logo。
？Thanks！ And now may I take a picture of you？ You work for the store； right？？ Serena was
flabbergasted。 Of course she must look like some moronic walking window display； hired by
Tiffany in hopes that the nod to the old film would sell more jewelry。 She kept a smile plastered to
her face while the woman snapped away； then picked up her paper bag and walked back to the
curb。 A bus roared past； sending a blast of hot exhaust up her dress。
Aaah； summer in the city。
Serena looked up at the store； her whole body trembling with frustration。 It was nearly a hundred
degrees； she was sweating and overdressed； people were staring； and she just wanted to go
home？to her parents？ penthouse； not her cat…piss…scented dump？and change into linen boxers； a
wifebeater； and some fy flip…flops； and spend the afternoon drinking Coronas and watching
aLaguna Beach marathon。 She？d always managed to excel at everything； from school to
horseback riding to boys； all without even trying。 She？d been sure acting would e as easily to
her as everything else she？d tried in her life； but so far Ken Mogul was clearly unhappy with her
performance。
She wondered if even Blair Waldorf； the world？s most die…hardBreakfast at Tiffany？s fan； would
have been able to put up with Ken Mogul？s maniacal tirades。
She started her approach toward Tiffany？s once more。
？Look； sweetheart；？ a stocky； loud…voiced Southern woman cried； pointing out Serena to her
balding； paunchy husband； who was sporting a winning ensemble of pleated khaki shorts and a
knockoff Lacoste polo； topped off with black socks under his cheap leather mandals。
？Well； now I？ve seen everything；？ the man exclaimed。
？It？s just likeBreakfast at Tiffany？s ； isn？t it？？ the woman continued； approaching
Serena。 ？Yoohoo； dear； is this some kind of publicity stunt？？
Serena pretended not to hear。 Who knew Manhattan？s sidewalks were so treacherous？ She
retreated back to the curb and steeled herself； then made the walk again。
Now that？s dedication。
She might have looked like a funny tourist attraction to the people walking by； but inside she was
a seething； frustrated actress on the verge of a major temper tantrum。 The truth was； Serena didn？t
even want to act anymore； she wanted to give up and walk over to Barneys and see if anything
new was on the racks。 But of course she couldn？t do that： first； because it was closed due to
filming； so she was partly responsible for her own worst nightmare； and second； because she had
never really failed at anything before and was secretly every bit as petitive as her sometimes
best friend； Blair。
？Nice ass； blondie；？ called a deep voice from behind her。
Serena turned to see a guy leering at her from the backseat of a passing taxi。 Gross。 Audrey
Hepburn never had to deal with this sort of crap。
No； but then again； Audrey Hepburn？s ass was kind of flat。 But at least she could act。
the honeymooners
？Good morning； madam！？ trilled a female voice in a super…perky British accent。
Blair Waldorf sighed and turned over onto her side。 She？d been in London three days but still
wasn？t over her jet lag。 She didn？t mind； though： it was a small price to pay to see her
movie…star…handsome； real…life…English…blueblood boyfriend； Lord Marcus。
Wendy； one of the three maids whose round…the…clock services came with Blair？s penthouse suite
at Claridge？s； clacked across the blond parquet floors and deposited a heavy mahogany tray onto
the king…size bed； which was so big Blair had divided it up into four sections： one for sleeping；
one for eating； one for watching TV； and one for sex。 So far；that section had remained unused。
Wendy drew the thick maroon velvet curtains on the massive wall of windows； flooding the
enormous room with light。 It reflected off the opulent gold…filigree ceiling and bounced off the
gilded mirrors that lined the attached dressing room。
？Ouch！？ Blair cried； pulling one of the six sumptuous goose…down pillows over her head to
shield her eyes from the sun。
？Breakfast as requested； Miss Waldorf；？ announced Wendy； lifting the silver cover off the tray to
reveal a barfy…looking mush of watery scrambled eggs； massive greasy sausages； and a pool of
stewed tomatoes。
Classic English cuisine。Yum。
Blair smoothed her tousled chestnut hair and straightened the straps of the soft pink Hanro cami
she？d worn to bed。 The food looked disgusting but smelled delicious。 Oh well； she deserved a
little treat； didn？t she？ She？d worked up an appetite the day before； walking around West London
sightseeing。
If you call Harrods； Harvey Nichols； and Whistlessights。
？And your paper；？ added Wendy setting theInternational Herald Tribune on the tray with a
flourish。 Blair had requested the daily paper when she checked in？a Yale woman had to keep up
on world events； after all。 So what if she hadn？t exactly gotten around to the reading part？
？Will that be all？？Wendy asked primly。
Blair nodded and the maid disappeared into the sitting room。 Blair speared one of the huge
sausages with her fork and picked up the paper； skimming the front page。 But the tiny typeface
and matter…of…fact photographs were so boring she couldn？t concentrate。 The only paper she ever
read was the Sunday Styles section of theNew York Times ； if only to scan the charity event
pictures for familiar faces。 Why would a worldly woman like herself need to read world news；
anyway？ Shewas world news。
Blair had always been impulsive； but her presence in London had actually been Marcus？s idea。
His graduation present to her？other than the ridiculously extravagant Bvlgari earrings？had been a
plane ticket to London。 Blair had envisioned rainy weeks locked in his enormous stone castle
having chain…sex？the equivalent of chain…smoking？stopping only to gnaw on a cold leg of mutton
or whatever medieval snack was stored in the castle？s primitive but well…stocked kitchen。 But
Marcus had been so busy working for his dad all he ever had time for was lunch and a brief snog。
Dropping the unopened paper onto the floor； she scanned her bedside table for
BritishVogue ？she？d stocked up on all the English magazines so she？d know what to buy and
where to buy it？when her new razor…thin Vertu phone chimed prettily。 There was only one person
who had her new London telephone number。
？Hello？？ she answered as sexily as she could with a mouth full of scrambled egg。
？Darling；？ Lord Marcus Beaton…Rhodes greeted her in his charming British accent。 ？I？m ing
round。 Just wanted to make sure you were up； love。？
？I？m up； I？m up！？ Blair was unable to control her excitement。 She？d spent the last two nights
alone； and her horniness was bubbling over into near…frenzy。 How they？d made it this far without
actually doing it； she wasn？t sure。 Was this their chance for a morning interlude sans knickers？
？Right；？ he continued in his charmingly straightforward way。 ？I？ll be by shortly。 And I？ve got a
surprise。？
A surprise！thought Blair giddily as she shut her phone。 That wasjust the kind of wake…up call she
needed to get her out of bed。 She scurried to the bathroom； discarding clothes as she went。 Could
it be roses and caviar？ Chilled champagne and oysters？ It was kind of early in the morning for that；
but judging from the last present he？d given her？the Bvlgari pearl earrings； with their dangling
goldB s？it was bound to be good。 Some equally exquisite symbol of his undying love？ Everyone
back in New York was so insanely jealous of her perfect English boyfriend that they？d spread
rumors Marcus was already engaged。 There was only one way to putthat rumor to rest forever：
return to New York wearing his ring。 Preferably a flawless； four…carat； emerald…cut diamond；
although an old family heirloom would do。
How humble of her。
Lord Marcus had initially invited her to spend the summer at his father？s Knightsbridge mansion；
but when he？d picked her up from Heathrow in his chauffeur…driven cream…colored Bentley he？d
taken her straight to Claridge？s。 ？We simply haven？t got the room； sweetheart；？ Marcus whispered
directly into her ear； his hot breath sending shivers down her spine as the desk attendant handed
her the room key。 ？Plus； when I e over； we？ll have plete privacy。？
Well； that？s hard to argue with。
Blair wasn？t sure what Marcus？s dad did for a living； but it had something do with bonds； and
whatever it was sounded very boring。 Marcus was interning at his dad？s office for the summer；
and late nights and early mornings meant he had hardly any energy for 。 。 。 sex。 Blair had only
done it a few times with Nate Archibald； and she was beyond eager to try it with someone older
and more experienced； like Marcus？not that sex with Nate had been so bad。
Her rosemary La Mer bath tonic and minty Marvis toothpaste masking the stink of scrambled
egg and tomato； she hurried back to the bedroom and hopped into bed； wearing only a light sheen
of lavender…scented bath water； Chanel No。 5 perfume； and the Bvlgari earrings she hadn？t taken
off once since her graduation party at the Yale Club a little over two weeks ago。
After ditching Vanessa Abrams？s small apartment in dingy and weird Williamsburg； with no
intention of moving back to the crazy world she used to call home； Blair had decided to live at the
Yale club。 She and Lord Marcus had met in the elevator； and his hot accent and neatly ironed jeans
had gotten to her right away。 Fate had it that their rooms were side by side； and she could imagine
the feel of his sexy English breath on her neck even before they？d kissed？which had happened that
very night。 After pouring her heart out to him over six or seven cosmos； Blair was so sure she？d
found the love of her life； she practically threw herself at him。 She was too tipsy？ and he was too
much of a gentleman？to do more than kiss。 But allthat was about to change。
Blair draped the sheets over her body and lit a cigarette； striking a pose that said；I？m on my
honeymoon and worn out from doing it； but what the hell； let？s do it again 。 She grabbed the
newspaper off of the floor and propped up the front p