Nate’s town house, Blair swore Serena looked just the tiniest bit guilty.
Blair stopped in the middle of the street, not even caring if a taxi rammed into her. She felt like she’d been punched in the chest. All the air rushed out of her lungs. What was Serena doing at
Nate’s
? And why was Nate lying to her? Why wouldn’t he rather see his own girlfriend than that two-faced fake, Serena?
Good question.
Queasiness overcame
“Let’s go to the Plaza, then,” Blair suggested, doing her best to shrug off the nagging sensation that things were just not right between them. She knew Nate was lying, but
why?
“Blair, I can’t.” He was starting to get annoyed with her—she could hear it in his voice. “I
told
you, I have some stuff to do right now. Maybe later?” “Fine. Whatever.” She closed her cell phone with a hard snap and threw it across the room, where it landed with a thump on a pile of needing-to-be-hand-washed Wolford stockings.Why was Nate being so secretive all of a sudden?
Blair heard the low murmuring of voices in the hallway and her bedroom door flew open to reveal her mother, dressed in a gray silk Oscar de la Renta blouse, black Cynthia Rowley pencil skirt, and gray suede Manolo sling-backs. A woman in her early forties stood behind her carrying a red crocodile Hermès Birkin bag, her whip-thin body encased in a red-and-brown tropical-print Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Her definitely-not-natural-red hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, and black, rectangular-framed Alain Mikli glasses perched on her nose. She sniffed the air delicately.
“Blair, this is Diana Riggs from Sotheby’s. She’s the real estate agent in charge of selling our apartment!” The real estate broker’s eyes swept the room. “Another great bedroom, Eleanor.” She attempted to wrinkle her Botoxed forehead and counted on her fingers, “One, two . . .” she muttered distractedly, “four beds total?” She grabbed Eleanor’s arm for emphasis as she spoke. “I know the
perfect
family for this apartment—they have the most gorgeous triplets!”
Blair stared at her mother in horror as she cooed appreciatively at Diana.
Triplets?
She was being forced out of the only home she’d ever known so a bunch of test-tube infertility treatment triplet fuckfaces could slobber and vomit all over it?
“The Carlyles—do you know them?” Diana asked. “Edie Carlyle? I believe she grew up in the city as well.” “Oh my goodness, of course!” Eleanor squealed. “I attended Constance with Edie. Where has she
been
? I haven’t see her since, well . . . it must have been seventeen years ago!” Blair jumped off her bed and pushed past her mother and the broker standing in the doorway. Who cared if Nate was busy? Fuck busy. Wasn’t he supposed to be there for her in her time of need? She was his girlfriend, and he was going to pay attention to her—whether he liked it or not.
She fumed all the way down in the elevator and into the bright Saturday afternoon, replaying the scene over and over in her mind as she marched determinedly toward Nate’s house. Triplets. Living in
her
house—some annoyingly perfect family taking over her space? She stomped along in her new D&G coral ballet flats as cabs rushed by in the street. As she turned away from the park, she remembered how when she and Nate first got together, they’d meet in Sheep Meadow after school and make out for hours, lying in the grass. Maybe she’d yank him away from whatever the hell he was doing and they could go over to Sheep Meadow and repeat history.
Then, just as Blair began crossing the street to Nate’s town house, a
very
familiar-looking blond in worn True
Religion jeans and a black Tory Burch logo tank rounded the corner. With her huge black Chanel sunglasses covering half her face, Serena looked like she was dressed for a stealth mission. And as she pushed open the heavy door to Nate’s town house, Blair swore Serena looked just the tiniest bit guilty.
Blair stopped in the middle of the street, not even caring if a taxi rammed into her. She felt like she’d been punched in the chest. All the air rushed out of her lungs. What was Serena doing at
Nate’s
? And why was Nate lying to her? Why wouldn’t he rather see his own girlfriend than that two-faced fake, Serena?
Good question.
Queasiness overcame
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