New Fic: First Choice Part 1/2
Title: First Choice
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: I have no idea. I suck at ratings! There is swearing, and some mild reference to violence, and not very explicit sex. M, maybe?
Author's Notes: I have finally managed to complete my first DWP fic! I haven't written and completed anything in years, so I'm pretty pleased with myself! Feel free to tell me what you think, whatever that may be! Thank you so much to nicolina04 for being a great beta, and giving up so much time to give such detailed feedback. I really appreciate it!
Summary: Miranda has never been first choice for anyone. Then Andrea came along. Italics are flashbacks.
***
Miriam slouched against the window, clutching her bag tightly to her. She had sewn it herself, late at night, with scraps of fabric from the nice old lady who lived next door, and had tried to imitate the glossy images in her favorite publication. The stitches were a little sloppy and crooked, because it was the first thing she had ever properly tried to sew, but it did the job and anyway, it wasn’t like she had much to take.
Her breath had cast a misty shape onto the glass, and she lifted her pale finger to draw an ‘M’ into the fog. It was still early. No one would have noticed she was gone yet. The bus wasn’t far out of town yet, but the streets were already unfamiliar. She thought that maybe she should be scared, or at least slightly worried, but all she felt was determination. She couldn’t afford to fail, not now when she was so close to reaching her goal. Phase one was complete. She had escaped.
One day she would no longer be Miriam Princhek whom people forgot about, whom didn’t matter, whom was always second choice for everything. One day (and a hint of a smile graced her face), one day, she would be all beauty and power and importance, and the people would scatter in front of her, terrified. And every one would know her, fear her, want to be her. They would all regret what they had done to her, every last one of them and she would ignore them because they weren’t worth her notice.
She shifted in her seat and winced. She was still sore between her legs from the night before. She was grateful that that was all over now. She wouldn’t miss it. Miriam closed her eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. From her scruffy bag she pulled her most prized possession, ran her fingers over the glossy cover. It was the only thing she had with her that was new. She had read the magazine through twice already, but Miriam had learned that, to really notice the subtleties, you had to go over things many times. It was one of the things she loved most about Runway: the attention to detail.
One picture in particular caught her eye. It was in a feature about an actress. She wasn’t particularly pretty, not in the conventional way; her nose was very prominent and she wasn’t tall, but she held herself in a pose that exuded confidence and control. “Miranda Stevenson: on taking over Hollywood, surviving in a man’s world and why she never raises her voice.” The page had captured Miriam‘s attention. Her eyes were stuck, roaming over the woman and the words, not reading, just soaking in the image, the colours. She was drawn to the picture for reasons she didn’t quite understand. All she knew was that a longing, desperate and painful, had welled up inside her chest, though for what exactly she didn’t know.
The bus stopped suddenly, throwing Miriam out of her trance. An elderly woman slid up the aisle and let herself fall beside Miriam.
“Hello dear. Heading for New York?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Miriam replied, closing the magazine and placing it carefully inside her bag.
“And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
Miriam stared at the ‘M’ on the window, transfixed. She turned to the old woman who smiled at her encouragingly.
“Miranda,” she said. “My name is Miranda.”
***
Miranda was irritated. The facial she had been looking forward to for the last two days had been cancelled. Also, she had had another fight with Stephen, which meant she would have to sacrifice another evening to a make up dinner at that place she hated but he liked to listen to details of all her short-comings as a wife, so that the atmosphere in her home would return to normal.
Her mood did not improve as she closed in on the office, noticing the bustle caused by her arrival but not really taking it in. On some days, the panic in the eyes of her employees would have helped her mood immensely. Today, it was just another annoying buzz in her already overcrowded head.
As she exited the elevator and dumped the Book into Emily’s waiting arms, instructions she had just thought of rolling softly from her lips, her mind was already on other things, first and foremost the coffee that would be waiting for her in her office.
She noticed the creature who sat at the second assistant’s desk immediately. Well. Maybe this could cheer her up. While many people suspected that Miranda enjoyed being a bitch, they did not realize that what she really enjoyed was the power, which, even after all these years, still tasted so good, the knowledge that she could say and do anything, anything, and they couldn’t do anything about it.
She was unprepared, however, for the way the interview went. It started off just like she had imagined it. The girl was suitably thrown off track by the way Miranda seemed to be utterly bored by her, and consequently started babbling, which in turn irritated Miranda.
No, not even this could improve her mood today. She had already begun to forget about the girl, when she turned back suddenly and looked at Miranda with a desperate look in her eyes that was all too familiar. Miranda suddenly recalled begging and pleading for a job that she knew she would detest, but would keep her alive in a city where she had nothing and nobody.
Maybe it was her foul mood. Maybe it had been too long since she had done something spontaneous. Maybe she had forgotten what it was like to be around someone on a daily basis who didn’t worship, fear, or detest her, who, in fact, hadn’t heard of her at all. Maybe something in the unspoken connection between them made the longing that had so long been dormant wake up inside Miranda again.
Whatever it was that had made her hire the girl, it was definitely worth the look on Emily’s face when she told her to call Andrea back.
***
Miranda wasn’t a prude, but in the last few months, with her relationship with Stephen going steadily downhill, she hadn’t exactly thought much about sex. It was almost like she’d completely forgotten about it.
She was therefore caught off guard when Caroline caught her between dinner and the Book one night and began to ask her questions. She supposed she should have been prepared, as Dalton prided itself in its progressive sex education, and encouraged children to ask their parents questions.
Perhaps Miranda was even more startled because she could not imagine what it would have been like to talk to her father about this sort of thing. The very thought made her shudder.
“Mom, can I ask you something? How old were you when you had sex?”
Miranda tried very hard not to reach up and fiddle with her glasses. She swallowed. Although she had raised her daughters to speak their mind, sometimes she regretted that they had inherited this particular trait from her. Caroline always got straight to the point.
She put on her best poker face and lied through her teeth. “Twenty, darling.”
“Oh.” Caroline seemed to think about this for a while. “Lots of kids in my class think it’s really icky, but I just think it sounds really weird.”
Miranda had no idea what to say to this statement. She blamed her father for this. If he had brought her up differently, she would be a cool, modern Mom who did not get flustered during sex talks with her pre-teen daughter.
“Well, darling. I’m sure that will change in time.”
Caroline shrugged. “Maybe. Can I go to Rachel’s on Friday? She’s having a movie night.”
Miranda tried not to be confused by the change of subject. “Of course. Is Cassidy going too?”
“Of course not, Mom.” She looked scandalized. “Cassidy and Rachel hate each other. But I think Cassidy wants to go to Katie’s anyway.”
“Oh.” That would mean another lonely Friday night for her, then. At least she would not have to feel guilty if something work related cropped up. “Alright, Caroline.”
Caroline hopped off the sofa and skipped up the stairs to her bedroom. Miranda leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes.
She hadn’t thought about how long it had been since she’d had sex for a while. Even if Stephen hadn’t been on a business trip, she knew they wouldn’t have slept together that night. She wondered if it was normal that she didn’t miss it.
Miranda knew that her lack of enthusiasm for sex was probably due to her less than inspiring encounters in her youth. And maybe she just hadn’t met someone yet who really worked for her. She already knew that her relationship with Stephen was heading for divorce. She could feel it in the way neither of them was fighting for it.
She cleared her head from thoughts of Stephen and tried to imagine what her perfect sexual partner would be like. She could come up with no face for this nameless man, so instead she focused on the lips, so very soft as they brushed her neck, traced her collarbone. In fact, everything about this mysterious lover was soft and warm, and Miranda felt her breathing increase as she became lost in the fantasy.
She could almost feel hands trailing up her sides, brushing her stomach and warm breath stroking her throat. Words she couldn’t quite make out were whispered in her ear, and Miranda could feel sticky wetness gathering between her legs.
The front door opened, and the faint clack of stilettos could be heard as Emily placed the book on the table and hung up the dry cleaning. Miranda jumped like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
Taking a few deep breaths, she leant back and as she waited for the girl to leave, Miranda wondered why she’d hoped for a brief second that it had been Andrea who had come into her home.
***
Miriam was fifteen when she let Matthew push up her skirt and sleep with her for the first time. She was up against the inside wall of the shed where the family kept their bikes and generally everything that needed to be stored.
Matthew was breathing noisily and heavily against her neck, while Miranda wondered why all the girls in school made such a fuss about this. It wasn’t particularly enjoyable, and it certainly wasn’t difficult. It had hurt at the beginning, but now, if she closed her eyes, she could blend out the slight sting between her legs.
She didn’t even know why she let him do it. Maybe it was because he was the only person who preferred her to Bethany. Well, he preferred her breasts anyway, which were at least one size larger than her sister’s.
When he was done, Matthew looked at her questioningly.
“Meet me on Saturday at the same time?”
Miriam thought about the uncomfortable stickiness running down her thighs and the way spiders dangled down from the ceiling while nails stuck into her back. And then she thought about how when she got home, her father would yell at her and hate her, and she would hate him, and how everyone preferred Bethany.
“Sure,” she said, and pulled her skirt back down, making sure it was straight and neat. “See you Saturday.”
***
Because her girls were are their friends’ houses, and Miranda felt it was ridiculous to make her cook come in and make breakfast just for herself, she got up extremely early on Saturday and decided to go to the office and have a look at the start of the July issue. So far, she had trusted the instincts of her staff, and she was certain that when she laid eyes on the beginnings of the issue, a long day of work would begin.
But when she arrived at Runway at just before half past seven am, she realized that she was not alone in the offices. She heard a soft voice singing quietly as she pushed through the door, and stopped short.
The scruffy coat thrown over the back of the chair indicated that her new assistant had to be around there somewhere, and she didn’t have far to look. Andrea was sitting in Miranda’s office. In Miranda’s chair, to be exact. And she was spinning around like a five year-old. Just watching her made Miranda feel dizzy.
“So, do you like my chair?”
Andrea almost tripped over her own feet as she jumped out of the chair mid-swing, and stumbled ungracefully forwards, coming to a halt a few steps before Miranda, who had strode into her office.
“I have long been considering upgrading my office furniture. What’s your opinion? Although you seem to have been testing the swinging capability of the chair rather than the comfort.”
“Miranda! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming in today! I was just, I mean, I was sorting your desk and then I kind of got a bit carried away…”
It was odd, but Miranda felt the urge to laugh. She compromised by smirking. “What are you doing here, Andrea?”
“The call from Tokyo. Claire said she’d call between seven and eight. Do you want me to get you coffee or something?” She fidgeted.
Miranda shook her head. “Go and mind the phones. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
Andrea nodded and hurried past her. About five minutes later, Miranda heard the phone ring outside. She began to shuffle items around her desk. There always seemed to be a pile of things that built up on the left, random pieces of paper that she had decided she would look at later and then added to the mountain that was being erected on her desk.
A couple of layers in, she found something that made her stop. Mounted on black cardboard were several of the articles Andrea had brought with her during her interview. Miranda hadn’t read them, just pushed them to the side, and now that she had been around the girl for a while, she was oddly curious. Andrea seemed at least half intelligent and she was catching on to most things, but Miranda was aware that this had not been what the she had been aiming for, and she wondered whether the fact that Andrea hadn’t found a job as a journalist was due to her youth and inexperience or her lacking talent.
After reading the first three, she decided that Andrea definitely did have talent. Despite her lack of fashion sense, and the fact that she did not understand the importance of Runway, Miranda knew that she would go far.
Outside, she heard the distinct sound of a phone being put down. Before she could stop herself, Miranda called “Andrea!”.
When she came in through the door, Miranda felt the excuse for calling her in die in her throat. The light from the window was shining right at Andrea, illuminating her glossy hair. For once, Miranda saw something in her that wasn’t just that she could pass as pretty if she improved her fashion sense, but that Andrea had a kind of natural beauty, the sort that was enhanced by the right accessories, but could not be created if it did not already exist.
Miranda suddenly realized that Andrea was staring wide eyed at her left hand in which she still held the articles. She met the girl’s questioning stare and extended her arm, an obvious cue to take the collection from her hand.
Andrea, who looked like she was about to ask what on earth she was doing, opened her mouth and then seemed to change her mind about the question.
“Did you like them?”
Miranda wanted to say something about the assumption that she had spent her valuable time reading articles written by a young woman barely out of college, but instead she simply said, “Yes.”.
Andrea beamed at her so brightly that Miranda was almost blinded by it.
Miranda decided to quickly change the subject. “What did Claire say?”
“Oh, everything’s going fine. I’ll type up my notes and send them over to you right away.”
Miranda looked at her for a moment. “It’s alright. You can go home now. It is Saturday, after all.”
Andrea seemed surprised, and Miranda couldn’t blame her, but then something changed in her face, and she shook her head.
“I think I’ll just stay. It’s ok. You might need me. I mean, to go and get coffee or something.” She smiled tentatively at Miranda, and, although surprised at Andrea’s decision, couldn’t help but feel pleased.
But as the day went on, Miranda began to wonder why she was beginning to grow fond of Andrea. One only had to look at her shoes to see reasons one to fifty of why liking her was a very bad idea indeed.
For this reason, when the hurricane struck a few days later, Miranda tried her hardest to drive Andrea away. She even made her cry on her return. Later that day, Andrea turned up in thigh high Chanel boots.
Miranda realized that she had well and truly lost.
***
Since Andrea’s style make-over, Miranda particularly enjoyed the first few minutes in the office every day when she could inspect the girl’s outfits as she explored new styles and ideas to find one that suited her (with Nigel’s guidance of course, of this Miranda was well aware).
Sometimes she would be dressed in something sweet and pretty that made her look like a fragile blossom in the early spring. On those days, Miranda felt something oddly tender squeeze inside her.
Sometimes she would wear something that flattered her luscious curves in such an irresistible way that it caused a completely different area of Miranda’s anatomy to clench. She rationalized this through her current lack of a sex life.
And yet…
There was something the interaction between her and Andrea, rather, in the way their bodies interacted, that caught her off guard. Even on days when the girl irritated her to no end, when everything went down hill and simple instructions seemed too difficult to carry out, even then Miranda felt the odd urge to touch Andrea’s slender arm, or run her hand through her soft hair, or trace her fingers with her lips. It was completely strange to Miranda, this feeling of longing for someone who, really, irritated her most of the time.
Except that she didn’t. Not anymore, at least. Now that she had gotten the hang of the basics, things went quite smoothly with Andrea. Miranda was even considering having her deliver the book. Probably after the weekend would be a good time, Miranda pondered.
The thing that astonished Miranda the most was that, when Andrea wasn’t running around, stressed, carrying out her orders, her presence was actually quite enjoyable. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t give out the I-hate-you-I-worship-you-I-want-to-kill-you-I’m-terrified-of-you vibe, even though she’d been working for her for quite a few months now, and she had the distinct feeling that Andrea wouldn’t ever start to feel like that either.
In fact, even though Andrea was committed to excellence in every aspect of her job, Miranda had the distinct feeling that she was just passing through. She was just doing what it took to reach her eventual goal. Miranda admired this. She had done it herself many times in the past as well, and sometimes she worried that her daughters would never learn this, as they were quite unused to having to fight for the things they wanted.
Sometimes, when Miranda and Andrea were in the car, a comfortable silence would fall between them. Miranda would pretend to be absorbed in the papers in her lap, and Andrea would pretend to be sorting her schedule on her phone, when really they were soaking up the odd warmth that passed between them whenever they were close. It puzzled Miranda that the two of them could be so comfortable with each other, given who she was.
It was entirely different to any relationship she had ever had with one of her employees, even to the one she shared with Nigel. She was fond of Nigel. She valued his opinion. But she definitely didn’t feel the constant urge to touch him, and she certainly never felt tempted to tell him things not related to work, deeply private things that nobody knew.
Andrea was certainly one of a kind.
Miranda was torn from her thoughts when Andrea entered. After a few moments, she looked from her desk across to where she was organizing some things for the run through. Their eyes met, and Miranda’s spine tingled when Andrea made no move to look away. She cleared her throat and began to type an email to Stephen, who insisted that she move her dinner with Lagerfeld so that she could come to a work function of his with him. Her eyes remained glued to the screen, but she had the odd feeling that Andrea watched her for quite a while longer, even after she had looked away.
***
A few days later, Miranda was later than normal for work. Stephen and her had had a terrible fight, and she was almost certain that he would not be returning to the town house that night. What did it say about their marriage, she wondered, that he had enough clothes at his office to last him for at least a week?
The fight had left her feelings raw, and she had already prepared a few snide comments to toss at Emily to calm herself down as she stepped out of the elevator, when Andrea caught her eye. She was on the phone and checking something on the computer, and the silk shirt she was wearing dipped low and exposed a sea of creamy skin. It reminded her of the night of the benefit, when Andrea had been wearing that delightful dress, and when she had been so close, whispering in her ear.
Miranda forgot what she was going to say.
Andrea looked at her and smiled, as if she was genuinely happy to see her. Miranda swallowed.
“Get me Patrick,” she croaked at Emily, and rushed into her office, trying to ignore the way that Andrea’s eyes followed her all the way to her desk.
***
Miranda was working late. Her girls weren’t at home, they were with their father, and Stephen, who was still angry with her about their last fight, had decided to go out for a drink with some of his work colleagues.
She was alone in the office. Andrea had asked her permission to let Emily deliver the Book that night as she had to attend a dinner with her boyfriend’s parents. Miranda had seen that Andrea was less than enthused by the prospect, and, as Miranda recalled her many own encounters with hateful in-laws, she had let her go.
Miranda had heard her thank Emily for her help: “It’s one thing missing his birthday. But missing a dinner with his parents, who already hate me…”
Miranda had swallowed the childish desire to take back her permission, to make Andrea stay late with her. The strange thing was, she didn’t think that Andrea would have minded terribly much.
So, as Miranda had been in the office anyway, and Emily’s presence had been grating her nerves, she had sent her home.
She was therefore surprised when the sound of the elevator pinging and sliding open echoed through the empty halls of Runway. Miranda heard a heavy footsteps in stilettos that could only belong to one person clacking down the hall and round the corner, and she was taken aback by the elated feeling, the anticipation that flooded though her at the prospect of seeing Andrea.
She stumbled through the door moments later, but stopped short when she saw Miranda in her office.
“Oh! I thought Emily was-. I mean, I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I sent Emily home. It is much harder to ignore her constant bustle when there is no one else in the office.” She let her gaze caress Andrea’s body, taking in the heels, the pencil skirt, and the low-cut blouse. “Weren’t you at some dinner?”
She knew she shouldn’t. It was none of her business (not that this had ever stopped her before), and it went against her character to ask questions like this. But then she saw the defeated look in her eyes, and she recognized it with a painful jolt.
“Yeah, I was. Let’s just say that I won’t be needing another night off for a while.” She moved into Miranda’s office through the open door, coming to a stop in front of Miranda’s desk.
“Andrea.” Their eyes met, and Miranda took a deep breath. Her mouth started talking of its own accord. “Listen to me carefully. I firmly believe that it is possible to have both personal and professional happiness, if you have the right partner, and if you learn to separate these two elements of your life. This is something I myself still struggle with, but-”
She broke off, and then stood up abruptly. What was wrong with her, saying all these things to this girl? What were they doing? She looked around her desk, closing her laptop vigorously and pushing papers together.
“Don’t give up Andrea. And remember that the only person you mustn’t disappoint is yourself.”
She looked up and realized that Andrea was standing right beside her. The papers were taken from her fingers, and as they both held on, their eyes met.
“Miranda,” Andrea whispered.
“Hey, Andy! Where are you-.” Timothy from the art department stuck his head round the door and froze at the sight before him. Miranda let go of the papers as if they had suddenly caught fire, and Andrea pulled them towards herself with such a determined jerk that she staggered backwards.
The tall, thin man at the door was still staring, so Miranda fixed him with her iciest look. She strode towards him, not daring to look at Andrea, pretending to focus on the cowering employee in the doorway.
“Well?” She rolled her eyes and extended her hand, and Timothy almost threw the Book at her, staggering backwards and bumping into Andrea’s desk as he fled.
Miranda shifted her focus back to Andrea. “I am going home now, and so should you. I will see you tomorrow.”
She saw that Andrea was trying to hide a smirk behind the papers in her hand, and she curled her lips upwards slightly in response. They both knew that no matter what that idiot man was thinking at that moment, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it. It was definitely worth it to make people terrified of you.
Miranda turned and walked towards the exit without looking back, thinking that, even with the interruption, that the night had, rather unexpectedly, turned out quite well.
***
Miriam heard the soft knock on the door, and knew it was Bethany, because she was the only one who knocked in her house.
She sighed. “Come in.”
The door cracked open, and her sister stepped in. She could see at once that Bethany had been crying. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care. She hated Bethany. She hated that everyone preferred her.
“Can I talk to you?”
Miriam shrugged. “Ok. But I’m meeting Matthew in an hour.”
Bethany sat down on the very edge of the bed. Her hands were trembling. “Dad is going to kill me,” she said, and then she burst into tears.
Miriam doubted very much that her father was going to do anything of the kind. Her father adored Bethany because she was so quiet and obedient. She wasn’t like Miriam or their mother. Also, Bethany pretended not to know what Miriam knew, the secret that sparked so much hatred between her father and herself. She pretended that she didn’t remember the nights when her mother had still been alive, when the arguments had ended in tears and bruises and her father smashing her mother hard across the face while Miriam sang lullabies to Bethany.
Most of all, she pretended not to remember her mother’s cold body, all angular and twisted at the bottom of the stairs. She had fallen down them, the coroner had said. That was where all the bruises came from. Miriam had looked at her father and he had looked at her, and she had known and he had known.
She hated him. She loved him.
“What’s going on?”, she asked.
Bethany just gasped and cried until she was almost hysterical. Miriam, rolling her eyes, turned her towards her and slapped her across the face, not too hard, but it was enough to reduce the sobs to hiccups.
After a few minutes, Bethany pulled a pillow towards her, and, burying her chin in it, began to whisper, although they were all alone in the house.
“Y-you know Mr Stewart“, Bethany looked at her with wide eyes, but apart from a slight jerk of the head, Miriam gave no encouragement.
“H-he kept me behind after class today and h-he told me all this s-stuff, like that I’m p-pretty and t-then he, he…”
“Did he touch you?” Miriam’s voice was so, so steady. It seemed to sooth Bethany.
“N-not like t-that. He just s-sort of rubbed my b-back. B-but I think he wanted to.”
She looked at Miriam with tearful, expectant eyes. Miriam wanted to tell her that she should just get over herself. She wanted to tell her that this was what happened to the pretty girls, to the ones who were all goody-goody and perfect. She wanted to tell her that if she was plainer and had bigger breasts, she’d have started having sex years ago.
Instead, she said “I’ll take care of it.” She hated Bethany. She hated herself.
Miriam did not, in fact, go to meet Matthew that afternoon. Instead, she hung around outside the school gates with a bike borrowed from Matthew’s shed, and followed the battered blue car as it left the grounds. When it pulled into the driveway, Miriam threw the bike into the bushes and banged hard against the door.
Mr Stewart opened quickly. He seemed confused by her presence and so she took advantage of this.
“You won’t touch my sister again,” she said, her tone cold and emotionless.
He shut the door behind her. “Hello Miriam.”
He gave her a look that said clearly ‘why should I?’. They both knew no one would believe a silly young girl, even one as sweet and innocent as Bethany, over a respected school teacher like Mr Stewart.
Miriam unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor. Her nipples stood out in the cold. Then she stepped forward and unbuckled his belt.
It was faster and rougher than with Matthew, but really it was the same because she felt numb the whole time and the uncomfortable stickiness was familiar. She closed her eyes, and focused on her memory, and the pages of Runway she had read last night. She was getting a lot better at recalling the details.
She left the house and pulled the bike from the hedge. She would have to call Matthew when she got home and arrange to meet him as a thank you for the bike. Juggling both Matthew and Mr Stewart around would be a challenge, but she could do it.
Suddenly, the thought struck her that once again, she was only second choice to her sister. Mr Stewart, she knew, was only accepting this because it was less messy when the girl was willing, and older. At least Matthew preferred her. And for this, she could forgive him everything, from his sloppy kisses to his uninspired thrusting.
She knew her sister would not ask how she had fixed it. She would just smile shyly at her and try to forget it. Miriam hated her.
***
She was still standing next to the phone when she heard the click of the key card unlocking the door to the suite. Miranda had been about to start reapplying her make-up when Stephen had called, and she was oddly conscious of her bare face and feet when Andrea stumbled in.
She piled the boxes up onto one of the many side tables, and then noticed Miranda standing frozen by the phone.
She didn’t say anything. Instead, Andrea came to stand right in front of her, so close that they were almost touching, and their breath mingled between them.
“Stephen isn’t coming,” Miranda told her uncertainly. It was so confusing, this painful want inside her that became stronger each time she saw Andrea and which threatened to tear her apart then and there. Miranda had never wanted anyone like this. A slender finger reached out and stroked Miranda’s cheek and she held her breath.
Andrea leaned closer, and Miranda could see that she was trembling. This made her feel better. Andrea was nervous as well. Miranda gently ran her finger over the soft red lips.
“Good,” Andrea breathed against her hand.
Their mouths came together softly, clumsily, and Miranda, who had done this a thousand times before, who had seduced many, many men in her lifetime, suddenly felt the fluttering in her heart that she had been told to expect during the first time, but which had always remained elusive.
Although neither of them had any idea what they were doing, they seemed determined to make it last as long as possible. When they parted, Andrea’s eyes remained closed and she reached up to touch her lips. Miranda wondered if they were tingling too.
Miranda remembered her dinner and that she was still wearing her robe, and then Andrea opened her eyes and looked at her. She couldn’t remember anyone ever gazing at her with that look in their eyes, and it was disconcerting.
“I have to get ready,” she murmured uncomfortably, and kept her face down so that she wouldn’t have to see Andrea’s. She hadn’t felt this out of her depth for a long time.
“I’ll wait up for you,” Andrea replied, and her voice was softer than the carpet that tickled her feet.
“You don’t have to,” Miranda protested, but she already knew that Andrea had made up her mind. And really, it was an oddly comforting thought to know, as she left later that night, that when she came back, there would be someone who would be genuinely happy to see her.
***
When Miranda returned, she saw light coming from under the crack of the door of Andrea’s room. She had a key to Andrea’s room, but she knocked first anyway. When no one answered, she let herself in, and smiled in spite of herself at the sight that greeted her. Andrea was curled up on the bed, surrounded by sheets of paper, fast asleep.
She kicked off her heels and moved softly towards the bed. Somehow she was both relieved and disappointed that Andrea was not awake. The thrill she got from just seeing her caught her off guard.
She shifted the papers to the small night stand, and then sat softly on the side of the bed. Andrea’s breathing was soft and steady, and Miranda imagined that it would be wonderful to fall asleep to.
She traced Andrea’s features first with her eyes, and then she couldn’t resist pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, right below her eye. Andrea shifted and her eyes opened. Miranda could not bring herself to regret her actions as a smile so honest spread over Andrea’s face that it almost hurt to look at.
“Hello,” Miranda said.
“You’re back!” She seemed utterly delighted by this.
“Yes, I am.”
Andrea took her hand in her small, warm one, and Miranda felt her heart thudding in her chest as a soft kiss was pressed into her palm. She leaned down and brushed her lips over Andrea’s briefly, pleased when she heard Andrea’s breath catch. It was good to know that she wasn’t the only one overwhelmed. Although Miranda had felt this building between them for a while, it surprised her that this all felt so new, so sweet and innocent even after everything she had seen and everything she had done.
“I am very tired,” she told Andrea, “but I would like it very much if you were to sleep in my bed tonight.”
Andrea pulled her hand towards her lips again, and whispered against her palm. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Alright.” Miranda’s voice was a croak. She stood up to walk to the door, and knew without looking back that Andrea’s eye’s followed her the whole way.
***
Later, they were lying in the darkness, and their hands were loosely linked on top of the covers.
“Andrea.” She felt her head turn towards her in the darkness.
“Yes?”
Miranda didn’t know what she wanted to say. Maybe she should speak to Andrea about tomorrow, tell her about Irv’s plan. Maybe she should tell her that things were far too complicated right now with her divorce and her children to get involved with her. Maybe she should do anything instead of tug at Andrea’s hand and pull her fully into her body.
Maybe it felt so good that there was one person in the world who would, even if it was just for one night, choose her above everyone else.
***
Part 2 here: http://amelie-n.livejournal.com/2788.html#cutid1