CHAPTER ONE

Andy pressed Miranda against the interior of her townhouse door and applied a trail of feverish kisses up her neck. They'd just passed Cara on the front door threshold.

"The girls turned in an hour ago, Ms Miranda," the housekeeper had politely reported on her way home. "I hope you had a good evening at the ball."

Miranda had nodded abruptly once, her face a blank slate, shutting the door swiftly, at which point Andy had pounced. God, her skin, so soft, so, so soft. She wanted to be everywhere. Her hands dropped to Miranda's hips, kneading the skin through that divine midnight blue Valentino. She'd looked stunning tonight.

Miranda's eyes drifted appreciatively across her body and Andy blushed. It was just like their first night together one month ago to the day. Scorching gazes, lips licked, eyes dropping. Although right from that first night, as Miranda had kissed her senseless after offering her a lift home from a ball the reporter had been covering, the white-haired woman had also made the ground rules clear: "Never in front of the girls – they must never know. And never anywhere the media could get hold of it and crucify us."

Andy had nodded fervently. And that was all the discussion they'd ever had on the topic. A month later and she still couldn't get enough of the woman she knew she was falling for hard. What Miranda thought of the arrangement, Andy had no clue, because the other woman wasn't big on talking. Well not beyond "Oh, oh. Oh yes. Oh. There."

Andy's hands slipped behind Miranda and gave those delectable swells a squeeze and then leaned in for a proper kiss. She felt Miranda respond for a moment with a pleased hum that made Andy forget her own name, before hands came up to her shoulders gently pushed her back.

"Andrea,'' she murmured, "Not here. The girls will..."

"The girls aren't here right now. The lights are out. You are in my arms and..."

"The girls ARE here."

A low angry young voice cut through the still night air and Miranda froze, the blood draining from her face. Andy leapt back in shock and faced their young accuser.
Caroline sat on the step of the landing watching them, a stormy expression on her face.

She straightened her back and spat: "And we don't like it."

"Bobbsey?" Miranda began cautiously. "It's not ... not what you think." She was white as a sheet, eyes shocked. Andy felt a tremble run up the other woman's arm and her hand balled into a fist.

There was also no doubt Caroline, based on her disbelieving expression, knew exactly what "it" was. Rule No. 1 was now a distant memory.

Oh shit.

"That you're fucking your former assistant? Your FAT former assistant who's also a girl?''

"Language Caroline!'' Miranda hissed. "How dare you say such things!"

"Why not? It's the truth. And you've called her worse. You called her 'useless and incompetent and a fashion eyesore', too, when she first started working for you."

Andrea froze. Oh god. Miranda was about two seconds away from going ballistic. She slid an anxious glance at her lover who had stiffened like a board. The only question was which way the guns would be pointing.

"I should go," she said softly. "I'll call you."

Miranda blinked as if suddenly remembering Andy was still there. And then she hesitated. Andy, honed in the fine art of reading Miranda for almost a year, instantly felt the shift. "Unless you don't want me to call?"

She tried to keep the pathetic entreaty from her voice. She didn't entirely succeed. They had never talked about anything beyond their next date. Next encounter. This was unknown territory. Andy felt her heart beating out of her chest as she waited.

Miranda pursed her lips, opened them and then shut them, and hesitated again.

"Miranda?" Andrea asked, hurt lacing her tone.

"No," said the 13-year-old on the steps, eyes burning fiercely. "We do NOT want you to call, or visit, or take up any more of our mom's time. You already ruined our birthday. We were supposed to have a pre-birthday celebration tonight and instead she was out with YOU. She FORGOT."

Miranda started. "Darling, I said if I was available we'd do something tonight but that tomorrow, no matter what, your birthday will be all we focus on."

Caroline glared at her. "So she is more important than we are?"

"Um hey," Andy interrupted gently. "What's going on Caroline? I like you girls. I thought you liked me. We were getting along, weren't we? Why all the 'she' stuff?"

"You were fine when you were her assistant," Caroline conceded, eyes still burning. "We liked you then. Getting Harry Potter won us over for a while. But now we know you just wanted to get into Mom's pants."

Silence. The ugly accusation in the girl's voice hung heavily in the air. Miranda didn't even blink, staring at her daughter with an unnatural stillness.

Andrea gave a startled half cry. "That's not why I did it, Caro." Her voice was a gutted plea. Horrified.

"Stop calling me that, I've always hated that stupid nickname. Only Cass can call me that." Caroline glowered.

"Honey," Andrea tried again. "I'm really sorry about your pre-birthday night. If I'd known I was interrupting something then I'd have..."

"You ALWAYS interrupt something. You're ALWAYS around. And when you're not, Mom's always saying 'Andrea this, Andrea that'. So Mom, we've had it. Had it with the way you always forget we exist whenever you find someone new. Had it that you forget about how hard it is at school whenever you're on Page Six. And now - honestly - a girl half your age? Who everyone's going to call a gold digger? Hey maybe she IS a gold digger. Are you trying to inflict social suicide on Cass and me? It's too much."

"Bobbsey, what are you saying?" Miranda asked her faintly. She looked bloodless, her skin almost translucent in the low light above the door. Her eyes were darting wildly.

"It's her or us. Choose. Choose us or we tell Dad about your love life and demand to live with him. And you know he won't shut up about it in the press either if we get him mad."

"You're blackmailing me?" Miranda's eyes widened.

"No, Mom. I'm asking you to choose family first," Caroline said firmly and her hands formed tight little fists by her side. She added: "Just for once, put us first. Please, please choose us this time."

There was another silence as Miranda digested this. Andy eyed the redhead who had just manipulated her mother like a pro. It was a virtuoso performance. In turn the girl's knowing green eyes narrowed in warning, daring her to get between a mother and her child. Andy stared back, incredulous.

"And where is your sister in all this?" Miranda asked, having missed the silent exchange as she peered higher up the stairs. Another set of wide green eyes was watching them. "Cassidy, do you agree with this ... this ultimatum?"

Cassidy didn't speak, instead her grip on the balcony railing made her fingers go white. She swallowed.

Caroline filled the silence with scorn. "She's already chosen. I told her it was Andy or me. We're twins. You do the math."

Miranda took one step away from Andrea and Andy's heart spasmed painfully. She reached out to clasp Miranda's wrist, asking without words for her to stay. To not do this.

Miranda eventually noticed the hand on her and turned, their eyes locking. If it hadn't been so serious, her lipstick-smeared, full, kissed lips and mussed hair would have been endearing. The icicles in her eyes, though, the rigid posture, the anger and fear radiating off her were anything but adorable. Suddenly, like a light flipping off, Miranda's face was schooled to boardroom neutral. Her political game face. Oh no. No, no, no. She was going to…

"Miranda," Andrea whispered urgently, mounting panic evident across her face. "Please, don't. We can work something out. Something that gives you more time with your girls, who obviously just love you very much and want to spend more time with you."

"I don't really think it would have worked, do you Andrea?" Miranda said in a low murmur, so her daughters wouldn't hear. In the unnatural stillness though, perhaps they would.

"Caroline is right about one thing - we would be a laughing stock on Page Six," she continued. "Their father would not hold back if he got it in his head to make this ugly for me, if he knew the girls wouldn't object, and he would sue for sole custody in the blink of an eye if the girls demanded it."

"How can you say it wouldn't have worked? We've been great together," Andy pleaded. "We are great together. I completely understand the demands on you, and you understand why my career matters to me. We can talk about this. We can ..."

Miranda peeled Andy's grip off her arm with her fingers and her face shifted to disdain. Andy's heart dropped into her boots when she heard the harsh tone next. It brooked no room for discussion.

"There's nothing to talk about," Miranda said and drew herself up to full height. "You have been a pleasant diversion but we both know it would have ended one way or another - our age and social standing are too different. Honestly Andrea, can you see me taking you to the Runway Annual Gala Ball, on my arm, for the paparazzi to have a frenzy over? Picking us apart? Did you, perhaps, picture moving in with me one day?" She gave a scornful laugh. "Me, the head of a global fashion publishing empire, and you my former assistant turned junior newspaper reporter? Such a perfect match."

The scorn was brutal. Unnecessarily so, Andy noted in the dim part of her brain still trying to process this awful conversation. She heard a soft snicker and realised at least one daughter had heard the callous speech. She couldn't tear her eyes off Miranda though, not now. She had to tell her. Convince her.

"Miranda," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "You don't have to do this ... say these things. You don't have to. It's not really them or me. We can work something out. You're not thinking straight."

She poured her heart and soul into her words, desperately trying to cut through Miranda's resolve. The older woman stared at her for a moment.

"On the contrary Andrea, I have been clear from the outset about what cannot happen. Was it not the first thing I said to you? At least this way it ends before we become a sideshow, and before my girls get hurt any more than they already have." She exhaled, her nostrils flaring. Under her breath she added: "Perhaps it was a mistake to start with."

"Miran..." The rest of the word died in Andy's throat. Oh God. She couldn't mean that?

It might have been only a month of dates, laughter and delicious intimacy but she had felt closer to Miranda in that month than she had to anyone in her life. She thought they'd connected. She briefly shut her eyes. Had it really been so one-sided? She was just a fun fuck to amuse Miranda before she moved on? She could've fooled Andy. Clearly she did.

Andy's eyes were shining with unshed tears when she opened them again and was pinned with an icy stare.

"It's better to make a clean break of it," Miranda said in her trademark Arctic whisper that brooked no dissent. She crossed her arms across her chest. "After all, dear, it's not like our feelings were involved."

And there it was. Andrea stared at Miranda in outrage. She didn't care if the pain, the humiliation, the grief and loss were written all over her. She didn't care that tears were now streaming down her face. She memorized the woman she now realised that she probably loved. Memorized all of her since she would never see her again. Never touch her. Never kiss her. Her heart was shattering in slow motion. Her fingers floated up to Miranda's famous iconic sweep of hair and ghosted over it.
No feelings involved?

"Speak for yourself," Andy ground out. Her hand snapped back to her side and she turned to leave, eying Caroline briefly as she did so. The small girl had an unreadable look on her face that matched her mother's.

Why? She asked her wordlessly, outraged and hurt. Why?

The girl broke her gaze and her cheeks reddened as she looked away.

She left Miranda's house, Miranda's precious family, Miranda's life, and in a passing fit of rage slammed the door so furiously it almost came off its hinges.

From inside the house she heard Patricia bark at the sound. And then complete silence. Andy stomped away, tears running down her face.

Well. That was that. At least now she didn't have to agonize over what Miranda thought about her any more.

It had been a month. Andy stared at the ceiling of her bedroom and contemplated her vastly shitty life. She went to work, went home, went to bed, woke up and did it all over again. She was not in the mood for this living business. Doug had been around a few times in the past few weeks to check on her, and drag her out for drinks.

He'd only succeeded in her getting drunk enough to spill the whole sorry tale and then cry on his suit for the rest of the night.

He'd only seemed capable of saying "Wow," for most of those three hours.

Wow. Yeah. Because being dumped by Miranda was certainly wow-tastic. Miranda hadn't texted or phoned or emailed or any of that of course. No 'Sorry my daughter was a hateful troll to you, you didn't deserve that'. As if. The sun and moon shone out of their 13-year-old spoiled asses.

She rolled over to her side and stared at the wall. The worst part was she had been starting to really like them. To say nothing of what she felt for their mother. No corner of her heart hadn't been swelling every time she'd held her in her arms. She was completely gone.

What was the use beating herself up anyway? Miranda wanted nothing to do with her. She'd made that abundantly clear the previous day, in what Andy had begun thinking of as her moment of weakness - shortly followed by her moment of magnificent rage.

She'd found herself, after a wretched night of no sleep and missing her former lover with an ache she knew was too pathetic for words, outside Runway on her way to work. Outside Runway at the exact time she knew Miranda would most likely be leaving the building for an appointment with the hot new 'It' boy designer the editor had been talking up for four weeks.

And so she'd stood there, shaking like a leaf and trying to hide it, when the iconic white hair came into view. Her heart stopped. Dead, cold. Miranda had been issuing a string of instructions to Emily as she stalked out the building. Instructions which abruptly ended the moment she slapped eyes on Andy.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Emily regained her wits. "What are YOU doing here you ungrateful wench," she sputtered, as if trying to divine what her boss would most want her to say.

"Ungrateful? Pot, kettle, Emily?" Andy said, eyeing an outfit she knew for a fact she'd given to Emily after she'd left Runway in Paris 18 months ago.

"Oh well, this. I …"

"Emily," Miranda interrupted. "Take those specifications to the car and wait for me. Now."

Emily snuck a look between the two women and then clopped off at a fast clip, asking no questions.

"Andrea," Miranda said in a strangled tone. "We can't. I told you this."

"I just wanted to see…"

"If I've changed my mind? No. I'm still a mother of two impressionable girls. I'm still the editor of a fashion empire and 53 years old. And you're still…"

She waved her hand in Andy's general direction as though something odious was invading her nostrils. "That's all." She headed for the car.

"I'm still what?!" Andy called after her. "WHAT!"

Miranda spun back in alarm. "Keep your voice down! Don't you dare make a scene. What, are you twelve? Having a tantrum for my attention? Must I summon security?"

All the color drained from Andy's face. If she'd been slapped, it couldn't have hurt more. Well shit, if that didn't tell her exactly where she stood. The pain was incredible. Worse, she thought, than the night at the townhouse.

Her eyes hardened as she looked at Miranda with cold rage. "Don't bother. I thought you were someone else. Someone worthy of my time and feelings. I see I was wrong. I see someone who just uses people and throws them away and doesn't give a shit about how much they care about you. Just like you did with Nigel. And now me – God I must be really dense not to have realised that of course you would do it to me. Because you just don't care. To think I bought all your bullshit that you were too good for me, when it was really the other way around. Isn't that funny?" She gave a bark of laughter that was devoid of any humor.

"Actually you know what's really sad?" she continued, on a roll. "I was really starting to love your kids before this happened. I thought they were a pair of scamps but I was really fond of them. I had no idea they hated my guts."

Andy paused and looked in anguish at the woman she still wanted with a passion and who she was trying earnestly to hate just as much. Turned out 'love-hate' really was a thing. "Anyway, message received loud and clear. I won't bother you again. Or, god forbid, sell you out. That's more your specialty anyway. Have a nice life."

She turned on heel and left. She sensed no movement behind her, her bruised pride satisfied that Miranda had been rooted to the spot, her mouth frozen open, eyes narrowed.

Good.

Bitch.

At the three-month mark, Nigel came to visit. Unexpectedly. Juggling bottles of strange colors which he declared to be "the fun factory". They had proceeded to get drunk on home-made cocktails while he regaled her with stories about his promotion at Runway - a reward from Miranda for being shafted in Paris. By the time they were both keeling over with laughter, he suddenly grabbed her hand and apologized.

"I'm so sorry, Six," he said. "It's all my fault. Blame me. She got me at a weak moment and I told her I thought you maybe cared for her more than just friends and that's why she started things after that ball. If I'd realized she'd just go and hurt you like this, I'd never have said a thing. But I thought you both might have a shot at something great. You were already so simpatico."

"Oh Nige," Andy said, and wiped her face. "She loves her little girls more than life itself. I was never going to compete when they laid down the law now was I?"

Nigel looked at her sideways, trying to keep his teetering balance on the edge of the couch. "That's just it. I think the twins crossed a line this time. Even though that line was pretty far out to sea."

"Huh?" Andy peered at him, wondering why he now had two faces. She vaguely poked at the air wondering which one was the real Nigel. She found flesh and he protested.

"Stop it, Six." He grabbed her jabby finger. "I'm serious. Well as serious as I can be with a pair of Dirty Orgasms and one Fuzzy Navel in me. Let's just say not everything the little dragon spawnettes do is golden anymore. When she speaks of them at all now, she just gets this sad look and changes the subject."

"Come on, Nigel, you're imagining things," Andy said in disbelief. "She made me try and get a plane through a hurricane for those two. You're insane. Nothing would make her care less for them. Certainly not a fight over a former assistant she doesn't give a shit about. I believe she called me a 'pleasant diversion'."

"I'm not insane. I'm telling you she gets sad when she mentions them. Or disappointed. And she's barely home anymore either."

"How come? There's nothing big going on at Runway this month is there?"

"Not a thing. Oh - unrelated note, Kiddo, and the reason I popped around to liquor you up - did you know the best revenge is to live a long and happy life? File that one away will ya. You're acting so pathetic that your dishy friend Douglas called and begged me to do an intervention. Seriously, Six you're nothing like that feisty lump of polyester cerulean who first schlepped her way into our lives. And over what? La Priestly? You're not the first petal to have her ass dumped by someone who doesn't deserve them.

"Now come on, chin up, move on, and mix me another one of those blue things. I'm feeling adventurous."