Chapter Text
There were a few things in life in which Miranda Priestly had absolute certainty. First was, quite obviously, her impeccable taste (in all things but husbands). Second was her ability to obtain the things she truly desired. This however did not mean that all things occurred in the way in which she wished. In spite of what her assistants might believe, she did not move meetings around willy nilly. Her calendar was a victim of the domino effect. She was consistently scheduled so tightly that a single change moved everything else in turn. Nor was she exclusively in control of shifts. More often than she liked to admit, she didn't even initiate the adjustments. She did a remarkable job of keeping that little piece of information to herself.
So it was the way of the world that she had to exercise patience for the last nearly three years waiting and watching. Letting the talented beautiful girl go had been one of the most selfless acts of her career. How many times had she chosen herself over another individual in a professional sense? The truthful answer was, she hadn't kept track. And she always chose her career. Until Andrea. The unexpectedly gorgeous woman threw Miranda’s world off its axis the moment she walked through the door in that horrid outfit. Miranda had done what she could to minimize the changes in her life. In the first few months of their professional association, she had been vicious. She tested all assistants, of course, but she pushed Andrea tenfold. And just when she almost lost hope, almost believed the young woman would crumble under the pressure, Andrea strode back into her office with confidence rolling off of her. Miranda did little aside from scan her new hair, make-up and clothes. Clearly Nigel had been involved. He transformed the second assistant, almost as though he had Miranda’s specific aesthetic in mind. He had worked by her side for enough years to know it well.
She should have known then that he understood how profoundly special Andrea was to her. At the time she was too wrapped up in intrigue, a failing marriage, and enjoying the newfound competence of her assistants to pay it any mind. It was in the wake of the disaster that was Paris that year, Nigel finally disclosed his knowledge. Both editor and art director were spectacularly drunk and in mourning. Nigel for the job that almost was and Miranda for instability in her personal life. She admitted to him that night what she felt for the young woman and her plan. It wasn't compensation for what she took from him, that would come later. It was a plea for trust and understanding. She gave him the most treasured piece of information she possessed. For Andrea, Nigel had become Miranda’s partner in crime. Though terribly intoxicated with expensive wine, they plotted the soon to be reporter’s future.
And so it had continued over the last few years, even as Nigel moved to be Editor in Chief of Men’s Runway. The two friends conspired to help move Andrea’s career in the right direction where they could. While they could not do the work for the young woman, they found that Andrea knew how to make the best out of any opportunity she was presented with. Miranda had to admit that the beautiful woman had blossomed. Andrea moved quickly through the ranks at the Mirror finally landing a desk on the political staff. Her freelance essays were found in several reputable publications aside from her paper. She had become so well respected that her name had been added to the invite lists of many important events in New York over the last 18 months. With Miranda’s express permission and private glee, Nigel appointed himself Andrea’s personal dresser for such appearances. And dress her he had. At each subsequent event, the woman became more and more enrapturing to Miranda. Though she enjoyed the dresses, the appropriate moment to speak to the reporter had yet to present itself. The last words they had spoken to each other had been in the back of the limo in Paris, though those warm brown eyes tracked her any time they occupied the same room. The pleasant torture of the game plagued the editor’s dreams.
As she had each time she prepared for an event she knew Andrea would attend, Miranda found herself hoping that tonight would be the night it would be time. When Andrea would both be and feel her equal. She knew she would feel the shift in the young woman. There had always been something about Andrea that pulled at everything in Miranda. She just needed the journalist to be able to recognize it for herself. This lovely spring evening was no different. She wrapped herself in a glittering grey gown by Alberta Ferretti. As usual it exposed only her shoulders, but the light material clung to her curves. There was no denying she continued to age, but she could certainly still pull off a piece of couture like no one else on the planet.
Miranda arrived in the midst of the pre-event malay. The flashbulbs were blinding as she strode into the building. She paused a small handful of times to satisfy her obligations, but couldn't resist the urge to enter the building and see what beautiful creation her former art director had wrapped her former second assistant in. Before descending the grand staircase she took a deep breath knowing all eyes would be on her. She heard the room pause as her signature heels clicked on the marble. She raised her chin slightly. With the purse of her lips many in the room averted their eyes. One set in particular still bore into her from the right side of the room. Miranda could feel the intensity in the gaze traveling up the length of her spine. She did not visibly shudder though she would have enjoyed the luxury of doing so. She did however scan the room for the young woman who seemed bolder tonight than previously.
When she found her it was one of the most profoundly breathtaking experiences of her life. Andrea wore a shimmering Armani mermaid gown. The billowing fabric accentuated every delicious curve of her form. It seemed impossible that the woman had gotten prettier since the last event 3 weeks ago. Miranda just barely resisted marching directly over to her and initiating the conversation. It had been such a very long wait and she was losing her patience. Before she could take such an impulsive action, Nigel was at her elbow escorting her to those waiting to speak to her. She nodded slightly in recognition of his action. He knew her too well. She could only hope that Andrea had not forgotten that particular skill and that she would read the pause as an invitation.
The nearly 45 minute wait for that moment to happen seemed interminable to Miranda. She was very much on the edge of throwing in the towel for the evening when she finally spotted the reporter weaving carefully towards her. She smirked at the woman in an effort to suppress the smile attempting to take over her face. No matter how pleased she was, at a public event was hardly the location to be caught grinning at an employee who quit without notice. Miranda made a conscious effort to breathe, which wasn’t easy in the company of such stunning beauty.
“Miranda,” Andrea breathed coming to a stop directly in front of her.
The editor stepped forward offering her customary greeting, but brushed their cheeks against one another instead of kissing the air. When she pulled back, she noted that the young woman was slightly breathless and smiling widely.
“Andrea,” she drawled slowly and quietly in response, tasting each syllable.
“I,” the young reporter started and stopped quickly. She looked on the edge of crying, but quickly composed herself to begin again. “I wanted to personally apologize and thank you. I should not have left so unprofessionally in Paris. It was a moment of extremely poor judgement and you certainly deserved better. Thank you for writing the recommendation letter and for all of the other things I know you have sent my way over the years. I am fortunate beyond my understanding for your generosity. I wanted to tell you before…” She was stumbling again over the words. “Before I no longer had the opportunity.”
“Andrea,” Miranda cautiously interrupted. “Are you in poor health?” The thought of the young reporter being in mortal danger did unpleasant things to her stomach. Andrea blanched at the comment but shook her head no.
“Not exactly. No. I just… I’m leaving New York. I wanted to tell you in person. I don’t think I will have another opportunity. Thank you, Miranda.” Andrea gazed at her for a long moment and then turned to take her leave. A cool and firm grip closed around her forearm.
“No, Andrea. No. Not again,” the editor moved to hiss in her ear. “You will not walk away from me again. We will talk about this, but this is clearly not the location. I am leaving in 5 minutes. My car is already out front. Roy will recognize you. Go wait for me there.”
The young woman seemed to be having some sort of internal debate over her words. Miranda watched it closely trying to decide if she would need to intervene again, or if the reporter would revert temporarily back to old habits. Andrea slowly turned and looked at her with a mix of sadness and something else and whispered, “Yes, Miranda.”
The editor nodded slightly and released her. She watched her back all the way to the door as though her attention might force the woman to do as she asked.
“Well our prodigal child finally returned,” Nigel said. “And yet you do not look pleased.”
“She came to thank me and tell me goodbye,” she answered quietly. He couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips.
“She what?”
“Something is going on. I will get to the bottom of it. She is waiting in my car. So I am leaving now.”
“I'll dismiss your staff. Go on.”
Miranda nodded at her old friend, grateful not to carry this burden alone. He had made the years easier and it was somewhat of a relief not having to hide her anxiety at the present moment from him. This evening was certainly not going to plan. And Andrea leaving again was not the part of any plan that Miranda ever made.
The editor slowed long enough to retrieve her coat and bag before proceeding out to the car. She strode even more quickly than her normal brisk pace. She could not help worrying that her car would be empty. Perhaps she should not have resisted the temptation to instruct Roy to turn on the child locks on the rear doors.
He stood poised ready to open her door. His normally discreet face danced with amusement. Instead of grating on her nerves, it comforted her. As she stepped into the Mercedes she schooled her features. It would not do for Andrea to know exactly was going through her head at the present moment.
"To the townhouse," she commanded nearly silently. The superstitious part of her did not want to have another serious conversation with the young reporter in a car. No. It would be far better for them to go sit in her study in front of the fireplace. Perhaps the warmth of the setting would help guide their interaction. She noticed that Andrea still seemed perfectly comfortable riding next to her in silence. She stared out the window as though she had never seen New York at night before. The only sign of tension was in her hands clasped over her stomach.
As with all of their arrivals, Miranda exited the car first and proceeded into the building. In the foyer she waited for the younger woman to follow her in. Which thankfully she did without pause. Andrea looked rather nervous as she closed and locked the front door.
"May I take your coat?" Miranda asked gently not wanting to further frighten her former assistant. Obediently Andrea turned and allowed the coat to be removed from her body.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Let's go upstairs to the study. It's more comfortable and a bit less stiff," Miranda threw over her shoulder with a smirk. As she suspected her slightly glib comment caused the young woman to pause mid-step and for her mouth to drop open.
“Yes, Miranda,” she said with just the beginning of a wide smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Once in the study, a flick of a remote had the fire jumping to life. Andrea stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Please come in, Andrea. You are my guest. You haven’t been my assistant in years, no need to fall back into bad habits,” Miranda said with a wink to reduce any possible venom in her words. “Could I get you something to drink? I have a lovely red wine or any liquor you could want.”
“I… no. Just water, please.”
The editor nodded and carried two glasses of Pellegrino to the couch. The reporter moved slowly towards her, finally sitting tentatively next to her.
“Andrea, what is this about leaving New York? Has something gone wrong at work?”
“No. It's nothing like that. I shouldn't have come here. It was silly to feel like I should tell you goodbye.” As she spoke her eyes filled with tears.
Miranda regarded the young woman before her. She had not anticipated how terribly broken the woman would look sitting in her home. She realized that this was without a doubt a critical moment. She reached out and took a warm hand in her own. The immediate squeeze in response told her that it had been the right move.
“Andrea, I am unaccustomed to explaining myself, but for you I seem to make an exception. It is rare that I invest in the career of someone outside of fashion. And I certainly never do it anonymously. This was always of a more… personal nature for me. I know that after our history that it is a tremendous request, but you can trust me with whatever this is. You don’t have to run away from New York.”
“God,” the young woman breathed out. “It is certainly my luck that this would be the first real conversation I get to have with you in years.” She steeled herself with a deep breath and gazed at the carpet as though it was incredibly interesting. “The abbreviated version is that… I'm pregnant.”
“You are aware that people are pregnant all the time in New York City,” Miranda said dryly. She knew she was lashing out at the thought of anyone else having Andrea… her Andrea, but she could not restrain herself. To her surprise the young woman laughed.
“Yes, I had heard that it was possible. I had forgotten how funny you are. Though I guess most people are too afraid to laugh.”
Miranda quirked an eyebrow in amusement and to communicate that the young woman should keep speaking.
“David and I only went on a few dates. This,” she said generally motioning to her midsection, “was not intentional. Honestly, I didn't even mean to sleep with him.” She shivered at the memory. It was horrifying to be saying such things to Miranda. The silver haired woman never stopped plaguing her dreams. She had done her best over the last several years to forget the love she had for her, but never quite made the flame go out. But her social circle hadn't recovered from her stint at Runway, so she hadn’t yet spoken with anyone but David about her current situation. And keeping it all inside was tearing her apart. She looked up into the blue eyes trying to read a reaction. There was a great deal more fire in the gaze than she had anticipated, but she saw none of the hatred she feared. “I don't love him. And after how he reacted when I told him, I am certain that I don't like him.”
“What did he say?” Miranda asked in her most quiet and deadly tone.
Andrea shuddered. That particular tone would never stop intimidating her in the most pleasant ways. “I guess I shouldn't have told him via text before we met to talk about it. He brought a signed termination of parental rights form and several hundred dollars. He told me to take care of it either way and walked out.”
“You will tell me his last name,” the editor practically growled.
“I wasn't prepared to carry out his more crass suggestion. And as successful as I have been, I am not prepared to do this alone. I have colleagues, but not friends. So the only sensible solution is to tell my parents and go back to Ohio.” Andrea pressed on as though Miranda didn't say anything. She needed to get it all out of her mouth and end this disastrous evening before it could get any worse. The tears she kept firmly at bay throughout the evening were running freely down her face. Never in her life had she felt so helpless. Everything that she had worked so hard for since college seemed to have slipped through her fingers in a single unfortunate drunken night.
“Oh Andrea,” Miranda said and gathered the sobbing woman to her. Andrea melted at the tenderness. “It is all going to be alright, I assure you. You will get through this. You aren't alone.”
The reporter clung to the woman she had turned her back on during a stressful time. No amount of rationale could explain what was happening, but she was determined to enjoy every moment of the comfort offered. As her tears slowed, she expected to be pushed away however gently it might be done. She inhaled the slightly spicy perfume as she focused on her breathing. The editor's proximity brought a sense of calm she hadn’t experienced in years. Nothing dare go wrong when Miranda Priestly was in control. To her surprise slender fingers continued to sift gently through her hair, each stroke beginning with nails scraping gently against her scalp. When she felt Miranda shift to her left, panic swelled in her chest. But that steady hand cupped her head keeping her close. Tissues were pressed into her hand as the older woman loosened but did not release her hold.
“I think,” Miranda began slowly, measuring every word, “that this is a longer and more emotional conversation than I initially thought it would be.” She felt the young woman flinch and start to move away. She once again tightened her hold just enough to communicate that she would not be letting go. “It would be a shame to let such a magnificent dress crease permanently. I should have something that would be more comfortable for you to wear.”
“I can just go,” the reporter said quietly. Slender fingers grasped her chin and moved her head until she was looking into blue eyes.
“Andrea, if I wished you to go, you would not be here. I do not believe we are done yet or that this conversation is closed. But if I have misunderstood your desire to talk with me, I will not keep you here against your will.” Her voice went icy with displeasure at the end of her statement. She had been so very patient and this might be her only chance to keep the young woman within reach. Miranda had never invested in someone for so long without getting what she wanted, nor did she have any intention of doing so now.
“Why does it matter so much to you?”
The older woman’s eyes sparkled with affection and just a touch of mischief as she gently cupped the pretty tear stained face. “Because I care for you, Andrea. Deeply. There are so many things we need to discuss. But do not doubt how much I care.” She fought herself from closing the gap and tasting the lips in front of her, but this wasn't the time. She would not be initiating. Andrea was far too vulnerable. If the young woman wanted more she would have to take it. Warm brown eyes searched her face before relaxing and nuzzling into her palm. “We are agreed then?”
“I don't suppose one should question Miranda Priestly about clothing care,” Andrea answered with the slightest hint of a smile.
“Quite right. After all, I am the ‘Devil in Prada.’”
With that comment a deep heartfelt laugh bubbled out of the young reporter. Miranda stood and offered her hand to help the woman off of the couch. She smiled slightly as the hand immediately took hers. Once Andrea was on her feet she intertwined their fingers. The editor had always suspected that their hands would fit well together, but this was beyond the range of even her imagination. The warmth seemed to be transferring through their joined hands and filling up her chest. Miranda knew that she had no choice tonight but to play her strongest hand. If she did not win over the reporter tonight, she very well might not have the opportunity. She had imagined a slow old fashioned romance filled with dinner dates, trips to the theater and eventually moving towards intimate interactions. But she could see the potential in this alternative, but very necessary path. The idea of keeping the young woman safe and close when she needed it the most was incredibly appealing. Not to mention that the idea of a baby with those large brown eyes simply melted her heart in embarrassing ways. She steeled her will knowing that she would have to expose her own vulnerabilities and explain in ways that were deeply uncomfortable. There was no one aside from her girls and Andrea that she would do such a thing. But when had the young woman not be an exception to her every rule.
She led them into her bedroom, releasing their hands once they were well within the room. She walked to her closest in search of suitable loungewear for them both. It was essential for Andrea to continue to feel as an equal. She selected the softest matching blue set of cotton shirt and pants for Andrea and a lavender set for herself.
“Here are these,” she said handing them over. "The bathroom is just through there. There is a hanger you can use for the dress as well as makeup remover to clean up your eye makeup.”
“Thank you, Miranda.”
“You are very welcome. I will be here when you are finished. Take your time.” She watched Andrea walk into the bathroom and quietly close the door. She sighed heavily, grateful that the reporter had put up no further resistance. Miranda walked to her closet again quickly ridding herself of her dress and shoes. Slipping on the soft pajamas was a decadent experience. She often kept such long hours that she rarely had the opportunity to wear them. She debated removing her own makeup, but decided there would be ample opportunity later. Instead she sat at the foot of her bed to wait.
Inspite of her offer to not rush, Andrea stepped out of the bathroom just 5 minutes after Miranda sat down. Her appearance took the editor's breath away. She hadn't taken into account how her stomach would pleasurably clench at the sight of the woman walking into her bedroom in such informal clothing. Without the makeup she looked young and glowed inspite of the obvious stress. Miranda built a life around putting the aesthetically pleasing into concise and clear language, but Andrea's present appearance was beyond even her considerable skill.
"I was thinking a bit of tea and toast might be nice now that we are more comfortable."
"Yes, please," Andrea answered immediately. Somewhat self consciously she placed a hand low on her stomach. "Everything seems to make me hungry at the moment."
"Ah yes, I do remember that feeling," Miranda chuckled. She gently took the young woman by the elbow and led her down the stairs into the kitchen. She deposited her on a stool at the bar. She put a kettle on the stove before turning to the cabinets. "Do you like peppermint tea? I remember it being quite nice early on."
"I like most teas. That sounds really nice."
"Plain wheat toast with a touch of butter?"
"Do I look a bit green around the edges?" Andrea asked lightly.
"A little. Crying as hard as you did can cause nausea."
"Toast sounds amazing. Truly you don't have to do this. Any of this."
Miranda turned slowly and waited until Andrea made eye contact. "I know I don't have to, but I want to." She turned back to what she was doing without saying anything further hoping the statement would sink in fully.
When she turned back around to deliver tea and toast, she was pleased to see that the young woman looked relaxed and perhaps even a little bit happy to be sitting where she was. Andrea cradled the mug in her hands and inhaled deeply. The resulting moan nearly made Miranda miss the stool she was in the process of sitting on.
"This is amazing. Thank you."
"I have never met someone so enthusiastic about tea, but you are most welcome. Don't hesitate if you would like more. It certainly won't hurt you."
Andrea smiled broadly before returning her attention to the toast. Miranda watched her devour both pieces in the time she ate only one of her own. She slid her second piece onto the young woman's plate encouraging her to keep eating.
"I had no idea how much I needed that."
Miranda hummed in response, buying herself a few more seconds to formulate her thoughts. "What preparations have you made to leave New York?"
"Not many yet. I really just decided what I was going to do earlier today. I already let my apartment go at the end of the month. I wanted to live closer to my office. I was going to find a new place, but obviously I haven't been looking. I need to tell my parents to expect me and write my notice to the paper. Maybe one of the locals in Ohio will be hiring."
"Do you actually want to leave the city?"
Andrea looked at her carefully before responding. She dropped her eyes to her mug saying,
"No, but I couldn't imagine how I could do it all alone here. And I don't want to give the baby up. It must sound odd, but I've already fallen in love with him or her. This isn't how I imagined becoming a parent, but I want to be a good mother."
"Then you would stay if you thought it feasible?"
"I would."
Miranda let out the breath she had been holding. She wasn't sure how she would have handled it if Andrea wanted to leave. Logistics she could handle. With her resources there were few situations she could not navigate.
"I confess that I do not want you to leave. I am not sure there is a limit to what I will do to keep you from going."
"But why?" Andrea asked reaching out and covering one of Miranda's hands with her own. "I know you care about me, but..." She trailed off unsure of how to finish the sentence. The editor looked at war with herself. Though the reporter was slightly out of practice, she saw a number of emotions flash across the woman's face. She recognized panic, fear, determination and something she couldn't place.
"I'd hoped that if I let you go and helped you find the opportunities to excel and grow that you might come back to me."
"This is all because you want me to come back and be your assistant?" Andrea stiffened and turned red at the suggestion.
"No, Andrea," the editor responded in her 'you are such an idiot' tone. "I have two marginally competent assistants that God has seen fit that I should suffer through. I didn't mean Runway."
"But I thought you were Runway," she answered sharply, recalling the pain of their last conversation.
"That was not one of my finest moments. You must know that. I do believe that I am essential to the success of the magazine, but that is not all that I am. I apologize for the manner in which I pushed you away. With everything that was going on at the time, I could not risk allowing myself to become involved with an assistant. It was far too tempting to have you close. I could not endanger either of our careers in such a manner. I am sorry it was painful for us both." She allowed a single tear to run down her face. When she stopped speaking, Andrea was already rising to her feet and stepping into her personal space. Before Miranda could even think to react, she stepped between her knees and engulfed her in a warm embrace. She leaned her cheek against the silken silver hair. The editor slowly wound her arms around her waist, returning the hug.
“That was a terrible week,” the reporter said knowing it was the understatement of the year. She didn't move to let go determined to relish in the lack of rejection. The palms pressed into her back moved soothingly making her skin tingle beneath the soft fabric that smelled delightfully of Miranda’s perfume. “I am so sorry.”
“As am I,” the editor whispered against her neck.
Andrea pressed a gentle kiss into the signature coiff and loosened her arms so that she could see the beautiful face. “I’m sorry for overreacting. Emotionally I am all over the place. What did you mean ‘come back to you?’”
“Personally. I had always hoped you’d left me professionally, because of the actions and words of La Priestly rather than who I am privately.”
Andrea gasped in surprise at the honest admission. “I’d always hoped, but it seemed too far fetched.”
“You are well aware I've always lived on hope,” Miranda answered mischievously.
“So I've heard, but what does all of this mean.”
“Must I spell this out for you, Andrea?” The question came across more sharply than she intended. She immediately reached out for the woman trying to convey her remorse only to hear a giggle.
“Yes, you must spell it out for me, please. I wouldn't ask if this were over something trivial, but I can't afford to get my hopes up. And don't worry, I have not forgotten how you communicate. You don't have to apologize for being yourself.”
“You’ve always been too kind, my dear,” Miranda said reaching out to trace a finger down her face. “The last three years have given me a great deal of time to think about what I want out of the rest of my life. I have achieved great professional success, but have always been searching for what completes the picture so to speak. My girls were certainly a part of that. We’ve reconnected over the past few years which has been an incredible gift. But I’ve missed the spark of connection. It’s not something I have experienced with many. As you are aware, few people truly see me and even fewer have the courage to reach out to me. And yet that seems to be something you can’t resist doing isn’t it?”
“I think it comes from having not had a clue who you were the first time I was in your office. As I learned what you did, I grew to greatly respect your work. But I never learned to worship the icon, only the woman.”
“Worship?”
Andrea flushed a deep pink realizing that last thought had been aloud.
“I want all of those disgustingly cliche romantic things and I want them with you.” Miranda said rolling her eyes at herself.
The reporter’s mouth opened and closed several times before she rose to her feet. She reached out to brush the signature forelock out of Miranda’s face affectionately. She couldn’t find the words for an appropriate response so she opted instead for physical approach. With shaking hands she cupped the woman’s face in the way she had imagined doing so many times before. She kissed the still lipstick stained lips with a reverence that conveyed every bit of how much she wanted the woman in front of her.
"Miranda," she whispered as they parted. "I've worked so hard to move past my desire for you, but it simply never worked. I tried to convince myself that the professional nudges were such an honor that I should be grateful you didn't blacklist me. I tried to fill the gap in my life with a string of short unfulfilling relationships. And now. How could you want me now? I'm pregnant from essentially a terrible one night stand."
"I won't pretend that I am not jealous of anyone who has had your attention and affections. But the time we had apart was necessary. I want a healthy balanced relationship with you. Not as your boss, but as a partner and friend. And well if having you in my life includes a child, who am I to question? It's not as though I don't come with two of my own."
"So you do. How do you plan on navigating that?"
Miranda ran a hand down the arm closest to her enjoying the ability to do so. "As I mentioned, we've grown quite close in the last few years. They are 14 now. About a year ago they confronted me about why I hadn't dated since the last divorce. Being my daughters, they didn't buy the standard line about wanting to focus on them. They worry about me being lonely. So I was honest with them about what I was waiting for."
"They are such incredible children, but they've always been clever."
"Yes, I know. They've largely given up pranking assistants." Seeing Andrea's internal debate over whether to say something, she continued. "I know they tricked you into going up stairs. But understand that I would have found an excuse to test you regardless."
"I don't doubt that. What do Caroline and Cassidy think about this?" She motioned somewhat frantically between their bodies.
"They want me to be happy. They decided they don't care what that looks like. When they say such things I think that maybe I've done something right to have such open and accepting daughters."
"You are a wonderful mother. You always have been."
"Thank you. I often feel as though I fall short, but I love them unconditionally. So here is what I propose: Come live with us. I know that we are doing this quite backwards, but if you are here, you will have a support system. We have plenty of extra rooms. And with our busy schedules we are far more likely to find quality time together under the same roof."
"Wow. Miranda, I don't know what to say."
"Say you won't leave me again," she said in a trembling voice betraying her fears.
"I don't know how to react to such generosity. I wasn't expecting any of this." She had began visibly shaking and didn't resist the urge to allow the silver headed woman to comfort her. She struggled to get her breathing under control ensconced in the strong arms. "I don't want to leave you again. It would hurt so badly."
"Then you will stay." Miranda took a deep breath to steady herself. "You may have as much or as little independence and privacy as you desire."
"I want to get to know all three of you."
"I would like that very much, Andrea."
"What should I expect financially?" She used her most professional voice to cover her anxiety about the topic.
"Ah yes. I imagine financial resources and age will be two of our largest hurdles. My position is that I already fully cover the living costs for my household. I won't feel substantial increase in cost with you here. I have no particular desire to change how my accountant has things set up, but I am open to it if it's important to you. Frankly, I would rather you put the money in his or her college fund or pay off student loans."
"If I allow you to take care of me, what am I bringing to you? What makes us equal?"
"Such things are very hard to measure. I cannot put a value on the peace of mind I will have. Or what being near you does for me personally. How much better I feel just seeing you. But if I had to list something specifically, I would imagine you helping us bring a robust sense of family to our home. Your perspective is different from mine."
"You know this means that you cannot ever hold money over my head in an argument, right? Beginning the way we are it would shake the foundation of everything."
"I have more financial resources than I can spend in my lifetime. We will disagree from time to time, but it will not be about your worth or monetary contribution. I do not wish to hide behind excuses with you. If we disagree I hope we approach it directly and resolve it without escalation."
"Fuck. You are being painfully reasonable and accommodating. How am I to say no?"
"You don't. That's entirely the point," she answered with a smirk.
"Ok."
"Do not agree if you do not mean it, Andrea."
"Miranda Priestly,” she said teasingly, “who would dare lie to you. You’ve ended careers and rumor has it lives for far less.” Grasping the sides of the beautiful woman’s face, she tilted it up until she could see blue eyes. “I would be honored, Miranda. You are offering things I’ve only dreamt of having.”
The editor rose to her full height and drew the reporter to her. For the first time their full bodies pressed together. It was at once exhilarating and fraught with comfort. The light kisses at her neck made her want to melt. “It’s settled then,” she said in her most regal tone. “I don't know about you, but I am quite tired. This has been quite the day.”
“I am exhausted. I am barely able to keep my eyes open. I’m sorry. I know there is more to discuss.”
“Don’t apologize, darling. I am counting on there being more than one night’s worth of conversation.”
Andrea leaned more fully into her, sighing deeply.
“Let’s go upstairs and get some sleep. Are you working this weekend?”
“No. This is the first weekend I've had off in a while. I've been looking forward to it.”
“Good. Let's get you to bed,” the editor said drawing away to lead her paramour upstairs. “I live primarily on the second floor. My bedroom, study and library are there. There is one guestroom on the floor. The third floor is mostly the girls’. There is a game room, their rooms and 2 more guest rooms. You are welcome to any of them.”
“I,” Andrea started but the sentence died on her lips the first try. “I don’t want to sleep alone. The past couple of weeks have been so stressful that I haven't really slept.”
“Very well. Come along then,” Miranda said failing to hide her smile. It felt fabulous to be wanted as much as she found herself wanting.
The young woman clung to her with the enthusiasm of a lovestruck teenager. Inside her bedroom, she led the young woman to the bathroom again. She handed over a new toothbrush. They stood side by side in front of her large mirror and double sinks. Andrea brushed her teeth while watching Miranda remove her makeup in the reflection of the mirror. When she finished rinsing her mouth, she walked behind the older woman and wrapped her arms around her. She rested her chin on her shoulder nuzzling into the soft hair at the nape of her neck.
“I’ve always thought you were prettiest without any makeup on.”
Without waiting for a response the reporter walked into the toilet and closed the door, leaving a stunned and blushing Miranda in her wake. When she finished, she wandered back towards the bed as the older woman still seemed fully occupied by her abdulations. She stood staring at the bed for a long moment. Picking a side of the bed seemed like quite a large decision. Tucked away behind the light on the left hand side of the bed were an extra pair of glasses. She presumed that had to mean it was the woman’s primary side of the bed. Climbing between the soft sheets on the right hand side of the bed, she luxuriated in the fabric and the smell of the woman she desired.
Miranda walked out of the bedroom to find Andrea already in her bed and mostly asleep. She looked positively angelic with her dark hair fanned out over the pillow. The editor quietly turned off the lights and got into bed beside her. The young woman moved immediately towards her, reaching for her even as she was drifting off to sleep. Miranda pulled her into an embrace. She was beyond pleased to have gotten her way. There was no doubt that it would be a great deal of work and that she would likely make significant mistakes, but at least there was still hope.