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It’s not often that Andy gets invited to galas like this anymore. Two years post Runway, two years after doing what had arguably been the hardest thing she has ever done in leaving Miranda behind (even though her heart had taken a beating to do it), she has managed almost impossibly quickly to make a name for herself. The Mirror had proven to be the right choice; a case of right place, right time, and an investigative piece on juvenile incarceration in the US with her byline had given her name weight in the bullpen, and from there the only way she has gone is up. Her most high profile work, a damning series on the lack of supports available for families with children going through cancer treatment, had gotten her an invitation to the Columbia Children’s Health Gala, which is why she finds herself in the Natural History Museum on a Thursday evening instead of at her desk.
When the invitation had come through, she’d considered politely declining it - why take up a seat from someone who could donate significantly more than she could hope to? But a call from Henry and Marcus, who had been sources for the piece and had kept in friendly touch with her since, convinced her to attend.
“Andy, your work brought in a shit ton of donations on its own otherwise they wouldn’t have asked,” Marcus laughed down the line, still buoyant with the news that Hazel, their daughter, was finally in remission, “you have to go! We’ll come too - Hazel always asks about seeing the writing princess again, and god knows you could use a night off.”
What could she say to that but yes? Of course she had been at various award ceremonies and journalism related events, but this is the first extraneous thing she has been invited to since her Runway days. It’s more nerve wracking than she thought it would be. At least when she was there as an assistant, no one really looked twice at her because they were too busy looking at Miranda. Not that she blamed them, seeing as she had been doing the same thing.
Miranda, coiffed and gowned and sparkling with charm, with her acres of smooth skin and silvery hair, was like the moon: she glowed. Andy had almost always found herself unable to look away from her, thanking whatever god or being out there that had made it so that looking at Miranda was, in fact, in her job description because otherwise she can’t imagine how she would have gotten away with it. Kind of a wake up call, to realise all in one trip that the pretty enormous crush on her older, female, very straight, completely untouchable boss was maybe a bit more serious than she’d thought, and that, for the sake of her sanity and her future she was going to have to leave her.
It had seemed, in the moment, like a now or never decision to get out of the car in Paris and just go. Honestly, if she hadn’t done it in that instant, Andy isn’t sure she ever would have had the strength to do it again. She’d barely had the strength to do it at the time. It was the right thing to do, but it had hurt, and going home to a half empty apartment and her life completely blown up hadn’t helped. No friends, no job, and no boyfriend, all the hours in the day to think about what, and who, she had just left behind, certainly made her eager to become the journalist she’d originally set out to be as soon as possible. Miranda could have blacklisted her. She probably should have, given the way Andy had left, but she didn’t. Even now, Andy isn’t sure what that means.
Of course, she hadn’t quite left everything behind when she’d left Runway. In a turn of events that had shocked her, given how they had treated her on first meeting, Andy had only been gone a couple of weeks before she’d gotten an email from Caroline and Cassidy. They bemoaned the return of Emily to the townhouse dropping off the book, their mother’s constant dour mood, Stephen’s communications with the press bringing their family back into the tabloids, and wanted to know if she had read the Harry Potter manuscript because they just had to talk to someone about it, and surely Andy, being a writer, had taken a copy for herself? And Andy had, in fact, read it, and despite all good sense saying that she should absolutely not be emailing the Priestly twins behind their mother’s back, she had responded.
So, they emailed, and when the twins had received iPhones for Christmas from their dad, they texted. And sometime after that, they called. She very purposefully did not ask about Miranda, and the girls only occasionally offered up information about how she was doing, where she was, what Runway catastrophe had ruined their week, which Page Six articles had been outlandish enough to make them laugh. Mostly, they just talked about their days, what friends were doing, what essays they were writing, books they read, the minutiae of their everyday lives. Andy, as much as she could, tried to be a listening ear and a good influence, and got to know them both as well as maybe anyone else ever had. It was kind of nice, actually, to feel like there were at least a few Priestlys in the world who wouldn’t hate that she cared deeply about and for them.
She was getting better about not constantly thinking about Miranda, but a gala is always going to be something she associated with New York’s most fashionable woman. She couldn’t help but think of her while she dressed and got ready. The lessons she’d learned by force to be fashionable enough for the Runway office hadn’t left her, even though she’d significantly pared her style back without access to The Closet - not that there were many reasons to dress that way as a journalist on the beat anyway. While her salary at The Mirror is decent, it’s still a splurge to buy a designer gown, but Andy had been pleasantly surprised to be remembered by the staff of many of the luxury stores she’d sprinted to and from during her tenure as second assistant, and rather fondly at that - her good humour and genuine gratitude apparently unmatched before or since. They’d been all too happy to help a girl out, and she has to admit, the white Marchesa dress they’d suggested, embellished all over with black vines and a slightly sparkling pattern, is a look so good even La Priestly would approve. It didn’t hurt that she’d been given a very nice (employee) discount on it either.
All this to say, she knows she at least looks the part when she wanders into the museum, trying to surreptitiously look for Henry and Marcus in the crowded rooms. There are a few familiar faces that she happily stops to chat with; doctors and patient advocates, some other affected parents, a handful of the wealthy benefactors like Herbert and Florence Irving, whose contributions to the cause had been brought up so often during her research that she’d been nearly forced to reach out to them for their perspective.
It’s humbling to have these people thank her for her work. She has spent her life dreaming of writing about things that matter, that would make a difference, and now she has. She is. Yes, there were things, a chance (slim and unrealistic though it was, audacious to even imagine herself and Miranda outside of the strict bounds of a working relationship) at a whole other life really, that she had to give up to get to this point, but it matters. To the lives of these families, these doctors and researchers, eyes on their lives and work can mean the difference between life and death for a child. Andy had known it would be important work, but just how important is being made very clear to her tonight.
In the far corner of the biodiversity exhibit, finally, she spots Henry and Hazel, and she’s just starting to pick her way over there, trying as best as she can to hug the wall, when she locks eyes with a frantic looking red head who nearly bowls her over with the speed at which she runs to her side.
“Andy! Oh, thank god, can you please play along?” Cassidy pleads, taking a now completely bewildered Andy’s hand in hers, “You’re our mom, ok, our other mom, just go with it.”
Before she has a chance to even begin to make sense of what’s going on, a security guard emerges, with one large hand on the shoulder of a clearly freaking out Caroline, and spotting Cassidy, beelines for them.
“What did you do?” Andy whispers out the side of her mouth as they approach, praying that whatever it was could be fixed and wasn’t, for example, the destruction of million year old fossils. Probably she shouldn’t be letting this play out at all, but whatever this scheme is it’s already in motion and she’s not going to narc on anyone, but she’s especially not going to rat out a Priestly.
“We didn’t! That’s the whole thing; Caro loves it here, we’d never do something to ruin it,” Cassidy says indignantly. Andy looks down at her, the little desperate look on her face so far removed from the butter wouldn’t melt innocence of their usual pranks, and believes her. They don’t have time to discuss anything else before the security is frog marching Caroline in front of her. Caroline, who is teary eyed and clearly terrified, an almost thirteen year old girl in an admittedly fashionable black lace but still very obviously childlike dress, and Andy doesn’t need to see anything more. No one should be treating children like this, let alone her children. She is a little bit touched by how relieved Caroline looks when she sees her, but it only serves to make her more confused - what the hell is this guy playing at?
“Caroline,” Andy says, completely ignoring the man in favour of taking her by the wrist and pulling her out of his grip and into her own, where Caroline instantly throws her arms around her, “are you ok? Did something happen?” She asks, smoothing a hand over her hair.
“Ma’am, I caught your daughters interfering with the exhibit-” the security guard begins, but Andy cuts him off with a look of incredulity and a pursed lip. It’s something she hasn’t even really tried before, but she’d seen the look on Miranda’s face enough times that it’s seared in her memory, how giants of industry had cowered in the face of her silent displeasure. It’s likely much less imposing coming from her, with her enormous brown eyes which just can’t hope to inspire the bone chilling terror that comes with Miranda’s icy blues, but Andy isn’t going toe to toe entitled millionaires or lacklustre designers, she’s just staring down one security guard.
“Some little kid knocked one of the displays down, and I was picking it up,” Caroline explains tearily, “and Cass was waiting for me at the door but then the guard came over and started freaking out, And-, and he said I’d get banned but I really didn’t do anything wrong, Mom, I was trying to help.”
Andy doesn’t think the guy caught that little slip - he has no reason to know her name after all, and Caroline had pivoted into the plan pretty seamlessly. Maybe twins really are telepathic. Andy hums soothingly, her hand still running down the back of Caro’s head, and still, she ignores the guard, her focus entirely on the girls. “You’re ok, sweetheart, we’ll get this all figured out. Cass, anything else to add?”
Cassidy glares at the guy but shakes her head. All right then. Andy fixes him with a polite but sharp smile. “Sir, my girls seem to have a perfectly reasonable explanation for what’s happened, so how is it that you thought any of it warrants being treated like they’re criminals?”
“Destruction of property, priceless property at that, is a crime, Ma’am,” He says firmly, although Andy can see it when his gaze falters, confidence wavering.
“I didn’t realise you were a detective and a judge on top of your security work! Tell me, when did the constitution change to say that children are presumed guilty until proven innocent? I’d be interested to see that amendment for myself,”
“Are you in the legal field, Ma’am?”
“Oh, no,” and now Andy grins, predatory as a shark, “Much worse. I’m a journalist.”
He can’t hide the grimace at that, because pissing off the press at a childhood cancer gala definitely doesn’t fall under the ‘all publicity is good publicity’ umbrella.
“I imagine there are cameras all over the place; why don’t you have your buddies in the office take a look at them right now so we can get to the bottom of it, preferably before my other half gets wind of things, because then we’re all going to have real problems.”
With a defeated sigh, he lifts a walkie talkie to his lips and mumbles incomprehensibly into it, but Andy is sure he’s doing what she said. Maybe she’ll have to pull out the Miranda act more often, it certainly gets results. Cassidy is smirking up at her, mouthing Other half? And Andy has to fight back her blush, elbowing the girl lightly in the side - it’s not like this was her plan after all, she’s just going with it, and what else was she supposed to call their actual mother in this scenario?
“She’s gonna kill us,” Caroline groans into Andy’s torso, “we only barely convinced her to let us look around without her tonight.”
The laughter bubbles out of her without her permission at how quickly Cassidy’s face turns to horror, likely imagining the grounding of a lifetime they’ll get if Miranda finds out about any of this. If Andy can fix it, and by the way the guard is looking increasingly unsure, she thinks she might be in with a decent shot, hopefully it can all be kept their little secret. “Oh, sweetheart,” Andy laughs sympathetically, “we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. If you think the grounding is going to be bad, imagine what she’s going to do to me?” That blacklisting might be coming down the line after all, but what else was she supposed to do when the twins needed her help?
Cassidy grimaces theatrically next to her, scrunching her freckled nose up. “Probably something gross that we definitely don’t want to think about - now or ever,” she mutters, and Andy is torn between turning brick red and going sheet white in shock at the many implications contained in that little comment. What the hell did Cassidy mean by that?
“Looks like a blonde kid toddled right into the damn thing,” the walkie crackles back to life, the disembodied voice boredly confirming the twins’ story, “little guy probably has one heck of a bump to show for it.”
All three of them turn their attention onto the security guard at that revelation, staring pointedly as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.
“Well then. I think there’s an apology to be made?” Andy suggests, mercifully. If she wasn’t so adverse to making a scene here, she would not have been half as polite.
“My apologies ladies, you’re in the clear. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he says in a sort of disappointed tone that really rubs Andy up the wrong way. He’d terrified the girls for no reason, without actually knowing what had gone on, and the hand he’d had on Caroline’s shoulder had no business being there even if she had actually been the one to mess up the display. She’s already in this far, she might as well act like a real parent.
“Just for future reference,” Andy says before he can turn to go, and she lets her voice go icy cool now, “I don’t care if they somehow managed to get the whale off the ceiling; they’re kids. You keep your hands to yourself, and if they tell you they didn’t do it, use the state of the art technology this museum boasts about to find out what actually happened before deciding they’re guilty. You’re lucky that Cassidy spotted me and not their mother, because I guarantee you that Miranda Priestly would already have had your job.” She is maybe a little too satisfied at the way his eyes widen in recognition of the genuine threat posed by invoking her name. Andy’s pretty sure he won’t want to tell anyone about any of this, because then he’d have to explain. “Something to think about. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” The girls snicker a little meanly at his fast retreating back, but she can’t really blame them.
Before she’s taken a breath, from over her shoulder, a familiar voice calls out. “Andy?”
She looks back to see Marcus, Hazel and Henry blinking, confused but happy to see her, and it occurs to her that she’s still got one hand in Cassidy’s, and Caroline practically attached to her front. “You didn’t say you had kids! How did that never come up?!” Oh fuck. Getting them out of trouble was one thing, but this is breaking containment in a way she doesn’t even want to consider the consequences of.
“Hey guys! Uh, no, I-”
“Our Mom is like, super private about us so Andy doesn’t tell people unless we’re gonna meet in person. I’m Cassidy, and that’s Caroline,” Cassidy chimes in with a wide smile, putting her free hand out for Hazel to shake, who looks thrilled to be getting attention from big girls and takes it enthusiastically.
That makes Marcus’ jaw drop. She is so screwed. “Your mom? Andy, I’m almost offended, you were really holding out on us! How long has that been going on?”
“Oh,” Caroline chooses this as her chance to get in on the action, “like two years. We don’t go to this sort of stuff as a family very much though, we had to basically beg Mom to let us come tonight,” she explains easily. It sort of feels like Andy’s been dropped on her head into an alternate universe, or maybe the twilight zone. How the hell is their story so seamless?
“Welcome to the club,” Henry smiles, his cheeky grin echoed on the twins' faces, “it’s always nice to have new friends in the community. Henry, Hazel, and my better half, Marcus. Andy wrote about us for one of her articles, that was fun wasn’t it, pumpkin?”
“Super fun! She took my picture and daddy’s too,” Hazel explained happily to the girls who oohed enthusiastically back.
“Who cares about us, Hen, Andy and the girls are much more interesting. Soooooo. Where is this elusive lady of yours, I’m dying to meet her now,” Marcus says conspiratorially, and because the universe hates her, because no good deed can go unpunished, this is, of course, when Miranda materialises seemingly out of thin air at her side.
Andy hasn’t seen her in two years, and it’s not like she could possibly have forgotten what it was like to witness her in all her glory when memories of it plagued her for months, but even still she has to work very hard not to choke on air. In a red off the shoulder Valentino gown, the creamy skin of her décolletage luminous and perfect, and a look on her face that seems strangely close to fondness, Miranda is breathtaking. She’s clearly not the only one who thinks so; she hears one of the guys gasp but couldn’t say which because her eyes are glued to Miranda. Miranda, whose children are still wrapped around her like Andy belongs to them. Miranda, who might or might not have heard any number of the things said by those same children implying that they were a couple, a family.
“My darlings; I was wondering where you had run off to,” Miranda says lightly to the girls, a little smile on her lips, and when her gaze shifts to Andy, she realises that she’s holding her breath waiting for the proverbial sword to fall, but Miranda’s expression doesn’t change. “Hello, Andréa,” she hums, and leans in to kiss her cheek. It’s the faintest brush of her lips against skin, a greeting she’s given a thousand times to European designers and fashion icons, but never Andy. She can’t help that she melts beneath it, the wired tension of moments before shifting to something warm and anticipatory in her stomach. Which is so stupid, because there is a house of cards waiting to collapse at any moment, and it’s a totally meaningless greeting gesture, but she has wanted for so long that her heart is leaping even though she knows it shouldn’t.
“Hi,” Andy breathes back, smiling, and hopes that despite the involuntary blush, she has managed to school her face well enough that she doesn’t look quite as lovestruck as she feels. God, it’s like no time has passed at all; she’s right back where she was in Paris, just completely besotted by the most untouchable woman in the world. She’s suddenly very grateful that the twins have both of her hands occupied because if they didn’t she’s pretty sure she’d have done something totally embarrassing and obvious like touching the ghost of Miranda’s lips on her own cheek. The sound of someone clearing their throat reminds her pretty sharpish that there are other people in the room, and she looks back to see the bug eyed disbelief on her friends’ faces. Of course they know who Miranda is. And now they also think that Andy is in a secret lesbian relationship with her and has been for years. Which is not ideal.
“Hi Mommy,” Cassidy says brightly, trading Andy’s hand for her mother’s like it’s a perfectly normal situation for her to be found in Andy’s company in the first place, let alone being so familiar. “We were just meeting some of Andy’s friends.” Caroline nods along, stepping out of Andy’s arms to lean half against Miranda, and half against Andy.
“Ah, yes I see that,” Miranda shifts her attention to the other trio in their circle, and inclines her head. “You must be the Daniels’, from Andréa’s piece. It’s lovely to meet you; your candor was enlightening - I’m glad to see Hazel is looking so well,” she recalls easily, and Andy has to act like it’s not actively blowing her mind to discover that Miranda read her articles, and even more so, remembered not just their content but the subjects.
“The pleasure is ours, Ms Priestly, truly, we were just lucky to have someone as dedicated as Andy sharing our story,” Henry answers, his eyes sparkling and obviously charmed in that way Miranda always seemed to pull off so effortlessly.
“Miranda, please,” she demures, waving away the polite address.
“I didn’t realise you were a benefactor of Columbia’s, Miranda, I’m 100% sure I’d remember seeing you looking so fabulous at one of these before,” Marcus adds, having finally regained the use of his vocal cords.
“I have been a donor for many years, but never attended, no. Prior commitments. But the girls were adamant about coming along when they discovered Andréa had also received an invitation,” she explains casually.
Andy blinks, a little stupefied, because it sounds like Miranda just said that she’d come to this gala because she had been told Andy would be there. Not in spite of that fact, or unaware of it, but expressly because of her attendance. Outside of business, where her presence at the events of advertisers and patrons of the arts was often a necessary sacrifice for the good of the magazine, Miranda didn’t do anything she did not want to. There was nothing to be gained for her from coming tonight, no ad space that would be sold, and sure it would be good philanthropic optics but no more so than any other event for a charitable organisation that she supported. Caroline and Cassidy could get a great deal out of their mother, but unless something has fundamentally changed in the past two years, that is mostly limited to attending their school functions and the occasional friend’s birthday party, not big charity functions on a school night. Even if they begged. Which means Miranda had wanted to come. To see her.
“Andy seems to have that effect on people - we were on the fence ourselves before we found out she’d been invited too,” Henry says, with a nod down to Hazel, “Even though somebody has kindergarten in the morning, she just had to see her Andy.”
Hazel’s look of indignation at her dad is so withering Andy can’t hold back her laughter, even as she ruffled the girl’s newly curly hair, so she nearly misses it when Miranda hums in agreement.
“I know the feeling,” she sighs softly, almost to herself; if Andy wasn’t right next to her she certainly wouldn’t have heard it, and she’s not sure she was really meant to, but now that she has…
It’s impossible, surely, but Andy is dangerously close to getting her hopes all the way up that Miranda, perfect, completely out of her league, untouchable Miranda, might not hate her and might in fact, like her. Like like her.
“You guys should have said! I always have time for my best girls,” Andy smiles, letting her gaze flick just briefly to Miranda only to find her already looking, something searching in her eyes, “you could’ve called and I would’ve come over one evening. I’m pretty much always just a phone call away.”
“Well, we’ll keep that in mind in future; maybe you all could drop by sometime,” Marcus suggests innocently, and never before in her life has Andy been so grateful for a dinner bell to ring. “Ah, duty calls - we’ll see you in there, it was great to meet you!” The trio slopes away with the flow of foot traffic towards the dining room, and Andy is suddenly very aware that she has just been left alone with the Priestlys.
Caroline is first to break the silence. “Come on, let’s find our table,” she says, taking Cassidy’s hand and trusting that Andy and Miranda would follow, which they do, walking side by side a little ways behind. It feels like being given privacy, particularly when Cassidy shoots her a look over her shoulder that seems to demand she make good use of the moment.
“Miranda, I… it’s so good to see you. I uh, didn’t expect I would again, after everything. And thank you,” Andy babbles, words tumbling out of her mouth before she can really stop them, “for the recommendation. You don’t know how much it meant to me, and just… thanks.”
Miranda’s lips curl into the small smile that so many designers coveted to see, that Andy had lived for when she was her assistant, and maybe still does. “I knew you’d do something, be something, with it. I was right.”
“You usually are,” Andy replies softly, her body fizzing with elation. Miranda’s approval isn’t something she had even thought to hope for, but she apparently has it anyway. Has had it for years without even knowing.
“Yes, well. Usually,” Miranda huffs on a laugh, “But not always.”
Andy turns to look at her, surprised at this admission almost as much as the previous one. “Oh?”
“Mmmm. I wondered, initially, why it was that you persisted in communicating with the girls. I thought, at first, that you had perhaps forgone that integrity you held to so strongly and decided to use my children to get a, a story or an exclusive about me that could sell papers,” She says airily, so casual even though the subject is anything but. It stops Andy dead in her tracks.
“Miranda, I would never, ever do that.”
Miranda, only a few steps ahead, must hear the vehemence in her voice, the assurance in it, because she stops too and turns back, laying a warm hand on Andy’s elbow. “Yes, I know. You never asked about me in your correspondence, you just… talked. Listened to them. Completely without agenda.” There is a quiet reverence to the way she says it, an almost bewildered surprise at the fact that Andy had the opportunity to fuck her over, and didn’t. It would be hurtful if Andy didn’t know why something like that would be so surprising to a woman who has been torn apart in every tabloid and gossip mag in the country by almost every other person she has had get close to her life in any significant way, and what was more significant than her daughters? The hand still holding her elbow also probably helps.
“Of course. I didn’t know if you knew we kept in contact - I probably should have made sure it was ok with you, actually, sorry about that,” Andy grimaces.
“I knew from almost the very beginning. We don’t keep secrets from one another.”
She had known the whole time? Now Andy is confused. “Oh. Why did you…”
“Allow it to continue?” She prompts, and Andy nods sort of helplessly. Miranda pauses, the hand that has been on Andy’s elbow going up to fiddle with the hoop in her ear. She is silent, thinking, or maybe deciding whether she will actually explain herself, long enough for Andy to notice that they are likely the last two people still not inside the Ocean Life exhibit where the dinner is to be held. It’s so quiet in the museum without the sound of footsteps and chatter, and she is just wondering if Miranda can hear her heart beating as loudly as Andy can when she looks up, icy blue eyes boring into her. The weight of Miranda’s full attention is an almost physical thing, and Andy is as arrested by it now as she ever has been.
“You were a friend to them, a good friend, during a difficult time. I want them to have people they can speak to, that they can trust will keep their confidences, and once I realised you were not interested in making your Page Six debut, I didn’t see any reason to deprive them of you. And…” Miranda trails off, looking away. But Andy can’t look away, she doesn’t want to for one thing, but for another, and she could be wrong about this, or it might be a trick of the light, but she could swear there is a hint of a blush rising on Miranda’s cheeks. The woman who could fell empires with the moue of her mouth, who fired people for breathing too loudly and held court in every room she walked into, looks suddenly, almost shy. It makes Andy nervous too, because what on earth could have Miranda Priestly blushing?
“And?” She offers lightly, watching as Miranda bites her lip, seemingly fighting with herself before making a decision and meeting Andy’s questioning gaze.
“I got to hear all about you.” Andy wonders if she’s been hit in the head with a hammer. Maybe she has, and this is all an elaborate dream her brain has conjured up while she’s passed out on some street corner waiting for an ambulance. Miranda continues softly, “What you were working on, where you were going to be, who was standing in your way and who was moulding you into the journalist you have become. What was making you smile after a hard day. In some small way, through their stories about you, your love for them, I could be selfish, and keep you… close.”
It’s a fucking revelation. Andy kind of feels like this is what it must have been like for people in the bible when an angel appeared to them; one instant and your life is changed irrevocably. All of this time she has spent, wanting and wanting and feeling like the stupidest person on earth for falling in love with a woman she could never hope to have. “Miranda.”
But she doesn’t get anything else out before Miranda narrows her eyes. “Why did you refrain from inquiring about me? I have wondered about that for months, Cassidy assured me repeatedly that she could hear you smiling whenever they mentioned me, but you never asked.”
If she had known there was even a sniff of a chance that Miranda felt anything for her other than hatred and/or disappointment, she probably would have. “I… at first, I didn’t want them to think I was trying to do what you thought I was doing, or that I only talked to them to get to you,” Andy explains with a shrug. She knew that the girls probably had to deal with enough people trying to use them as an in with their mother, and she really did just like them for themselves.
“And later?”
Miranda has already revealed so much, Andy realises that she can be honest, despite how embarrassing it is to admit. “I couldn’t help thinking about you all the time anyway, I didn’t want to torture myself by hearing too much.”
“What were you so frightened of hearing?” Miranda murmurs, and it feels so intimate, to be talking like this, standing so close to her, alone together in an enormous room.
“That you hated me, or had completely forgotten about me.” Both of which are true, but not the whole reason. The thoughts that had made her sick with guilt, because she should want Miranda to be happy, they didn’t have anything to do with hate. Andy swallows around the lump in her throat, and offers the more shameful truth. “That you had found someone good. Someone who loved you the right way. That deserved you,” She whispers, like the confession will be less enormous if she says it quietly, “You’re not the only one who was selfish about it.”
“Ah, so they didn’t tell you,” Miranda sighs, and Andy feels her stomach drop like a lead balloon.
“Didn’t tell me what?”
“They’re very perceptive, my Bobbseys, and when I continued to… ask after you,” Miranda says, the blush returning, “they realised quite quickly, and we had agreed after Stephen that there would be no secrets so when they asked me, I told them the truth.”
She is positive that Miranda can hear her heart beating out of her chest, but she still takes a step closer so they are toe to toe, because even that far away feels too far for this conversation. “The truth?”
“That I had realised what I was feeling too late, and let you go before I had the chance to find out if you felt similarly, but I was not interested in seeing anyone else. And then they came to me,” Miranda continues, and Andy watches her swallow, this close she can see the way her throat moves, the way her eyelashes fan out against her cheeks when she blinks, the microsecond of a pull on her lips from her lipstick when she opens them to speak, “with an invitation to this gala, and the fact that you would be here, and suggested that I see you, and find out. Because they already loved you, and if you loved them then they were sure it was possible for you to…”
Andy can fill in that blank. “Love you, as well.”
“Yes,” She whispers, and there is so much in that one word, so much hope, and so much uncertainty. Andy never wants her to be unsure about her, about how she feels, ever again.
“They have it backwards, Miranda. I loved you, first,” Andy says reverently, lifting a shaking hand to Miranda’s cheek to bring her that much closer, “Before I got to know them, to love them, I loved you.”
Miranda’s eyes flutter closed. Andy can practically feel the relief as it washes over her. “Andréa,” Miranda breathes, low and sensual enough to send a shiver of goosebumps across Andy’s skin. She is almost struck dumb with desire for the woman in front of her, who trembles ever so slightly in her hands. Not in any of her imagining could she have predicted that Miranda would be shy and flustered, so sweet in her desire. Andy doesn’t feel sweet. She feels feral, like she would eat her alive if she could. She has never wanted anyone this badly in her life, and now she can do something about it.
Andy leans in and kisses her, and she tries to be sweet for Miranda’s sake, she really does, but the noise Miranda makes when their lips touch, something bordering on a sob, has her surging into her, pressing their bodies together deliciously when Miranda rises to meet her. She just barely moves her tongue at the seam of her lips and Miranda parts them, opens to her deepening the kiss and then whimpers softly when she does, her hands tangling in Andy’s hair. Andy is drunk with it, the heat of her mouth and the taste of her, the little pliant sounds that she can’t seem to help making as she kisses her. She’s so responsive, succumbing completely to the pleasure of kissing that Andy can’t help but imagine how she might respond if they were doing more.
“Yes, Miranda?” Andy teases against her lips between kisses, taking her full lower lip between her teeth and kissing along the sharp line of her jaw, down the perfect smooth skin of her neck, open mouthed and messy. Her skin is so soft and perfect under her mouth, and when she melts into it, Andy burns.
“Please,” Miranda whines desperately, her hands going to the back of Andy’s neck and tugging her back up towards her mouth, “please, come back, I need-” Andy looks up at her then, her blue eyes gone dark with want, the heave of her breathing, the pink kiss swollen lips that have gone glossy with a mixture of Andy’s lip oil and her own lipstick, looking so perfectly debauched it’s almost painful, and groans before crashing their lips together again. Miranda’s blatant desire just makes Andy more intent on giving her whatever she wants, and if that is to be kissed within an inch of her life then Andy is very happy to get to do it. She kisses her wet and wanting, until she can’t think, until they are both breathless and physically have to stop to come up for air, panting soft puffs of breath in the inch of space between them.
“Oh. We, we should go. The dinner,” Miranda pants, her pupils still blown as she draws back, and she’s right, they definitely should. Andy absolutely wants to eat something, but it certainly isn’t dinner. Miranda must see the thought on her face because her eyes darken impossibly further, and she shivers even as she steps back, hands smoothing down her dress. “The girls are waiting.”
The dinner she maybe could have kissed her into ditching, but the girls? She would never even joke. Andy tries to get her breathing under control as well as her hair, but if she looks anything like Miranda does, that’s probably not going to be enough to convince anyone with eyes that they were doing anything other than what they have been. Even the thought of it, of everyone knowing that she is the one who made Miranda Priestly lose control, who kissed her until she is glazed eyed with pleasure, who loves her and is loved by her, sends a pulse of desire through her. Jesus.
“We might, uh, need to stop in the bathroom on the way,” Andy murmurs, running her thumb under Miranda’s lips to try and get some of the lipstick off. Her lips part on a little gasp when Andy touches her, which is not helping. Is it possible to die from wanting someone? “Do you have the girls this weekend?”
Miranda blinks like she’s been awoken from some sort of spell. “No, no they’re with their father.”
“Ok. Whenever you’re free this weekend, I am going to come to your house, and I’m going to kiss you again. For hours. And then, if you want,” Andy says lowly, “I’ll show you what else I’ve been wanting to do to and with you for the past three years. Yes?”
She is treated to a long, slow, Miranda Priestly up and down look that rakes over her body like she’s caressing her with her hands. “Yes,” Miranda replies throatily, “yes to all of that.”
Andy nods, resolve growing now that they have confirmed that they will absolutely be doing something with the pent up energy at the earliest possible moment that they are free and alone again. “Then let’s go to dinner. Do you know where I’m sitting?”
Her little smirk at the question does terrible things to Andy’s composure. “Next to your ‘elusive lady’, naturally,” Miranda quips, and sashays into the hallway with a laugh at Andy’s fiery blush. So she had heard that! As she hurries to catch up with her, Andy wonders idly if she can possibly find that security guard again later. She would pay a lot of money to get a copy of one particular security tape for herself.