Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/779931.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      The_Devil_Wears_Prada_(2006)
  Relationship:
      Miranda_Priestly/Andrea_Sachs
  Character:
      Miranda_Priestly, Andrea_Sachs, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Older_Woman/Younger_Woman, Angst,
      Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, Abandoned_Work_-_Unfinished_and_Discontinued
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-30 Words: 11830
****** Trooping With Crows ******
by Telanu
Summary
     Romeo & Juliet-type AU thingy, with a much younger (read: seventeen)
     and more naïve Andy, who rebels against her father's authoritarian
     rule--especially when she meets his longtime enemy, the enigmatic
     Miranda Priestly.
Notes
     Warning: This fic is unfinished and will remain so. If you have a
     problem with that, do not read this.
 
Andy skulked around the perimeter of the party, keeping to the walls, trying to
breathe in the crush of people. Well, she hadn't wanted to be noticed, so it
looked as if she didn't have to worry about that, at least. Nobody would pick
her out in this crowd, especially since she was unescorted, and wearing a mask
to boot.
And a good thing, too. She felt out-of-place and embarrassed, looking around
her at all the fine people. She was wearing one of her mother's old dresses
that she'd fished out of the closet. It fit her pretty well, and was in
pristine condition, but it was at least twenty years old. Everybody here was
obviously wearing brand-new stuff that had been tailored specifically for them.
Andy, who'd thought she looked very nice in the mirror this evening, suddenly
felt like a total slob.
Just then, somebody elbowed her, nearly pushing her into a wall. "Oh, sorry,
darling," a guy in a tuxedo--with a purple bow tie--said. Andy froze, before
she remembered her mask. He was wearing a mask too, a little black one that
only covered his eyes. He smiled at her and gestured at her dress. "Ooh la la,"
he said. "Vintage Dior. Haven't seen that in a while. Great find--trés chic!"
He gave a silly little gesture with his hand, laughed, and disappeared back
into the crowd of people.
Oh. Well, that made Andy feel better. Her dress wasn't old--apparently it was
"vintage." Okay. If anybody asked her, that's what she'd say. Maybe she could
get away with calling her shoes vintage, too. Or maybe not, given the way Nigel
had winced when he saw them. At least the hem of her gown went all the way to
the floor.
Miranda Priestly sure knew how to throw a costume party. Except nobody was
really in a costume; everybody was in evening dress with tiny little masks on,
just like Andy, and some people didn't even have those. Nigel had been right on
the money, and Andy was very glad she hadn't come in a real costume after all.
Could you just do what you liked, at a costume party, without worrying what the
invitation said? Were all society parties like this? Andy certainly wouldn't
know. She found that she was having a hard time breathing. All the lights, the
color, the people and the music--she couldn't imagine anything more different
from her quiet home, and the occasional company of her well-mannered, father-
approved friends.
Speaking of friends, maybe Emily was around here somewhere. The thought made
Andy's heart lift a little bit, even as she had to admit that she'd have no
idea what to say to Emily, or even if she should say anything at all--what if
Emily told Andy's father that she'd seen Andy here tonight?
But surely Emily wouldn't do that. Even if she thought Andy
was..."weird"...she'd kissed her, and nobody had ever kissed Andy before, and
it had felt really nice. Soft, and kind of sweet. Andy thought that she would
probably much rather kiss Emily again than Preston Roberts, or whatever his
name was. Not that her father would approve of that, either, even if he had
picked Preston out himself.
But her dad wasn't here. He'd never come to an event like this--so shallow,
superficial, full of the kind of people who'd ruined Andy's mother. And if Andy
just kept her mask on, then nobody here would ever guess who she was. Heck, if
she took it off she'd probably remain safely incognito. She'd never laid eyes
on any of these fancy people in her life, even the ones whose faces she could
see. She recognized some of them from the papers she was allowed to read--there
was the mayor, there was an actress--but they'd never know who she was, even
though her father was one of the wealthiest, most famous people in the whole
city. It was kind of exciting, actually. Like a game of hide-and-seek and
dress-up all at once, only for real, and not for children.
Still, Andy felt very much like a child at the moment. She wished she was like
Emily, who'd grown up in this world. Here Andy was, almost eighteen and a total
homebody who'd never even been to a real school, who didn't have anybody to
talk to, and was worried every single second that she'd make an awful mistake,
and where was Emily, anyway? How could Andy even hope to find her in this
crowd?
The feeling of playing a delightful game began to disappear, and Andy felt
awkward all over again. It didn't matter who her father was. She was out of
place here, on her almost-stolen invitation. And if her dad did find out that
Andy had snuck out, had come here...maybe she should go. She'd wanted a little
adventure, and she'd had one, she guessed. It just hadn't been as exciting as
she'd hoped.
Or as lurid, really. Based on her father's accounts, she'd halfway expected to
see people doing drugs the moment she came into the door, or having sex in the
corners, or--she didn't even know what else. But really, the only thing going
on was...a party. A nice, big, loud party, but just a party: people were
talking, dancing, sipping champagne, milling around. Nothing scandalous. Now
that Andy was used to the lights and the music, and getting accustomed to the
crowd, the party didn't seem like such a big deal as she'd thought. Kind of
boring, even, since she didn't have anyone to talk to.
Disappointment created a lump in her throat. She hadn't wanted to get in
trouble, of course--not exactly. And it wasn't too bad, standing over here in a
corner, watching the people go by. It just wasn't all that different from
looking through the windows of her father's car while the world passed by
outside, as they drove by places she wanted to get out and see for herself.
Even here, standing in the middle of "the biggest party of the season," Andy
was still just a spectator.
She sighed. Maybe she'd stay until the end of this song, and then go home. Just
as she'd decided this, though, she heard a faint murmur of sound, and turned
around.
Throughout the night, she'd noticed people occasionally gathering in small
little clusters, talking amongst themselves. Right now, such a cluster had
developed alarmingly near to her. Suddenly feeling agonizingly shy, Andy ducked
behind a nearby pillar, and listened to the people in the group talking and
laughing. Then, one woman's laugh seemed to ring out louder than the others,
and then her voice said, "I'd better move on. Ciao."
"Ciao, bella!" someone else in the group laughed, and the people parted before
her.
The woman emerged from the group's center, and time--plus Andy's heart--
stopped.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
She was older than Andy, and her hair was as white as any snowy dove, swept
elegantly around her head like a breeze of wind. Still, in spite of her white
hair, she obviously wasn't elderly--about Andy's dad's age, maybe. Her skin was
pale and flawless, and there was a lot of it on display, since her black velvet
dress was low-cut and sparkly. Her lips were parted in a smile that displayed
perfect white teeth, and her nose was an elegant arch. She wasn't wearing a
mask. She wasn't pretty, not like Emily, not like the actress Andy'd seen here
tonight. But she was, she was--
Andy didn't know what she was. She only knew that she couldn't take her eyes
off the woman, who moved and walked like queens must move and walk, who stopped
to greet people with a smile and a tilt of her elegant head. She was stunning.
She practically glowed in the light. Everyone around her turned to watch her go
by, and tried to speak to her. Some she smiled at; others she ignored with such
aplomb that it was almost as if she'd greeted them anyway.
Andy felt hot, and cold. Once again, she had difficulty breathing, but it was
different this time. Her heart was racing, and she felt as if she might faint,
watching the woman glide through the crowd.
Who was she? Who could that possibly be? Andy thought about asking somebody,
but she'd look like an idiot, since obviously everybody knew who the woman was.
Besides, Andy wasn't sure she could speak in coherent words right now. She
leaned against the pillar for support, and watched the way the lights in the
candles and chandeliers played over the woman's pale shoulders and silver hair.
'Bella,' that man had called her. Not her real name, probably. But it fit.
Bella: beauty. Andy had never seen anyone, or anything, half so beautiful in
her life. She didn't want to leave the party anymore. She didn't want to leave
here, ever. She always wanted to stand here, looking at that woman. She could
do that for the rest of her life.
Then, all of a sudden, Andy remembered kissing Emily, and found herself
wondering what it would be like to kiss the woman with silver hair; and then,
for a moment, she wondered if she really would faint, so great was the rush of
heat that overwhelmed her body.
Next thing she knew, she was stumbling blindly towards the restrooms. The
ladies' room was palatial, with couches to sit on and floor-to-ceiling mirrors
and everything, and Andy was grateful for its size as she made for one of the
corner sinks where she wouldn't have to look anybody else in the eye. She tore
off her mask, splashed cold water on her face, and then rested against the cool
marble.
Oh. That was a little better, but not much. She felt like she could breathe
again, but she couldn't get the image of the woman out of her mind.
"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked her in concern. It was only the second
anybody had spoken to her all night, and out of terrified reflex, Andy jammed
her mask back on. But it was only the female attendant who sat by the door,
offering hot rolled towels and tissues to the women who came and went.
"Thanks," Andy said. "I'm...I'm fine. I, uh...thanks," she repeated, feeling
like an idiot. The attendant frowned at her, but Andy fled the bathroom before
she could say anything else.
As soon as she returned to the party, Andy cast her eyes around, but the woman
was gone. She wasn't on the main floor. Almost in a panic, Andy headed to the
upstairs balcony, but could catch no glimpse of her anywhere. She was nowhere
to be seen. Had she left the party already? It was barely ten o'clock.
Andy was astonished at how the thought made her feel--as if her heart had been
crushed under a rock, as if the sun had gone out of the sky and would never
come back again. Andy shouldn't have left. She should have just stayed leaning
against the pillar and if she'd collapsed, well, she'd have collapsed, but at
least she wouldn't have...what? Left her post?
She actually felt like she might cry. This was totally ridiculous. She must
just be...tired, or overexcited, or something. Heck, maybe Andy had just
imagined the whole thing. Some kind of hallucination. Maybe she should go home.
This stupid mask was making her overheat again. Angry at herself, at the world,
Andy retreated back into the shadows of the balcony and took off the mask
again, mopping at her forehead with the back of her hand.
Then, a door to the side opened--another bathroom--and the woman stepped
through it, alone, glancing idly around the balcony and at the party below. Her
gaze fell on Andy, who stood paralyzed just a few feet away.
Andy knew her face was red and damp, and that her hair was almost certainly a
mess, and that she had to look like a total idiot with her mouth open, just
staring at this woman, but she couldn't help herself, because she was even more
stunning up close. High cheekbones, a perfect throat, a proud, haughty mouth--
was anyone else even at the party, besides her?
Then Andy realized that the woman was staring right back at her, the haughty
mouth a tiny 'o,' her eyes wide in what looked like surprise. They stood there
just looking at each other, for what could either have been two seconds or two
hours. Andy couldn't tell; she'd just lost all sense of time.
The woman's cheeks went a little bit red. She opened her mouth to say
something; her voice caught, and she had to stop to clear her throat. Then she
said, "Ah--"
But right at that moment, Andy heard a horribly, horribly familiar voice
saying, just behind her, "Yoo-hoo! Oh, there you are!"
Edna Hurrey. It took Andy all of half a second to jam her mask back on and step
to the side so that Mrs. Hurrey could whisk past her without giving her a
second glance, making a beeline for the beautiful woman who was still staring
at Andy.
"Isn't this a marvelous party, oh, I've simply been looking for you all
evening," Mrs. Hurrey gushed.
"Hello, Edna," the woman murmured, her voice low and silky. It made Andy's
knees weak, but not so weak that they couldn't propel her back towards the
stairs as fast as she could go. Behind her, she heard the woman call out, "No,
wait a moment--"
But Andy couldn't wait a moment. Out of all the stupid people to show up, Edna
Hurrey would love to tell Andy's dad all about how Andy had snuck out and spent
her evening going all googly-eyed at strange, beautiful women. And if she had
more than two seconds to look at Andy, mask or not, Mrs. Hurrey would recognize
her.
Crap. Crap. Once again, Andy felt near to tears as she hurried downstairs. This
time, she needed to get out of the building, but she felt so disoriented she
couldn't remember where the exit was. After a few minutes of wandering, she
found herself in an empty hallway heading for a door that seemed to lead
outside.
It did, but it wasn't the exit. It just led to a quiet outdoor balcony, made of
stone, overlooking an empty garden: a very odd oasis of peace, just a few
meters away from the noisy party. There were potted plants. Andy removed her
mask yet again, and took a deep breath of cool night air.
Okay. This might be all right. She could get her bearings here for a moment,
and then decide what to do next: now that she knew Mrs. Hurrey was here, she
probably shouldn't stay at the party. But if she left, she'd probably never see
that woman again, and that would be--it just wasn't fair. Andy never should
have come tonight. If she'd never seen that woman, then she wouldn't know what
she was missing. She could go to bed and wake up in the morning without knowing
that there was someone out in the world who--
"So this is where you vanished to."
Andy hadn't heard that voice saying twenty words yet, but she already knew it
as well as she knew her own. For the third time that evening, her heart
stopped. She whirled around to see the woman emerging onto the balcony, quietly
shutting the door behind her. They were alone.
She had been astonishing indoors: here, in the night air, she was overwhelming.
The moonlight and the light from the windows converged on her silver hair and
her pale skin to make her look inhuman, goddess-like.
"Not that I can blame you for fleeing Edna Hurrey's company, of course," the
woman continued, her voice amused. "But I've never seen quite that look of
terror before."
"O-oh," Andy stuttered. She wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't sure she could
say anything; she was breathless, faint again, her blood running hot and cold
like water from a tap. She hoped the woman wouldn't notice that she was
shaking. She took a deep breath, and said, like she'd read in the books, "I,
um...it's a lovely party."
The woman's lips curved into an even more amused smile. "Is it?" She stepped
forward until she was no more than two paces away from Andy, who tried to lean
unobtrusively back against the stone railing. She wasn't sure her knees would
support her. The woman had the most beautiful mouth Andy had ever seen, and all
Andy could think about was kisses. It would kill her to kiss this woman. She'd
fall down dead on the spot. It was all she wanted.
"Now," the woman murmured, stepping in even closer, her gaze sweeping up and
down Andy's body. "Who are you?"
"Andy," Andy said, before she could think better of it. She cleared her throat
quickly, and said, "Well...Andrea. But I go by Andy."
"Andrea," the woman said, and Andy's knees went weak all over again. She
pronounced it differently than Andy'd ever heard it before--Ahn-dray-a--and
from her lips, it sounded exotic, special, musical. "And how is it you come to
be here tonight, Andrea?"
"I--" Oh, no. All of Andy's carefully-rehearsed stories flew out of her head.
"I...I'm not supposed to be here, actually," she heard herself say, and bowed
her head in shame. "I, um...somebody else gave me an invitation. I, um, wasn't
personally--"
Then her world turned upside-down as the woman gently brushed her fingertips
against Andy's chin, pressing until Andy lifted her head again and looked her
in the eye. Blue. Her eyes were dark blue, and right now, her pupils seemed
very large. Andy felt devoured by those eyes.
"You and half the people here," the woman said, and smiled again. But in spite
of the woman's apparent cool, Andy saw a faint blush spread over her cheekbones
again, and thought the sight of it just might drive her crazy. "Are you here
with anyone else?"
"No," Andy whispered.
"That's hard to believe," the woman said, tracing her fingertip over Andy's
chin again, before lowering her hand quickly, as if she hadn't actually meant
to do that. She cleared her throat and looked slightly embarrassed before
saying, in a more normal tone of voice, "A young lady like you surely has an
escort."
Andy shook her head and tried to think of some witty reply. To her utter
horror, she heard herself saying, with a feeble laugh, "Nope. All yours."
The woman's blue eyes widened again. Andy felt her own face going even redder.
Of all the stupid--
"I see," the woman said. Andy didn't know where to look, or what to do or say.
She glanced wildly over the side of the balcony, thinking maybe she could come
up with something about how pretty the garden was, or…
"I see," the woman repeated, her voice quiet now. Then she cupped Andy's face
in her hands, making Andy look her in the eye once more. Her hands were soft
and hot. Andy felt as if her cheeks suddenly had a direct hotline to every
other part of her body. It was like she'd been struck by lightning.
"I know we've just met," the woman said, drawing so close to Andy that their
bodies were touching. Andy could barely hear what she was saying over her own
heartbeat. "And I do hope you'll excuse me."
She kissed Andy.
Her lips brushed over Andy's--perfectly, wonderfully soft. And warm. Andy
gasped, and then melted all over, leaning into the kiss, grabbing the woman at
her shoulders because she was certain she was about to keel over. She couldn't
keep up, she'd only kissed Emily twice, and this wasn't anything like kissing
Emily and now Andy didn't know what to do.
But the woman knew. She kissed Andy, not just once, but again and again,
blending one kiss into another until Andy lost count but she thought there were
at least four. She nibbled and sucked gently at Andy's lips, moving her hands
to stroke down Andy's throat, and then sliding them around Andy's waist.
Andy heard herself making a noise that she'd never made before, sort of a cross
between a whimper and a moan. Whatever it was, it made the woman tremble
against her, and pull away. Andy gasped in protest, and the woman kissed her
again right away, making her head spin.
"Oh," she whispered against Andy's mouth, after a moment. "Oh...my." She kissed
Andy's jaw, Andy's cheek, the side of Andy's mouth, while Andy held on for dear
life and tried to remember how to breathe. She dared to slide her arms around
the woman's neck, to press closer, and then--when the woman moaned herself--
understood why the sound induced trembling. It went straight between her legs.
"You," the woman said, sounding not much more articulate than Andy,
"this...you're..." She kissed Andy's jaw again, and then let her lips wander
slowly down Andy's throat while Andy whimpered again. "Oh."
Those perfect shoulders. Andy couldn't resist. She bent down and kissed one of
them, and couldn't believe how warm it was under her mouth, how perfectly soft.
The woman gasped against Andy's throat, and so Andy kissed her shoulder again,
deciding that this couldn't possibly be real, that she was having a wonderful
dream and so could do whatever she liked.
"Are you some kind of mirage?" the woman asked with a breathless chuckle, as if
she'd been reading Andy's mind. Then she tugged gently at Andy's waist.
"Here...over here." She pulled Andy to a stone bench that rested at the end of
the balcony, hidden from the doorway by an enormous potted plant. And in very
short order, Andy found herself seated on that bench, twined around the most
beautiful woman in the world, and being kissed as if she were somebody special,
somebody who deserved kisses and caresses.
"I must be out of my mind," the woman said, "I must be..." She brushed her
mouth against Andy's throat again, and then kissed her way down until her lips
were pressing against the edge of Andy's low collar. Oh. Oh. Andy arched back
against her with a groan. "Do you like that?" the woman added, her voice both
breathless and teasing, as if she knew exactly how much Andy liked that.
"Yes," Andy panted. She slid her hands up and down the woman's back. This
couldn't be real. She felt herself getting wet between her legs, like when she
touched herself, only the woman hadn't touched her anywhere below the waist.
But then the woman pulled away, looking as if she was trying very hard to
recollect herself. "Please don't stop!" Andy blurted.
"I don't think I can," the woman gasped, and surged against her again, pulling
Andy closer until it felt like they were one person, wrapped up in each other's
arms, Andy drowning in the smell of her perfume and the press of her flesh and
the velvet of her gown. She placed her hand on the woman's hip, slid it up her
ribs, felt the woman shiver and heard her hiss. Oh. Andy was so close to, her
hand was so close to--her hand ached with wanting to--
The woman took hold of Andy's hand, and pulled it up, pressed it against her
breast. Andy groaned again, and cupped it, feeling the gorgeous weight against
her palm, wishing like anything that the woman's dress wasn't in the way.
Perfect. It fit perfectly in her hand--she sucked on the woman's lower lip,
dared to squeeze gently--
The woman cried out softly against Andy's mouth, and if the sound of a moan was
enough to make Andy tremble, that little cry was enough to make her throb.
"Oh," the woman gasped, pulling away, mouthing at Andy's throat again, "oh.
This...this isn't the place..." She slid her hands through Andy's hair. "We,
ah--we should go. While we still can." She laughed again, breathlessly.
"Go?" Andy asked faintly, and kissed her shoulder again. She couldn't go
anywhere. She'd never make it off the bench.
"I have a room here," the woman whispered, and trailed her hands up and down
Andy's back. "Oh..." Andy squeezed her breast again, and got that little cry
again, in response. "Oh! Andrea--" The sound of her name made Andy throb again,
and she moaned. "Andrea. Oh, my God." The woman stopped, and kissed all up and
down Andy's throat again, as if she couldn't help herself. "Will you come," she
murmured between kisses, "to my room...with me?" She stopped, nuzzled behind
Andy's ear, and dragged her teeth against Andy's skin. Andy gasped.
Come to my room with me. Where they could kiss without anybody seeing them.
Where maybe they could--could do more, like Andy had heard about, only she
wasn't sure how it was supposed to go.
She heard her father's voice in her head, reminding her about bad girls, about
women who went too far and lost their partner's respect. Girls who were 'easy.'
Apparently, judging by tonight, Andy was pretty easy. So was this woman, she
supposed. But how the heck was Andy supposed to resist this, this perfect,
amazing person who was, um--who--oh, right, who was she?
"Wh-what's your name?" she whispered.
It seemed like a fair question. An obvious question, in fact. But to Andy's
surprise, it made the woman pull away from her with an astonished look on her
face. "What?" she asked.
"Your name," Andy repeated. "Um...you never told me." She managed a smile.
"Fair's fair...right?"
The woman was looking at her like she had two heads. Andy had no idea why, but
it was starting to make her uncomfortable. "You don't know my name?" the woman
asked, like it was the most outlandish thing she'd ever heard of. "You don't
know who I am?"
Andy shook her head mutely. She was getting a really, really bad feeling about
this. She bit her lip. "Um...you're somebody really important, aren't you?" she
asked feebly. "Oh, um...gosh. Sorry. I, uh, I don't get out much." She winced.
"At all."
"Evidently not," the woman said, still staring at her. She was still panting
and flushed from their kisses, and she pushed her silver hair out of her face
as she tried to regain her composure. "So--you are not here, with me, because
of who I am?"
"Huh?" Andy wasn't sure she understood the question. She was here because the
woman had cornered her, and because she'd been more than willing to be
cornered. She was here because there was nowhere else she could imagine being,
maybe ever again. She just didn't know the woman's name. Although she was
trying to find out.
"I don't know what you mean," she finally admitted. "I was on the dance floor,
and I saw you--and you were so--and then I saw you upstairs and…" Andy gestured
helplessly, feeling like an idiot. She always knew what she wanted to say when
she was writing: why not when she was talking, too? "I didn't care who you
were. I thought I was going to, to die or something." The woman inhaled
sharply. "Besides," Andy continued, "isn't that--uh--I mean, why did you come
out here with me?" Sudden fear struck her. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
"Not a clue," the woman said, and Andy relaxed, a little. "And as to why--" She
patted her hair down again, shaking her head. "I don't know. I just saw your
face in the hallway and--" She gave Andy a long, considering look, making Andy
blush again, before she gave a rueful smile. "I suppose your feeling of 'dying'
was apt. I'm not sure how to put it. Certainly this has never happened to me
before--I don't quite feel like myself."
"You're not…married, are you?" Andy asked uneasily.
The woman laughed harshly at that. "Oh, no. Not anymore." She reached out and
took Andy's hand; her bitter smile faded into something infinitely more tender.
Andy felt her heart speeding up all over again, felt herself sliding into that
delicious languor again. "You said you don't get out much."
"No," Andy said, praying that awkward questions were not on the horizon.
"Then I suppose…have you ever done this before?" The woman gently stroked
Andy's throat. Andy quivered, and shook her head no, unable to speak. "I see."
The woman cleared her throat. "I might have been a little hasty in
propositioning you right away, don't you think?"
Andy managed a breathless laugh. "Or not hasty enough," she said, thinking
wistfully of just a few moments ago, when they'd been kissing like they would
never part. Andy hoped they'd get to do some more of that soon.
The woman blinked, and swallowed hard. "My, oh my," she murmured, and smiled,
letting her hand fall down so that it could take hold of Andy's again. "I'm
very glad I'm here tonight." So was Andy. The woman stepped forward. "Come
inside, why don't you? Let me tempt you with champagne. We'll manage to find
somewhere to talk." She smiled wickedly. "And perhaps you can tell me more
about yourself than your first name."
Andy wasn't sure if she should mention that she wasn't twenty-one yet, or that
she wouldn't really need more tempting with anything. She opened her mouth,
hoping that something semi-coherent would come out of it, when she heard:
"Miranda! Are you out here, my dear?"
A man's voice trilled even as the door opened, letting the lights and the noise
from the party spill out onto their quiet balcony. "Oh, God," the woman
muttered, letting go of Andy's hand with obvious reluctance. "Let me get rid of
him first."
Miranda? Andy blinked as the woman gave an airy wave to the foppish, forty-ish
man who had emerged onto the balcony, holding two champagne flutes. He blinked
as his eyes adjusted to the lower lights outside, and Andy remembered just in
time to slide her mask back on. "Oh! I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know I was
interrupting." Andy blushed furiously, behind her mask, but the man's smile was
benign enough.
"Stanley," the woman said, and kissed the air to either side of the man's
cheeks. She gestured to the champagne. "Is at least one of those for me?"
"And for your companion, if she wishes," 'Stanley' said, gallantly offering
Andy the second flute. Andy took it gingerly and mumbled a soft 'thanks.'
"Miranda, are you particularly busy?"
"Rather," the woman drawled, which obviously surprised Stanley. "Can it wait,
whatever it is?"
"I--I suppose so," Stanley said. "I'll find you later. Or call you."
The woman--Miranda--smiled sweetly at him. "You do that." She raised her glass
at him. "Merci beaucoup."
"Ta, cherie," he said, and with one last curious glance at a be-masked Andy,
withdrew inside once more.
The woman turned again to Andy, who stood dumbly next to her. Oblivious to
Andy's sudden terror, the woman said, "Shall we go for a stroll?" She gestured
down at the garden. "That seems a likely spot for conversation."
"Your…your name is Miranda?" Andy asked faintly.
Because all of a sudden, everything was falling into place. The woman's regal
bearing. Her astonishing beauty. And, more than anything else, the way everyone
at the party revolved around her, wanting her attention, her approval, seeking
her out as--oh, oh no, as hostess, because--
"Are you," Andy gulped, "are you Miranda Priestly?"
The woman gave her an amused smile. "I am indeed. You really didn't know, did
you?"
Miranda Priestly. This was Miranda Priestly. The woman her father blamed for
everything--for the loss of his wife, Andy's mother; for the loss of several
millions of dollars in revenue; for the 'immorality' of the magazine and the
culture she promoted; for everything--and Andy had just fallen in love with her
so hard that it felt like her whole body was bruised from the impact.
"No," Andy said. "I really, really didn't."
The woman frowned, obviously hearing Andy's distress in her voice. "This is a
problem?" she asked, her voice suddenly a little harder.
What would Miranda Priestly say, if she knew that Richard Sachs's only daughter
stood in front of her? What would she do? Andy couldn't find out. She didn't
dare. Her dad would kill her, and for all she knew, Miranda Priestly would as
well, for daring to intrude on her party, heck, for daring to kiss her--
With a trembling hand, Andy shoved her flute at Miranda Priestly, who took it
in obvious surprise. This was good, because it meant she had her hands full
when Andy blurted, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, oh my gosh, I have to go," and
fled the balcony as fast as she could.
She felt like Cinderella, trying desperately to get home before midnight. As
she darted down the front stairs she wondered, half-hysterically, if Miranda
Priestly would call out something like, "Guards! Stop her!" But nobody called
anything out, the security guards tipped their hats as she passed, and she
flagged down a cab with a shaking hand. Gasping, she gave the driver Nigel's
address, as he'd instructed.
Andy turned around as the cab pulled away, and watched the magnificent hotel
recede into the night. Her heart had never beat so hard before, and she didn't
know what it was: fear, sorrow, or both.
===============================================================================
With Nigel's help, she was back in her own house by two-thirty in the morning.
But as Andy lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, she knew sleep was a long
way away.
She hadn't asked Nigel about Miranda Priestly. But she hadn't been able to
marshal her thoughts or her composure, and he'd known something was wrong from
the moment he'd answered the door. She'd given him some story about being
overwhelmed by all the people. He seemed to have bought it, but you could never
tell, with Nigel.
In the meantime, Andy's heart was still racing, and she couldn't stop thinking
about the woman, who was Miranda Priestly, who was everything Andy had been
taught to hate, and whom she'd come to love, just like that. Nigel and Emily
would both tell her she was being a romantic idiot, that there was no such
thing as love at first sight. What did they know? They hadn't looked into
Miranda Priestly's eyes, and they certainly hadn't been held in her arms like
something special or precious.
Andy closed her eyes, and replayed the kisses over and over in her mind. She
couldn't help herself. Already, in her head, the woman at the party and Miranda
Priestly were starting to merge into one person, somebody who was just
"Miranda," because there could only ever be one Miranda, now. The gorgon Andy
had been hearing about for years was already more of a myth than a reality. How
could somebody as awful as Miranda Priestly kiss Andy with such tenderness, or
feel so overwhelmed by Andy in her turn? Surely she just didn't randomly accost
strange girls on balconies and invite them back up to her room. She'd certainly
seemed surprised by her reaction--she'd said she felt like she was 'dying,'
too…
Again, she couldn't help herself. Whimpering, Andy slid her hand between her
legs and rubbed, hard and frantic, thinking again about those kisses, about
Miranda's mouth on her neck, Miranda's breast in her hand. Her adrenaline was
up, her thoughts were whirling, she still ached with need, and before she knew
it she was coming so hard that she actually moaned out loud. She'd never done
that before. Except for when Miranda had kissed her.
Her whimpers changed to pants as she rested in bed, gulping for air, sliding
her sticky fingers against her slippery flesh, coaxing little aftershocks of
pleasure from herself. Oh. Wow. It'd never felt that good before. Did Miranda
ever do this? Might she do this, tonight, thinking about Andy?
The thought of that overwhelmed her, suddenly and thoroughly, and the next
thing she knew, Andy was moving her hands again, sobbing, her fingers going
faster than ever as she imagined Miranda, alone, doing exactly what Andy was
doing now--those pale, elegant hands between her legs, that soft bottom lip
caught between her teeth--
This time, when Andy came, it felt so good that it took her breath away and she
couldn't make any noise at all. Oh. Wow. That was a first, too, doing it more
than once. At least, right away like that.
But would Miranda really be doing this, tonight? Probably not, Andy realized,
sobering up quickly. If she thought about Andy at all, she'd just remember her
as the weird girl who'd kissed her without knowing who she was, and who'd then
run away from her for no reason. And even that would be better than if Miranda
never thought about Andy again.
Great.
===============================================================================
Andy stared down at the heavy cream paper in front of her, and bit her lip as
she picked up her pen.
Her stationery didn't have her name on it. It didn't have anything except some
tasteful ivy leaves embossed across the bottom border. Would Miranda Priestly
think it was tacky? Or frumpy? Surely not. How could stationery be frumpy?
Anyway, Andy should be a lot more worried about what she was going to write on
the paper than about what it looked like. So far she had "Dear Miranda," which
she'd crossed out, and then "Dear Ms. Priestly," which she'd also crossed out,
and then written in again.
She should probably use notebook paper for the first draft or ten.
She wasn't sure why she felt so compelled to write something--it would probably
be for the best if Miranda forgot she'd ever existed. But Andy just couldn't
stand the thought that Miranda would think Andy had run away because…because
she hadn't liked Miranda, or because she was just really rude, or… No. Whatever
else, Andy didn't want Miranda to think of her like that.
It took her two hours to write an embarrassingly short letter. One hundred and
twenty minutes after starting, she had:
Dear Ms. Priestly,
You probably don't remember me, but we met at the party you threw three days
ago in the Ritz-Carlton. We had a brief conversation on the balcony.
Well, it had definitely been brief. Too brief. And with hardly any talking at
all. But it would probably be tasteless to come right out and talk about how
they'd kissed and even talked about having sex. Andy felt her face going red.
She wished she had a decent model for how to write letters like this. Jane
Austen didn't really address it.
I really enjoyed talking to you.
Andy went even redder. But it seemed important to emphasize that.
I left without excusing myself. I know that seemed rude. I just want to
apologize. I didn't want to leave, and I can't really explain why I had to, but
I had to. When I said I wasn't supposed to be at the party, I meant it. My
father is very strict, and he knows you, and if he learned I'd gone to your
party I would have been
Andy winced. Could she sound any more like a child? She wished she had the guts
to make up something that sounded better, or at least more mature than 'I
didn't want Daddy to catch me sneaking out.' Even if that's exactly what had
happened.
She wished she could explain everything! If Miranda Priestly knew how Andy
lived, and what Andy's dad was really like, surely she'd understand that it was
more than just a little teenaged rebellion, more than worrying about getting
caught for a minor transgression. What Andy had done was more akin to high
treason. But she couldn't explain that in her letter. Darn it. Why had she ever
thought that she could express herself in writing? She was obviously a terrible
writer. None of this was coming out right.
I would have been in a lot of trouble. I know how silly that sounds. I wish I
could say more, but that wouldn't make any difference anyway. We'll probably
never meet again and I really just wanted to apologize for my poor behavior.
Andy gulped. 'We'll probably never meet again'…why did that sound so dramatic
and romantic in books, when in real life it felt so awful? She blinked back
tears and felt like an idiot.
You deserved better than that. I couldn't stand the thought that you might only
remember me as being this crazy girl who ran out on you. Anyway, if you're
still reading my letter, I might as well say that you're the most amazing
person I've ever seen, and I'm glad I went to the party just because I met you.
It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I think about you all the time,
Andy winced. Was that too desperate? But how could it be desperate, when she
knew she'd probably never even cross Miranda's path again? She wouldn't get
another chance to say this stuff. She had to get it all out now. Still…she
crossed out "all the time" and wrote in, "often." Close enough.
I think about you often, and I wish we could have had more time to talk.
Andy blushed again. Or do more. Wow. If only she'd gone to Miranda's room when
Miranda had asked her the first time--without giving her name, without asking
for Miranda's…maybe she could have had that, at least. Maybe. She shivered,
just thinking about it, and tried not to ache with regret. At least she'd
gotten all those kisses. Whatever else happened, she could remember them. She
always would, she knew--and did, every night. She couldn't quite bring herself
to say that, though. She'd blush to death.
The letter closed with, Like I said, I'm sorry for running out like that. I
didn't want to be rude. I hope my behavior didn't mean you enjoyed the party
less. It was a lovely party and I'm glad I got to attend it, just for a little
while. I hope you're well, and wish you all the best.
'Wish you all the best.' It sounded so stiff and formal. But Andy meant it,
too. She hoped only good things happened to Miranda Priestly for ever and ever.
No matter what her father would have thought of the matter.
She re-copied the letter in her best handwriting, and signed it: Sincerely,
Andrea. She remembered the way Miranda had said her name. It had sounded so
pretty. So sophisticated. She just hoped Miranda remembered it.
Andy nicked a stamp from her dad's study, and looked up the address for the
Elias-Clarke building in the phonebook. There wasn't a specific address for
Runway, but if she put Miranda's name on it, and added 'the Runway office' or
something, it'd get there. It had to. Andy didn't know Miranda's home address,
and she couldn't risk trying to find out.
She was on pins and needles until the mailman came and went that afternoon.
===============================================================================
And that was that, really. She'd given no last name, no return address. She'd
done all that she could do. It was time to let it go. Especially since Preston
Roberts was coming with his parents for a visit next week, and the whole staff
was running around trying to make everything ready. Lucinda had already brought
several dresses from Bergdorf for Andy to try on, but they both agreed that
none of them really looked good. After petitioning by both his daughter and her
maid, Richard Sachs reluctantly agreed to let Lucinda take Andy shopping.
This was a huge event. Andy hadn't been out shopping in over a year. In fact,
that had been the last time she'd been in the city without her dad--except for
the party, of course.
It was also just the thing to cheer Andy up. She'd mailed the letter four days
ago, and had been moping around ever since. Her dad had noticed it, but she'd
evaded his questions. Maybe that's why he was letting her go out. For all his
insistence on cooping her up, she knew that he'd never really wanted her to be
unhappy.
"Have fun," Nigel said as he packed his bag when their lessons were done. "Get
something fabulously outrageous." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "I'm
sure you have a few ideas of what's 'in' by now, right?"
"Right," Andy said, trying to smile as she remembered the party--and Miranda--
yet again. Then she pushed it out of her mind, determined not to let her
memories spoil the day. This opportunity was too rare to miss.
As they settled down in the back seat of the Bentley, both Andy and Lucinda
were practically bouncing with glee. It was Lucinda's considered opinion--which
she only voiced when Mr. Sachs couldn't hear--that Andy didn't get to go out
nearly enough. And given that Lucinda was more-or-less tethered to Andy at all
times, that went double for her.
Andy watched the approach of Manhattan with wide, happy eyes. It wasn't as
pretty as it was at night--she'd never forget that amazing whirl of lights--but
it always impressed her. She wondered if Miranda liked Manhattan. She must--she
seemed to fit here so perfectly. Andy blinked, got a lump in her throat, and
shook her head, willing the melancholy away.
"Are you all right?" Lucinda asked, sounding concerned. But even as Andy opened
her mouth to say 'Yes,' Tony's cell phone rang.
"We're on our way," he said. "What's that? Oh. Yes, sir. I'll tell her. Yes,
sir."
Andy and Lucinda looked at his eyes in the rear-view mirror apprehensively. "W-
was that Dad?" Andy asked, hoping against hope that they weren't about to be
called home.
"Yes, ma'am," Tony said. "Lucinda, I'm to drop you off at Bergdorf and take
Miss Andy on to the Sloane School."
Andy's jaw dropped, and then she slumped against the seat, disappointment
eating her alive. The Sloane School? She'd thought she was going to Bergdorf,
and instead she had to--
Lucinda looked almost as upset as Andy felt. "How long will the Sloane thing
take?" she asked desperately, reaching out to pat Andy's arm. "I could wait in
the car, and then we could both go--"
"Those were our instructions," Tony said, and gave Andy an apologetic glance in
the mirror. "Sorry, miss. I guess he changed his mind."
Unable to speak, Andy nodded, vowing not to cry in front of them. Great. She
was probably going to have to read another booklet on the Proper Deportment of
Young Girls, and sit in front of Miss Pritchard who would ask her probing
questions about her soul and her virtue and…did her father know? Did he know
what Andy had done? Was that why she was being sent to Sloane for the
afternoon, under false pretenses?
Andy gulped and tried not to panic. There was no reason to panic. Not until she
knew for sure. Oh…crap.
Tony pulled to a stop in front of the department store. Lucinda gave Andy an
agonized glance as she got out of the car. "I'll get you so many beautiful
things," she said urgently. "I promise!" Andy nodded wordlessly, and tried to
smile as the door shut behind her and Tony pulled away.
She was so miserable that she didn't pay attention for the whole rest of the
drive. So, when Tony pulled in to an underground parking garage, it took Andy a
few moments to realize that she had no idea where they were. "Tony?" she said
in confusion. "What are we doing here?"
Tony cleared his throat as he stopped the car. "Well," he said sounding
awkward, "um--"
At that moment, the other passenger door opened and Miranda Priestly slid in
next to Andy in the back seat.
Andy stared at her in…'astonishment' didn't even come close. Neither did
'shock.' She felt as if she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Her mouth dropped
open.
"To my townhouse, driver," Miranda said regally, without even looking at Andy.
And, just as if he worked for Miranda and not Andy's dad, Tony obeyed, smoothly
turning the car around and heading for the exit of the garage. As they emerged
back onto the street, Andy realized they'd been right underneath the Elias-
Clarke building.
Miranda slid her sunglasses over her perfect nose, and then turned to Andy with
raised eyebrows and a little smile. "Well," she said politely. "And how are you
today, Miss Sachs?"
The Sloane School, Bergdorf-Goodman, disappointment, everything else receded
into the mists. Andy had a million questions, but she didn't know how to
articulate any of them: she just felt her face splitting into a huge smile,
overwhelmed with joy at seeing the woman, her woman, again. Miranda raised her
eyebrows even higher, and her cheeks went a little pink. Just like before, the
sight of her blush made Andy's heart pound. Well, pound harder, anyway.
She tried to pull her thoughts together. "How," she tried, and had to clear her
throat. "Um--how did you--" She didn't even know where to begin.
Miranda shrugged and tilted her head towards Tony. "Your driver seems to think
you should get out more," she said. Then she smiled. "I also paid him four
thousand dollars." Andy, astonished, saw the back of Tony's neck turn red.
"If I thought for one second you'd get her in trouble--" he said warningly.
"Yes, yes," Miranda said, waving her hand as if she were shooing away a fly.
"But how did you know--" Andy tried again. "I mean. How did you know who I am?"
Miranda smiled, and opened her purse. From it, she withdrew Andy's letter. "You
were very discreet," she said. "I applaud you. But really…all I had to do was
think about a young girl named 'Andrea' with a repressive father who hates me."
She chuckled. Andy blushed. "They are in short supply." She tilted her head
towards Tony again. "It wasn't very difficult to find out your driver
and…arrange matters. He called me when he learned you were coming in to the
city today."
"But--" Andy gulped. "W-we're going to your house?"
Miranda nodded, and her gaze sharpened. "Is that all right with you?"
Andy blushed. More than all right. It was like every sunny day in her life all
at once. But-- "L-Lucinda's waiting for us at Bergdorf's," she said haltingly.
"Dad doesn't let me go out by myself, so…"
"I'll call her, if you like, miss," Tony said. "I can tell her you'll be a few
hours at Sloane. Your dad doesn't get home until late tonight, anyway. And even
if she finds out--" he hesitated for a moment, before continuing with, "--she
won't tell. None of us would."
Andy inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes. It felt like a huge weight had just
been taken off her chest. "All right," she whispered. No, not just sunny days;
it was her birthday, and Christmas, and trips to Scotland all together, just
sitting here with Miranda, about to go somewhere with her where her dad
wouldn't find out.
She felt a light touch on her hand, and opened her eyes. Miranda was looking at
her with an expression that was both watchful and tender. She'd laid her hand
over Andy's.
Oh. It was like summering in Provence, too.
===============================================================================
Miranda's townhouse was small, compared to the palatial home Andy lived in with
her dad. But it was in the heart of Manhattan, after all, and was still very
nice. And Miranda probably had homes in other places too, just like Andy's dad
did, and other rich people she knew about.
At the moment, they seemed to be alone in the house--no butler, or maid, or
anything. Miranda let them both in with a key, after promising Tony that she
would call him soon. (He had told her he would be no more than five minutes'
drive away, and had given Miranda a stern look of warning that had made Andy
blush, and which Miranda had returned with amused scorn.) She removed Andy's
jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, and looked Andy up and down. Andy
squirmed. If only she'd known that she was going to see Miranda again today,
she'd have dressed with a lot more care, even though she had tried to look nice
for Bergdorf. But Miranda seemed to approve, as she reached out and took Andy
by the hand, leading her into the house. Andy felt that same wonderful tingle
running up and down her arm as she had at the party.
"You're quite an object of curiosity in town," Miranda said casually as she led
Andy into a den. "Did you know that?" She sat down on a sofa and patted the
cushion next to her.
Andy gulped and sat down, folding her hands primly in her lap. Etiquette
lessons hadn't covered this. She still couldn't believe she was actually here.
"No," she said.
Miranda tilted her head to the side, and immediately hypnotized Andy with the
pale curve of her throat. Miranda did not appear to notice this as she said,
"I'm afraid it's quite true. Richard Sachs, the reclusive tycoon who keeps his
only daughter under lock and key."
Andy flushed. "I'm not--" she said, and then paused. "Well--"
Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the hoops I had to jump through to get
you here?"
Andy nodded and looked down in her lap. Then she raised her eyes again and
said, daringly, "Why did you?" Then, when Miranda blinked, she added quickly,
"I mean--after the way I behaved."
"You apologized very nicely in your letter," Miranda said. Then she smiled.
"And not all of your behavior was bad, as I hope you recall."
Andy blushed, and beamed. Miranda cleared her throat, and glanced away. "Would
you like something to drink?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.
It was Andy's turn to blink. "Oh," she said, trying to remember the proper
answer. "Please don't go to any tr--"
"Water, I think," Miranda said, standing up and heading quickly for the kitchen
that Andy could see through the doorway. Andy sat frozen on the couch for a
minute, before getting up and following her. By the time she'd seated herself
on a high stool at the counter, Miranda appeared to have regained her
composure, and handed Andy a glass of ice water with a steady hand before
sitting next to her.
"Now," she said, looking Andy dead in the eye, "tell me everything. About you.
Leave nothing out."
Andy gulped, and suddenly felt bitterly ashamed--there was nothing interesting
about her. Nothing that could interest someone like Miranda Priestly, anyway.
"There isn't much to tell," she mumbled, and shrugged. "I mean, you know who my
dad is. I've been taught by tutors my whole life. I don't really go anywhere or
do anything unless Dad says it's okay."
"But you're--aren't you eighteen, or nearly?" Miranda cocked her head to the
side again, a little like a bird. Or a cat. "Won't you be going to college
soon?"
Andy hunched her shoulders, not wanting to be reminded, and took a sip of her
water. "He's sending me to McClellan College," she said in resignation as she
set the glass down. Miranda looked at her blankly. "It's this tiny religious
school in the middle of nowhere. It's just for girls. He's been making
donations to it for years. I think he even paid for one of the buildings.
Pretty much all I had to do to get in was put my name on the application."
"How 'nowhere' is...nowhere?" Miranda asked.
"South Dakota," Andy said. Miranda looked absolutely appalled. Suddenly, Andy
heard herself talking fast, at this sign from a receptive audience. "It's got
curfews and dress codes and everything--and if boys come to visit, then you
need a chaperone. And you have to go to chapel every day, and…" She stopped,
and squeezed her eyes shut.
"My God," Miranda said. Andy shrugged miserably. "When you came to the party--
was that the first time you've ever snuck out?"
"S-sort of," Andy said. "It was the first time I'd ever gone to anything like
that. I mean, when I was fourteen, I was staying with my friend Emily and we
snuck out to see a concert together." She smiled nostalgically, and then
sighed. "Dad found out, though. He didn't let me see Emily for ages after that,
and ever since then, she's always had to come to my house."
"Why?" Miranda demanded. "Why on Earth is he so strict with you?"
Andy gave Miranda a sad little smile. "You know, it's funny. He blames it on
you." Miranda looked at her even more blankly than before. "Because of my mom."
Miranda kept staring at her. Didn't she know what Andy meant? Andy's dad always
talked about Miranda Priestly as if ruining his family was Miranda's greatest
accomplishment ever. "You know," Andy said carefully, "my mom? Vivian Sachs?"
"I remember Viv," Miranda said slowly. "I haven't seen her in a few years,
however. But what do you mean, your father blames me for--?"
"Mom ran off with that guy," Andy said. "I don't even know his name. But Dad
always said it was your fault. He said--um, he says lots of things about you."
Andy bit her lip. "I don't believe them, though," she added quickly, since it
seemed important to emphasize that.
"Good," Miranda said faintly. "And I still have no idea what you're talking
about--oh." Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, my."
"What?" Andy said.
"I introduced Viv to Jack," Miranda admitted. "Jack Morrell. The man she left
your father for. And you, I suppose. But of course at the time I had no way of
knowing she'd--" She shook her head. "We were close, once. But as I said, I
haven't spoken to her in a while."
"I don't even remember her," Andy said. "I mean, not really. I was only four
when she left, and Dad doesn't talk about her much, except when he's talking
about how awful the world is and how I ought to stay away from it, because of
what it did to her."
"Is he in therapy?" Miranda asked, sounding disbelieving. "Do you really mean
to tell me that he's been demonizing me to you for years, because of your
mother?"
"Well--" Andy tried to find the right words. "I mean, he…he doesn't approve of
you in general. And the magazine, and fashion, and stuff like that." She
blushed. "He says it's immodest and superficial. He says that, not me," she
made sure to add.
Then she remembered something else. "Oh, yeah," she said. "And the time you
helped fix it so that Irv Radditz was chairman of Elias-Clarke instead of Dad.
He was really, really mad about that and sold all his shares and says he lost a
lot of money." Andy frowned. "I don't know why that matters so much, though. I
mean, we've got a lot of money already." She shrugged again and took a sip of
water.
Miranda rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as if she had a
headache.
"I always wanted to meet you," Andy said softly, and Miranda opened her eyes at
once, looking at her. "At first, I mean, I believed him, and I was mad at you
because I thought you'd ruined our family." Miranda opened her mouth, but Andy
kept talking, saying, "But then I got older, and well, Dad was Dad, and I
thought that maybe everything he said was…you know…not a hundred percent true."
She felt disloyal just saying that. But this was Miranda, and Andy wanted to
tell her everything. Even the stuff that wasn't very good. Maybe especially
that. "So I've always been really curious." She managed a shy smile.
"And you had no idea it was me on the balcony," Miranda said in obvious
wonderment.
"No," Andy said, and just remembering what they'd done on the balcony made her
face go scarlet all over again. Would they do some more of that today? She
hoped so. They might never get another chance, and Andy had no idea how long
they had until Tony called her back. But how to raise the subject? That
definitely hadn't been in her etiquette lessons.
She cleared her throat. "Um." Miranda looked at her. "So…um…I was wondering…"
Miranda raised her eyebrows. Andy felt like she was about to choke on her own
voice, and she bent down to study her hands, which were tracing patterns on the
countertop. "I mean, uh…I thought…d-do you, maybe, possibly, w-want to--"
Warm fingers touched her chin, gently lifting her face. And next thing Andy
knew, Miranda Priestly had slid off her own stool, slid her arms around Andy,
and kissed her.
Soft, and damp, and gentle, and by the time Miranda stopped, her arms were the
only thing keeping Andy upright. Andy gasped. Her ears were buzzing. She loved
the way Miranda smelled. "I want," Miranda breathed against her mouth, "to do
everything with you." Andy whimpered, and Miranda placed a gentle, almost
chaste kiss on her lips. "But not today." Then, to Andy's horror, she let go
and stepped back.
"What?" Andy said weakly. "Why not?" She looked down at her clothes, wondering
if maybe Miranda did think she looked awful, after all.
"You are very young," Miranda said. "Specifically, you are not yet eighteen."
"So?" Andy said, confused. "E-Emily told me she, um, she, you know, with a guy,
when she was fifteen years old."
"And how old was 'a guy'?"
"Sixteen, I think."
"A great difference, legally speaking." Miranda traced her thumb over Andy's
cheekbone. "I would much rather spend more time getting to know you than
sitting in jail because I couldn't control myself."
"I wouldn't tell anyone," Andy said quickly.
"I'm sure. But there is your inexperience to consider, as well," Miranda said.
"Believe it or not, I am very grateful that I did not actually drag you up to
my room that night."
She was? That was Andy's greatest regret! But before Andy could say so, Miranda
continued, "I would have been very--upset--with myself if I'd only learned the
truth afterwards." She gave a rueful smile. "I don't consider myself a
romantic, Andrea. But there is such a thing as common decency."
"But," Andy said, gulped, and dared to continue, "I don't want to be decent
with you." Miranda looked at her, then. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils
flared. Her cheeks also went red. "We might not get another chance," Andy
pleaded. "I mean, what if my father…"
"Oh, we'll get another chance," Miranda said, her voice hoarser than before.
"Many chances. I will see to that if I have to pay off every single servant in
your house--" She paused, and cleared her throat. "And I promise you that you
will never set one foot in South Dakota. I am not going to lose sight of you
again."
The words thrilled Andy from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Oh,"
she said, and blushed again, unable to keep from smiling.
"Um," Miranda said, and looked away. "Do you…? More ice water, I think."
"Huh?" Andy said, nonplussed, and then remembered her manners again. "Oh. No,
thank you. Hey--" She reached out and touched Miranda's elbow before Miranda
could move. "Um," she said, blushing again. "That doesn't mean you won't even
kiss me. Er. Does it?" She looked at her pleadingly.
Miranda's eyes got wide; her pupils got big; and then she took Andy in her arms
and kissed her much more soundly than she had the first time. Oh. Oh, this was
more like the balcony-kisses, more like the kisses that Andy thought about at
night. Maybe she should tell Miranda about that sometime, after all. In the
meantime, she slid her arms around Miranda's neck and forgot how to think. When
a particularly delicious shiver made its way up and down her spine, she moaned.
Then Miranda pulled away, gasping, "Jesus Christ." Without her mouth, Andy felt
very sad, and whimpered. "Oh," Miranda said, and kissed her again, her mouth
hot and fierce. Andy felt herself twitching and aching between her legs, and
wriggled on the stool trying to get some relief.
When she noticed this, Miranda gasped, grabbed hold of one of Andy's legs, and
then encouraged her to wrap both legs around her waist. They were as close
together as they'd been on the bench that night, and Andy was positive she was
going to pass out any second now. She arched up into Miranda's body with a
delighted groan, and Miranda clutched her even harder, panting against her
mouth.
Then Andy remembered touching Miranda's breast last time, and felt even more
faint. She placed one trembling hand against Miranda's ribcage, and said
timidly, "C-can I…do you want, I mean, would you let me--?"
"Call your driver," Miranda gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly knocking
over her own stool. "I mean, I will. Call him now, that is. I'll call him." She
began looking around wildly, presumably for her cell phone.
"What? No!" Andy said, horrified. "No--you don't have to--I'm so sorry, I'm
really sorry, I didn't mean to--I won't do that anymore." Because Miranda was
right. It was much better to be together than to be apart, even if they weren't
kissing. And they'd hardly spent any time together at all. "Please!" she added.
But Miranda had found her phone on the kitchen counter, and had mashed a button
with one trembling finger. Then she rounded on Andy again, her eyes flashing
fire. "That called him. He should be here in five minutes."
Andy gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to burst into tears.
She'd overstepped. She'd ruined everything--
And then Miranda grabbed her and hauled her up to sit on the kitchen counter
before leaning in and burying her face in the curve of Andy's throat. Her
fingers, shaking, began to unbutton Andy's blouse. She said against Andy's
skin, "There is a very limited number of things I can do to you in five
minutes."
"What?" Andy gasped.
"Fine person I am," Miranda panted, getting all the buttons undone but the
bottom two, pushing Andy's blouse aside to show her bra. "Have to call your
driver to rescue you from me--" She grabbed at Andy's bra and shoved it up so
she could see Andy's breasts. Her eyes glittered, and Andy gasped and trembled.
"My good intentions," Miranda breathed, "never work out."
Then she leaned in and oh goodness, oh goodness, she took one of Andy's nipples
in her mouth and began to lick and suck it. Her fingers toyed with the other
one. Andy arched up off the countertop and cried out, hearing her own voice
echoing off all the white tile and stainless steel. Then she grabbed Miranda's
beautiful white hair, just in case Miranda had any thoughts at all about
stopping, which she could never, ever do. She had to keep doing this to Andy
forever. Andy heard her own voice mumbling miranda miranda miranda over and
over again while she arched into and shuddered against that hot, glorious mouth
and those soft, wicked fingers.
Then Miranda pulled away, red-faced and wild-eyed, gasping for air. "The car,"
she said.
"The what?" Andy whimpered, and tried to pull Miranda close again.
Miranda resisted. "Your driver. I heard him pull up." She dragged a shaking
hand across her forehead, and then quickly jerked Andy's bra back down over her
breasts. Andy's nipples were hard and sensitive now, and she squeaked. "Button
your shirt," Miranda ordered, and began to smooth down Andy's hair for her.
"That wasn't five minutes," Andy protested, but she began buttoning up anyway,
vowing to glare sternly at Tony for not taking long enough.
"Probably for the best," Miranda said with a wry little smile. She was getting
her breathing back under control. For her part, Andy wasn't sure she'd ever be
able to breathe normally again. She'd read about somebody taking somebody
else's breath away, but she'd always thought it was just a metaphor. Now…not so
much.
She looked at Miranda pleadingly, not sure what she was pleading for. Miranda
didn't seem to know either, but she kissed Andy again, much more gently this
time. Andy's mouth still tingled from it. "I will see you again soon," she
murmured, and then chuckled. "Perhaps at your house. With other people around."
"My dad goes on business trips sometime," Andy offered. And then, inspired, she
added, "He's going to California in two weeks!"
"In two weeks, then, if not before," Miranda said, nodding as if it was all
decided. She smiled and pushed a lock of Andy's hair out of her face. "Although
I do hope it's before."
"Me too," Andy said fervently. "I, I won't do anything wrong next time, I
promise. We'll be able to spend more time together."
"'Wrong,' she says," Miranda said, and rolled her eyes. Just then, somebody
knocked at the door. Tony. He was probably wondering why Andy wasn't waiting on
the front steps or something. Miranda looked at her, and Andy looked right
back. In the space of a few moments, Miranda's eyes had gone from predatory to
sad. Andy understood how she felt. Even though she knew she would see Miranda
again, it felt like her heart was breaking just a little bit at the thought of
leaving her now, just when they'd found each other again.
Miranda kissed her cheek. "Come along now," she said cajolingly, echoing Andy's
thoughts. "It won't be long. Cheer up."
"I will if you will," Andy said, raising her eyebrows. Miranda blinked, and
then smiled in rueful acknowledgment.
"You are something entirely unexpected," she said. "I think I will enjoy very
much getting to know you better." Her smile was sly and wicked now. Andy's
heart beat even faster.
"Me too," she whispered. It was true. She thought she was going to enjoy it
very, very much indeed.
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