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Well; that?s what maids are for!

?Mmm;? Serena murmured。 There was nothing special about Blair throwing a tantrum; although

Serena kind of hoped she?d pick up the clothes afterwards。 But ever since they?d arrived at Bailey

Winter?s sprawling modernist pound; Blair had thrown more than her fair share?even for her。

Now that?s really saying something。

Blair was convinced that the skanky Eurotrash models Ibiza and Svetlana were out to get her。

She kept accusing them of swiping her clothes or using her La Mer SPF 45 moisturizer and

insisting that Ibiza; the brunette; was mimicking her every move; from her new chin…grazing

hairstyle to her wardrobe selections。 Serena had to admit the pair bore a troubling resemblance to

her and Blair; but they seemed harmless enough。 They were just annoying; like the copycat

ninth…grade girls back at Constance Billard。

Isn?t mimicry the most sincere form of flattery?

?Fuck this;? Serena announced; closing the magazine and pushing it off the bed。 She

yawned。 ?I?m not going to rot in here all summer long just because we want to avoid some weird

girls with buckteeth and cross eyes。 I?m going swimming。?

?But I can?t find my new navy polka…dot Ashley Tyler cover…up;? Blair whined。 ?What?s the

point of being a muse if I?m not dressed to inspire? If that Ibiza girlborrowed it; I swear I?m going

to rip her malnourished arms off。?

Spoken like a true muse。

?e on; Blair。? Serena slipped a Gauloise from the battered pack on the neatly made bed

beside her; lighting it with the silver Dunhill lighter she?d swiped from her brother; Erik。 It was

engraved with his monogram EvdW。 ?Just throw something on an

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