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She had never been one for weddings in the same way that Brooke had been. She had often found herself afraid to believe in a love that merited the institution of a brokered lifelong bond. It had been hard to imagine with Nathan, Lucas, the almosts of Jake, being unendingly in love enough that a wedding was something she would ever want. Peyton had never seen a lot of white dresses in her future. She ought to have known that being the partner of a society princess would mean eventually she would see plenty of them. Blair was constantly invited to them; weddings of friends, weddings of family, weddings of people she couldn't quite recall her personal connection to, business associates, the children of her mother's friends, those of her father. There were plenty of weddings to attend during the social season and Peyton had quickly exhausted her miniscule formal dress collection. Blair was only too happy to 'lend' her things, couture dresses that hung in their shared closet, shuffled between what was Blair's and what was hers. A lot of the clothes had simply become theirs. The only inhibitor in sharing was their different heights, They couldn't share pants and Blair often was swimming in her long cut shirts, but mostly their wardrobes were interchangeable pieces that they put together in drastically different ways. Tonight she wore another of Blair's dresses and attended another of Blair's friends' weddings. She admired the dress, just like more regularly she had been admiring dresses, wedding dresses; pausing in front of boutiques while she shuffled around the city. She even took note of the flowers, the table placings, the chandeliers, the white draping, everything that put together the wedding, and though it would have surprised her before Blair, it no longer did when she felt herself wanting. Peyton had found herself thinking about it more and more, assumed Blair would be the one that wanted to be proposed to, a lingering trace of her favor for tradition. She had wondered how she would do it. She had painted the question across a canvas in her studio and then hastily covered up the momentous words with another layer of paint, and then another, and gifted the end result to Blair on their anniversary a few months back. The depth of her love, commitment, devotion, swimming beneath the surface. She had carried a ring around with her for the better part of four months, waiting for the perfect moment. None seemed quite right, and no proposal for Blair could be less than perfect. At least that appeared to be the initiative, Peyton couldn't claim to be anymore the wiser on when the proposal would take place than Blair could be. Possibly Blair had a better idea, even. She was always pitching her prospective future. It was likely she had mapped out the rest of their lives, from where they would live to which wedding they would attend next. In contrast Peyton wasn't one much for planning. She had barely conceived a notion of what she would be doing tomorrow when a song she liked filtered through the lawn the reception had gathered. She held her hand out to Blair and asked her to dance, swaying her out onto the linoleum floor spread with a newly acquired dab hand. Before Blar she had never learnt to dance, certainly not the kind of dancing to which Blair was accustomed. Now she led, making it hard for her to shuffle along when Nate eventually broke apart from Dan to ask her to dance while Blair begrudgingly took a spin with the Brooklynite. It was easier when they found their way back to each other, Blair's hand in one of her's and the other against her shoulder. Peyton held her close at the waist, murmured the lyrics into the chestnut locks of her hair. Her voice was lofty, not good, not bad either, a quiet murmuring as their fingers untangled for Peyton to reach around Blair and pull the ring off her own finger and slip it onto the appropriate one of Blair's. She knew Blair would think nothing of it. It was her mother's ring, she hadn't batted an eye when Peyton had begun wearing it four months ago. Returning her hands to all the right places Peyton fell comfortably back into the dance steps they were entertaining, lips poised against Blair's hair. "I want you to have it," she said, "I want you to marry me."