The Fourth Valentine's Day
The Freakboat and I are at it again! This is our take on the first 14 Valentine's Days. This might not make as much sense to you if you haven't read our previous opus, The Gift of Possibilities, detailing the first 12 Christmases; but this story falls within the universe we created in TGOP.
The JRoT managed to eek this one out with leaking Jelly and everything!
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada belongs to neither me nor ceelyn . No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
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All the credit in the world to gloriously tabu, tuathadedanaa , for BOTH Motivators used in this chapter. Thanks, Glo!
Fourth ~ Ruari’s
Andy flung her arms high above her head and whined through a dramatic stretch, complete with pointed toes and hands pressed against the headboard. After several seconds of bliss, she relaxed in boneless fashion back into the sheets and rolled her head to the left. She grunted in displeasure at finding herself alone.
So she shut her eyes in protest and allowed her mind to drift. Their lives were so busy it was rare Andy allowed herself a chance to just…be. The first to tickle her senses were the scents. Hers. Miranda’s. Hers and Miranda’s combined. The flowers on the corner table. Miranda’s perfume. Every rustle of the sheets drawing forth a redolent bouquet of her very favorite fragrances.
Sound followed, and Andy smiled sleepily with her eyes still closed. The townhouse ‘hummed.’ Miranda denied this, but Andy knew it to be true. It’s just that the editor so rarely sat and just listened she never had an opportunity to hear it. Andy hadn’t quite narrowed down why the spacious dwelling ‘hummed,’ but she wasn’t in a big hurry to solve the mystery, either. A wind-buffeted branch scraped against the bedroom window. Other than that…absolute silence. The stillness so complete, Andy knew the house was empty.
Touch. She slept on the mattress equivalent of a cloud. Snuggled under sheets of the finest Egyptian cotton and the softest down-filled duvet known to man. And though she typically fell asleep with her head resting somewhere upon Miranda’s body, she often woke with it floating on what Miranda called a ‘pillow’ but Andy called ‘air.’ She shifted under the mound of covers again and marveled at the feeling against her bare skin.
This brought to mind pleasures of a more carnal nature. Memories of the previous night’s activities validated the naked state she found herself in. Those memories among a thousand others were all the impetus needed to get the journalist out of bed.
She needed to see Miranda.
*** *** *** *** ***
Miranda completely ignored the group of sloths and slackers gathering in the corner of her office; her focus totally devoted to the letter she was writing. Her Mont Blanc flowed majestically across the heavy stationery. Four pages complete, she was finishing the fifth and final and did not care how long her underlings were made to wait.
And no one dared to approach or address her in any way.
Not even Nigel.
Eleven minutes past the planned start of the run-through, Miranda deliberately set down her pen, gathered the pages she’d written, folded them neatly and crisply in half, slid them reverently in a matching envelope, and called softly for her first assistant. “Emily.”
“Yes, Miranda?” Emily took three steps forward from her post at the door.
Miranda dashed a name across the front of the envelope and sealed it with an honest-to-God monogrammed wax seal stamp and glue gun she’d brought to the office specifically for this purpose. She held the envelope out to her wide-eyed assistant. “Have a courier deliver this today, sometime this morning preferably.”
Emily took the proffered letter, saw to whom it was addressed and shrewdly but discreetly asked, “To work or home?”
Impressed, Miranda looked up and swept off her reading glasses. She narrowed her gaze and murmured, “Work. That’s all.”
Emily nodded and turned to complete her assignments.
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy dashed down the stairs, preoccupied by three things: a bagel, coffee, and Miranda. She grabbed her coat and hat from the closet and donned them quickly, eager to get the day started. She was momentarily thwarted when she reached to open the front door and found a sheet of paper, folded in half with her name scrawled across the front of it, taped at eye level to said door. She juggled her purse and satchel in order to gently peel it away and open it.
~ A ~
If for no other reason than because I wish it, please wear sunglasses today. The glare is especially bright off the fresh snow, and Gucci’s new line will look especially beautiful on your face.
~ M ~
Andy’s goofy smile did little to camouflage the mist in her eyes. She never ever took for granted Miranda’s subtle and unspoken need to care for those closest to her. Andy spied the new Gucci’s sitting on the hall table and hastily shoved them on her face, not even taking time to check out the look in the mirror. Her need to see the editor was now at a height it could no longer be delayed.
She strode quickly toward the subway, her satchel banging against her hip with every step. It only took her a dozen before she acknowledged the wisdom to her lover’s request.
The sunlight glinting off the new snow was brutal.
*** *** *** *** ***
“Miranda Priestly’s office.”
“Hey, Em.”
“No, no, no. You cannot get in to see her today. The day’s schedule is already a complete and utter disaster!” The frantic redhead glared into her phone.
Andy chuckled. “All I want is two minutes. You can find two minutes. I’m bringing her coffee.”
Emily groaned. “I won’t be responsible for her reaction, Andy. I simply won’t.”
“Ha!” Andy barked. “I should hope not, Em. I should really hope not. Be there in ten.”
Emily slammed the phone down and swiveled around to her PC to make yet another adjustment to the schedule and it was not even nine o’clock!
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy waved to security as she passed through the lobby. Minutes later she was moving swiftly through the halls of Runway, that much closer to her goal.
“Yes or no, Em?” she asked softly as she entered Miranda’s outer office. She did not, however, slow down.
“Yes,” muttered the beleaguered assistant, who watched as her former co-worker waltzed right into Miranda’s inner sanctum. And though she fussed, Emily knew that Miranda would have her head if she ever failed to make time for a spontaneous “Andy-visit.” They were rare, a couple times a year---max. So she continued to do what she did best: arrange and rearrange the fashion icon’s ever-changing schedule.
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy marched up to Miranda’s desk, skirted around the side while simultaneously setting down the coffee tray.
Miranda swiveled in surprise at the brunette’s approach. “Wha-“
“You fill up my senses.” Andy cupped the other woman’s face in her hands and planted the deepest, most reverent kiss on her lover. Several moments passed before she broke off. Deep brown eyes met striking blue as the journalist murmured, “If it weren’t the World’s Worst Cliché, I’d ask you to marry me right now. But it is, so I won’t. So don’t go forgetting where I sleep at night, ok?” She leaned in and pressed her lips once again to the editor’s. “Happy Day, Miranda.”
Having said all she needed to, Andy turned to leave the office.
A stunned Miranda shook off her shock and cleared her throat. “Well, never let it be said I never paid any respect to John Denver. Oh, and I was correct.”
Andy turned and grinned. “Yeah? What about?” she asked as she continued walking backward.
Miranda donned her reading glasses and looked down at the paperwork on her desk. She peered over the top of them to address her departing lover. “Those sunglasses are acceptable on your face.” She glanced back down to her paperwork. “That’s all.”
Andy’s smile just grew as she turned back around. “That’s what you think,” she cheerfully called out from the outer office, laughing and smiling at the Emilys as she continued on to the elevator.
The faux-Emily gaped at the real-Emily. “That’s it? She was only here two minutes!” she hissed. “And Miranda’s schedule is booked for the rest of the day and this evening, too!”
Emily shot the new assistant a withering glare. “Yes. And?”
“But-but-its Valentine’s Day!”
“Oh, that,” Emily waved a hand in dismissal. “Miranda and Andy don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh,” muttered Emily-lite. How sad.
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy entered her cubicle in the New Yorker offices and started to unload her satchel. Her eyes landed on a messenger’s envelope sitting on the corner of her desk. She peered over the top of the cube to address her work neighbor. “Hey, Theo. You sign for this?” she held up the envelope.
Theo, one of the magazine’s staff writers, nodded amiably. “Yep. Came about ten minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” Andy said kindly. Having only been at the New Yorker for a few months, Andy hadn’t formed any close friendships yet, but she got along with those around her. And her editor was a fair guy. The move from The Mirror to the magazine was definitely good for her both professionally and personally.
Andy sat down and curiously tore open the envelope. She upended the pouch and a smaller, finer envelope fell out. Andy’s brows rose. Had the monogrammed wax seal not given it away, she easily would’ve recognized Miranda’s private stock of stationery. She broke the seal and began to read.
My Darling Andrea,
Were it not too soon, I might ask you to marry me. Then again, that’s not exactly my style, is it? So I won’t…I can be very patient when I need to be.
Andy’s eyes widened dramatically. “Theo?” she called.
“Yeah, Andy?”
“When did you say this arrived?” Andy looked down at the letter in disbelief.
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago. Tops.”
Andy just shook her head. “Thanks,” she muttered. That meant Miranda had composed this missive before Andy visited her at Runway. Her eyes fell back to the words flowing across the page in elegant script.
There are so many things I want to tell you…
Again, thanks to gloriously tabu for allowing us to use her Motivators.
The Fifth Valentine's Day