New fic: Lucky (aka The Reveal), Part II, Andy/Miranda, DWP
Title: Lucky (aka The Reveal)
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG-13
Summary: the last installment of the Sick Day series, following Step Up.
Notes: thanks as always to my beta, Xander, and all the folks who have praised this series over the past eight months. I appreciate the support! Last but not least, many thanks to pin_drop , whose prompt (laryngitis) started the ball rolling.
Happy holidays to all. Hope your days are merry and bright!
---
Andy laughs as she clinks her glass against Lucien's at the table. The place is warmly lit, and Andy feels beautiful and confident surrounded by her closest Runway pals. There are twelve people at the table, but at Andy's request, the staff left plenty of space for a thirteenth place setting. She's also ordered for Miranda already; when she arrives, the artichoke crostini will be delivered with a glass of pinot grigio, and the seafood will follow a few minutes later with the appropriate sauvignon blanc. Normally they don't hold dishes, but Andy happily dropped Miranda's name, and it worked like a charm. Not that anyone at the table knows this; she arrived a few minutes early to make the arrangements.
Everyone is drinking heartily; Andy downed her first glass of white in fifteen minutes, from a combination of stress and anticipation. She has no clue at all when or if Miranda might arrive, but she's hopeful it won't be after dessert. Regardless, she is having a marvelous time, particularly since Lucien has been so free with his praise of her day's work. Apparently her clean up of the Meisel feature has put the article in prime contention to replace the missing interview, and for Andy's money, this choice will cause the least fuss. She has a feeling Miranda will do it, and it's pleasant to think her final efforts at Runway will make a very obvious impact on the upcoming issue.
"So what are you planning on doing for your four days of freedom?" Gemma asks.
"Oh, you know, this and that. Clean my apartment. Go for a walk. Cook breakfast. Buy some new clothes." Not to mention have sex with Miranda at least twice, because how often did Andy have so much time to plan ahead? Beyond that, she'd be explaining a few details to her parents about her quiet romance with an older woman and former boss. She probably should have done this in advance, but she does not expect them to be surprised. After Nate left, Andy's mom hinted that she knew there was someone else in the picture, however inappropriate it might be. In the last two years, neither of her parents has asked much about her lovelife, other than "Are you happy?" and "Will we ever get to meet them?" Andy did not correct their grammar in the latter case, since it was their way of telling her that they knew more than they said.
"Wow, that's creative, girl," Kenny replies. "Aren't you going to party or something? You're starting a huge new job. You should go crazy while you have the chance!"
"This is me, going crazy," Andy says, taking a long drink of her wine.
Kenny rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his spiked hair. "Doesn't count. Come dancing with me and Gem tonight after this and we'll really get things going."
Andy considers the idea. Maybe if Miranda doesn't show up, she will. "That actually sounds fun. I haven't been dancing in years." That sounds sad as it slips from Andy's mouth, but there's nothing she can do to take it back.
Nigel gapes at her. "Darling, didn't you just turn 28? You're not exactly middle aged. Yet."
"I know. I'm just... you know how it is. Busy."
"You're coming with, and that's final," Kenny declares. He's not exactly flaming, but he's definitely someone Andy could have fun dancing with, especially since she's got Miranda to go home to. He'll look out for her if she asks. Not that she'll have much to worry about at a gay bar, but one never knows.
Andy grins as she wonders if he'll still want to go out with her knowing she's sleeping with his boss. It makes her giggle, and she snares an oyster from the shared appetizer plate and reminds herself she might want to slow down on the vino.
Lucien leans in, wine glass in hand. "You deserve to go out and celebrate your success, Andy. You deserve--" Lucien goes silent, glass suspended in air, motionless. "Merde," he says, almost under his breath.
"What?" Andy says, confused.
Jocelyn, who is seated across from Andy and next to Lucien, makes a rather amusing wide-eyed gesture that says it all. "Miranda's here," she whispers.
The other half of the table turns to look over their shoulders. Nigel, who is sitting next to Andy, mumbles, "I'm in an alternate universe."
"Um, hi Miranda," Andy says, standing up and moving forward. Her legs feel heavy and her body goes hot. Noise fills her ears until Miranda slides off her coat with an evil grin.
"Hello, Andrea." She leans in and presses lingering kisses to both of Andy's cheeks. "You look wonderful." She eyes Andy's dress, and the look is possessive.
"Thanks," Andy croaks. She remembers to look out for the waiter who is taking care of their table. Of course, he is already at Miranda's shoulder. "Please bring out the crostini, and the wine," she tells him, and he nods eagerly. "Thank you."
A new place has already been set to Andy's right, along with a chair; Andy will be between Miranda and Nigel, which is probably a good thing for everyone. "Come, sit down,” she tells Miranda. To Andy's surprise, Miranda's hand creeps into her own, and their fingers tangle as they walk to the table.
Twelve faces stare at the pair of them, and it's hard to gauge the reactions. No one really seems to know what's happening except Jocelyn, who stands up first. "Miranda, it's lovely to see you," she says with a genuine smile.
"Thank you, Jocelyn." Miranda takes her hand, and her smile is warm and strangely caring. Andy thinks maybe now that they're inching out, it might be time to socialize a little more with Joss. She's proven herself, and Miranda has come to appreciate her talent and her discretion a great deal over the past few months.
Jocelyn spurs the rest of the table into action, and everyone stands out of politeness. The less senior staff members of the group look slightly ill with anxiety, but the mean side of Andy enjoys this. As Miranda takes her seat, conversation dies. No one knows quite what to say, and they're all avoiding Miranda's gaze and staring at Andy. Once they sit, Nigel digs his elbow into Andy's side so hard that she yelps, covering it with an "Excuse me." A momentary distraction in the form of appetizers and wine arrive for Miranda. As they're presented, Nigel pinches Andy's arm. "Quit it," she hisses.
"So, Miranda," Nigel drawls. "Someone ordered for you already?"
"Mm," Miranda replies. "Andrea." She sips her wine and nods once at the waiter, who departs.
"How... interesting. What are you having for dinner?"
Miranda turns to Andy, her sly grin seemingly stuck in place. Though this embarrasses Andy, it's a major turn on. "I don't know, Andrea. What am I having for dinner?"
"Um, the shrimp and mussels and scallops with capers and--"
Nigel interrupts her. "I'd have thought you'd want the steak. Or at the very least, the veal. I understand it’s one of the specialties here."
Andy wants to cut this conversation off right away, but Miranda simply leans forward and answers. "I had steak for lunch, of course, and I don't eat veal. I'm sure the shrimp will be delicious."
"Don't eat veal?" Nigel frowns, and his humor barely masks irritation that has sprung up out of nowhere. "Since when? I thought you ate everything. Especially small, helpless animals."
Miranda clears her throat, and the smile fades. "No. I no longer eat veal, or foie gras, for that matter. At Caroline's request. She's unhappy with the animal practices, so I decided it was easy enough to select other options."
Nigel laughs at this, and it sounds harsh to Andy's ears. Things are derailing, quickly, but the wine has dulled her reaction time. "Goodness. What's next, no fur?"
Andy bristles. She happens to know that Miranda started buying faux last year, also because of Caroline, but she hasn't told a soul. No one's noticed. She spends a great deal of money to wear what looks like the real thing. "Nigel, what are you having for dinner?" Andy interrupts. "The soup--"
"I'm having the filet mignon. You can have a bite if you want, Miranda," Nigel says. "I know you have a taste for blood."
Andy kicks him under the table, but his face never changes.
"No thank you," Miranda replies smoothly. "What are you having, Andrea?"
Andy swallows against a dry throat before she answers. "The salmon, with quinoa and spinach."
"Delightful. I'll taste yours." With that, Miranda pops an artichoke crostini in her mouth and closes her eyes in delight. She hands one to Andy, who notices a slight hesitation in the motion. Instantly Andy knows that Miranda almost fed the thing to her by hand. The grin returns to Miranda's face, and she turns to Jocelyn. "Joss, how is little Harry these days? Isn't he almost five?"
Jocelyn lights up, and she tells of Harry's latest exploits in pre-school, while Miranda coos and aws at all the right moments. The remaining guests at the table begin to calm, and the wine begins to flow once more. Nigel is the only one who stays on alert.
As the evening progresses, the rest of the table indulges with the extra wine Miranda orders to share. Everyone is taken in by this friendlier, more sociable version of their boss. Andy is sure that now they see how easy it is to be drawn in by this charismatic woman who only grows more beautiful with age. It's unlikely that Miranda will skewer anyone with questions on job performance over dinner, and she is both pleasant and inquisitive. Andy enjoys observing Miranda as she turns on the high-wattage charm that has lured many a man (and woman) to their demise. However, she knows that Miranda only wants to have fun tonight, so there is no potential for trouble as long as no one insults any member of their little family unit.
Nigel makes it halfway through his third martini when he finally asks, “Miranda, what are you doing here?”
Miranda glances over, her gaze cool. “Having dinner. Celebrating Andrea’s promotion, as is everyone else here tonight.” She observes the many faces around the table. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Yes, of course, but…” Nigel begins, and Andy turns to watch him. She wonders, is he digging his own grave? “You don’t often make appearances at events like this.”
Miranda chuckles and replies, “I consider this occasion a unique opportunity. And I’m enjoying myself thoroughly.” She leans over Andrea’s plate for the second time that night and steals a bite of salmon. “This really is very good.”
“That’s the last of my dinner you’re sneaking, lady,” Andy states, moving her plate a few inches away from Miranda. “Next thing I know my plate will be empty.”
“Oh, fine, have some shrimp.” Miranda sighs and leans away from her place setting just long enough for Andy to nab a bite, and their eyes meet as Andy pops the shrimp in her mouth. Andy can’t help but grin, chewing in what she’s sure is a most unattractive style. But Miranda’s eyes soften, and her mouth quirks up in an affectionate expression she doubts most people at Runway see, ever.
Nigel shuts up after that, and once Andy starts quizzing Kenny on the various clubs he frequents, the conversation carries on. Once dessert arrives, they all split a few treats. Andy convinces Miranda to indulge in a few bites of chocolate mousse along with a small glass of port. Around this time the wine hits Andy, and it’s a challenge not to paw Miranda. Instead she just watches Miranda as she eats, ignoring the heat at the back of her neck.
When the check arrives, Miranda holds out her hand.
“No,” Andy pleads, “You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t.” She fishes her personal Visa card from a narrow wallet and slides it into the leather pouch for the waiter.
“Huh,” Nigel harrumphs, while Lucien tries and fails to contribute his own funds to the coffers.
“So, we still going out dancing, Andy?” Kenny asks, clearly eager to paint the town.
“Well,” Andy says, reluctant. It’s late, and Miranda’s just sitting there looking delectable and available, and she’d really like to peel that jacket right off her shoulders-
“Go,” Miranda tells her. “Enjoy yourself. But remember, everyone,” she adds, peering at her employees, “I’ll expect you in by 9 at the latest.”
Andy doesn’t laugh, though she wants to. Runway’s regular, unofficial hours are 8 to 6, so 9 is actually a late start. “Okay,” Andy says, holding Miranda’s hand under the tablecloth. “Thanks.”
“Excellent,” Kenny says, and he and Gemma exchange glances that Andy can’t quite interpret.
Once the bill is paid, everyone stands to leave. Andy retrieves Miranda’s coat and helps her into it. Before she can stop herself, she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck and holds her far closer than she ever has in public. “Think this will seal the deal?” she murmurs.
Miranda’s hands slide up Andy’s back. “Perhaps.” Although Miranda is in heels, Andy’s still taller by a couple of inches. Andy can’t help but gaze into her eyes, until Miranda’s mouth presses against hers for a long moment. “That should do it.”
Andy inhales, and tries not to lick her lips. “Probably. I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”
Miranda glances over Andy’s shoulder, and tells her, “Don’t worry. I expect I’ll have company for a little while.” She steps away from Andy, looking not at all embarrassed for having just exchanged a kiss with her former assistant. “Nigel, would you care for a nightcap at the townhouse?”
Nigel is watching them, and he’s a little green. Andy expects he might regret that last drink. “Sure. Uh, okay.”
Lucien remains seated at the table-he and Jocelyn are in intense conversation. Andy ignores them and pulls on her long coat. “See you at home,” she says softly.
“Mm,” Miranda says, touching her hand once before she and Nigel make their way out.
The rest of the group crowds around Andy. “Did you just kiss Miranda?” Kenny demands. “What’s that about?” He seems more thrilled than anything. “Are you guys like, together?”
“We are,” Andy says, and there’s a quiet gasp from at least a few of her co-workers. “Now that I’ve left Runway, we figured it was okay to tell people.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Kenny crows. “Holy Jesus. This is news, girl! Gigantic, unbelievable news. For how long?”
“A little while,” Andy hedges. No one needs to know all the details. “Not when I worked directly for her. That would have been too weird.” Not to mention insanely tense, considering how hot it had been between them at the start.
“Girl, you’re gonna fit right in with us tonight. And here I thought all this time you were a little prude, going home to read your Jane Austen every night after work.”
Andy skips telling him that she does enjoys Austen very much. She just keeps her well-thumbed copies of “Emma” and “Sense and Sensibility” on Miranda’s bedside table.
---
Andy uses her regular back garden route to enter the house, staying quiet as usual. She’s tired from the early morning wake up call-was it 18 hours ago? It’s been one helluva long day, and an hour and a half of dancing has exhausted her. At least she stuck to drinking water at the club, so she’s sober when she hears Nigel’s voice float through the kitchen from the adjacent sitting room.
“… Andy?”
She opens her mouth to call out and say hi until she realizes that they mustn’t have heard her come in. Miranda’s mid-sentence when Andy decides that a little eavesdropping is in order. “Why not?” Miranda says.
“That’s no answer, Miranda. We’ve been tiptoeing around the topic, but you asked me over, and I’d love to know what you’re thinking.”
There’s a silence, and Andy pictures Miranda steeping her fingers together. “This isn’t new for me, Nigel. It’s been more than a year,” Miranda says, her voice even and firm.
“You’re joking,” Nigel replies.
“I am not. I’ll talk to you, but I won’t explain myself-I owe no one any ‘explanation’ as to why I’ve fallen in love.”
“Are you sure it’s love?” Nigel asks.
“Of course I’m sure. Very much so,” Miranda says.
Nigel clucks his tongue. “Miranda, you’ve been in love many times before--”
“That may be true, but there’s something about this that is entirely new.”
There’s a chuckle from Nigel, and it almost sounds bitter. Andy doesn’t like it. “Other than the fact that she’s a woman, what, pray tell, might that be?”
It doesn’t take long for Miranda to answer. “I have never once believed Andrea would be anything other than faithful to me.” There’s a pause, and Andy waits, thrilled by the admission. “When considering my two husbands, and each man before them-it was as if I inadvertently chose personalities so charismatic and ego-driven that I would never be enough. Or rather, that I’d be too much. Too career-obsessed, too busy, too good at everything that they’d always search for someone else to make them feel like they were better than I. Which,” Miranda says with a rueful laugh, “happened in almost every case. And I simply waited for it to end. Even with Stephen, who seemed so exactly my match at the beginning. He was… well, you know how that turned out.”
“So the thing that makes Andy special is that she won’t cheat on you,” Nigel says.
Andy imagines Miranda’s trademark eyeroll. “You’re missing the point. I don’t know whether she will or not. But I don’t expect her to. I’d actually be surprised, stunned even, if she strayed, or if she ever walked out on me. I truly believe that she loves me more than anything.” Andy listens, open-mouthed. “Do you know how intoxicating it is to feel the same way about her? I can tell you right now, Nigel, I wouldn’t walk away either. Not for all the money and power in the world. It’s been a revelation. It’s only a shame it took me fifty years to figure out that trust and love are not mutually exclusive.”
Andy decides that this is her cue to leave and come back in, noisily this time. As much as she regrets eavesdropping, she also can’t stop smiling. She’s utterly silent as she moves through the kitchen, slipping out the back door. She waits in the alley for a few minutes, even though it’s cold, and decides that tonight, she’ll use the front door.
She unlocks it and steps inside, a little nervous. She’ll have to get used to that sensation of visibility; the street is well-lit, as is the landing. With a shiver, she removes her coat and hangs it in the hall closet. “I’m home,” she calls out, not sure what sort of reception she’ll get.
“In here,” Miranda replies, and Andy follows her voice. She is more hesitant than she’d like to be when she enters the room, until Miranda motions her to come close. “Hello, darling,” Miranda purrs, and Andy relaxes enough to perch above her on the arm of the sofa. She kisses the knuckles of Miranda’s outstretched hand.
“Hi,” Andy says.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did,” Andy replies, her grin creeping back. “Kenny’s a little wild though, so I didn’t stay long.” She glances over at Nigel and smiles warily. “Hey, Nigel.”
“Hi, Six.” He shakes his head. “You keep a good secret.”
She shrugs. “When it’s worth my while.”
He watches her, and Andy wonders if it’s suspicion or just plain curiosity in his eyes. She may never know. “I suppose that’s my cue to vamoose,” Nigel says, standing and leaving his glass on the side table.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt--” Andy says.
“You didn’t,” Nigel replies quickly. “It’s late, and some of us still have to work tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” Miranda adds, standing and tugging Andy up with her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
They follow Nigel to the front door, and Andy tells herself that the silence is comfortable rather than awkward. “Thanks for coming to the party, Nigel,” Andy says as he pulls his coat from the closet.
“Sure. I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll probably see you soon, right?”
Andy nods, and hugs him close. “Thanks for everything,” she whispers, hoping they’ll survive whatever rift opens between them.
Nigel pats her back. It’s not a comfort, but it’s something. “Sure,” he repeats with a small chuckle. “Later.” He pulls away. “Good night, Miranda.”
Miranda steps in and kisses him on both cheeks-a surprising gesture of friendship given the strange energy in the room. “Good night.”
Nigel looks away from them and steps out into the chill, not looking back as he heads down the block.
Andy locks the door and leans against it. Miranda looks at her carefully, and from that single look, Andy realizes she’s busted. “You might be able to keep secrets, but you’re not a very good spy,” Miranda says, but there’s no malice in it.
Andy laughs. “Well, I didn’t hear much, and I didn’t want to make everything even weirder. Not that coming in the front door helped.”
“It will take time for him to get used to the idea that he doesn’t know me as well as he thought.” Miranda takes her hand and leads her to the stairs. “And that he doesn’t know you either. I’m sure it seems like it was about pulling one over on him, rather than our own self-preservation.”
Andy holds back the thought that if Nigel thinks that the relationship between them two of them has anything to do with him, he’s an idiot. It’s mean, and Nigel doesn’t deserve it. Miranda’s next words distract her from Nigel. “So now you know my secret,” she breathes as they come to the bedroom.
“Hmm,” Andy replies, thinking back.
Miranda closes the door behind them, and locks it. “That I adore you.” She unbuttons her top two buttons. “That I trust you.” More buttons follow, and Andy backs up toward the bed as Miranda stalks forward. “That I need you.”
As Miranda falls on her, blouse fluttering in the cool air, Andy opens her arms. “Don’t worry. I can keep my mouth shut.”
---
Two days after their outing, the only thing in the press is a pathetic blind item on a small gossip site. “A little bird told us he saw a presumably straight, female fashion icon in a clinch with a much younger female employee at Triomphe on Wednesday. No one else is talking. Is this news? We’ll keep you posted.”
Is it possible that Miranda’s employees have suddenly decided that she deserves some modicum of loyalty? It figures that now that they want to go public, it doesn’t work. To get the ball rolling, they decide to have dinner at Le Bernardin on Friday night. Andy makes the reservation in Miranda’s name and requests a table by the window. It’s very central, and they’ll be seen by everyone in the place.
That night, they both dress to the nines and order the tasting menu, with wine. It’s unabashedly romantic. They make no bones about their affection for one another, suddenly free of the fetters that have held them in check for so many months. It’s exhilarating to touch Miranda’s hand across the table, and Andy is stunned at how easily she breathes in this new era. When they’re finished, Miranda actually helps Andy on with her coat, and they leave the restaurant with hands clasped.
The next day, no one says a word. Anywhere. There’s no photo of them strolling down 51st street, no mention of their little evening out in the paper, no description of their dinner in a blog.
“Huh,” Andy says after a third google search at the kitchen table. “Maybe you’re old news.”
Miranda throws a slice of orange at her.
Monday morning, Andy starts work at Vanity Fair, and she doesn’t cause any waves. No one mentions Miranda until lunch, when she joins Anna at the café in the building. “So,” Anna starts out as she fishes through her salad for a cashew. “You and Miranda Priestly, huh?”
Andy gapes at her. “How did you know?”
Anna laughs. “We found out Thursday morning-someone called for a quote after they heard you were starting here this week. Graydon asked Col to quash it as a favor for Miranda-we have to keep the peace, don’t you know. When The Post killed the story, everybody else got spooked. So, you’re welcome.” Anna grins, looking pleased with herself.
Andy closes her eyes. “We were trying to come out. I didn’t want it to be a secret when I started here. I hope this isn’t going to be some kind of conspiracy--”
“Honey,” Anna says, “we don’t care who you’re with. I certainly don’t. I spoke to Lucien on Friday just to make sure everything was kosher, and he told me he was shocked when he found out about the two of you. He said Miranda never gave you special treatment, and that last year there was a rumor about you and Lucien that you summarily dismissed. I guess he found out about it later.”
“Oh yeah,” Andy says. “That was… unfortunate. I felt terrible for him.”
“You had bigger fish to fry,” Anna replies, with a twinkle in her eye. “And you are out. Everybody here knows. So don’t worry about it. And you’d better eat fast, because we have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Andy glances at her watch, a gift given by Miranda just that morning. “Got it.”
Later, Andy sends a quick text to Miranda, detailing this new information. She doesn’t receive a reply, and expends most of her focus on learning the ropes at her new position.
She walks in the back door at 8 that night. Miranda is seated at the kitchen table, the computer in front of her, while James grates fresh cheese at the counter. Miranda glances over her shoulder and looks over the top of her glasses. “Andrea, it’s time you start using the front door.”
Andy sighs. “You want me to leave and come back in?”
Miranda shakes her head. “Tomorrow. Come and kiss me hello.”
Andy does, and drops her laptop bag in the corner. “James, I can’t wait to know what’s for dinner.”
“Pasta with sliced chicken and pesto.”
Andy lets her head fall back. “God, I am spoiled. I’m starving.”
“Don’t they let you out of your little cage for meals now and then?” Miranda asks.
“I had lunch at noon, and didn’t have time to get a snack. I’m going to have to bring emergency rations to keep in my desk.”
Miranda looks at her affectionately. “Some things never change.” She clicks the mouse on the computer once, then closes a window. “I spoke to Graydon tonight. Apparently he has something on either Col or one of the Murdoch kids, which is why we’re not all over the news right now. I admit I’m somewhat disappointed.”
Andy smiles. “Over not knowing the dirt, or not being in the news?”
“Both, I think. But it’s best for the girls, I suppose.”
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs, doing homework. Cassidy’s not speaking to me for some reason, I don’t know why,” Miranda sniffs.
Andy gets up to check on the pasta, before James nudges her away from the pot of gently boiling water. “Probably because you made her change before school today.” Andy recalls quite clearly running out the door to avoid the impending storm of words between the two Priestlys that morning.
“The blouse was not designed to be worn by an adolescent. It’s too sheer.”
Andy agrees, mostly. Cassidy’s still thirteen. “What if she wore a tank top underneath?”
“She wasn’t wearing a tank top underneath. Thus there was no discussion of that as an option.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Andy offers. Miranda throws a threatening glance in her direction. “Or not.”
After a moment, the lines across Miranda’s brows lessen, and her expression turns pensive. “It might be a good idea.”
Andy gets stepped on by James as he brings the water to the sink to drain. “Ouch. Um, sorry.” She grabs a bottle of white from the wine refrigerator. “Want a glass?”
“Please.”
As Andy opens and pours the wine, James artfully arranges two meals on pristine white plates edged with gold. The counters are already clear, since James cleans as he cooks. He serves up their meal and departs only moments later, after Andy promises to take care of what’s left.
“I think he has a date,” Miranda says. “He’s wearing cologne.”
“Ooh,” Andy replies. “I’ll grill him tomorrow.”
“Be subtle, darling. Just because he knows all our secrets doesn’t mean we get to know his.”
Andy thinks that’s sweet, but she doesn’t say so. Instead she takes a bite, and marvels over the flavors of the meal, and the perfection of each of the elements. “Mmm.”
Miranda nods. “How was your first day?”
Andy considers it. “Busy, but good. I think I’m going to like it.”
Miranda looks approving. “Lucien is already lost without you.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Andy says with a wave of her fork.
“I wouldn’t be,” Miranda replies, and Andy catches the meaning in her gaze.
“Well aren’t you lucky then that I’m not going anywhere.” Andy’s heart does a little leap in her chest as Miranda’s gaze softens even more.
“I am,” Miranda says, and holds up her wine glass.
Andy holds up her own, and when their glasses touch, the sound is pure and clear. “Me too,” Andy tells her, and smiles.
~end
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: PG-13
Summary: the last installment of the Sick Day series, following Step Up.
Notes: thanks as always to my beta, Xander, and all the folks who have praised this series over the past eight months. I appreciate the support! Last but not least, many thanks to pin_drop , whose prompt (laryngitis) started the ball rolling.
Happy holidays to all. Hope your days are merry and bright!
---
Andy laughs as she clinks her glass against Lucien's at the table. The place is warmly lit, and Andy feels beautiful and confident surrounded by her closest Runway pals. There are twelve people at the table, but at Andy's request, the staff left plenty of space for a thirteenth place setting. She's also ordered for Miranda already; when she arrives, the artichoke crostini will be delivered with a glass of pinot grigio, and the seafood will follow a few minutes later with the appropriate sauvignon blanc. Normally they don't hold dishes, but Andy happily dropped Miranda's name, and it worked like a charm. Not that anyone at the table knows this; she arrived a few minutes early to make the arrangements.
Everyone is drinking heartily; Andy downed her first glass of white in fifteen minutes, from a combination of stress and anticipation. She has no clue at all when or if Miranda might arrive, but she's hopeful it won't be after dessert. Regardless, she is having a marvelous time, particularly since Lucien has been so free with his praise of her day's work. Apparently her clean up of the Meisel feature has put the article in prime contention to replace the missing interview, and for Andy's money, this choice will cause the least fuss. She has a feeling Miranda will do it, and it's pleasant to think her final efforts at Runway will make a very obvious impact on the upcoming issue.
"So what are you planning on doing for your four days of freedom?" Gemma asks.
"Oh, you know, this and that. Clean my apartment. Go for a walk. Cook breakfast. Buy some new clothes." Not to mention have sex with Miranda at least twice, because how often did Andy have so much time to plan ahead? Beyond that, she'd be explaining a few details to her parents about her quiet romance with an older woman and former boss. She probably should have done this in advance, but she does not expect them to be surprised. After Nate left, Andy's mom hinted that she knew there was someone else in the picture, however inappropriate it might be. In the last two years, neither of her parents has asked much about her lovelife, other than "Are you happy?" and "Will we ever get to meet them?" Andy did not correct their grammar in the latter case, since it was their way of telling her that they knew more than they said.
"Wow, that's creative, girl," Kenny replies. "Aren't you going to party or something? You're starting a huge new job. You should go crazy while you have the chance!"
"This is me, going crazy," Andy says, taking a long drink of her wine.
Kenny rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his spiked hair. "Doesn't count. Come dancing with me and Gem tonight after this and we'll really get things going."
Andy considers the idea. Maybe if Miranda doesn't show up, she will. "That actually sounds fun. I haven't been dancing in years." That sounds sad as it slips from Andy's mouth, but there's nothing she can do to take it back.
Nigel gapes at her. "Darling, didn't you just turn 28? You're not exactly middle aged. Yet."
"I know. I'm just... you know how it is. Busy."
"You're coming with, and that's final," Kenny declares. He's not exactly flaming, but he's definitely someone Andy could have fun dancing with, especially since she's got Miranda to go home to. He'll look out for her if she asks. Not that she'll have much to worry about at a gay bar, but one never knows.
Andy grins as she wonders if he'll still want to go out with her knowing she's sleeping with his boss. It makes her giggle, and she snares an oyster from the shared appetizer plate and reminds herself she might want to slow down on the vino.
Lucien leans in, wine glass in hand. "You deserve to go out and celebrate your success, Andy. You deserve--" Lucien goes silent, glass suspended in air, motionless. "Merde," he says, almost under his breath.
"What?" Andy says, confused.
Jocelyn, who is seated across from Andy and next to Lucien, makes a rather amusing wide-eyed gesture that says it all. "Miranda's here," she whispers.
The other half of the table turns to look over their shoulders. Nigel, who is sitting next to Andy, mumbles, "I'm in an alternate universe."
"Um, hi Miranda," Andy says, standing up and moving forward. Her legs feel heavy and her body goes hot. Noise fills her ears until Miranda slides off her coat with an evil grin.
"Hello, Andrea." She leans in and presses lingering kisses to both of Andy's cheeks. "You look wonderful." She eyes Andy's dress, and the look is possessive.
"Thanks," Andy croaks. She remembers to look out for the waiter who is taking care of their table. Of course, he is already at Miranda's shoulder. "Please bring out the crostini, and the wine," she tells him, and he nods eagerly. "Thank you."
A new place has already been set to Andy's right, along with a chair; Andy will be between Miranda and Nigel, which is probably a good thing for everyone. "Come, sit down,” she tells Miranda. To Andy's surprise, Miranda's hand creeps into her own, and their fingers tangle as they walk to the table.
Twelve faces stare at the pair of them, and it's hard to gauge the reactions. No one really seems to know what's happening except Jocelyn, who stands up first. "Miranda, it's lovely to see you," she says with a genuine smile.
"Thank you, Jocelyn." Miranda takes her hand, and her smile is warm and strangely caring. Andy thinks maybe now that they're inching out, it might be time to socialize a little more with Joss. She's proven herself, and Miranda has come to appreciate her talent and her discretion a great deal over the past few months.
Jocelyn spurs the rest of the table into action, and everyone stands out of politeness. The less senior staff members of the group look slightly ill with anxiety, but the mean side of Andy enjoys this. As Miranda takes her seat, conversation dies. No one knows quite what to say, and they're all avoiding Miranda's gaze and staring at Andy. Once they sit, Nigel digs his elbow into Andy's side so hard that she yelps, covering it with an "Excuse me." A momentary distraction in the form of appetizers and wine arrive for Miranda. As they're presented, Nigel pinches Andy's arm. "Quit it," she hisses.
"So, Miranda," Nigel drawls. "Someone ordered for you already?"
"Mm," Miranda replies. "Andrea." She sips her wine and nods once at the waiter, who departs.
"How... interesting. What are you having for dinner?"
Miranda turns to Andy, her sly grin seemingly stuck in place. Though this embarrasses Andy, it's a major turn on. "I don't know, Andrea. What am I having for dinner?"
"Um, the shrimp and mussels and scallops with capers and--"
Nigel interrupts her. "I'd have thought you'd want the steak. Or at the very least, the veal. I understand it’s one of the specialties here."
Andy wants to cut this conversation off right away, but Miranda simply leans forward and answers. "I had steak for lunch, of course, and I don't eat veal. I'm sure the shrimp will be delicious."
"Don't eat veal?" Nigel frowns, and his humor barely masks irritation that has sprung up out of nowhere. "Since when? I thought you ate everything. Especially small, helpless animals."
Miranda clears her throat, and the smile fades. "No. I no longer eat veal, or foie gras, for that matter. At Caroline's request. She's unhappy with the animal practices, so I decided it was easy enough to select other options."
Nigel laughs at this, and it sounds harsh to Andy's ears. Things are derailing, quickly, but the wine has dulled her reaction time. "Goodness. What's next, no fur?"
Andy bristles. She happens to know that Miranda started buying faux last year, also because of Caroline, but she hasn't told a soul. No one's noticed. She spends a great deal of money to wear what looks like the real thing. "Nigel, what are you having for dinner?" Andy interrupts. "The soup--"
"I'm having the filet mignon. You can have a bite if you want, Miranda," Nigel says. "I know you have a taste for blood."
Andy kicks him under the table, but his face never changes.
"No thank you," Miranda replies smoothly. "What are you having, Andrea?"
Andy swallows against a dry throat before she answers. "The salmon, with quinoa and spinach."
"Delightful. I'll taste yours." With that, Miranda pops an artichoke crostini in her mouth and closes her eyes in delight. She hands one to Andy, who notices a slight hesitation in the motion. Instantly Andy knows that Miranda almost fed the thing to her by hand. The grin returns to Miranda's face, and she turns to Jocelyn. "Joss, how is little Harry these days? Isn't he almost five?"
Jocelyn lights up, and she tells of Harry's latest exploits in pre-school, while Miranda coos and aws at all the right moments. The remaining guests at the table begin to calm, and the wine begins to flow once more. Nigel is the only one who stays on alert.
As the evening progresses, the rest of the table indulges with the extra wine Miranda orders to share. Everyone is taken in by this friendlier, more sociable version of their boss. Andy is sure that now they see how easy it is to be drawn in by this charismatic woman who only grows more beautiful with age. It's unlikely that Miranda will skewer anyone with questions on job performance over dinner, and she is both pleasant and inquisitive. Andy enjoys observing Miranda as she turns on the high-wattage charm that has lured many a man (and woman) to their demise. However, she knows that Miranda only wants to have fun tonight, so there is no potential for trouble as long as no one insults any member of their little family unit.
Nigel makes it halfway through his third martini when he finally asks, “Miranda, what are you doing here?”
Miranda glances over, her gaze cool. “Having dinner. Celebrating Andrea’s promotion, as is everyone else here tonight.” She observes the many faces around the table. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Yes, of course, but…” Nigel begins, and Andy turns to watch him. She wonders, is he digging his own grave? “You don’t often make appearances at events like this.”
Miranda chuckles and replies, “I consider this occasion a unique opportunity. And I’m enjoying myself thoroughly.” She leans over Andrea’s plate for the second time that night and steals a bite of salmon. “This really is very good.”
“That’s the last of my dinner you’re sneaking, lady,” Andy states, moving her plate a few inches away from Miranda. “Next thing I know my plate will be empty.”
“Oh, fine, have some shrimp.” Miranda sighs and leans away from her place setting just long enough for Andy to nab a bite, and their eyes meet as Andy pops the shrimp in her mouth. Andy can’t help but grin, chewing in what she’s sure is a most unattractive style. But Miranda’s eyes soften, and her mouth quirks up in an affectionate expression she doubts most people at Runway see, ever.
Nigel shuts up after that, and once Andy starts quizzing Kenny on the various clubs he frequents, the conversation carries on. Once dessert arrives, they all split a few treats. Andy convinces Miranda to indulge in a few bites of chocolate mousse along with a small glass of port. Around this time the wine hits Andy, and it’s a challenge not to paw Miranda. Instead she just watches Miranda as she eats, ignoring the heat at the back of her neck.
When the check arrives, Miranda holds out her hand.
“No,” Andy pleads, “You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t.” She fishes her personal Visa card from a narrow wallet and slides it into the leather pouch for the waiter.
“Huh,” Nigel harrumphs, while Lucien tries and fails to contribute his own funds to the coffers.
“So, we still going out dancing, Andy?” Kenny asks, clearly eager to paint the town.
“Well,” Andy says, reluctant. It’s late, and Miranda’s just sitting there looking delectable and available, and she’d really like to peel that jacket right off her shoulders-
“Go,” Miranda tells her. “Enjoy yourself. But remember, everyone,” she adds, peering at her employees, “I’ll expect you in by 9 at the latest.”
Andy doesn’t laugh, though she wants to. Runway’s regular, unofficial hours are 8 to 6, so 9 is actually a late start. “Okay,” Andy says, holding Miranda’s hand under the tablecloth. “Thanks.”
“Excellent,” Kenny says, and he and Gemma exchange glances that Andy can’t quite interpret.
Once the bill is paid, everyone stands to leave. Andy retrieves Miranda’s coat and helps her into it. Before she can stop herself, she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck and holds her far closer than she ever has in public. “Think this will seal the deal?” she murmurs.
Miranda’s hands slide up Andy’s back. “Perhaps.” Although Miranda is in heels, Andy’s still taller by a couple of inches. Andy can’t help but gaze into her eyes, until Miranda’s mouth presses against hers for a long moment. “That should do it.”
Andy inhales, and tries not to lick her lips. “Probably. I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”
Miranda glances over Andy’s shoulder, and tells her, “Don’t worry. I expect I’ll have company for a little while.” She steps away from Andy, looking not at all embarrassed for having just exchanged a kiss with her former assistant. “Nigel, would you care for a nightcap at the townhouse?”
Nigel is watching them, and he’s a little green. Andy expects he might regret that last drink. “Sure. Uh, okay.”
Lucien remains seated at the table-he and Jocelyn are in intense conversation. Andy ignores them and pulls on her long coat. “See you at home,” she says softly.
“Mm,” Miranda says, touching her hand once before she and Nigel make their way out.
The rest of the group crowds around Andy. “Did you just kiss Miranda?” Kenny demands. “What’s that about?” He seems more thrilled than anything. “Are you guys like, together?”
“We are,” Andy says, and there’s a quiet gasp from at least a few of her co-workers. “Now that I’ve left Runway, we figured it was okay to tell people.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Kenny crows. “Holy Jesus. This is news, girl! Gigantic, unbelievable news. For how long?”
“A little while,” Andy hedges. No one needs to know all the details. “Not when I worked directly for her. That would have been too weird.” Not to mention insanely tense, considering how hot it had been between them at the start.
“Girl, you’re gonna fit right in with us tonight. And here I thought all this time you were a little prude, going home to read your Jane Austen every night after work.”
Andy skips telling him that she does enjoys Austen very much. She just keeps her well-thumbed copies of “Emma” and “Sense and Sensibility” on Miranda’s bedside table.
---
Andy uses her regular back garden route to enter the house, staying quiet as usual. She’s tired from the early morning wake up call-was it 18 hours ago? It’s been one helluva long day, and an hour and a half of dancing has exhausted her. At least she stuck to drinking water at the club, so she’s sober when she hears Nigel’s voice float through the kitchen from the adjacent sitting room.
“… Andy?”
She opens her mouth to call out and say hi until she realizes that they mustn’t have heard her come in. Miranda’s mid-sentence when Andy decides that a little eavesdropping is in order. “Why not?” Miranda says.
“That’s no answer, Miranda. We’ve been tiptoeing around the topic, but you asked me over, and I’d love to know what you’re thinking.”
There’s a silence, and Andy pictures Miranda steeping her fingers together. “This isn’t new for me, Nigel. It’s been more than a year,” Miranda says, her voice even and firm.
“You’re joking,” Nigel replies.
“I am not. I’ll talk to you, but I won’t explain myself-I owe no one any ‘explanation’ as to why I’ve fallen in love.”
“Are you sure it’s love?” Nigel asks.
“Of course I’m sure. Very much so,” Miranda says.
Nigel clucks his tongue. “Miranda, you’ve been in love many times before--”
“That may be true, but there’s something about this that is entirely new.”
There’s a chuckle from Nigel, and it almost sounds bitter. Andy doesn’t like it. “Other than the fact that she’s a woman, what, pray tell, might that be?”
It doesn’t take long for Miranda to answer. “I have never once believed Andrea would be anything other than faithful to me.” There’s a pause, and Andy waits, thrilled by the admission. “When considering my two husbands, and each man before them-it was as if I inadvertently chose personalities so charismatic and ego-driven that I would never be enough. Or rather, that I’d be too much. Too career-obsessed, too busy, too good at everything that they’d always search for someone else to make them feel like they were better than I. Which,” Miranda says with a rueful laugh, “happened in almost every case. And I simply waited for it to end. Even with Stephen, who seemed so exactly my match at the beginning. He was… well, you know how that turned out.”
“So the thing that makes Andy special is that she won’t cheat on you,” Nigel says.
Andy imagines Miranda’s trademark eyeroll. “You’re missing the point. I don’t know whether she will or not. But I don’t expect her to. I’d actually be surprised, stunned even, if she strayed, or if she ever walked out on me. I truly believe that she loves me more than anything.” Andy listens, open-mouthed. “Do you know how intoxicating it is to feel the same way about her? I can tell you right now, Nigel, I wouldn’t walk away either. Not for all the money and power in the world. It’s been a revelation. It’s only a shame it took me fifty years to figure out that trust and love are not mutually exclusive.”
Andy decides that this is her cue to leave and come back in, noisily this time. As much as she regrets eavesdropping, she also can’t stop smiling. She’s utterly silent as she moves through the kitchen, slipping out the back door. She waits in the alley for a few minutes, even though it’s cold, and decides that tonight, she’ll use the front door.
She unlocks it and steps inside, a little nervous. She’ll have to get used to that sensation of visibility; the street is well-lit, as is the landing. With a shiver, she removes her coat and hangs it in the hall closet. “I’m home,” she calls out, not sure what sort of reception she’ll get.
“In here,” Miranda replies, and Andy follows her voice. She is more hesitant than she’d like to be when she enters the room, until Miranda motions her to come close. “Hello, darling,” Miranda purrs, and Andy relaxes enough to perch above her on the arm of the sofa. She kisses the knuckles of Miranda’s outstretched hand.
“Hi,” Andy says.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did,” Andy replies, her grin creeping back. “Kenny’s a little wild though, so I didn’t stay long.” She glances over at Nigel and smiles warily. “Hey, Nigel.”
“Hi, Six.” He shakes his head. “You keep a good secret.”
She shrugs. “When it’s worth my while.”
He watches her, and Andy wonders if it’s suspicion or just plain curiosity in his eyes. She may never know. “I suppose that’s my cue to vamoose,” Nigel says, standing and leaving his glass on the side table.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt--” Andy says.
“You didn’t,” Nigel replies quickly. “It’s late, and some of us still have to work tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” Miranda adds, standing and tugging Andy up with her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
They follow Nigel to the front door, and Andy tells herself that the silence is comfortable rather than awkward. “Thanks for coming to the party, Nigel,” Andy says as he pulls his coat from the closet.
“Sure. I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll probably see you soon, right?”
Andy nods, and hugs him close. “Thanks for everything,” she whispers, hoping they’ll survive whatever rift opens between them.
Nigel pats her back. It’s not a comfort, but it’s something. “Sure,” he repeats with a small chuckle. “Later.” He pulls away. “Good night, Miranda.”
Miranda steps in and kisses him on both cheeks-a surprising gesture of friendship given the strange energy in the room. “Good night.”
Nigel looks away from them and steps out into the chill, not looking back as he heads down the block.
Andy locks the door and leans against it. Miranda looks at her carefully, and from that single look, Andy realizes she’s busted. “You might be able to keep secrets, but you’re not a very good spy,” Miranda says, but there’s no malice in it.
Andy laughs. “Well, I didn’t hear much, and I didn’t want to make everything even weirder. Not that coming in the front door helped.”
“It will take time for him to get used to the idea that he doesn’t know me as well as he thought.” Miranda takes her hand and leads her to the stairs. “And that he doesn’t know you either. I’m sure it seems like it was about pulling one over on him, rather than our own self-preservation.”
Andy holds back the thought that if Nigel thinks that the relationship between them two of them has anything to do with him, he’s an idiot. It’s mean, and Nigel doesn’t deserve it. Miranda’s next words distract her from Nigel. “So now you know my secret,” she breathes as they come to the bedroom.
“Hmm,” Andy replies, thinking back.
Miranda closes the door behind them, and locks it. “That I adore you.” She unbuttons her top two buttons. “That I trust you.” More buttons follow, and Andy backs up toward the bed as Miranda stalks forward. “That I need you.”
As Miranda falls on her, blouse fluttering in the cool air, Andy opens her arms. “Don’t worry. I can keep my mouth shut.”
---
Two days after their outing, the only thing in the press is a pathetic blind item on a small gossip site. “A little bird told us he saw a presumably straight, female fashion icon in a clinch with a much younger female employee at Triomphe on Wednesday. No one else is talking. Is this news? We’ll keep you posted.”
Is it possible that Miranda’s employees have suddenly decided that she deserves some modicum of loyalty? It figures that now that they want to go public, it doesn’t work. To get the ball rolling, they decide to have dinner at Le Bernardin on Friday night. Andy makes the reservation in Miranda’s name and requests a table by the window. It’s very central, and they’ll be seen by everyone in the place.
That night, they both dress to the nines and order the tasting menu, with wine. It’s unabashedly romantic. They make no bones about their affection for one another, suddenly free of the fetters that have held them in check for so many months. It’s exhilarating to touch Miranda’s hand across the table, and Andy is stunned at how easily she breathes in this new era. When they’re finished, Miranda actually helps Andy on with her coat, and they leave the restaurant with hands clasped.
The next day, no one says a word. Anywhere. There’s no photo of them strolling down 51st street, no mention of their little evening out in the paper, no description of their dinner in a blog.
“Huh,” Andy says after a third google search at the kitchen table. “Maybe you’re old news.”
Miranda throws a slice of orange at her.
Monday morning, Andy starts work at Vanity Fair, and she doesn’t cause any waves. No one mentions Miranda until lunch, when she joins Anna at the café in the building. “So,” Anna starts out as she fishes through her salad for a cashew. “You and Miranda Priestly, huh?”
Andy gapes at her. “How did you know?”
Anna laughs. “We found out Thursday morning-someone called for a quote after they heard you were starting here this week. Graydon asked Col to quash it as a favor for Miranda-we have to keep the peace, don’t you know. When The Post killed the story, everybody else got spooked. So, you’re welcome.” Anna grins, looking pleased with herself.
Andy closes her eyes. “We were trying to come out. I didn’t want it to be a secret when I started here. I hope this isn’t going to be some kind of conspiracy--”
“Honey,” Anna says, “we don’t care who you’re with. I certainly don’t. I spoke to Lucien on Friday just to make sure everything was kosher, and he told me he was shocked when he found out about the two of you. He said Miranda never gave you special treatment, and that last year there was a rumor about you and Lucien that you summarily dismissed. I guess he found out about it later.”
“Oh yeah,” Andy says. “That was… unfortunate. I felt terrible for him.”
“You had bigger fish to fry,” Anna replies, with a twinkle in her eye. “And you are out. Everybody here knows. So don’t worry about it. And you’d better eat fast, because we have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Andy glances at her watch, a gift given by Miranda just that morning. “Got it.”
Later, Andy sends a quick text to Miranda, detailing this new information. She doesn’t receive a reply, and expends most of her focus on learning the ropes at her new position.
She walks in the back door at 8 that night. Miranda is seated at the kitchen table, the computer in front of her, while James grates fresh cheese at the counter. Miranda glances over her shoulder and looks over the top of her glasses. “Andrea, it’s time you start using the front door.”
Andy sighs. “You want me to leave and come back in?”
Miranda shakes her head. “Tomorrow. Come and kiss me hello.”
Andy does, and drops her laptop bag in the corner. “James, I can’t wait to know what’s for dinner.”
“Pasta with sliced chicken and pesto.”
Andy lets her head fall back. “God, I am spoiled. I’m starving.”
“Don’t they let you out of your little cage for meals now and then?” Miranda asks.
“I had lunch at noon, and didn’t have time to get a snack. I’m going to have to bring emergency rations to keep in my desk.”
Miranda looks at her affectionately. “Some things never change.” She clicks the mouse on the computer once, then closes a window. “I spoke to Graydon tonight. Apparently he has something on either Col or one of the Murdoch kids, which is why we’re not all over the news right now. I admit I’m somewhat disappointed.”
Andy smiles. “Over not knowing the dirt, or not being in the news?”
“Both, I think. But it’s best for the girls, I suppose.”
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs, doing homework. Cassidy’s not speaking to me for some reason, I don’t know why,” Miranda sniffs.
Andy gets up to check on the pasta, before James nudges her away from the pot of gently boiling water. “Probably because you made her change before school today.” Andy recalls quite clearly running out the door to avoid the impending storm of words between the two Priestlys that morning.
“The blouse was not designed to be worn by an adolescent. It’s too sheer.”
Andy agrees, mostly. Cassidy’s still thirteen. “What if she wore a tank top underneath?”
“She wasn’t wearing a tank top underneath. Thus there was no discussion of that as an option.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Andy offers. Miranda throws a threatening glance in her direction. “Or not.”
After a moment, the lines across Miranda’s brows lessen, and her expression turns pensive. “It might be a good idea.”
Andy gets stepped on by James as he brings the water to the sink to drain. “Ouch. Um, sorry.” She grabs a bottle of white from the wine refrigerator. “Want a glass?”
“Please.”
As Andy opens and pours the wine, James artfully arranges two meals on pristine white plates edged with gold. The counters are already clear, since James cleans as he cooks. He serves up their meal and departs only moments later, after Andy promises to take care of what’s left.
“I think he has a date,” Miranda says. “He’s wearing cologne.”
“Ooh,” Andy replies. “I’ll grill him tomorrow.”
“Be subtle, darling. Just because he knows all our secrets doesn’t mean we get to know his.”
Andy thinks that’s sweet, but she doesn’t say so. Instead she takes a bite, and marvels over the flavors of the meal, and the perfection of each of the elements. “Mmm.”
Miranda nods. “How was your first day?”
Andy considers it. “Busy, but good. I think I’m going to like it.”
Miranda looks approving. “Lucien is already lost without you.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Andy says with a wave of her fork.
“I wouldn’t be,” Miranda replies, and Andy catches the meaning in her gaze.
“Well aren’t you lucky then that I’m not going anywhere.” Andy’s heart does a little leap in her chest as Miranda’s gaze softens even more.
“I am,” Miranda says, and holds up her wine glass.
Andy holds up her own, and when their glasses touch, the sound is pure and clear. “Me too,” Andy tells her, and smiles.
~end