The Princess and the Ice Queen 9/?
Title: The Princess and the Ice Queen
Author: kdsusa3
Parings: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13 to M
Fandom: DWP crossover with The Princess Diaries
Disclaimers: I still don't own them, but I am borrowing them. I promise to put them back when I am done. They will be unharmed, and they will have had fun.
Sorry this has taken so long. I have reposted the earlier chapters, as I have rewritten them. Not much has changed, but you might want to reread them. Thanks to all the readers who have stuck with this story.
You can find it here kdsusa3 at my journal, or at these links:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
A/N: Sorry about the long wait. I've just been blocked and really busy. Hopefully this will make up for it. I've also gone through and reposted the old chapters to this so you might want to re-read them. Sorry about the delay, I'll try to keep 'em coming faster.
Chapter 8:
Breakfast had been finished and the small talk supply was dwindling down to non-existent, so Nigel brought up the schedule they still hadn’t decided on.
“Okay Queenie, we need to work on the schedule for this shoot. How long can we have you today?”
Mia whipped out a blackberry and scrolled through her calendar. “Okay, I have a meeting with the parliament at three o’clock. So, that gives you guys until half past two. If you so desire, I can give the guided tour today and you all can decide what locations you would like to use.”
Nigel looked to Miranda and she gave an imperious nod of agreement. He couldn’t hold in his snort of amusement at Miranda’s queenly attitude in the presence of actual royalty. He hoped that she never changed.
Mia grinned. “Well that is great, but now it would be prudent for me to change into more inconspicuous clothes. Since I will be your chauffer for the day, I’m gonna have to be a little more incognito, or we will be mobbed. Be right back.”
It was only a mere five minutes when the young queen returned, attired in well fitting faded jeans, neutral colored men’s oxford shirt, and Doc Martens, much to Miranda’s chagrin. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and covered with a baseball cap. Mia smiled at the Runway folk. “Let’s get moving then…”
Clarisse stopped the little entourage before they could leave the room. “Amelia, if you are leaving the palace, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Miranda couldn’t help but smirk at the petulant sigh coming from the queen. “Nana, I’m pretty sure there won’t be room for the bodyguard because if I remember correctly, Nigel doesn’t take notes, and Miranda is going to need her assistant. So that means no bodyguard, and that means we have to leave now.”
Mia grabbed both Miranda and Nigel’s arms and started frog marching them towards the exit and freedom. Right before they made it to the door, Mia stopped abruptly when her grandmother spoke again.
“Amelia, if you take one more step before hearing me out, I’ll have to have Joseph retrieve you.”
Mia turned without letting go of her prisoners, which forced them to face Clarisse as well. “All right Nana, what am I forgetting?”
“There is no need to be short with me young lady. Joseph, please give Mia her weapon.”
“Yes, your majesty. Amelia, we have discussed that after Mabray’s attempt, you are to be armed at all times.” He waited until Mia had the gun stashed in her holster. “Now please don’t forget to have fun, and after parliament you owe me twenty laps.”
She kissed him on the cheek and dragged her two hostages out of the room and to their destination grumbling, “I swear to god. That woman drives me freaking nuts. Young lady…I’m thirty goddamned years old.”
Miranda and Nigel started at the mention of her age, and Nigel once again beat Miranda to the punch asking the question. “Thirty, I thought you just got out of college two and a half years ago? I thought that you were twenty-five.”
Mia laughed, “I did get out of college two and a half years ago, with my PhD. Nana made me fudge my birthday. She said it would help throw of the scent of who I really was, and anyway I have always looked younger than my actual age. Good genes. I would tell you how old Nana is, but she would have Joe use his diplomatic immunity for nefarious purposes.”
Miranda’s interest was piqued. “Diplomatic immunity?”
“Yeah, in 46 countries, including Puerto Rico. I’ve sent Charlotte to retrieve Emily and they’ll meet us at the stables. What do you think Emily will do when she sees me?”
Nigel and Miranda shared a look and he mouthed ‘stables’ before he asked what Miranda thought to be a very important question. “Stables? Do you mean to tell me that we will be riding horses?”
Mia glanced at them both. “Of course we will be using horse power, how else do you expect us to get around?”
The explanation was over as they had arrived at the massive outbuilding and made their way over to the two waiting assistants. Emily was doing a wonderful impression of an asthmatic walrus, with all the gasping, gaping, and general flapping around at the sight of the queen. Charlotte the efficient soul she was, handed Mia a set of keys and a pair of large sunglasses.
“Is everything in order then Charlotte?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Everything you need is inside, and if anything dire happens I’ll ring you.”
“God bless you Charlotte. Come on everyone times a wasting, and there are several places to visit.”
Amelia opened the doors and led everyone inside the ‘stables’, which in all actuality, was a giant garage, straight to a powder blue 1966 Ford Mustang convertible. She couldn’t help but laugh when she heard the twin sighs of relief. “Seriously guys, as amusing as it would be to se La Priestly on a horse, I don’t like them and think they smell. So get in, scarves for the ladies are in the glove compartment, and make sure to buckle your safety belts. I may be the queen, but I am not above the law.”
And so, all early afternoon, the queen of Genovia could be seen in her mustang, giving the people from Runway a guided tour. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving and you’ve seen all there really is to see. Let’s go get lunch. Charlotte has informed me that Nana has had a nice spread prepared, and we’d best not be late or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
After a brief trip back to rooms to change, everyone reconvened back in the room where they had enjoyed breakfast earlier. Mia was once again dressed in the power suit, speaking to Charlotte in low tones about something or the other. Nigel was unsuccessfully trying to keep Emily from making a scene, and Clarisse was making eyes at Joseph, while he was staring at her in abject adoration. The sight was enough to make one go into sugar shock.
As Miranda entered, everyone noticed and made towards the table and their seats. Clarisse had arranged the seating, so Mia and herself were at the head and foot of the table. Joseph and Miranda were to their left, and Nigel was seated across from her, leaving Emily and Charlotte to sit by their respective bosses and receive instructions if so needed. Taking her seat, Miranda couldn’t help but notice Mia’s scent. Inhaling subtly and as deeply as possible, she couldn’t help but savor the familiar bouquet, and decided to not prolong her revenge because if last evenings dreams were any indication; she couldn’t hold out much longer before spontaneously combusting, or going on a homicidal rampage due to sexual frustration.
Scent is a powerful trigger to memory, and Mia’s brought the memory of her taste to Miranda’s tongue. She sipped at her wine hoping to erase the carnal thoughts, before anyone noticed the change in her disposition. Thankfully Nigel noticed her discontent and started up a conversation to take any and all attention away from her.
“So Mia, you said you grew up in New York. Where at exactly, and in that picture, your school uniform looked vaguely familiar, where did you attend?”
The queen spared an amused glance between Miranda and Nigel. “Well, if you have to know. I grew up in a townhouse, in the Upper East Side on East 73rd Street, where I had my own tower bedroom. Just down the street from the very famous, extremely sexy, undisputed ruler of the fashion world, whom I had an incredible crush on, and whom never knew I existed. You saw my picture, and well, she was always fabulous, as you all know. Why would she pay attention to me?”
Mia looked around to savor the shock, sighed wistfully and continued answering. “As for school, the uniform should look familiar. I attended Dalton. My mother was a mildly successful artist, and my father as you know was wealthy. He wasn’t around, but his money and instructions were. I was to have everything I needed, live in a good neighborhood, and have a good education. When I received his journal, there was a letter written to me, and in it he explained his motives and reasoning for things. The main one was that I was to have a normal as possible childhood. He knew that he would never have any more children and wanted me to be out of the limelight as much as possible. I am truly grateful for that consideration. Because I had a great childhood, despite all the teenage angst, and my mother is wonderful. She took a very bohemian view to child rearing, and that was something that Gigia and Pappous did not agree with.”
Mia returned to her lunch and enjoyed the commotion.
Nigel who had started laughing uncontrollably when she had revealed where she grew up, had managed to pull himself together long enough to gasp out a question. “Gigia, Pappous, and is your mother Helen Thermopolis? I love her work. I own a couple of her pieces. God, did you really go to Dalton, or are you just trying to be funny?”
“Yes, I really did go to Dalton, class of ’96. It sucked. Gigia and Pappous are grandparents. They’re Greek, conservative, and were outraged when mom got pregnant. They were also outraged when she refused to get married and about how she raised me. They refuse to speak anything but Greek in their home, and disowned us when they found out mom had married my math teacher, who was not Greek but Irish, and found out I was a lesbian. I’ll be sure to tell mom that you like her work when I go home. She will get a kick out of it.”
Miranda spoke up next. “So, you will be returning to New York then?”
Mia nodded. “Yes. New York is my home. These last two years have been an anomaly. I’m really not needed for the day-to-day matters. That is why the parliament is in place, but with the attempt at a hostile takeover, I had to be here. Not to mention, I had to get my policies in place. With all the technology available today, I only have to fly back every three or four months for the special session of parliament as I have final say on everything. But, as for the rest of the time, I live in a townhouse, in the Upper East Side on East 73rd Street, where I have my own tower bedroom. Just down the street from the very famous, extremely sexy, undisputed ruler of the fashion world, whom I had an incredible crush on, and whom never knew I existed.”
Author: kdsusa3
Parings: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13 to M
Fandom: DWP crossover with The Princess Diaries
Disclaimers: I still don't own them, but I am borrowing them. I promise to put them back when I am done. They will be unharmed, and they will have had fun.
Sorry this has taken so long. I have reposted the earlier chapters, as I have rewritten them. Not much has changed, but you might want to reread them. Thanks to all the readers who have stuck with this story.
You can find it here kdsusa3 at my journal, or at these links:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
A/N: Sorry about the long wait. I've just been blocked and really busy. Hopefully this will make up for it. I've also gone through and reposted the old chapters to this so you might want to re-read them. Sorry about the delay, I'll try to keep 'em coming faster.
Chapter 8:
Breakfast had been finished and the small talk supply was dwindling down to non-existent, so Nigel brought up the schedule they still hadn’t decided on.
“Okay Queenie, we need to work on the schedule for this shoot. How long can we have you today?”
Mia whipped out a blackberry and scrolled through her calendar. “Okay, I have a meeting with the parliament at three o’clock. So, that gives you guys until half past two. If you so desire, I can give the guided tour today and you all can decide what locations you would like to use.”
Nigel looked to Miranda and she gave an imperious nod of agreement. He couldn’t hold in his snort of amusement at Miranda’s queenly attitude in the presence of actual royalty. He hoped that she never changed.
Mia grinned. “Well that is great, but now it would be prudent for me to change into more inconspicuous clothes. Since I will be your chauffer for the day, I’m gonna have to be a little more incognito, or we will be mobbed. Be right back.”
It was only a mere five minutes when the young queen returned, attired in well fitting faded jeans, neutral colored men’s oxford shirt, and Doc Martens, much to Miranda’s chagrin. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and covered with a baseball cap. Mia smiled at the Runway folk. “Let’s get moving then…”
Clarisse stopped the little entourage before they could leave the room. “Amelia, if you are leaving the palace, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Miranda couldn’t help but smirk at the petulant sigh coming from the queen. “Nana, I’m pretty sure there won’t be room for the bodyguard because if I remember correctly, Nigel doesn’t take notes, and Miranda is going to need her assistant. So that means no bodyguard, and that means we have to leave now.”
Mia grabbed both Miranda and Nigel’s arms and started frog marching them towards the exit and freedom. Right before they made it to the door, Mia stopped abruptly when her grandmother spoke again.
“Amelia, if you take one more step before hearing me out, I’ll have to have Joseph retrieve you.”
Mia turned without letting go of her prisoners, which forced them to face Clarisse as well. “All right Nana, what am I forgetting?”
“There is no need to be short with me young lady. Joseph, please give Mia her weapon.”
“Yes, your majesty. Amelia, we have discussed that after Mabray’s attempt, you are to be armed at all times.” He waited until Mia had the gun stashed in her holster. “Now please don’t forget to have fun, and after parliament you owe me twenty laps.”
She kissed him on the cheek and dragged her two hostages out of the room and to their destination grumbling, “I swear to god. That woman drives me freaking nuts. Young lady…I’m thirty goddamned years old.”
Miranda and Nigel started at the mention of her age, and Nigel once again beat Miranda to the punch asking the question. “Thirty, I thought you just got out of college two and a half years ago? I thought that you were twenty-five.”
Mia laughed, “I did get out of college two and a half years ago, with my PhD. Nana made me fudge my birthday. She said it would help throw of the scent of who I really was, and anyway I have always looked younger than my actual age. Good genes. I would tell you how old Nana is, but she would have Joe use his diplomatic immunity for nefarious purposes.”
Miranda’s interest was piqued. “Diplomatic immunity?”
“Yeah, in 46 countries, including Puerto Rico. I’ve sent Charlotte to retrieve Emily and they’ll meet us at the stables. What do you think Emily will do when she sees me?”
Nigel and Miranda shared a look and he mouthed ‘stables’ before he asked what Miranda thought to be a very important question. “Stables? Do you mean to tell me that we will be riding horses?”
Mia glanced at them both. “Of course we will be using horse power, how else do you expect us to get around?”
The explanation was over as they had arrived at the massive outbuilding and made their way over to the two waiting assistants. Emily was doing a wonderful impression of an asthmatic walrus, with all the gasping, gaping, and general flapping around at the sight of the queen. Charlotte the efficient soul she was, handed Mia a set of keys and a pair of large sunglasses.
“Is everything in order then Charlotte?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Everything you need is inside, and if anything dire happens I’ll ring you.”
“God bless you Charlotte. Come on everyone times a wasting, and there are several places to visit.”
Amelia opened the doors and led everyone inside the ‘stables’, which in all actuality, was a giant garage, straight to a powder blue 1966 Ford Mustang convertible. She couldn’t help but laugh when she heard the twin sighs of relief. “Seriously guys, as amusing as it would be to se La Priestly on a horse, I don’t like them and think they smell. So get in, scarves for the ladies are in the glove compartment, and make sure to buckle your safety belts. I may be the queen, but I am not above the law.”
And so, all early afternoon, the queen of Genovia could be seen in her mustang, giving the people from Runway a guided tour. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving and you’ve seen all there really is to see. Let’s go get lunch. Charlotte has informed me that Nana has had a nice spread prepared, and we’d best not be late or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
After a brief trip back to rooms to change, everyone reconvened back in the room where they had enjoyed breakfast earlier. Mia was once again dressed in the power suit, speaking to Charlotte in low tones about something or the other. Nigel was unsuccessfully trying to keep Emily from making a scene, and Clarisse was making eyes at Joseph, while he was staring at her in abject adoration. The sight was enough to make one go into sugar shock.
As Miranda entered, everyone noticed and made towards the table and their seats. Clarisse had arranged the seating, so Mia and herself were at the head and foot of the table. Joseph and Miranda were to their left, and Nigel was seated across from her, leaving Emily and Charlotte to sit by their respective bosses and receive instructions if so needed. Taking her seat, Miranda couldn’t help but notice Mia’s scent. Inhaling subtly and as deeply as possible, she couldn’t help but savor the familiar bouquet, and decided to not prolong her revenge because if last evenings dreams were any indication; she couldn’t hold out much longer before spontaneously combusting, or going on a homicidal rampage due to sexual frustration.
Scent is a powerful trigger to memory, and Mia’s brought the memory of her taste to Miranda’s tongue. She sipped at her wine hoping to erase the carnal thoughts, before anyone noticed the change in her disposition. Thankfully Nigel noticed her discontent and started up a conversation to take any and all attention away from her.
“So Mia, you said you grew up in New York. Where at exactly, and in that picture, your school uniform looked vaguely familiar, where did you attend?”
The queen spared an amused glance between Miranda and Nigel. “Well, if you have to know. I grew up in a townhouse, in the Upper East Side on East 73rd Street, where I had my own tower bedroom. Just down the street from the very famous, extremely sexy, undisputed ruler of the fashion world, whom I had an incredible crush on, and whom never knew I existed. You saw my picture, and well, she was always fabulous, as you all know. Why would she pay attention to me?”
Mia looked around to savor the shock, sighed wistfully and continued answering. “As for school, the uniform should look familiar. I attended Dalton. My mother was a mildly successful artist, and my father as you know was wealthy. He wasn’t around, but his money and instructions were. I was to have everything I needed, live in a good neighborhood, and have a good education. When I received his journal, there was a letter written to me, and in it he explained his motives and reasoning for things. The main one was that I was to have a normal as possible childhood. He knew that he would never have any more children and wanted me to be out of the limelight as much as possible. I am truly grateful for that consideration. Because I had a great childhood, despite all the teenage angst, and my mother is wonderful. She took a very bohemian view to child rearing, and that was something that Gigia and Pappous did not agree with.”
Mia returned to her lunch and enjoyed the commotion.
Nigel who had started laughing uncontrollably when she had revealed where she grew up, had managed to pull himself together long enough to gasp out a question. “Gigia, Pappous, and is your mother Helen Thermopolis? I love her work. I own a couple of her pieces. God, did you really go to Dalton, or are you just trying to be funny?”
“Yes, I really did go to Dalton, class of ’96. It sucked. Gigia and Pappous are grandparents. They’re Greek, conservative, and were outraged when mom got pregnant. They were also outraged when she refused to get married and about how she raised me. They refuse to speak anything but Greek in their home, and disowned us when they found out mom had married my math teacher, who was not Greek but Irish, and found out I was a lesbian. I’ll be sure to tell mom that you like her work when I go home. She will get a kick out of it.”
Miranda spoke up next. “So, you will be returning to New York then?”
Mia nodded. “Yes. New York is my home. These last two years have been an anomaly. I’m really not needed for the day-to-day matters. That is why the parliament is in place, but with the attempt at a hostile takeover, I had to be here. Not to mention, I had to get my policies in place. With all the technology available today, I only have to fly back every three or four months for the special session of parliament as I have final say on everything. But, as for the rest of the time, I live in a townhouse, in the Upper East Side on East 73rd Street, where I have my own tower bedroom. Just down the street from the very famous, extremely sexy, undisputed ruler of the fashion world, whom I had an incredible crush on, and whom never knew I existed.”