You smell the perfume on Miranda, and you know. You know she's been with her...but you don't want to say anything. You can't say anything. You can't say anything because…well because she's Miranda Priestly.

And you? Well you're important, but just not quite as important as her.

She confides in you, but she doesn't care about you, just like she doesn't care about anybody else at Runway. Well, except maybe her.

You always thought it would be Andrea Sachs. You thought that maybe, just maybe, Andy would be able to thaw the ice surrounding Miranda's heart. You had watched, on countless occasions, Miranda's eyes briefly light up when the young, clueless, fashion-unconscious girl had walked into the room. But you've come to find out that it wasn't Andy at all.

No, that perfume that you can sense radiating from the older woman is not that of Andrea Sachs, or that attractive young Serena, nor was it Jacqueline Foillet's – not that they would ever work, but it seemed like an interesting combination nonetheless.

No, no…it most definitely was none of the obvious choices. It was the one that you never suspected.

You thought that perhaps she hated her, that maybe she ignored her because she was incompetent. Ever since she was promoted to that other position, you thought that Miranda had completely forgotten about her, especially after that incident with the car that had kept her out of the office for nearly a week. Miranda had definitely not been happy about that.

But you've come to realize that perhaps she hadn't been happy because that incident with the car had left her not as dexterous in bed as usual…

Though you can't quite be certain of that fact. The only real evidence you have is this perfume, which has been invading your senses since you were called into La Priestly's dungeon to go over several sheets of film. You never really noticed it, but as you stand next to her, you can actually tell where her perfume ends and another begins. And as you stand behind her, her mind and eyes focused solely on the pictures in front of her, you realize there's a slight red mark located just behind her ear, close to the dark gray hair at her neck.

You recognize it as a very small, very habitually placed hickie.

Miranda is human after all, you realize as she asks you about a certain picture.

You give your input and then gaze back at the swollen, bruised spot. Was it possible that the woman whose foreign perfume clung to Miranda had given her this?

And then you see a familiar red-head approaching the office doors. You catch a whiff of her perfume. A perfume you've smelled for the last fifteen minutes since you've been in Miranda's office.

You can tell, from your position behind Miranda that the older woman visibly has relaxed and is looking up at the approaching woman. You hear the silver-haired goddess's breath hitch and you wonder if you've heard wrong. The back of her neck reddens, but only slightly, and you realize that what you suspect is very, very true.

She dismisses you with a quick wave of her hand and a low, "That's all," and you leave, brushing shoulders with the woman that your boss clearly has her eyes set on.

~*~

It is not a known fact until Page Six is flooded with photographs.

You knew it was coming.

You wished you could have forewarned Miranda that the press wouldn't all be positive, but you didn't because you weren't supposed to know.

As you pass by her office, you notice the red-head is standing before the Dragon. But instead of fire spewing out of her mouth, she only has a lost look of sadness and confusion plastered onto her porcelain features and you realize that Miranda Priestly is madly in love with Emily Charlton.