Chapter Text
The light of the hotel room was dim. It was late.
Very late.
Too late.
The day had been chaotic, the fundraiser had been a success, and Miranda had done everything that had been thoroughly expected of her. It had been… Acceptable.
The drinks had been fine, the company had been… Well, the usual suspects, really. New York’s fashionable elite made for some mixed company, if she were being honest. The eccentrics mingled with the boring and vice versa, meanwhile acting as though chummy while networking and giving their hard earned cash away in the form of neatly written cheques. It was all very pedestrian to Miranda. Until it wasn’t…
Now, with trembling hands, she buttoned the last few buttons of her blouse and tucked its panels into the waist of her skirt, freezing momentarily when she heard a rustling behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder. Oceanic pools of blue, like her own, but coquettish and warm stared back at her as they conducted their appraisal. Miranda felt a chill.
“You don’t have to run off so quick, you know… It’s only midnight.” The younger woman said, still nude beneath sheets that were tangled, barely covering her legs, her chest.
Miranda looked away from the scene on the large four poster bed and where the crime had taken place. She looked around for anything, anything at all, that she might have left behind. Nothing jumped out at her. Her mind was as chaotic as it ever had been. She could barely align her thoughts at all. She found herself with nothing to say, and so….
She said nothing.
This had been a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. What could she possibly say? What could she do? She could hardly claim an accident… At first, she’d thought she had wanted it, but now? Now she knew. She wasn’t a lesbian at all the way she thought she was, there was only one person, one woman, who set her on fire. The woman that had spent the night looking after her flu-ridden nineteen year old daughter. The woman who for nine years now had always been standing at her side - how could she go home now after this extreme error and look that woman in the eye and tell her what she had done?
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Miranda felt like her legs were made of lead as she walked to the table where her jewelry lay and she made fast work of returning her rings to her fingers while her heart pounded wildly in her chest, she heard more rustling. Unaware of the silent steps, she almost jumped out of her skin when lips and nose nuzzled the back of her neck.
“Stop… No,” Miranda ordered hoarsely, slipping out from beneath the hands that had taken her hips from behind. “This… This will not happen again. This cannot happen again. This was a mistake.”
Her tone brokered no room for argument. It was pure ice and anger. Yet, the auburn haired woman merely scanned her from top to bottom in a way that made Miranda feel like she might actually puke. It was pure salaciousness. The room still smelled of sweat and sex. It made her stomach flip.
“One and done, hmm? That’s too bad… I had a really nice time.” Yvette told her, not even attempting to mask the obvious disappointment mixed with renewed arousal. Miranda didn’t feel like that warranted a response at all. In fact, she refused to respond to it with more than a thoroughly intense glare as she shifted away, slipped on her heels in the entrance, and left the hotel room without so much as a backwards glance.
With each step she took down the hallway toward the elevators, the reality of what she had done sank to the pit of her stomach, churning it, making her queasy with guilt, fear, and a healthy dose of humiliation.
Calling Roy from the elevator, Miranda managed to keep her voice even. She prayed that by the time he arrived, the color she could feel upon her cheeks wouldn’t be as intense as it felt. She felt like she was on fire. Her cheeks burned. She had to get it together.
The ride home that night had felt like an out of body experience. Miranda continued to twist her engagement ring and wedding band on her finger.
When she arrived home, she walked upstairs quietly after resetting the alarm and making sure the front door was locked. She crept quietly into the bedroom to find Andrea asleep. Always the stomach sleeper, her face was almost entirely buried in the pillow. Miranda got out of her clothes, shoved them in the laundry hamper hoping that they wouldn’t be disturbed until Cara found them the next day, before taking a thorough shower in the ensuite. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she scrubbed her skin she still felt filthy. What she had done had been filthy business… She deserved to feel dirty. Silently, she cried in the shower for longer than she thought she would as the guilt compounded with the love she felt upon entering the bedroom to find her sleeping wife, blissfully unaware.
She could not tell Andrea. And she would not tell Andrea. She would, however, do everything in her power to move forward with their lives as planned, and show the woman she loved beyond measure that no one, no one else in the world, could ever compare.
Miranda vowed to do better.
She could do nothing else.
Three Months Later
“Cassidy!! Roy’s waiting outside for you, honey!”
“I’ll be right down, mum!” The nineteen year old called back from the second floor.
“Don’t forget to take your camera, we’ll work on the scrap book this week!”
Andrea’s voice carried up the stairs and down the hall to the den off the dining room, where Miranda sighed through a sip of strong black coffee. The sound… It was sweet. She basked in the joys of home this Saturday. They had sat around the dining table for a breakfast that was as luxurious as a five star restaurant; all crafted by Cara, their life long housekeeper, and Andrea’s skilled hands.
She looked up when she saw movement, lifting her eyes from the magazine on her lap, and watched her wife tread with learned grace through the dining into the kitchen to take up her own mug of coffee from the counter top. Work had been as taxing as it ever was and Christmas was vastly approaching. They had decided to go to the Hamptons and spend their holidays nestled away. Andrea was looking forward to taking a hard earned break from all of the reporting her new employer at The New York Times had gifted her with. Her growth had been vertical for some years now, the last two especially. Once the New York Mirror had finally sunk beyond economical repair, Andrea had been headhunted by so many news outlets that they could hardly keep up with the fax machine and the many letters arriving at the townhouse.
Miranda couldn’t have been more proud.
Andrea sipped her coffee and hummed her enjoyment of the caffeine while making her way into the den. The sparkle in those brown, soulful eyes warmed Miranda to her core. The corner of her lips quirked upward in a small smile as her beautiful and darling wife came to join her on the leather loveseat.
“I’m so full from breakfast... I could nap.” Andrea murmured through a chuckle, lowering herself down on the couch, hip to hip, with her blue eyed love.
“You girls have outdone yourself,” Miranda agreed softly, taking immense pleasure in the fact that Andrea had delicately placed her head on her shoulder. “I almost forgive you for the sheer amount of carbohydrates.”
An indelicate snort was Andrea’s immediate response.
Rounding the corner, Cassidy wandered in and found them seated there, her backpack slung on a shoulder.
“Yo, I’m heading out! Have a good day!” The young woman told them, and made to quickly leave but Andrea lifted her head.
“Woah, woah, woah… What the heck is that? Get your butt back here and say goodbye properly!” She chastised and Cassidy slowly came back into view, her features, now somewhat flushed, perturbed, and sheepish - a picture of what they had been the first time Andrea had given the twins a little verbal spanking for running off without saying a proper goodbye. Things hardly changed.
Cassidy adjusted her backpack on her shoulder and wandered over quickly to drop a kiss on Andrea and Miranda’s cheeks, mumbling her ‘I love you, guys’, and receiving kisses and murmured ‘love you too, sweetie’’s in response. And just like that she was out of the room, racing down the hall, and out the front door.
When they heard the lock catch from the other side, Andrea shook her head and sighed, lifting her coffee to her lips.
“Remember when they couldn’t stand to be without us?” She murmured before taking a sip. Miranda flipped the page of her magazine and a soft mm hmm rose in the back of her throat.
She could. Nine years. The girls had been eleven when she and Andrea finally decided to call it quits on pretending that nothing had been going on between them. It had been an absolute hellish few months of gargantuan proportions between the paparazzi, the articles on Page Six, and the girls… The girls had not been pleased. Initially. But Andrea had been consistent. She managed to break down their walls with about as much ease as she had Miranda’s own. Once they realized that she wasn’t anything like Stephen, that was that.
Between endless soccer practice, the many whims and trends, the first dates, the first kisses, the first heartbreaks, Andrea had been through it all with the girls. Dare say, perhaps, even a bit more involved than Miranda herself had been. Their home life together was blissful and splendid. Like all couples, they argued on occasion and not always agreed; Miranda was difficult and particular, although they were both stubborn to a fault. And so, despite such disagreements, the stubbornness to reconcile and move forward outweighed the desire to hold grudges and hang on to unnecessary poor feelings. Andrea was good at that. She usually came around to ideas first. Miranda took more time. She simmered until the pot cooled.
The only thing that could never be a complaint was the sex… When they did have it. These last few months it had been sparse. It was for a multitude of reasons. The intimacy, however, remained. Nights of simply laying together, touching without some grand climax, talking, kissing, sharing - at times, Miranda swore there were things floating in the back of Andrea’s mind begging to rise to the surface but she didn’t ask, Andrea didn’t tell, because it never felt uncomfortable. But then there were also so many nights that Miranda slipped from their bed and had to leave the sanctity of the bedroom for her office a floor above when the anxiety, the guilt, and the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t sleep comfortably in her wife's arms.
She had broken her vows. She had lied by omission. She had slept with someone else. And it was truly the most awful mistake she had ever made. She now lived with it. Sometimes she had to deal with it on a minute to minute basis when the full awareness of what she had done rushed to the front of her mind at the most inopportune times. Usually in the night when that beautiful, enigmatic, darling, and so very thoughtful and caring woman had Miranda wrapped up in the safety of her arms. That’s when the tears formed and the breathing became less easy. That’s when the numerous blessings weighed on Miranda’s fractured conscience. Miranda Priestly had never really considered herself a lucky woman. Everything she had, she had worked for and sacrificed for. Andrea was not one of those things. Andrea loved her so deeply, respected and protected her so fiercely, and even on days like this one that they shared together at home, Andrea filled her world with such affection and…
Miranda’s thoughts came to a halt when their phones began going off.
A sharp inhale pulled through Andrea’s nose as she seemed to awake from nodding off for however many minutes it was she had been resting her head on Miranda’s shoulder.
Miranda picked up her phone off the arm of the couch and saw that Nigel was calling her, meanwhile Andrea pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw Leslie’s name on the screen.
That was what shocked them both.
“Leslie’s calling me.” Andrea looked at her wife with confusion and Miranda merely furrowed her brows.
“Nigel,” Miranda showed her phone screen and then pressed the side button of her cell, sending it to voicemail. “I refuse to work on the weekend.”
“Good girl,” Andrea patted Miranda’s thigh and leaned to kiss her cheek, garnering a soft smile from the Editor. “I’m going to take this.”
“Of course, darling.”
Andrea got up from the couch and brought her phone to her ear.
“Lesl…” Leslie’s voice rang out through Andrea’s ear speaker so loud that Andrea actually had to pull it away from her ear for a second and adjust the volume. Miranda watched her wife scramble to turn down the volume and then lift the phone back to her ear, all the while Leslie continued spouting off whatever she was spouting off. “Hey! Alright, slow down… What are you trying to tell me here?”
Andrea had chuckled initially, however, Miranda watched the small smile on her lips slowly evaporate.
As Miranda watched Andrea take the phone call, a deeply unsettling feeling began to tug at the bottom of her stomach. Andrea listened and peered off down at the floor, her hand coming to rest on her hip. Soft okay’s and uh huh’s with a few alright’s were punctuated with an eventual okay, I’ll handle it.
‘Handle what…’ Miranda thought, her features growing more icy and pale by the lasting minutes. What the hell did Leslie want? And why was she calling Andrea’s personal line rather than her own? What did Andrea do?
“Miranda… Get my laptop, please.” Andrea ordered her distractedly, her brown eyes not even lifting from their spot on the carpet. Miranda closed the magazine on her legs and rose. She left the den to retrieve Andrea’s laptop from her laptop bag in the front closet, all the while thinking to herself, so much for a relaxing weekend.
Andrea’s insides wanted to become her outsides. She was sick to her stomach. The second Leslie’s name appeared on her phone screen, she knew that this phone call wasn’t a phone call that she wanted to take. She had a few reasons why.
Just as she suspected, the biggest, and the most painful reason, was, in fact, why Leslie was calling.
Telling Leslie that she’d call her back, Andrea hung up the call and stole herself a few seconds to breathe. We need to get ahead of this. Some desk attendant, bellhop, it doesn’t fucking matter saw Yvette Worthington and Miranda leave the fundraiser and get a room. It’s all over TMZ, Page Six, Huffington Post… Andrea did you know about this? It was brazen, Worthington was making a spectacle of it! It is very obvious, there’s hallway footage, whoever at that hotel wanted to make a few fucking dollars sold the footage… After that, Andrea had stopped listening. There was footage.
When Miranda returned with her laptop, Andrea looked up and tucked her phone away into her jeans and walked over, taking it from her outstretched hand without saying thank you. She couldn’t quite control the look on her face and she knew it. It was business. Their business. Personal and private. However, business nonetheless. It was her image. Miranda’s image. All about to go to shit if she didn’t know what it was she was dealing with.
Placing her laptop down on the kitchen counter, Andrea didn’t pay attention to her wife or the trepidation in the steps toward her. She barely felt Miranda’s hand ghost down the middle of her back and settle against the small of it. All she could focus on was her finger on the trackpad and clicking on the web browser in order to search nothing more than her wife’s name.
“Andrea…” She vaguely heard her wife address her but it was too late.
Breaking news… And there it was in black and white filling the Google News page.
Breaking: Miranda Priestly and Yvette Worthington Share Short Romp At The Four Seasons
Ice Queen Returns With New Hot Ex-Model, Yvette Worthington
Priestly Scorns Soon To Be Ex-Wife With Younger Woman
“Jesus Christ…” Andrea hissed and closed her laptop with a bit more force than necessary.
She didn’t need to see anything more. It was exactly what she thought it was going to be. Her first thoughts were of the girls… Then about how they were going to get ahead of this, as Leslie had stated. She didn’t even consider the fact that Miranda had been standing beside her staring with wide horrified eyes at what Andrea had pulled up on her laptop screen, or the fact that Miranda’s breathing had changed, or the blood draining from her wife’s face. All Andrea could think was that the media was fucking irritating beyond reasonable belief and now they were going to be handling what didn’t have to be a scandal in the first place if that damned desk attendant or bellhop had respect enough to keep their fucking mouth shut.
She spoke without much thought behind it, fuming.
“Can you believe them?! I mean, fucking hell,” Seethed the brunette as she paced further into the kitchen, gripping her hips so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She turned around and gestured with a sharp hand toward her laptop, her pulse pounding so loudly in her ears that she didn’t even hear Miranda’s attempt at apology, or even really register the pallor of her skin and tears in her partner’s eyes. “Fucking vultures prying into our god damn business! No wonder Leslie was foaming at the fucking mouth!”
Frozen to the spot.
Every single worst case scenario that Miranda had thought up over the last three months came to a head. There she was, standing by the counter, watching her partner take it in, and then the laptop screen was slammed shut. And the cursing… Andrea hardly cursed anymore, not like this, but there she was, flushed with rage, eyes flashing, and every other word was ‘fuck’. Miranda felt sick to her stomach.
“Andrea…” She tried again to call her partner’s attention, knowing full well she had more than enough explaining to do.
“What, Miranda… You realize we have to figure something out here, right?” Andrea’s words sank deep. Suddenly, it seemed like Andrea finally opened her eyes past the outrage to find Miranda completely and utterly beside herself. Blue eyes peered through the tears and watched as her wife closed her eyes, opened them peering up at the ceiling for a few moments, obviously to collect herself, and then Andrea sighed deeply.
“I am… Andrea, I never meant… I’m sorry. I am so… So sorry…” Miranda found herself speaking but her voice sounded miles away. Andrea chewed on the inside corner of her lips but didn’t move, she stood down the counter at the other end of the kitchen, and the expanse of space between them felt like a chasm.
The flush on Andrea’s cheeks began to settle, fade, as she collected herself before Miranda’s eyes.
Andrea drew up a hand, vaguely gesturing, before it fell and bounced slightly off her thigh.
“I knew, you know. The wife always knows, Miranda. You should know that better than anyone.” Andrea finally told her quietly. It was a jab. Miranda knew that. Still, it was a very warranted jab. The rest, however, floored the blue eyed woman.
She knew… She knew?! How could she have known?! That doesn’t make sense… Everything has been… Well, it had been normal. Almost. 99.9% normal. There had been moments here or there that Miranda cast off as a multitude of other things but otherwise… They had been… Good. Better than good. They had been exceptional.
Staring at Andrea and blinking through the moisture collecting on her lashes and spilling over, Miranda noticed how Andrea’s features did not change. She peered back at Miranda with the same mild and somewhat perturbed expression but there was affection there too. How could there possibly be affection still in those eyes if she knew?
“You knew… How? When?” Miranda croaked, incredulous.
“When you came home that night, I wasn’t asleep,” As though it would be an answer, Andrea’s voice carried with it a subtle matter of factness about it. Miranda felt her brows knit as she peered through glassy eyes at the younger woman who shrugged her shoulders. “The next morning, you got up, and then I got up and you had to rush off to Runway and I wanted to help Cara with the laundry and get the dry cleaning sorted… You threw your clothes in the hamper and you never throw your dry cleaning in that hamper, so… I looked at your shirt. You had lipstick stains on the back of your collar on the blouse you wore. Not a color I’d ever wear, that’s for damn sure… I knew. I know.”
It looked like by saying it a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Although the weight in Miranda’s chest felt extraordinarily heavier. Andrea had known. She had assumed. All this time… For months… The Editor felt her heart split as she gazed into those once soulful and sparkling almond eyes and found them dulled beyond repair. Andrea, again, shrugged her shoulder and shook her head, averting her gaze.
“You came home. You come home every night. So… You’re having an affair? One night stands? I don’t know, it’s not my business, and I don’t fucking care… So long as you come home. That’s all I can ask for, right,” Andrea stated, her features morphing back into that look she had on her face before, the one that said strictly business. Miranda could hardly breathe. “I’m not going to be another Mr. Priestly, I’m not going to pretend that I can always give you everything you need either. The only reason why you would do this… Is if there is something you’re missing at home. So… That’s my cross to bear. Now, I need to go out there and surely there are some paparazzi waiting and I’ll make us look good. Better me than you…”
It was hard to believe that she was hearing what she was hearing. Andrea knew. Not only did she know but she was justifying it.
“That’s bullshit.” Miranda spoke with more strength than she expected. Andrea peered at her and Miranda knew she was acting like she was unaffected. She was acting as though she were above it, like she could rise above it.
“No, it’s not bullshit. Come on, Miranda,” Andrea eyed her warily and began taking steps toward her, stopping only when there was maybe a foot or two. “You go out into the world and women, men, fall at your feet. It was only a matter of time before somebody caught your eye… You see beauty everywhe…”
“Andrea, listen to yourself, do you understand how terrible that sounds, like I’m incapable of honoring my commitment. We are married, and I…”
“And you fucked somebody else. Yeah, I know,” Lifting a hand and brushing it back through her hair, the flush returned to her cheeks and the anger to her eyes. But she wasn’t lashing out. She wasn’t directing her ire at Miranda the way Miranda had fully expected her to.
A sickening feeling came upon Miranda as she lifted her hands and wiped the moisture away from the apples of her cheeks. Did Andrea not care? Did her wife not care that she had stepped out on their marriage?
So she voiced it.
“You’re acting cavalier.” Miranda bit out, feeling almost weightless from the pain of it.
Andrea laughed humorlessly and the sound made Miranda wince.
“Cavalier? What am I supposed to do? When I found out I was livid with you, I was so damn angry I almost left, almost.” Andrea told her, a warning look in her eyes.
“Why didn’t you? You would have had every right.” It made no sense, none of this made sense. Miranda had committed the ultimate betrayal and yet she came through unscathed. A sharp gasp parted her lips when her wife’s hands took a firm hold of her face and there Andrea was, looking deeply into her eyes, her warm palms framing Miranda’s jaw, holding her in place so that she dare not look away.
Andrea peered into her the way that she always did. Her gaze was deep and intense. Watery blue eyes, devoid of their familiar glacial look about them, peered back, unable to look anywhere else.
Miranda watched her wife take a deep, somewhat shaky breath, and then she said -
“Because I’m still in love with you - I love you, I love our life, and I love our family,” Andrea told her quietly, her voice betraying the waver that reflected in Miranda’s own throat as she swallowed hard looking into rich, brown eyes. “So you fucked someone else… Was it just sex? Or was it love?”
Shaking her head in Andrea’s hands, she hardly felt like she deserved the touch or to return it, still Miranda reached and took a firm hold of her wife’s hips as she peered up into those eyes that searched her features.
“Sex… That was all. Not love.” Hoarsely, Miranda replied.
Giving a slow nod, Andrea’s eyes began to look more watery by the passing of seconds, betraying her and that unaffected way she had been trying to extend.
“Okay... Okay, that’s it then… Is it going to be for always now? Is this going to happen again? I need to understand the expectations… Do we need to buy another apartment or something? You know all of this could have been avoided if you’d just taken her somewhere that wasn’t a hotel…”
“No, how dare you even suggest that,” Miranda finally pulled, the overwhelming need to have her wife as close as possible overriding any other sensible thought. She wrapped her arms tightly around Andrea’s back and felt her slender arms wind around her shoulders, holding her back, just as hard. “I promise, it will never happen again. It was a mistake. I regretted it immediately. I… I thought… I needed to understand something and now I understand. I will never, ever… I p-promise you…”
A sigh of relief rippled through Andrea as she felt Miranda’s strong hold only growing stronger. She felt her wife’s tears against her neck and Miranda was not a woman who cried. She kept her emotions close to the vest, even with her, but today she wept openly and sobbed her apologies on repeat. Good, I deserve to hear this… Andrea had spent long enough carrying this around, praying it would just go away.
It was over.
God, she couldn’t even begin to explain or express how glad she was that it was over. All she wanted to do was get this dealt with and return to their lives instead of the limbo she felt she had been living in. Tucking her face against the side of Miranda’s neck, kissing the warm, thin, and blushing skin there, she pressed one kiss, then another, then just breathed her in. It still hurt. Of course, it had hurt. It had been utterly heartbreaking. But after those hours that day, going through the five stages of grief in record time, she had decided what would have hurt more than knowing the woman she loved had had sex with someone else would be the thought of losing everything else; losing Miranda, losing the girls, losing all of those moments that made their lives immeasurably blessed.
The lightest of kisses ghosted along Andrea’s jaw and she turned her head to capture Miranda’s lips. She tasted the salt of tears, she felt the trembling, and, yet, still desire struck a match and lit just the tiniest fire in the middle of her chest. Andrea couldn’t help it. She kissed Miranda fully, over and over again, until she felt deft fingers carding through her hair and holding to the back of her head.
She had to pull away, her breath breaking in short, ragged spurts against the corner of her wife’s mouth. She knew it. She could feel the warmth reflect back against her lips.
“Miranda… I need to speak to the press.” Andrea told her gently, although her tone was coarse.
Red rimmed eyes, infused with equal parts panic and disagreement, met her own.
“What… What are you going to tell them? What could you possibly say to them to make this any where near alright? They’re going to have a fucking field day…” Just as hoarse, just as cutting, but Andrea new better than to consider it anger. It was pure fear. Fear was what was causing the fingers to curl into her back that hard, keeping her in place.
“Babe… You need to breathe and you need to trust me that I can do this, I don’t have an exact plan, but the longer we wait, the worse it’s going to be…”
“How could it possibly get worse, Andrea…”
“They think we’re going to get a divorce, they think they know, but they don’t know. You know I’m clever, just let me go, let me deal with it. Trust me,” Bringing her hands up and holding Miranda’s face in her palms, Andrea rested her forehead against Miranda’s and closed her eyes, submitting for just a moment. A strangled, almost pitiful sound rose in the back of her wife’s throat, somewhere between a disagreement and a choked sob. “Baby, trust me. Can you do that for me, please…”
They stood like that for a long time. The only sound was that of the clock ticking endlessly on the wall and the sound of the refrigerator quietly humming.
Eventually, Miranda relented.
“Alright, I’ll… I’ll trust you with this.”
“Thank you.” Breathing her relief, Andrea opened her eyes and saw Miranda had long since closed hers.
It took more than a few moments to untangle herself from Miranda’s death grip but she managed. Afterward she went to the front cupboard and retrieved a long, knitted sweater that she could tie around herself. Andrea slipped into her shoes, looked over herself in the hallway mirror above the table with some flowers, and, when she was certain, she turned toward the front door, leaving Miranda standing in the kitchen.
Out on front steps, Andrew closed the front door behind her and was not surprised that a bunch of paparazzi came rushing forward. The flashing lights of the camera’s going off was nothing new anymore. She’d become so desensitized to it. She spotted a few video cameras and was glad.
From the moment Andrea met the door, an ethereal, serene smile graced her lips. Her features had softened, schooled into the kind of expression she’d grown used to wearing when either on Miranda’s arm at parties were, no doubt, the gnats and the photographers would start to buzz around. Being New York’s Crowned Sweetheart made it rather easy to adopt such a relaxed look about her, she had to, it was for her and Miranda’s protection. Even now. Especially now.
The roar of questions was almost deafening, there had to have been at least thirty photographers in front of their home. She wondered how many there were when Cassidy had left. Surely, she would have sent a text. Or maybe not. She just ignored them most of the time. As did Caroline whenever she was home.
“Andy!! Over here!!”
“Can you tell us what happened with Ms. Worthington!”
“Is Miranda trading in for a younger model?!”
Hearing that last shouted and incredibly tactless question, Andrea found herself having to laugh because if she didn’t, she’d probably have stormed down the steps and started raving like a lunatic. How fucking insulting was that?
She lifted a hand and waved them down, gesturing for them to quiet.
“Alright, ya got me… One at a time and, please, nothing vulgar. It’s a Saturday, I really want to spend this time enjoying my family, but I will give you a bit of time to ask your questions and take your pictures, alright?” She told them calmly, graciously, the smile still affixed to your lips.
A man in the back snapped a photo and then lifted his head.
“Did you know your wife was having an affair before news broke?” He shouted at her.
“Well, first of all, for it to be an affair it would have needed to be a repeated thing, and I don’t believe it was. Next question?” She pointed at another young fellow who had raised his hand, as the paparazzi tended to do, as though they were in a high school class. This had gone on for a few years now when they realized that she actually would stand and spend time with them. Eventually a level of respect was afforded.
“Are you and Miranda on the rocks?” He called out his question and Andrea gave a small shake of the head, her smile widening as though she found the question amusing. I really should give acting classes... She thought to herself, because all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die.
Instead, she waved him off as though he were silly.
“Nah, not at all. We’re absolutely fine. I know… Shocking, right?” The looks of absolute skepticism she received from the fellows surrounding their front steps was astonishing. Although some of them just looked downright confused. This was obviously not going the way they thought it was and, Andrea knew, they were probably hoping for some kind of hysterical breakdown. That wasn’t at all what they were going to get.
“So you’re not getting a divorce? She… Well, she cheated on you…” Another guy called out, looking thoroughly taken aback.
“Cheated,” Andrea forced an equally confused expression forward onto her features, mixed with that amusement. Her behavior was purposeful. She wanted them to feel stupid for asking… And by the looks on their faces that was exactly what some of them were feeling. “Alright, guys, listen - you have no idea what kind of relationship or what kind of partnership we have. Our business is actually just our business. It’s unfortunate that it kind of came out like this, but, on the other hand, we’re public figures so it was going to happen eventually. Miranda Priestly is nothing more than extraordinary. She sees beauty every single day and Ms. Worthington is a beautiful woman. Let’s be clear. So they met and enjoyed one another’s company. People do that all the time. Clearly, none of you have ever dated an artist… And I’m married to one hell of an artist. Beauty is art. How could I possibly be upset about an artist taking a moment to appreciate art? Nothing is as cut and dry as you think it is. This isn't the stone age!”
It was a kind joke, she had to make one, and even received a few chuckles as, apparently, maybe a few of the guys had maybe dated people who considered themselves artists. Free spirits. That is what she was going to stick with and from her perspective it seemed plausible. She could see that she was winning them over.
With that fueling her, Andrea continued her little speech, much to their pleasure.
“Miranda and I are not getting a divorce, we are absolutely content with our relationship. Marriages, relationships, are complex. There isn’t a rulebook, there’s no real guide, so… We make up our own rules. And that’s all I’m gonna say. If you were looking for drama, you got the wrong townhouse. Thank you for stopping by, I hope this clears some things up, and now I’m gonna to go finish my coffee. Be safe out there, guys.”
Of course, it was never that simple, and they continued to throw questions out there, but she’d said her piece and, Andrea knew, that with a wave and a smile, they’d understand that she was finished.
From inside, Miranda had waited.
Through the door she had listened, not that it was terribly hard to do so. Andrea always spoke clearly, her diction was precise, and Miranda stood clinging to her every word.
When Miranda heard the telling words that the interview was coming to a close, she backed away from the door and waited. Not a few seconds later, the door opened and Andrea stepped inside, closing it behind her. Brown eyes glanced in Miranda’s direction, where she stood off to the side and out of line of sight from anyone beyond on the steps.
The serene smile slipped from Andrea’s lips and her features shifted to display something more honest - subtle and reserved.
“I should call Leslie back.” She heard Andrea say softly.
Andrea didn’t wait for Miranda to say anything else, she just shifted away from the door and wandered back up the hall to make the call.
Late in the evening, Cassidy and Caroline called.
Neither of them called their mother, they called their mum. Andrea put them on speaker phone anyway.
The news had spread so incredibly fast that their phones were ringing non stop all day. The only calls they accepted were the ones from Leslie and the calls from their children whose first words were ‘tell us this is a hoax’.
It wasn’t.
Had it not been for Andrea, Miranda was sure the conversations would have been entirely different. She wouldn’t let them release their anger, she wouldn’t allow them to yell or curse, and she sat next to her, held Miranda’s hand throughout, like the dutiful wife she was. It made Miranda feel all the more sicker. She didn’t deserve it. She deserved Andrea’s ire - it never came.
Cassidy didn’t come home that night, she stayed at one of her friends, leaving Miranda and Andrea to spend their Saturday alone together. Now, despite her steadfast support, Miranda did feel the distance. Andrea’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes didn’t sparkle like they had in the early hours of morning and after breakfast. She didn’t sit close by. It appeared, despite the fact that she was going above and beyond to be kind, thoughtful, caring, understanding about it all, now that it was out in the open, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Miranda could hardly blame her.
They ate dinner in relative silence, cleaned the kitchen once they were done, and then retired upstairs to their bedroom.
Andrea was in the ensuite brushing her teeth, Miranda had long since changed into her pajamas and brushed hers first, then crawled into bed. She sat up against the headboard, her glasses perched on her nose, and a book on her lap. She read more these days than she ever used to. Andrea had that influence. The woman was a sponge for books. Eventually, within those first few years of marriage, the desire to know of the books her wife enjoyed most caught up with her and so she began reading nightly herself. Miranda didn’t notice her wife glancing her way as she brushed.
Andrea spat in the sink almost silently, rinsed her mouth, rinsed her toothbrush, and put it in the toothbrush holder before grabbing a few make-up wipes.
“I’m sorry that I’ve been a little out of it today.” Miranda heard Andrea say, loud enough for her to hear.
Miranda lifted her head from her reading and watched her, framed by the wide open bathroom door, as the young woman wiped her face and her neck free of concealer and foundation.
“You have nothing to apologize for. I, however, will be apologizing for the rest of our days, or so it may appear.” Miranda replied, knowing that it could quite possibly be true.
Andrea continued to wipe her make-up away and then moved on to the creams and moisturizers.
Miranda heard her wife's voice ring from the bathroom once again.
“You said earlier that you needed to understand something and that now you know, what exactly was it that you learned during your foray into the world of hot, young ex-models, Miranda?” There was some bite to Andrea’s tone. Its edge was sharp.
Closing the book on her lap, Miranda gathered that reading was not going to be on the roster of bed time activities. They were going to talk about this. Andrea deserved to know. Even if it made Miranda’s heartbeat spike to an unreasonable level.
“I wanted to know… If I was a lesbian.” Miranda didn’t find any comfort in trying to beat around the bush so she told her wife simply.
She watched Andrea pause in her rubbing against her cheek. Her answer, direct and succinct, appeared to stun her for a moment. Then she kept rubbing lotion into her skin and looking into her own reflection.
“You questioned it? Is this your way of telling me that you miss having an available penis in your life, darling?” Andrea asked her. Her tone wasn’t unkind, if anything more curious.
Miranda sighed irritably. Not because of the question, but more the reason why the question was being asked.
“No, I do not miss available penises,” She stated, and it was fact. She did not miss men. She didn’t miss sex with men. She did not require either to feel fulfilled. “It was a mistake. I told you…”
“Yes, you did tell me. And I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you needed to fuck some woman without talking to me about what you were feeling for some kind of education, it confuses the living hell out of me.”
Once finished with moisturizing, Andrea washed her hands and dried them on a hand towel, coming to stand in the doorway of the bathroom and meeting her eyes, leaning against its frame. Miranda wanted nothing more than not to have the conversation but she couldn’t. She dug the hole, she broke the promise, she needed to dig herself out and, hopefully, with everything else in tact too. She hated herself just a little bit in that moment.
Placing her book aside on her nightstand, her hands returned to her lap and she fiddled with her wedding ring and engagement ring, twisting them on her finger, feeling them glide against her skin.
Andrea stood there, watching her, maintaining that eye contact. It was unnerving. So many years ago now, Miranda could still remember Andrea's apprehension when she gazed into her eyes for too long. Now Andrea could peer, unblinking, waiting, anticipating what was going to be said. She realized by the look on Andrea’s face that this time… There was no anticipation. The investigation was more obvious. That only meant that she had no idea what was going on in Miranda’s brain.
Sighing, Miranda raked her teeth over her lower lip, bit it for a few seconds, and then released it to speak.
“Would you have said yes?”
“Yes.” Andrea replied without hesitation. Miranda arched a brow with how quickly she had replied. By then the towel was held in one hand and both hands had come down to rest at her sides, despite the fact that Andrea still leaned against the door frame.
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Andrea replied again.
“Why?”
“Because… I knew it was going to happen some day, some time, I could feel it.” Andrea said simply as she turned away and folded the towel in her hands to drape on the small towel holder on the wall.
That stunned Miranda. She… What? It was like someone poured a bucket of ice water over her head. Andrea thought, or believed she thought, that Miranda was going to step out on their marriage at one point or another. If the words hadn’t just formed on Andrea’s lips, she wouldn’t ever have believed it. But they had. She dropped them right there between them. And now she was walking across the carpet towards her side of the bed.
“Why on earth would you ever say that, how could you even think that…”
“Miranda, it happened, didn’t it? You did. You slept with someone else. So, I wasn’t wrong.”
“But… It was a mistake. It wasn’t… It wasn’t what I wanted!” Miranda returned to her, lobbing it back. Andrea lifted the covers, climbed into bed, and pulled the duvet over her lap. She got her pillows situated and, like Miranda, sat there against the headboard.
“Let’s be honest with one another for just a few minutes here,” Andrea sounded tired, but her eyes were vibrant with energy as she relaxed back and gazed over, her hands settling in her lap as well. Miranda continued to toy with her rings, needing to fidget with something to keep from leaping out of bed and causing a dramatic scene. Her pulse was racing. “I heard you talk with Nigel last year. I didn’t mean to but I heard you, neither of you laid off the liquor and you left the study door ajar. You told him you were questioning your sexuality and that’s all I heard, I turned my ass around and went back to the dinner party. I knew you were going to sleep with someone but I thought it was going to be a man. I was not expecting a woman.”
Oh, god… Miranda couldn’t help it, she let her head drop back against the head board and lifted her hands, scrubbing them down her face until they covered her mouth, her chin… She remembered that conversation. It plagued her longer than she could say. She felt awful for it. And she remembered Nigel’s words telling her that she was insane if she let Andrea go. He was right.
She wasn’t the same woman now that she had been in the beginning. Andrea had been exactly what she needed, what she still needed, and what she wanted. This kick in the behind had been exactly what she required to have a full understanding of exactly how much.
Miranda’s hands dropped from her face and she angled her head, rolling it against the hard headboard behind, to look directly into Andrea’s guarded eyes.
Before Miranda could say anything, and she was just about to, Andrea spoke and her heart clenched.
“I can’t compete with another woman, baby,” Andrea’s voice was quiet and husky, there was emotion there. Insecurity. The tears in her eyes were starting to show themselves and it made Miranda want to grab her, hold her, tell her that it wasn’t her fault… “I can’t compete with a man either. I don’t have… Well, you know… I don’t have the equipment. I can’t compete with a man. I can’t compete with some… Ex-model. I’m going to be thirty seven. I’ve gotten older… My body is changing, I have crows feet, my boobs…”
Hearing that, a self-deprecating snort, unusual and unexpected, sounded in the room. Miranda couldn’t help herself.
“Please, don’t laugh at me…”
“I’m not, Andrea. I am not laughing at you, it’s just… My god,” Miranda couldn’t believe her ears. Thirty seven… She makes it sound like a death sentence and I’m…. I’m so much older. Andrea was beginning to look more upset, more honest, by the minute. Reaching over, Miranda took her hand and laced their fingers, surprised that her hand wasn’t swatted away. “Andrea, you are… Alright, do you want to know why I did what I did? I will tell you… It’s going to sound ridiculous.”
“For the love of god, please, just spit it out.” Snapped the younger woman. Miranda deserved it, she took no offence. She was not the scorned party here. She let it roll off.
Looking her wife squarely in the eyes, she tried to convey as much emotion as she could. She tried to show herself as earnest, even though the corners of her lips quivered with the emotion flooding her veins.
“I am not a lesbian.”
“Miranda, this is not helping.” Andrea made to pull her hand away but Miranda kept a firm grip.
“Stop… Listen,” She pleaded. “I was marginally attracted to her. I will admit it, I was. I thought that I wanted her and I have never felt that way about another woman, you are the only woman. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I wanted to know or understand because I had been questioning it for a while. And what I learned was very simple: You are the only person, man or woman, who has ever made me feel. I did not orgasm, I did not enjoy her, I did bring her to orgasm. The only reason why was because of pride. I do not want a man, I will never want a man, because what we share in life and our bedroom outshines anyone that has come before and will continue to outshine anything my mind could possibly conjure. You are everything. I apologize… From the farthest reaches of my heart… That I forced it to come into question - your worth, my devotion, my commitment, my vows… I couldn’t lose you and I feared it, that one rogue and uncharacteristic decision would ruin our lives. It would ruin mine to lose you. I cannot lose you. I will make amends every day. I will recommit every day. I am so sorry, my darling. It will never happen again…”
Andrea seemed to hang on every syllable. She listened and she peered into Miranda’s eyes with such intensity that it was obvious she was trying to find the lie. Miranda looked deeply into Andrea’s eyes, praying that she would see the truth, hoping that she would see the sincerity behind the words. For Miranda, her actions often spoke louder…. But, as she had come to know, Andrea required words. They were the world to her. Miranda hoped hers were enough. She didn’t often pray but in that moment, she prayed for some unknown god to hear her plea for this one time, this one forgiveness, and for the woman that she loved to be able to be able to look at her, into her, to understand this one thing: She had made a mistake, she would spend as many days and as many nights to atone for it, and she would truly never… Ever… Take such a partnership, such a life, or love, for granted again.
This was her one chance.
Andrea’s voice, low and steady, permeated throughout the room, or so it felt.
“If you do this again, if you… I swear, Miranda…”
“It won’t happen again, I promise you. I will never do this again. Please… You are everything, everything to me.” Miranda squeezed the slighter hand in her own imploringly.
Andrea released a focused and steadying breath. She was silent for a while and Miranda felt like she was either being gauged or weighed by the look in Andrea's eyes. Finally, Andrea spoke.
“I forgive you this one time. This one time. After that… I’m gone. Do you understand me?” The look in Andrea’s eyes told her that she wasn’t to be toiled with. The idea of Andrea walking out on her, on them, made her want to scream, pull her hair clear of its follicles, and cry. Cry hard. And so Miranda nodded.
“I need no one else. I swear it.” She rasped, her throat feeling thick and unwieldy.
The gruffness of her tone and the earnestness weaved between the words must have betrayed her desperation, because her wife gave a sigh and squeezed her hand back.
“You are my wife. My wife. My partner, my best friend, the mother of my chosen children, everything - If I ever find lipstick on your collar again… Or anything else that would indicate infidelity, I will be one hell of a bitch.” A sound crept up the back of Miranda’s throat when Andrea lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, her lips holding one spot in particular. She hadn’t been expecting it. The affection.
How could she ever?
After all that she’d done?
Three Weeks Later
It wasn’t lost on her that things had become different at home.
As much as Andrea tried not to let it happen, she withdrew. It was so much easier when she was forced to pretend that nothing was wrong and nothing had happened. But since the media got a hold of it and put their personal lives, her failings, on display, the reality finally sunk in.
Miranda had slept with somebody else.
Never in a million years did she anticipate that move. She thought she knew her wife better than anyone, at times better than she knew herself, and this… This came out of nowhere. Well, not exactly. She had had her suspicions but she didn’t think that Miranda would follow through. And if she did decide that she would follow through, Andrea thought that maybe they would have spoken about it first. She at least deserved that much. Didn’t she? After nine years of marriage, multiple ups and downs, but consistent affection, after taking care of Miranda’s needs and wants, taking care of their children, didn’t she deserve that much?
Miranda, of course, felt awful. She didn’t have to say it. It was in so many of her actions lately. It was in the way she offered Andrea coffee in the morning, in the way that she made herself more available in the evenings, the way she showed hesitance at turbulence or differences of opinion… Miranda was afraid that Andrea would leave. Some days that fear was well founded. Andrea was struggling. They hadn’t had sex in in a month. It was actually the longest stretch of time they had gone without it. Some days she would think to herself ‘what am I doing, let’s just get it over with and see what happens’ - just get it over with. Five words she never thought she’d link to having sex with the woman she was in love with. And so she couldn’t.
It wasn’t that Andrea didn’t desire her wife. In fact, her desire for Miranda had blossomed tenfold. But even as their lips met in the most chaste and tender of kisses of good morning or good night, images flashed in her brain and she saw some nameless, faceless woman working to bring her wife to orgasm. Apparently an orgasm that failed to happen. Still, her brain would flip a switch and then suddenly Miranda’s mouth seemed tainted. Tainted by some unknown cunt that she had serviced. Kissing was hard now that her lover’s mouth was somewhere it shouldn’t have been. Andrea kissed Miranda anyway. She loved her.
The girls were distant too. They had taken Andrea’s side in this as much as she had tried to avoid it. They were still giving Miranda the cold shoulder and that’s not at all what Andrea had wanted. Andrea knew Miranda felt terrible enough as it was. Especially after Andrea finally sat her down one night and asked for the details.
She needed to know. The investigator in her needed to be privy of all the facts. Every disgusting, soul sucking, heartbreaking detail. She needed to know. Miranda told her point blank - no. At first. She didn’t want to divulge. Andrea told her that if she didn’t know, she would have a hard time moving on. She needed to understand. Miranda eventually gave in and it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever asked Miranda to do, she knew that, because she could see it. Miranda told her every small minute detail. They sat in the study with glasses of whiskey late one night. Miranda had made quick work of a hefty four finger serving and then poured herself another within a fifteen minute span. And then she spoke. She was so clear, so direct, so honest, that Andrea felt like she had been there. She paled as she listened and nodded her understanding once or twice. It had hurt to know. She didn’t regret it though. Once it was over, and Andrea looked into Miranda’s eyes, she could see how torturous it had been for her, how much she hated having to do it, it was like a punishment, Andrea supposed. Then, Andrea got up, crossed the floor of the study, kissed Miranda soundly on the lips, surprising her wife probably more than she could comprehend, before leaving Miranda’s study for her own home office where she closed the door, rested back against it, sank to the floor, and wept.
She had asked for it. She had received. And she cried. Hard.
She didn’t see Miranda again until the following morning, choosing to spend the night in her office on the couch. She needed space and time.
The next morning, she emerged from her office, showered, changed and got ready for work, and made sure to kiss Miranda goodbye. Again, Miranda was surprised. Andrea could see it in her eyes as their lips parted. Andrea tried to smile reassuringly. She knew it didn’t reach her eyes. Her smiles rarely did these days. And that was two weeks ago.
If she were being entirely honest with herself, she didn’t understand why she felt the way she did to this extent. It had been just sex. Not love. Miranda had told her that. She regretted it, she felt guilty, she understood that it was a mistake. Not love. She loved Andrea. She was terrified of losing her. She showed remorse, she apologized, and, yet, Andrea felt stupid. She felt ugly… Andrea hadn’t felt this way in their blissful bubble. Smart, fat, girl… She hadn’t felt like her in years.
She was a size two now. She worked out often and ran even more often. She watched what she ate, because she wanted to. Not because Miranda had made her feel like she had to. She wanted to look good photographed on Miranda’s arm, she wanted to feel good in her skin, she wanted to feel healthy and responsible, and she did. Most of the time. She didn’t give up everything. An onion bagel once in a while was nice. But it wasn’t an every day occurrence. Miranda had made her fall in love with fashion, she liked to dress a certain way now, she liked to present herself in a way that befitted their lifestyle, for herself. It pleased Andrea to no end when Miranda couldn’t keep her eyes from travelling from top to bottom and back again. She’d always loved that look. That Acceptable she could hear without Miranda saying it.
But now… Ugly. Hideous. Not enough.
She told Nigel and Emily as much over cocktails at Nigel’s new apartment, where they sat in the living room, lazed around, chatted. Nigel nearly choked on his drink.
Then a throw pillow hurled across the room and nearly knocked Andrea’s cocktail out of her hand.
“Shut up, cow!” Emily exclaimed, anger evident at the self-loathing in Andrea’s tone.
“Christ, Emily… This is an Italian leather couch, Nigel would kill you.” Andrea hadn’t spilled a drop, thank god, on his pride and joy.
Nigel was coughing indelicately into his hand before he pinned her down under a glare.
“You are not hideous, what planet do you think you’re on right now?”
She looked at him warily, her fingertips tracing the patterns on the pillow launched at her as she laid it on her lap.
Their calls that fateful day were calls that both Miranda and Andrea had avoided. Andrea broke the next day and called them on a three way call from her office and explained what had transpired. To say that they were both shocked and furious was an understatement. It had taken no less than twenty minutes for Emily to finally calm down from the yelling and cursing in her particularly British way. Nigel, however, had Andrea’s best interest at heart. His concern was only her. Her feelings. Her wishes. He would drive the get away car if she asked him. But she explained that she wasn’t leaving. She was going to see this through. She still loved Miranda. She still loved their life. This was just a moment. And in the grand scheme of things, that was true. They were protective of her. The years had formed their friendship and solidified it into something real and natural.
She felt safe in their company and in expressing herself.
“I can’t help the way I feel,” She looked between her friends. Nigel rolled his head against the back of the loveseat and looked up at the ceiling sighing, and Emily adjusted herself a little in the large, comfy looking chair she was in, her legs pulled beneath herself as she leaned on the arm of it. She looked annoyed. Not unusual. “I made her tell me everything.”
Nigel winced, his lips forming a sigh afterward of ‘Oh, Andy’. Emily stared at her with widened eyes.
“You did? Why would you do that to yourself, that’s bloody… Well, pretty damned bold.” Emily sipped her drink.
She stared at Andrea in horror and Andrea merely shrugged a shoulder with a sigh.
“I had to know, alright! I had to know what happened and it really sucked, okay?”
“You asked for it, why didn’t you just let your mind fill in the blanks! God, if Serena ever… I wouldn’t want to know, I couldn’t. I would just die.” Emily huffed haughtily, shaking her head.
“Yeah, well, I regret it marginally.”
“You said that she told you it was a mistake and that she won’t ever do something like this again,” Nigel stated airily, gesturing with his cocktail glass, uncaring that it sloshed precariously close to the rim. “But… Do you think that you can accept that? Really? Can you forgive and forget?”
That was a more loaded question than Andrea felt prepared for.
Could she forget? She could learn to forgive. She wasn’t there yet. But she could. But forget?
No. No, she couldn’t forget this.
Biting down on her lips, she continued to trace the raised stitching on the pillow with her fingertips, looking down at it, as though it held some of those answers. Of course, it didn’t though.
And then she remembered.
“Ugh… ,” She let her head drop back on the cushion of the couch she was curled up on and closed her eyes. “And then there’s that benefit… That fucking gala on Saturday. I have to go, and the press….”
“With her?” Nigel's question was met with a vague look of 'duh'.
“Of course, with her. I told her I would weeks ago, I've already cleared my schedule.” Andrea muttered and lifted her nearly full drink only to drain it.
Nigel and Emily glanced at one another, unnoticed by their miserable looking friend, who was too busy sucking the liquor from her glass dry.
Afterwards, her head stayed there, resting against the back of the couch, and she stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t even know what to do, what if that woman is there? What am I supposed to do… Act, I guess.” Andrea furthered carelessly, leaning a moment later to place her emptied martini glass on the edge of the large circular coffee table.
Emily, thoroughly unamused, spoke without much thought.
“Make her eat it, Sachs… Make them all fucking eat it for all we care, pull a Lady Di, get your size two ass into a sexy revenge dress, and tell them all to fuck off…” Emily practically mumbled into her glass.
There was a moment.
It was an unusual feeling moment.
Nigel and Andrea looked at one another and then they slowly turned their sights upon Emily who, at first, didn't notice. And then she realized they were staring at her with strange expressions on their faces.
"What." She said, in that sharp way that always sounded more like 'wot' to Andrea.
Little did Emily know that her words would be a catalyst.
“A revenge dress.” Nigel repeated slowly and for the first time he leaned up to sit properly, holding his glass aloft. He peered through circular spectacles between his two lady friends.
Emily didn’t know what was happening.
One minute the mood had felt so dire in the room and the next there was a crackling electricity sparked by inspiration that she was left a little confused. Emily’s gaze flitted between the man and the woman she shared the space with and noticed the furrowed brows and thoughtful looks.
Emily's eyes landed on Andrea as she started to speak.
“Emily… A revenge dress. That’s… That would be…” Andrea murmured, unfurling her own crossed legs to sit up properly.
Nigel didn't let her finish her thought.
“I have just the dress. If you’re willing to take a risk.” Nigel’s tone brokered no room for argument as he placed his glass down on the coffee table between them all and stood. He walked briskly out of the living room and down the adjoined hallway toward his home office and bedroom.
The look on his face was determination and interest. He eventually returned with a garment bag in his arms.
The women immediately stood with curiosity.
“I had to make a very small repair and preferred to do it in the privacy of my own workspace, this… Is a very expensive piece of couture. I would not be able to forgive myself if some incompetent so-and-so caused me a moment of distraction.” Nigel explained as to why he had the gown with him, and then it became all too clear it had been meant to be stored in The Closet at Runway.
Glancing at one another, Emily and Andrea neared as he so very carefully unzipped the garment bag while holding to the hook of the hanger inside of it.
As inches were beginning to be revealed, Andrea’s breath caught somewhere in her throat.
“Oh… My god…” Emily took the words right out of Andrea’s mouth.
“A little help, gawk later.” Nigel muttered, coming to his limit of being able to hold up the garment bag and unzip it at the same time.
Immediately, Andrea stepped forward and helped him remove it from the dress. Her eyes focused on the frightfully sheer material.
When it was revealed, Andrea’s eyes combed over every inch of fabric, and the embellishments of strategically placed black sequins and beadwork. She had seen many a ‘naked dress’... Gowns that were meant to be worn with nothing at all underneath, so sheer that they exposed nearly every inch of skin, but she never imagined one adorning her frame.
The beadwork flourished on the bust, but left much open space, enough only to cover and hide nipples from prying eyes. She skimmed her fingertips down and traced where…
“You should try it on…” Nigel offered.
“Now?” She looked up at him, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. She couldn’t possibly wear this.
“Yes. You should. This… This is one hell of a statement,” Emily agreed, and Andrea looked beside her at the awe and resolute appreciation for the garment, clearly confident in Andrea’s ability to wear this dress - much more than her own confidence. “Everyone would die.”
Andrea was not so sure.
Before she could argue, Nigel was ushering her down to his bedroom, he practically threw her into his rooms with the gown. He told her to put it on and see. To just try it.
And then he closed the door.
Andrea gazed at the gown laid on his made bed and felt her mouth go dry.
Then she glanced at the full length mirror and her own dressed form.
Wearing an oversized blouse and a pair of DKNY jeans, barefoot, she scanned her well concealed body and asked herself… Was this too much?
She stole herself a moment and set her jaw. She had been confident once. She had felt beautiful once. Miranda had made her feel beautiful beyond what the meaning of the word even conveyed once. Her wife certainly didn’t make her feel that way now. But what if she put on this beautiful garment and felt just the same?
“Sometime this millennia, if you don’t mind. I don’t hear changing!” Nigel called through the closed door and Andrea’s head snapped toward it, torn out of her thoughts.
She sighed.
“Alright, alright,” She mumbled loudly back. “Hold your fucking horses…”
Trembling fingertips rose to the buttons of her blouse and she began to strip. She considered keeping her bra on but her hands worked before she could make a choice and took it off. Luckily, the apartment was warm so she wasn’t standing at attention the minute the air hit her. She pushed down her jeans, kept her thong on, and, once completely - or almost completely naked - she found the zipper of the dress. She carefully ran it, opening it, down the spine of the fabric and lowered it down to step into. It was the weirdest feeling.
Pulling the skirt up over her hips and threading her arms through the sleeves, she called for Nigel and Emily to return.
They came in without caring about her body on display. Initially.
But as Nigel zipped her in, and they all stood to face the mirror, none of them could form an articulate word. They just stared at the image framed there.
The dress was tight. Skin tight. Fitted. But something looked wrong…
Without really thinking, wanting to have the full picture, carefully, Andrea began to gather the skirt in her hands and lifted it. She took off her thong and threw it on her folded clothes on the bed. The skirt lowered and hung.
“Oh, Andrea…” Emily’s voice was soft and awestruck as she devoured the image in the full length reflection.
Her body was on display, save for those embellishments that covered her nipples, most of her pubic patch, and, as she turned to get a view of her back over shoulder… Well… Not her ass. That was entirely on display through the thinnest of veils. The beads and the sequins wrapped over her hips and rose like vines up the back of the gown towards her shoulders, and snaked down toward her ankles in a way that was definitely not coverage but still strategic. Its patterning was interesting and very… Well, couture. Against her porcelain skin, the black was slimming, and Andrea realized… She was not as hideous as she might have thought.
“You need to wear this.” Nigel murmured low, taking Andrea by the gentle slopes of her hips and turning her back, head on, to the mirror. Their eyes locked in the reflection and she could see that spark in his eyes. The knowing, mixed with some surprise.
Her voice sounded miles away as she spoke on autopilot.
“I need to be styled… Em?” Andrea breathed, her gaze shifting in the mirror to find those lighter eyes.
“I’ll call Serena… We’ll style you. I would give a months worth of cheese just to see the looks on those faces…”
The three of them looked at one another... The decision had been made.