PROLOGUE

Staring longingly out of the window from the backseat of the Mercedes, Miranda let out a wistful sigh. As Paris flew by in streams of light she wondered when the city had lost its spark, its intrigue. It no longer held her captivated in awe the way it once had. Even the Fashion Week itself was uninspiring. She had struggled to watch poorly thought out ensembles draping emaciated frames to the sound of techno. Another let down, a waste of precious time. All this explained a solitary trip to the airport on the final evening of the most important week of her year. She would be damned if she waited until the morning to leave this achingly dying city, and so the latest Emily had booked Miranda a first class ticket back to New York.

Eyes focusing on nothing in particular, the editor did a double take as the car passed a familiar setting. The moonlight created enchanting patterns on the surface of the ever-rippling water as streams of liquid danced down the edges of the fountain. Reluctantly, she turned her gaze back to the interior of the car and down to her left. Though the seat was empty her imagination threw out images of chestnut hair, pleading amber eyes and the sway of elegant hips, as the figure that had slipped behind her defences walked away. Her eyelids snapped together fiercely at the memory.

'Well you did always enjoy watching the girl walk away. You just never prepared yourself for the possibility that one day she might not come back.'

Five years later and the memory still stung. So, she did what any home-grown Brit would do and buried her feelings as deeply as she possibly could. The damage, as they say, is done and Miranda was not about to spend her time considering 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. Until, at times such as these, something would remind her of the girl that got away and she was forced to wallow for a short time in her regret. Miranda had been forced to admit to herself how she felt for her former assistant as soon as she realised her reluctance to blacklist her. If it had been anyone else, any other girl to up and leave in the middle of Paris Fashion Week, they wouldn't have found a job in the state that didn't require the phrase, "Would you like fries with that?"

However, the thought of destroying her Andréa only caused her more distress. She loved the girl, and who could blame her. Andréa had been the first person in many years, other than her daughters, to genuinely care about her. When her world had been crumbling around her in the confines of a hotel suite in Paris, the brunette had reached out to her only to be turned away. Yet the following day, when the girl feared for Miranda's position at Runway, she had been desperate in her attempts to warn the editor. Neither act went unnoticed. But what good is noticing if you find yourself too afraid to act? Miranda's thoughts were interrupted as her driver announced their arrival at Charles de Gaul.

Her musings remained dormant until she found herself in first class. This would be the second time in five years that she had flown back from Paris Fashion Week without her assistant by her side. She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge that thought and located her seat. Once settled, she distracted herself by taking a brief look around the cabin and at the occupants. The flight was rather empty, she noticed. Only a few people littered the seats around her. Mainly it appeared to be businessmen and possibly a young actress (or was she a singer?) that Miranda decided had an orange glow that far surpassed Donatellas latest shade. Why anyone believed fake tan to be flattering at those levels she'd never understand. She was finishing her perusal when she caught someone staring back at her.

"Hello! My name's Charlie. What's yours?"

Miranda took in the features of the little girl. If her hair hadn't been falling in golden waves, she would have sworn that she was gazing at Andréa Sachs in infant form; from the twinkling, amber eyes to that wide smile. She couldn't help but return a smile of her own.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Charlie. My name is Miranda."

The editor couldn't help but enjoy the interaction with the little girl. It felt like so long since her girls had been that age, they were growing up quickly. Although Miranda had started making more time for them after the divorce from Stephen, the twins were at an age were they needed her less and less. She had missed this stage in their lives. Lost in her memories, Miranda has been oblivious to the figure approaching the front of the cabin.

"Mommy! Come meet my new friend!"

"Princess, didn't Mommy ask you not to speak to anyone while I was away?"

The editor's head snapped up to view the face that had haunted her dreams since she had made this same flight half a decade ago. Her hair was pulled away from her porcelain face, that gave way to rose tinted cheeks, full, pink lips and those heavenly eyes. Still an impressive size four and clothed head to toe in Chanel, her former assistant took her breath away.

A gasp yanked Miranda from her appraisal.

"Miranda?" It was all Andy could do to remain standing at the site of the fashionista.

"Yes Mommy, this is Miranda. Miranda, this is my Mommy."

Azure and amber eyes both settled on the little girl for the introduction before returning to each other, stunned.