AN: So...this is not an update to One Step at a Time. I can't apologize enough for the delay on that story. I can only say again that I am working on updating it and am committed to finishing it, but that might take a while. Bear with me!
In the meantime, I am thrilled about the Mirandy Year of Fun and Frolics, and I've decided to use the bingo cards to get myself back into practice writing short fics. I hope you'll enjoy this one and be patient with me as I keep working on OSaaT. You could maybe, possibly, if you wish, read this as a future fic for OSaaT.
This is a fill for the prompt "that's all".
I don't normally do songfics, but this prompt was begging for it.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to The Devil Wears Prada or the song at the end.
The ceremony is held in Central Park, because Andrea is a romantic.
"Oh, please," Andrea snorts from behind the privacy screen. "You're the sappiest dictator I've ever met. You wanted to have it in Greece because you thought the sun would be good for my complexion."
Nigel, also behind the privacy screen helping Andrea prepare, chuckles. "She's got you there."
Miranda makes a note to dock his pay. "Regardless," she grits out, "I must insist that you abandon this plot, Andrea. It simply isn't how things are done."
The privacy screen rattles. Miranda turns away in a hurry. Andrea is determined that they not see each other before the wedding because, again, she is a ridiculous romantic.
"You turned around again, didn't you." It isn't a question.
"I am simply trying to respect your wishes, darling."
"My wishes—!"
"The name of the song, Andrea," Miranda says in a cold, demanding tone, because these upcoming nuptials haven't softened her in the slightest.
"Not a chance, Miranda," Andrea sing-songs back.
Normally, Miranda has the utmost respect for Andrea's integrity and determination. Right now, those qualities are infuriating. "Andrea!"
"I'm coming out!" Andrea threatens. "You can stay and keep talking and see me right now, which causes bad wedding juju or something like that, or you can meet me out in the park. Your choice."
Miranda sniffs, refusing to be intimidated. A hand slithers around the edge of the privacy screen like that conniving serpent in the Garden of Eden. She flees.
She's still stewing sometime later as she completes her own preparations with Caroline and Cassidy's assistance. The girls are thrilled about the wedding, their love for Andrea overpowering their disgust for Miranda's previous two husbands combined. They helped with the wedding planning, chose their own bridesmaid gowns, and have already transferred their loyalty from their mother to their soon-to-be stepmother, the traitorous little urchins.
"A car," Miranda grits out, putting down her lipstick and pinning the girls with a glare in the reflection of the mirror. "Something...flashy. But safe. Final offer."
Cassidy's eyes light up. Caroline sets her hand on her twin's arm and gives her a subtle head shake. Cassidy subsides.
Unbelievable. All they've done for six months is ask for a car, and now that it's on offer they're turning her down?
"What has she promised you?" Miranda demands. "How has she turned my own children against me?"
Caroline snorts. "Dramatic much, Mom? Andy knows what a romantic you are and she's trying to surprise you. Stop ruining it."
Miranda forces herself to calm down. She sighs and turns to face the girls. They're beautiful in complementary green and blue gowns, two young ladies on the verge of adulthood. It seems just yesterday that they were pranking Andrea nightly and stretching on tiptoe to have their heights measured against the kitchen door frame.
"Bobbsey, this is only the second wedding you've attended," she says patiently. "You're probably too young to remember my wedding to Stephen. He and I rehearsed our first dance for weeks, and he still—"
"Mom." Caroline is rolling her eyes at Miranda. She will never have a car, not until she's fifty. "Stephen chose 'You Belong to Me' as your first song and stepped on your toes because he was already tipsy. We remember. Do you really expect Andy to be so dumb?"
She doesn't. She has enormous faith in Andrea. But then, there had been a time when she'd had faith in Stephen as well. She voices this thought.
"You think Andy's like Stephen?" Cassidy squawks, aghast. "If that's true, why are you marrying her?"
Miranda smooths her hands down her tight bodice. The engagement ring on her left hand catches her eye, the diamond tasteful yet elegant. Beneath the ring, however, is skin that has begun to wrinkle despite a lifetime of care. It's taken four years since this Sapphic experiment (self-acceptance , Miranda's conscience corrects her in a voice suspiciously like Andrea's) began for New York to legalize gay marriage. In a decade, Miranda's skin may have taken on the papery quality she remembers from her mother's just before she passed away. Will Andrea be there at her deathbed, firm young hands holding hands fragile with age?
Is it fair to ask that of her?
"Mom," Caroline says, touching Miranda's back, anchoring her. "Why are you marrying Andy?" She asks the question like a therapist, as if the answer is a foregone conclusion.
"I love her," Miranda says.
The girls exchange a look. "Enough to trust her with this teeny-tiny thing? Enough to believe she won't step on your toes in front of all your friends—or that if she does it won't be the end of the world?"
Miranda supposes the gradual unclenching of pressure in her chest is the answer to that question. She nods mutely. The girls visibly relax. Had they really thought she might call the whole thing off?
She has to know: "How did she win your silence?"
They beam. "She asked our permission to marry you before she proposed."
She loves her children. She loves Andrea for loving them. "Come here." She pulls them into a tight embrace, for once not caring if her dress wrinkles or her makeup smudges.
"Knock, knock." Nigel sticks his head in the door, grinning like the model that ate the pizza.
Miranda reluctantly lets the girls go. "How do I look?" she asks them.
Cassidy straightens the hem of her dress. Caroline reaches for the eyeshadow, beckons for Miranda to lean close, wipes away some tear tracks, and carefully reapplies the makeup.
"Beautiful," Caroline says.
Miranda redoes her lipstick, then looks to Nigel, who is at once outrageous and resplendent in a custom crimson tuxedo and startling white Gucci loafers. "It's time?"
He opens the door wider and performs an ostentatious bow. "Your young bride awaits. Come along, girls. The music's started."
Cassidy leans down—when did she grow so tall?—to kiss Miranda's cheek. "Good luck," she whispers.
Caroline does the same on the other side. "Have faith," she adds.
Then they're gone, Nigel with them, leaving Miranda with her hair mussed, her dress creased, and her heart full.
Since Miranda has been a bride twice before, she and Andrea agreed that Andrea would be the one to make the theatrical bride appearance. Nevertheless, when Miranda makes her own way down the aisle at the beginning of the ceremony, the experience feels new. The crunching of the grass beneath her four-inch heels, the soft gazes of their two dozen guests ("A small wedding!" Andrea insisted. "We're not inviting the entire Elias-Clark board."), the soft strains of a violinist and cello, and the pure happiness suffusing her entire being are novelties she hadn't expected and could not be more grateful for.
Andrea's father waits at the front, smiling nervously as he clutches the narrow folder containing his script. Because Andrea is such a romantic, and because neither of them are religious, and because Andrea had wanted to keep things small, Miranda had suggested that Richard Sachs become ordained and perform the ceremony himself. That simple suggestion had turned the elder Sachs couple's wariness towards Miranda into a sort of begrudging acceptance.
Miranda glides past Caroline and Cassidy and settles into position. Only then does she allow herself to look out at their guests: Andrea's friends and family, a few of the less intolerable Runway staff, and a couple of Miranda's celebrity friends, both of whom have invited Miranda and Andrea to appear on their talk shows to discuss the wedding of the decade.
Nigel, standing in as Andrea's best man ("Andy, I love you, but if your marriage to Miranda fails and you get married a second time, I advise you to never again ask a man to be your bridesmaid"), gives Miranda a wink. The music changes to the traditional bridal march. Miranda and the guests turn as one to watch Andrea make her way down the aisle.
Later, Miranda will have very little recollection of those 45 seconds. She will recall that Andrea looked more beautiful than she ever had before. She will remember Andrea's broad grin, the way her eyes shone. She won't remember Andrea tripping halfway down the aisle and catching herself on Emily Charlton's bony shoulder ("I nearly sliced open my hand on Emily's clavicle!" Andrea will proclaim, unabashed, when she tells her version of the story). She won't remember Andrea kicking off her heels and making the rest of the trip in bare feet with a broad, unapologetic grin.
She will remember thinking: This is the best decision I have ever made.
The ceremony passes in a blur. She registers the warmth of Andrea's hand in hers (steady, certain, and she knows suddenly that Andrea's grip will be the thing that comforts her in her last moments on her deathbed). She feels herself say the words she's spent the past two months composing. She does not process much of what Andrea says, but only because she knows she can read the vows later and she would rather immerse herself in the warmth of Andrea's eyes at this particular instant.
Then it's over and she and Andrea are sharing a chaste kiss as their audience bursts into applause. Tears stream down Richard's face, and Nigel's. The twins whoop and holler.
"Everyone to the Boathouse!" Andrea's mother shouts, and the guests clamber into golf carts for the short drive to the famous Central Park restaurant.
Miranda keeps to Andrea's side throughout the cocktails and hors d'oeuvres portion of the meet and greet, stealing glances at her new wife again and again. Andrea's smile seems so effortless, her joy infectious. Miranda thinks back to lazy mornings in bed; torturous yet somehow magical holidays spent in Ohio; quiet moments after dinner on the couch, snuggled up with the twins. She thinks ahead to the rest of her life and sees only happiness on the horizon, something she would have previously believed impossible.
Dinner is different than that of any other wedding Miranda can recall, thanks to one significant detail: she and Andrea eat. Every other wedding, Miranda has been far too busy posing and socializing to appreciate the food. However, Andrea made it clear from the outset that under no circumstances would they be missing out on the excellent meal Emily had been drafted to arrange. So they dine on scallops and salmon, caviar and champagne, and by the time Andrea drags her out of her chair for their first dance Miranda has almost forgotten to be irritated by Andrea's secrecy.
Andrea presses against her, her body a delicious warmth against Miranda's. "Andrea," Miranda breathes, "for the last time, I beg you to tell me—"
Andrea presses a finger to her lips, chasing it with a kiss. "Relax," she murmurs. "Just follow my lead."
As the music begins to swell, Andrea wraps her arms around Miranda, who echoes the gesture, inhaling deeply the scent of Andrea's hair. Andrea begins to sway, prompting Miranda to do the same, as Frank Sinatra's croon fills the silent hall.
I can only give you love that lasts forever
And the promise to be near each time you call
And the only heart I own
Is yours and yours alone
The song is vaguely familiar. Miranda can't place it right away, though the sentiment of the opening lyrics makes her heart thump. "Romantic," she whispers, her breath making Andrea shiver, and doesn't know whether it's an accusation or an admission.
That's all, that's all
It takes Miranda a moment to register what's just happened as a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience.
"That's all?" she repeats, pulling back to give Andrea an incredulous look. "That's all ? Is this a joke?"
Andrea snorts. "Oh my god, if you could see your face right now."
Before Miranda can retort, Andrea pulls her back in, leading her in their gentle dance, and sings the next verse along with Sinatra in a passable alto.
I can only give you country walks in springtime
And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall
And a love whose burning light
Will warm the winter night
That's all, that's all
By the end of the verse, Miranda can appreciate the humor behind Andrea's song choice. More, she hears the sincerity in Andrea's voice, feels the commitment in the tender but firm way Andrea holds her.
In complete defiance of wedding norms and generally accepted behavior, because she is a romantic, Andrea stops dancing to kiss Miranda deeply through the bridge of the song. This is no chaste kiss like the one they shared at the altar. This is thorough, sensual, devoted. It causes an appreciative murmur from their guests, as well as a crude catcall from someone whose last name had better not be Kipling.
They break for air and finish their slow, sweet dance through the final verse. Miranda remembers the rest of the song, now. Her mother used to hum it, sometimes, as she washed the dishes or patched one of young Miranda's torn skirts. She hasn't heard it in at least thirty years, and she wonders how Andrea managed to locate something so perfectly them.
Four years together and Andrea Sachs can still surprise her. She looks forward to a lifetime of the same.
If you're wond'ring what I'm asking in return, dear
You'll be glad to know that my demands are small
Say it's me that you'll adore
For now and ever more
"That's all." Miranda breathes the final words along with Sinatra, pressing them into Andrea's long, beloved neck; a vow. "That's all."