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It was an event like any other—clinks of wine glasses, murmurs of high-end guests in the upper echelons, and the flashing of cameras. Despite it being labeled as a benefit for a charitable cause, each smile with practiced poise served to glorify one's ego and importance. It was the kind of event with all glamour but no heart—the very kind Miranda Priestly herself detested.
Surrounded with guests dressed up to the nines with countless diamonds adorning their figures, Miranda stuck with an understated black dress with a bare neckline, opting instead to wear statement earrings, bringing attention to her face, accentuated by the blue eyeshadow she wore, the hint of pink on her lips, and starred her iconic hairdo.
In any event, it was inevitable that people felt the alluring draw of the Queen of Fashion. What Miranda had failed to account for, however, was that her wife equaled her charm and allure, gracing each face with her smile, which left every face captivated in her wake. Hardly could she blame them. Andrea was a beauty unparalleled.
Glancing at Andrea, she took the time to look over the killer low V-neck John Galliano gown with her hair tied up perfectly so, underscored by a flower that held a similar shade as Miranda’s hair. Then her gaze settled on the red crimson that dressed her lips. A hint of a smile grazed her lips when she recalled how Andrea had been keen in taking charge of her wardrobe, wishing to match Miranda in some way. It was a statement.
Despite the swell of pride in her chest, as men wearing tailored tuxedos and women wearing tailored gowns alike eyed her Andrea, something burned in Miranda’s eyes. Drumming her fingers against the wine glass she had been nursing, she snaked her arm around Andy’s hip, reverently tracing patterns on the silk fabric with the intent to burn her very name on her skin. Andrea’s shoulders relaxed upon her touch as she smiled at other important philanthropists. Catching a glimpse of a woman eyeing Andrea’s figure over a wine of glass, Miranda leaned slightly forward, breath fanning her ear as jealousy gripped her. “May I kiss you?”
Andrea whipped her head in surprise, her eyes widening a fraction, confused at the notion of asking. Miranda’s gaze betrayed her and flicked off to the side. Andrea traced her gaze, landing on a svelte blonde whose eyes locked unto hers, a faint smirk grazing her equally blood-red lips. Andy’s confusion melts into a teasing smile, turning to look at Miranda. “Were the matching golden rings merely for show, Miranda?”
Miranda raised an eyebrow archly, mouth opening for a retort, but Andrea leaned closer, breath fanning her lips as her teasing smile grew wider. “I’m your wife, Miranda. You don’t have to ask if you want to kiss me.”
The wine glass clinked on the table. Her jealousy betrayed nothing as she hurriedly captured Andrea’s lips into her own, and she responded in kind. Miranda’s palms settled on her lower and upper back, tracing lines. Though always reverent and sincere, Andrea found something was different in the way Miranda kissed, a layer of something heavier hid in the way her lips chased hers—possessiveness. Andy smiled into the kiss.
As they broke away, Andy’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Someone’s irritated.”
Miranda scoffed, eyes locking unto the blonde whose gaze hastily averted. Andy felt Miranda’s finger trace on her hip upwards then dipped downwards, coming back up to fall down again. She felt a straight downward stroke followed by a soft press, tracing to go downwards then curve up. It was then Andy had realized Miranda was spelling her name—M-i-r-a-n-d-a. Pause. P-r-i-e-s-t-l-y.
“My, how territorial of you.”
Heat crept up Miranda’s neck, averting her gaze, halting her actions. Andrea laughed a melodic giggle, as she angled Miranda’s chin to face her, bringing her hand back to her hip, encouraging her to trace her very name. “I love you.”
Miranda imperceptibly melted, capturing her into a kiss. “I love you too, my love.”
Pulling away, Miranda carefully used her thumb to rid Andrea of her smudged lipstick, tracing the lines of her lips. Then, her demeanor clicked back into place, her mask of smiles and toleration returning, as if she wasn’t on the brink of strangling everybody in the room. The room had stilled into quiet murmurs, stunned at the sudden display of affection. The Queen of Fashion had marked what was hers. As if on cue, everybody returned to talking among themselves, but it was very much apparent the Queen of Fashion wasn’t keen on the stares her wife had been receiving.
“I’ve marked you,” she murmured.
Miranda tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Andy cheekily grinned, gaze dropping to her lips. “We’re sharing the same shade of lipstick.”
Miranda’s eyes widened, her hand reaching to touch her lips, but Andrea was far quicker, stopping the very notion. “Don’t.” Andrea’s gaze was as dark as the sky outside. “Let them see what’s mine.”
Miranda imperceptibly shivered. Andrea’s once-docile demeanor had transformed to that of possessiveness. It seemed she wasn’t the only jealous person tonight. Amused, she continued to trace her name on Andrea’s hip.
“Mine,” Miranda whispered fervently, eyes tracing Andy’s features, forgetting the ever-watching crowd.
“Just yours,” she whispered into her ear.