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Chapter Text

The beat of "Strong Enough" shook the floor of Madison Square Garden as neon lights strobed over the crowd. Miranda Priestly, seated in the VIP box with a flute of champagne in hand, tapped her manicured fingers against her thigh. The music wasn’t exactly her taste—but Andrea’s eyes were glittering, her curls bouncing with every note, and that made the night more than bearable.

Andy was singing along, shamelessly. Loudly. Slightly off-key. Miranda didn’t even mind.

It was a rare night off. No calls from designers, no emergency meetings with investors, no twins needing anything but a few texts back. Just the two of them, in their designer best, watching Cher bring down the house.

Midway through "If I Could Turn Back Time", Andy leaned over and shouted over the music, “She’s incredible! How is she seventy-eight?!”

“Good genetics. She’s also wearing fishnets and rhinestones, that’s how,” Miranda replied, dry as ever.

Andy laughed, nose scrunching in delight. Miranda’s mouth quirked into something that resembled a smile—at least by Runway standards.

That’s when the screen above the stage flickered and shifted from the concert visuals to something else entirely.

A heart-shaped frame appeared.

The words “KISS CAM” flashed across the screen in glittering pink letters.

“Oh no,” Andy muttered. “Miranda, don’t look.”

But Miranda was already glancing up, expression impassive—until her face appeared, 20 feet tall, beside Andy’s on the jumbotron.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone screamed “IS THAT MIRANDA PRIESTLY?!”

Miranda blinked. Andy turned beet red.

The camera lingered.

“It’s waiting,” Andy said, clearly both mortified and delighted.

Miranda arched one perfect brow. “What a ridiculous tradition.”

“You’re not wrong,” Andy said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But, um. They’re not going to cut away until we—”

“—Give them what they want?” Miranda supplied, now fully amused. She leaned in. “Very well," Miranda sighed.

And then she kissed Andy.

It wasn't a chaste peck. Not a polite brushing of lips either. It was a kiss worthy of a Runway cover—slow, indulgent, undeniably romantic. Andy’s hands fumbled a bit before they landed on Miranda’s jaw, her fingers sliding gently through silver hair.

The crowd roared.

When they finally parted, breathless and dazed, Miranda gave a slight nod to the camera. As if to say there, satisfied?

And that’s when Cher herself, mid-song, noticed the commotion and turned toward the screen as it replayed their kiss.

She squinted, then beamed. Her mic dipped for just a second as she laughed.

“Well, would you look at that!” Cher shouted. “It’s Miranda Priestly and her lady love!”

The crowd exploded. A chant started somewhere in the floor seats: “MI-RAN-DY! MI-RAN-DY!”

Andy buried her face in Miranda’s shoulder, laughing uncontrollably. Miranda, on the other hand, simply adjusted her collar and lifted her champagne glass to the crowd.

The Next Morning:

The first headline hit at 6:03 a.m.

PAGE SIX EXCLUSIVE:

"Mirandy Mania! Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs Lock Lips on Kiss Cam at Cher Concert — Cher Herself Approves!"

It was accompanied by three crystal-clear photos: 

Miranda and Andy frozen mid-kiss, backlit by pink hearts.

Cher pointing at the screen, grinning like she knew something everyone else didn't know.

Andy hiding her face in Miranda’s neck while Miranda smirked at the crowd like she owned it. (She did.)

The subheadline read:

The notoriously private editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly made a very public declaration of affection at Cher’s sold-out concert last night, and we’re not mad about it. Is “Mirandy” fashion’s new favorite power couple?

Andy groaned and dropped her phone onto the kitchen island, rubbing her face with both hands.

“We’re trending,” she muttered into her coffee mug.

Miranda entered, silk robe cinched tight, not a hair out of place despite it being just after 7 a.m. “Of course we are. It’s Page Six. They live for this sort of thing.”

Andy glanced up, bleary-eyed. “You kissed me like we were in a Hallmark film.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean, it was hot—but Cher literally stopped singing. We were part of the show.”

Miranda smiled—actually smiled—and took a sip from her own mug. “Yes. And for once, it wasn’t because I terrified someone.”

“Mirandy,” Andy said, frowning. “They’re calling us Mirandy.”

Miranda arched a brow. “It’s better than any other nickname, I suppose.”

“...Fair point.”

Meanwhile, Across the City:

Emily Charlton had just stepped into her third morning meeting when her phone buzzed so much she thought it might catch fire. She glanced down.

Twenty-eight new messages.

The top one was from Nigel:

“DID YOU SEE THIS?? MIRANDY IS REAL. I’M SCREAMING.”

Attached was the Page Six link.

Emily stared. Scrolled. Then stared again.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Then she texted back:

“Told you there was something between them. Fifty bucks says they get married in six months or less.

Back in the Townhouse:

Miranda stood by the window, scrolling through articles. Social media was ablaze with theories and fan-edits. Someone had already made a TikTok slideshow with Celine Dion’s "Because You Loved Me" playing over clips of Miranda and Andy side-by-side throughout the past two years.

“You realize this will become a thing,” Andy said from the couch, where she was curled up in Miranda’s cardigan.

“What sort of thing?”

“You and me. Publicly. Paparazzi. Red carpets. People trying to ask about our journey together.”

Miranda turned away from the window and met her eyes. “And you’re worried about that?”

“No,” Andy said. “Just… I want to be ready. You’ve kept your personal life private for so long, and I don’t want to—”

Miranda interrupted her with a soft, deliberate kiss. “My life hasn’t been personal since 1992. But you? You’re the only part I’ve wanted to protect, not hide. There’s a difference.”

Andy smiled. “That’s actually kind of romantic.”

“It’s 7:30 in the morning, Andrea. I’m allowed a moment of vulnerability before the first espresso.”

Later That Week:

Vanity Fair ran a special titled:

"The Rise of Mirandy: How a Kiss Cam Became Fashion’s Most Powerful Soft Launch.”

And at the next Runway gala, Miranda and Andrea arrived hand-in-hand.

No kiss cam necessary.

Just them. Together. Glowing.

As they made their way through the crowd, someone from Entertainment Tonight tried to ask a question, mic already raised.

“Ms. Priestly, will you comment on—”

“That's all,” Miranda cut in, with a smile so smug it could power Manhattan.

Andrea laughed, fingers lacing through hers.

Chapter Text

The Runway 25th Anniversary Gala was shimmering with brilliance. Held at the Lincoln Center, the venue had been transformed into a minimalist dream—chrome and glass and ivory florals arranged like sculpture. Models, designers, and dignitaries moved through the space with reverence.

Because tonight was about her.

Miranda Priestly.

Twenty-five years as Editor-in-Chief of Runway. Twenty-five years redefining the pulse of fashion. Twenty-five years of commanding the world’s most coveted publication—and tonight, they were here to celebrate her reign.

And yet, as Miranda stood just off-stage watching her team finalize last-minute details, her mind was elsewhere.

More specifically—on the woman across the ballroom, dressed in cerulean-blue satin, laughing with Nigel and sipping something sparkling. Her eyes were on Andrea Sachs.

Miranda had survived decades of industry chaos, rivals, turnovers, and storms—both personal and professional. But loving Andrea was the only thing that had ever truly unraveled her. And, perhaps more surprisingly, grounded her.

Tonight, Miranda had made a decision.

She wasn’t going to wait any longer.

Later that Night:

The lights dimmed to a golden glow as a screen behind the stage flickered to life. The gala had reached its centerpiece—the tribute.

Emily, fierce and flawlessly efficient, stepped to the podium. “To mark twenty-five years of Miranda Priestly’s leadership,” she began, “we’ve gathered messages from those she’s inspired—and terrified—over the years.”

Laughter.

But as the video montage played, Andrea noticed something kind of peculiar.

There were photos—decades-old, black and white, editorial outtakes, covers, behind-the-scenes moments. But gradually, subtly, the tone shifted. The images began to include her. Candid moments. Private ones.

Miranda reviewing proofs with Andrea at her side. Andrea behind Miranda’s chair, whispering something that made her smirk. A photo taken in Paris during Fashion Week—Miranda’s hand on Andrea’s back. A snapshot from Cher’s concert. The kiss.

Then—words appeared, written in Miranda’s distinctive scrawl.

Twenty-five years of power, precision, and solitude.

Twenty-five years of being everything for everyone, and nothing for myself.

Until you.

Andrea, you taught me how to be my genuine self. To be seen as a softer version of "The Dragon Lady". And you make me feel loved—not for what I can offer, but for who I am when the doors are closed.

You’ve walked beside me through storms and silence. And now—

The screen went black.

Then the lights came up.

Miranda was standing alone onstage.

No podium. No speech cards. Just her.

Andrea’s heart skipped a beat.

“I have spent a career giving people what they didn’t know they needed,” Miranda said, voice smooth but carrying something deeper. Unsteady. “Tonight, I’m giving something to myself.”

She glanced directly at Andrea—no pretense. No mask.

“Andrea,” she said, “I have built a kingdom, but you are the only person I want to rule beside me.”

Gasps filled the room. Someone near the back clutched their pearls. Nigel choked on his champagne.

Andrea stood, hands trembling.

“You are my anchor and my undoing. My calm and my chaos. I don’t have a ring—not because I forgot, but because nothing about us has ever been traditional.”

The crowd was silent now. Even the orchestra had stilled.

“I only have one question,” Miranda continued, stepping forward until she was off the stage and facing Andrea across the floor. “Will you share the next twenty-five years with me?”

Andrea’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t care that they were in public. That they were being watched. Her answer was a breath and a laugh and a sob all in one.

“Yes,” she said. “God, yes.”

Miranda closed the space between them and took Andrea’s face in her hands, kissing her like she had no interest in ever stopping.

And the room exploded.

Applause thundered, echoing across the marble and chandeliers. Someone started crying openly. A few shouted, “Finally!”

Andy broke the kiss only to whisper, “No ring, huh?”

Miranda pulled a silver chain from beneath the neckline of her gown. Hanging from it was a single key.

Andrea stared. “Is that—?”

“Our townhouse,” Miranda said. “It’s where you said "yes" when I asked you to be my love. It felt right to carry it with me tonight.”

Andrea took the key in her palm, kissed it, and slipped it into her clutch.

“You’ll still need a ring,” she said, teasing.

“I’ll get you three,” Miranda replied, deadpan.

Later That Night:

As the gala wound down and the city resumed its usual noise level, Andrea and Miranda stepped out into the quiet night, hand in hand.

They had ruled the evening. They had stolen the spotlight.

But more importantly—they had chosen each other, again.

Not with diamonds.

Not with fireworks.

But with a whispered promise on a stage built for legends.

Chapter Text

Miranda's estate in Wales sat on a rolling stretch of green hills, surrounded by low stone walls and a horizon that felt like it belonged in a picturesque painting. The sky that morning was soft with mist, but by the afternoon, it had cleared to a gentle blue—cerulean, in fact, as if the universe understood the assignment and significance of the color.

The wedding was small. Intimate felt like too loud a word. No more than thirty people. Just their closest circle—Nigel, Emily, Serena, Doug, the girls, and a few longtime friends and some acquaintances whose names didn't appear in magazines but who had always remained constant.

A canopy was set in the garden behind the estate, overlooking the valley. Silver lanterns swayed in the breeze, and blue hydrangeas bloomed from every corner, almost like the countryside was celebrating with them. The air smelled like Welsh heather, rain, and the soft smell of hydrangeas.

Miranda stood at the altar, a vision dressed in a tailored white Valentino suit that kissed every curve and cut a powerful, feminine look. Her hair was swept back with a few small diamond and sapphire studded pins, understated and elegant. Her only jewelry was a silver bracelet from the twins and a glinting pair of sapphire earrings Andrea had once picked out at a street market in Venice.

The sun broke through the clouds the moment Andy stepped into view.

Her Pnina Tornai gown shimmered with a hint of silver thread under the sunlight, the fabric catching the breeze as she walked, hand-in-hand with Doug, who looked prouder than a man walking with royalty.

Andy's smile made everything stand still.

Miranda's breath caught—barely, subtly, but it did.

Cassidy and Caroline, in sweet cerulean dresses with tiny flower crowns, walked ahead of Andy, tossing petals and grinning happily. Once they made it to the altar, Cassidy held the rings tightly in her small fist while Caroline adjusted the pillow they'd be placed on.

When Andrea reached Miranda, she took her hand with no hesitation, no nerves. Only warmth.

Only certainty.

---

The Ceremony:

The officiant, an old friend of Miranda's from university, gave a short, soft-spoken opening speech, then looked between the two women.

"Miranda and Andrea. You have both chosen to live a life together, in all its complexities and quiet joys. Today, you promise to choose each other again and forever."

The breeze stilled. The only sound was the rustle of flowers and the thudding of hearts.

The officiant nodded gently. "You've prepared your vows?"

Miranda turned first.

She looked at Andrea, her thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

"Andrea… from the moment you walked into my office — unpolished, stubborn, utterly unprepared — I saw nothing but trouble. I was correct, of course. You were trouble for my schedule, my patience… and eventually, my heart.

I do not offer my trust easily. My world demands perfection, and yet, you never tried to be perfect for me. You were simply yourself — and that was infinitely more disarming. You challenge me, not to change who I am, but to remember who I am beneath the armor.

Today, I stand here, choosing you. Not because you complete me — I am already whole — but because life with you expands the edges of that wholeness in ways I never imagined. You have taught me that strength can exist in gentleness, that love is not weakness, and that surrender… can be the bravest act of all.

So, I vow to be your partner in every storm and in every calm. I vow to listen, even when my instinct is to command. I vow to stand beside you, as you have stood beside me, without condition, without apology.

And Andrea… I vow to be your Dragon Lady and yours alone.

Everyone chuckled at that.

Andy was already blinking back tears.

She took a deep breath, stepped slightly closer.

"Miranda… when I first met you, I thought you were impossible. Brilliant, intimidating, unreachable — someone I could never imagine standing here with. I didn’t know that behind every cutting remark and perfectly arched brow was someone capable of loving as deeply, as fiercely, and as wholly as you do.

You’ve taught me more than I ever expected — not just about fashion or work, but about resilience, grace under fire, and the courage it takes to be yourself in a world that constantly demands more.

You’ve been my compass when I’ve felt lost, my shelter when life was overwhelming, and my greatest adventure when I didn’t even know I was looking for one.

So today, I vow to never take for granted the privilege of loving you. I vow to stand beside you through every challenge, to celebrate every victory, and to laugh with you even on the hardest days. I vow to keep learning with you, keep growing with you, and to keep us — the “us” we built against all odds — at the center of everything.

Miranda, you are my favorite story, my safe place, and the love of my life. And from this moment on, I will spend the rest of my days making sure you know that."

They spoke the words quietly, confidently.

As the girls brought forward the rings—silver bands lined with tiny sapphires on the inside—Miranda gently slid Andrea's onto her finger. Then Andy did the same, her hands only trembling slightly.

"You may now seal your love with a kiss" the officiant said with a warm grin.

Miranda didn't hesitate. She pulled Andy forward, then dramtically dipping her backward and kissed her like nothing else mattered—like the hills could have crumbled around them and she wouldn't have notice.

The guests erupted in a chorus of cheers, claps, and tears. Cassidy and Caroline immediately started blowing bubbles. Emily muttered, "About damn time," while Serena dabbed at her eyes and held her hand.

Doug lifted his glass in a toast to the happiness of the moment.

Nigel dabbed tears away from the corner of his eyes, using the handkerchief that Doug had given him.

---

The Reception:

Five long wooden tables were set beneath the canopy, dressed in a soft silver runner with small clusters of cerulean and white wildflowers. The place settings were simple but elegant—crystal, china, and hand-written place cards.

The food was local and fresh: roasted vegetables, garlic and herb roasted chicken, and Welsh cakes for dessert. The wedding cake itself was small—three tiers, silver-dusted, with sugar hydrangeas trailing down one side.

Toasts were short and heartfelt.

Nigel spoke first.

"You've built an empire, Miranda. And now you've built something even more extraordinary—a life.

Andrea, thank you for loving her so well. She pretends not to smile, but she's glowing, darling. Glowing."

Emily's toast was classic Emily:

"Andrea, you've accomplished the impossible: you made Miranda Priestly...not scary.

She's in love and now, it's strange to see her a little more on the mellow side of things."

Emily paused.

"But I've never been more proud than to stand beside someone that I used to want to push into traffic."

Everyone laughed, even Miranda.

Cassidy and Caroline presented their own card—written in marker and folded in half.

On the inside, it said:

"We're glad you got married!"

In unison they asked, "Andy, can we call you mom now?"

Miranda teared up and Andy cried.

---

The First Dance:

The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the garden glowed with soft string lights and floating lanterns.

As the first chords of "God Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts began to play, Miranda and Andrea took the floor alone, surrounded by family and friends holding glasses and tissues and hearts in their hands.

They swayed slowly, Andrea's head resting on Miranda's shoulder, arms wrapped tight around each other.

Every long lost dream led me to where you are...

Miranda whispered against Andrea's hair, "Do you regret anything?"

Andrea shook her head. "No. Not one step. Even the broken ones."

God blessed the broken road... that led me straight to you...

As the song ended, they stopped in the center of the floor.

Miranda cupped Andrea's face again, kissed her gently—slow, warm, deep. The kind of kiss that said: We made it. We're home.

The crowd clapped softly, some even wiped tears. Serena pulled Emily into a slow dance nearby. Doug toasted the couple once more.

Cassidy leaned against Caroline and whispered, "This was kinda perfect."

Caroline grinned. "Yeah. It really was."

As the night faded into starlight and laughter, and the soft sounds of the Welsh countryside wrapped around them, Miranda and Andrea sat hand-in-hand by the dance floor, cheeks flushed, hearts full.

Not because it was a wedding.

But because it was theirs.

And that made all the difference.