"The one?" Miranda narrows her eyes and it dawns on me she thinks I'm either lying, or exaggerating. I wish I hadn't spoken without thinking it through because now I have to stand by my words and explain.
"Are you really that surprised?" I try to answer her question with another question even though that's probably not a smart thing.
"Surprised is not the word I would use." Miranda doesn't even blink but nails me with her icy blue gaze. "What do you mean by 'the one'?"
Geez. How hard can it be to understand? But I realize she needs confirmation and perhaps she's even more insecure than I am. She's the older one and also the one who has a lot to lose if our, well, whatever kind of relationship we're heading for, gets out. I think of what I vowed to do while we were driving here. I would tell Miranda that I love her. It kind of seemed easier then.
"Exactly that," I say and carefully place my hand against her cheek. "For me, you are the one. I've never felt this way about anyone else, man or woman. I'm not asking anything in return, but since you wanted to know—you're the one."
Miranda seems to mull my words over and I choose to take her not withdrawing from my touch as a good sign. If she pulled away from me now, I'd be in for a world of hurt.
"You're very young. Too young. I mean for me. Socially speaking." Miranda's voice trembles and she speaks in short cropped sentences. I of course disagree, but hold my tongue as I can see she's working her way toward something. "I have never even kissed a woman before you—never felt the urge even once and you know we're surrounded by the most stunning women in the world at Runway."
And I'm not like any of those thin, tall, famously beautiful women. I want to hide my face in the pillow and wail, but force myself to wait her out. As always, Miranda has no idea how hurtful her comments are. I'm sure she thinks she's just being upfront and honest. I want to keep my hand against her skin, but right now I feel damn ugly, so I lower it. It makes her frown, which I interpret as another good thing. Sort of.
"How is it they pale in comparison with you?" Miranda continues. "When I try to conjure up images of the models and the clackers, they're like watered down Xeroxed copies and you…you shine in brilliant Van Gogh colors. It should be impossible." Miranda holds my hand against her cheek and then pressed her lips against my palm. "You're kindness have never gone unnoticed. You go the extra mile several times a day and never take credit for it. In fact, you allow Emily and Serena to reap what you sow frequently. But I'm not blind. I appear to have my radar constantly set on finding you. As soon as you move or say something, I'm homed in on you and filing everything away for future reference."
I am floored. Again. Miranda's impossible words deprive me of oxygen and sends tears to burn behind my eyelids. Is this truly how she feels? She has no reason to lie to me and you can say a lot about Miranda Priestly, but she's painfully honest ninety-nine percent of the time—unless it's a business advantage to lie by omission. "Miranda…" I whisper.
"Shh. Let me finish." She places her thumb against my lips for a moment. "Then there's your voice. Before you, I thought it was rubbish when people insisted that their lover's voice could send them into a complete state of arousal. I never experienced that before you. The first time it happened to me was when you spoke to me in the den…when I told you I wanted you to come to Paris instead of Emily. Your stuttering, shocked response made my heart pound, and I might as well confess, it made me want to pull you down onto my lap. I very quickly started working on the Book to mask my emotions." Miranda pulls me close and I can't see her face as she hides it in my hair.
"I beat you to it then," I murmur. "I also must have a masochistic streak as I was a total mess when you dressed me down after I messed up at the townhouse the first time I delivered the Book." I giggle helplessly against her neck.
"Already then?" Miranda tilts her head back and meets my eyes. "When I was still married?"
I can't tell if she's shocked or amused. Perhaps both. "Yes. I responded to you early," I say and now I'm back at feeling skinless before her again. These rollercoaster emotions take a toll. "At first I chalked it up to being just physical. You're beautiful. Powerful. You know?"
"I know I wield some power, yes. Beautiful?" Miranda holds up a hand as I am about to protest at her self-deprecating huff. "And when did it change? Or begin to?"
"Into you being the one?" I smile and feel my lips tremble. "I know it's going to sound like pity, but it changed in Paris, when I found you on the couch with tears in your eyes. You went from iconic dragon lady boss to…to you…a woman, a real person…like that." I snap my fingers. "I was so angry at myself for buying into your work persona and not seeing the woman behind it until then. Like the dragon lady was all you were. I was also terrified as it made me realize that the crush I had on my powerful and beautiful boss was not just a crush at all. Once I dared see you as an equal…I knew." I hesitate. I can't just blurt things out and bare my soul and my jugular in both at once, can I? What if she slices them with once quick verbal katana attack? I may never dare to love again if that happens.
"I knew something was going on with me when you almost walked away from me in Paris." Miranda seems calmer now and is relaxing against me which makes it easier for me to breathe. "I panicked and I told myself it was because I'd be stranded without an assistant while abroad. When you returned and we kept working as if nothing happened, I was still…uncomfortable. I couldn't trust that you wouldn't do it again—for real this time—at any given time. I challenged you. I treated you horribly many times to see if I could push you away, but the more I acted out, the kinder you became…so it backfired."
"How do you mean?" I can't stand not touching her and gently place my hand on her hip under the sheet. She jumps, but doesn't seem to mind.
"The more you proved you were not going to be scared off by any of my rather foolish attempts at repelling you, the more I yearned. And I don't yearn for people. Certainly not young women who are closer in age to my daughters than to me." Sounding angry now, Miranda shifts as if to turn away from me. This scares me and I act without quite thinking it through by yanking her toward me. Miranda stops speaking and her eyes are now wider than ever before. Apparently she can become shocked. Imagine that.
"Age is irrelevant," I say harshly. "So what if I'm twenty-five and you're fifty-one. That's the least of any potential problems we might have. You can't possibly think that what we have is common?" I hope she will understand what I mean, but of course Miranda dons her most blank look.
"Do tell. Share why 'what we have' is so unusual." Of course, Miranda hates being shocked or taken aback by anything—the woman hates surprises after all—and now she's falling back into old dragon behaviors.
"Whenever has having sex for the very first time with a lover been this good for you? I can tell you that the three firsts I've had kind of sucked. At least the two first. With Na-, uhm, my previous boyfriend, it was halfway decent. With you, on the other hand, it blew my mind and you sent me to orbit and back. It was fucking awesome. How many of your firsts have ever been like this. Be honest."
Miranda has the nerve to look affronted at my last remark. "None. Usually it takes me months to relax enough to enjoy any part of it." She doesn't look pleased that she's forced to admit such a thing.
"It can't be just because I'm a woman." I hold her closer and she doesn't pull back. Her free arm settles around me under the cover.
"I'm no fool. I do realize this…the amazing sex, all this excessive conversing about us, and sex…is because…It's all because of you. " Her mouth is suddenly on mine and she kisses me feverishly. Miranda pushes her tongue into my mind and I rejoice in the notion that she feels safe and wanted enough to dare do this. I return her kiss, massage her tongue with mine, and hold her like you hold a person you don't ever want to let go.
"Miranda…" I moan her name and press my lips to her neck. "Oh, God."
"You drive me crazy—and you know it." Miranda nips at my lower lip. "You're all I think about as soon as I stop working for a moment. I've even daydreamed at work and that has never happened before. Ever. You're…you're not good for me that way."
"But in other ways?" I ask. Perhaps I'm pushing it, but if there's the slimmest of chances, I can't be too cowardly.
"In other ways—oh Andrea." Miranda's eyes soften and she caresses my bangs from my forehead and places a kiss there. "In other ways you make me feel like I stand a chance. Despite my reputation, my age, my abysmal marriage history, and the fact that I'm a single parent to preteens…you make me feel like there's still a chance for me."
What kind of chance is she talking about? My heart melts at her dreamy, longing tone. I am so close at throwing caution out the window and as always, I want to do anything for Miranda. Anything. But there is also that persistent voice in me that insists she should want to do the same. Then logic hits and I know that if we're going to stand even half a chance at anything, one of us needs to go first and I am certain that this one won't be Miranda.
"Together we stand a chance if it is what we really want." I am rather impressed with how steady my voice is. "I'm ready to give it my all if you are. I have a few conditions."
I knew ahead of time that the word 'condition' would make Miranda equal parts apprehensive and curious. Now she looks at me like I presented her with a boa constrictor. Fascinated and appalled. "Go on," she says very quietly.
"If we go forward like this." I motion back and forth between us with my hand and then return it to her hip. "It needs to be both of us going all in, to the best of our ability. We both stand a lot to lose if we do this wrong, which means we need to really communicate. And most important when I'm concerned, we have to be exclusive."
"And?" Miranda raises her left eyebrow.
"That's it. For me."
"So. Communicate. Go 'all in'. Exclusive. Did I get that right?" Her expression is unreadable, but her voice is the right kind of soft again.
"Yes. I figure if we'd have communication as sort of staple, we'd be set when things get all screwed up." I know I'm blushing now as my cheeks are hot. "Uhm. What would your conditions be? I mean, if this was what you wanted."
Miranda lets go of me and sits up. The sheet falls off her upper buddy and I can see the outline of her breasts, her shoulders, against the muted light from the bedside lamp. She sits like that for several moments and then she turns her head and looks down at me, her eyes glistening. Is she crying? I attempt to sit up but she holds her hand up, stopping me.
"I only have one condition, Andrea," she says and I can hear a definite catch in her voice. "I would be all in and communicate with you ever moment of the day when I wasn't at work and I'd never look at another person, man or woman. It would be easy for me to promise. My condition, however, is impossible for you to accept—as it is impossible to fulfill."
My mouth goes dry. "Try me. Please, Miranda."
Instead, Miranda pulls her legs up and hugs them to her chest. Leaning her forehead against her knees, she begins to shake and I know for sure she's crying now.
Continued in part 11