Chapter 8

Andrea stayed at my house from that day forward. We spent time getting to know each other, beginning and ending each day with a kiss and the promise of something more. We were both careful to keep our emotions under control—or at least I was. I mean, I tried to, and I liked to think she was trying, too. There was at least one occasion where I abruptly pulled away from her embrace and asked her to go downstairs and get me ice, simply because I could no longer control my hands if I were left alone with her.

Before I knew it, two weeks had passed. Nigel needed my opinion on a few plans for the next year, and so Andrea and I found ourselves in the town car on the way to Runway. We hadn't discussed our relationship at all—I almost preferred it that way, but I could see the young woman was deeply upset.

In the car, I reached my hand out across the seat and laid it on hers. I fixed my eyes forward and held her hand there. Whatever this was between us, I wasn't willing to give it up just yet.

I met Nigel in my office, and was pleased to see he hadn't made a mess of the space. Andrea sat at her desk, and I couldn't keep myself from looking over at her.

"You could have told me."

I looked up at Nigel. "What?" What on earth was he talking about.

"I see how you're looking at her," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, uh, I don't know what you're talking about," I said, turning away from him to hide my blush.

"Don't hurt her," he said.

My eyes shot up at him. Why did everyone assume I would be the one to do the hurting? Was it because I was older? Because no one expects Miranda Priestly to have feelings, to be capable of feeling pain? I didn't say anything in response.

"Do you even see what you're doing?" he asked.

I stared at him, not blinking until he gently shook his head and left my office.

"Andrea, coffee," I said as I pinched the bridge of my nose and turned to the window. I needed to find a way out of this. What had I been thinking the past two weeks? Spending my days lounging in bed with a twenty-something, kissing her and touching her and—god, how could I have been so stupid?

I was an old woman, nearly thirty years her senior. It was an infatuation: there's no other explanation. As the adult in the situation, I should never have let this get so far.

I was shaken from my thoughts when I heard Andrea set the coffee cup on my desk. Spinning around, I met her eyes—warm and concerned, begging to know what I was thinking, if I was okay.

I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry and I couldn't find the words.

"Is everything okay?" she mouthed.

I nodded and turned back to the window so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. Everything was okay, but I was not. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I cared about that young woman, and more importantly, she cared about me—more than I had been willing to acknowledge.

I took a deep breath. Pull yourself together, Miranda. My sunglasses perched on my nose, I gathered my phone and bag, marching out of the office and straight for the elevators. Andrea scurried behind me, but I before she could catch up, I said, "Stay here and see what Nigel or Emily need."

She stopped in her tracks, stunned, but rightfully so. I stepped onto the elevator and once the doors closed, I desperately missed her presence. I would have never imagined that it would be this difficult.

Riding alone back to the townhouse, I realized this was the most time I'd spent alone in weeks. I felt an ache—not in my back, but in my heart. My phone was ringing—it was Nigel. I silenced the ringer and tucked it in my purse.

I woke several hours later, curled up on the couch, with crust in the corner of my eye. Andrea was sitting on the floor next to the couch, and my hand found its way to her, fingers gently running through her hair.

"Andrea? What are you doing here?" I said, pulling my hand away and pushing myself to a seated position.

"Do you not want me here?" she asked. "I want to be here. I thought I made that clear."

"But you don't belong here. You and I—it won't work. I have to return to the magazine, and it just won't work. I will hurt you, and it will be a mess. Best to walk away now," I said.

"Good god, what did Nigel say to you?" she asked.

My conversation with Nigel was none of her business. And what did she know about the words I shared with him?

"Miranda, I know you were holding back tears in your office, and I am positive that your back wasn't causing you pain. Please, talk to me," she said, reaching her hand out and squeezing mine.

I knew I should pull away, but she was so warm, and it felt so good. She got up from the floor and sat next to me on the couch, holding my hand with her left hand and gently stroking my back with her right.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" she whispered.

I squeezed her hand in response. "You are too good, sweetheart," I said.

"I don't understand."

"Have you ever read Middlemarch—the last few paragraphs of the book?"

She shook her head.

"Read it someday. You'll see what I mean," I said.

"No, that's not fair. You can't just throw this 'someday' shit at me! Miranda, what did Nigel say to you?" she demanded.

I pulled my hands away and folded my arms across my chest. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she said, getting up and heading towards the door. I froze—was she leaving? Was this it?

"Where is your phone?" she muttered, finally finding it in my purse. "Look," she said, holding it up proudly. "Nigel has been trying to get in touch with you. Whatever he said, obviously didn't have the intended effect!"

"What Nigel and I spoke about is none of your business," I said.

"Except when it concerns me! Nigel is the one who convinced me to come back to you after you sent me away. He cares about me, and wants to see me happy. I know he would never tell you to hurt me like this," she said.

I closed my eyes for a moment. He did tell me not to hurt her—but wasn't he saying that I should end it, whatever "it" was? Could it be that I had misinterpreted what he said this afternoon?

I snatched the phone from her hands and saw four missed calls from Nigel, as well as a few text messages: Call me immediately. Don't do anything stupid. Call me. What are you doing to her?

I brought my hand to cover my mouth, and hopefully prevent an anguished cry from escaping my lips. I certainly didn't deserve her forgiveness, but I could see in her eyes that I already had it.

She took me in her arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Miranda, I love you," she said. I didn't know how to respond to that—saying something like "I love you, too," seemed to cliche and insincere, but not responding at all was worse. I opened my mouth to reply and she pressed a finger to my lips. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered, replacing her finger with her lips.

What began as a chaste peck on the lips transformed into a soul-penetrating kiss. I really felt as though I needed her to survive. She was my breath, my air—I physically needed to hold her, to secure myself to this woman who was my foundation.

Somehow, we ended up in our underwear on the carpet in my living room, clothes discarded on the couch. My arm was wrapped around her waist, my hand softly resting on the swell of her hips. She reached for my hand and guided it farther down, under the lacy band of her lingerie, through her wet curls. She squeezed my hand before letting go and tracing her fingers along my chest.

I allowed my fingers to travel further, plunging into her slick, hot folds. Her eyes fluttered and her body arched into my touch. Every cliche'd analogy seemed fitting at this moment: I played her body like an instrument, like a puppeteer holding the strings and pulling just the right ones. Just when I thought she couldn't be a more beautiful creature, she threw her head back, brunette tresses cascading down to the floor, a lovely carnelian flush sweeping up her chest.

"Oh god…Miranda," she cried.

"Darling, words cannot describe how incredible you are," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek and trailing my lips down her neck.

She fell asleep there on the living room floor. My hand was nestled between her legs, securing me to her very being. The heat radiating from her body kept the shiver from traveling across my skin. I kissed her shoulder, then her cheek, gently waking her up.

"Andrea, darling," I whispered. "Darling, let's go upstairs."

I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I should have been exhausted, but somehow I was wide awake. Perhaps it had something to do with the beautiful creature curled up on the bed next to me. Though I had never been with a woman like that before, it didn't seem to matter, if Andrea's reaction was anything to go by.

My back had been feeling better over the past few weeks, but I don't think the time spent on the floor of the living room helped. Actually, I was quite sure it is what caused the pain in my back that I hadn't felt for weeks.

I was pulled from my thoughts when the woman next to me woke with a jump.

"Good morning," I said, brushing her arm and smiling. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded and smiled. "What time is it?"

I shook my head. For once in my life, I didn't care.

"I'm hungry," she said. "For food," she added with a smirk.

As if on cue, my stomach churned. "Apparently I am hungry," I said.

"I have a taste for barbecue, like brisket or pulled pork. With some cornbread," she said. "Doesn't that sound good?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Is this an Ohio thing?" I asked. "I don't think they have cornbread in Manhattan."

Andrea laughed and pressed a kiss to my collarbone. "Don't worry, I won't let Page Six know that you went all over the city looking for cornbread for your gir—just looking for cornbread." She pressed another kiss to my chest and muttered "sorry" against my skin.

"You don't have to apologize," I said.

"I didn't mean to say that. I don't want you to think I'm saying that or anything. It's just—I like what we have, when you aren't changing your mind about your life and all that," she said.

"Andrea, it is I who am sorry. I was horrible. You deserve better than that."

"You need to stop taking everything so seriously. Stop making it such a big deal," she said.

"Andrea," I warned. I could feel my blood thrumming through my veins, and not in a good way. "Don't tell me what to do. Don't tell me to stop. This is who I am, take it or leave."

The young woman groaned and propped herself up on her elbow, reaching her other hand down to cup my cheek. "Okay, noted. I would appreciate it," she clarified, "if you came to me and we had a discussion before you make sweeping decisions. I know you're you. I am not asking you to change, not really. If we're going to keep this up, though, it will be really exhausting."

"You want to keep this up?" I asked.

"Of course," she said in surprise. "Did you think I didn't want to?"

"No, no, I just…well, I wasn't sure."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "You're obnoxious and I love you," she said, kissing me.

After a few minutes she pulled away. "What?"

"How is your back?" she asked.

I frowned. I don't know how she was able to see through me so well. "It's a little sore, but I think I will just try to rest a little tonight."

Andrea smiled and kissed me on the cheek before crawling out of bed. "I'll bring you something for it," she said.

When she returned, I saw she had brought my prescription muscle relaxer and I was actually relieved. I didn't know how much more of this conversation I would be able to bear. Despite everything she tells me, I find it difficult to believe that she actually wants to spend time with me, that she wants a relationship with an old woman like me. I could only hope she gets bored quickly and doesn't drag this out too much.

I felt Andrea's arm wrap across my waist, and before I got too far ahead of myself, I fell asleep.

The following day, though I had slept over twelve hours, I did not feel rested. In fact, I was unsettled. I wanted to believe what Andrea was saying to me. I wanted to believe that she actually loved me and that she wanted to embark upon a complicated relationship. I wanted to…but I knew that I shouldn't. No one wants to be in a relationship with me once they get to know me. It just seemed Andrea needed more convincing.

"Ooh!" I jumped. Andrea came up behind me and kissed my neck, just below my ear. "Darling, what's going on?"

She spun me around and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my lips. "I owe you."

"What?" I was confused.

"For yesterday. It was ah-ma-zing, but now, it's your turn," she said, grinning as she grabbed my ass through my cotton lounge pants.

I gasped. Just thinking of her touching me, stroking me, inside me, sucking me…my mouth went dry and I was unable to speak.

"I'll take that look as a 'yes,'" she said with a devilish grin. "Now, I've always wanted to have you here, in the kitchen, maybe on that marble island, but with your back and all I want you to be comfortable, so, upstairs?"

When I didn't respond, she loosened her grip and cupped my cheek, her eyes asking if everything was okay. I couldn't deny that I really did want this, so I just smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss her softly.

She took my hand and led me upstairs, where she had apparently been preparing a rather romantic scene. There were candles and soft music, and two short silk robes draped across the bed.

I felt her hands on my hips, her soft fingers working their way beneath my shirt, gently sliding it upwards until it could go no further. Instead of asking me to take it off, I felt her fingertips dancing across my abdomen. I didn't particularly like being touched there—I felt fat, like I had never had a flat stomach since my daughters were born. But somehow, and I know I shouldn't have been surprised, Andrea's touch was incredibly tender. I almost got the sense that she was just happy to be touching any part of me, that she saw past the extra girth and…

I shook my head and gently pushed her hands away. I was getting carried away. "I need to use the bathroom," I said in excuse. I reached down for the sapphire silk robe. "Shall I?" I asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"Yes," she said. "I'll be waiting for you."

I took longer than necessary in the bathroom, but eventually emerged to find her sitting on the bed with her legs bent, spread wide.

It was as though I was on autopilot after that. I don't recall consciously making any further decisions. Not to kneel before her, not to taste her, not to crawl on top of her and certainly not to grind myself against her hip.

She flipped us over so I was on my back and kissed me, gently at first, but then so thoroughly that I awoke from my trancelike state. "Miranda, you are so incredible," she whispered. Her hand fumbled with the tie on my robe—apparently I had knotted it and she couldn't get it undone.

She shook her head and kissed me again, this time sliding her right hand beneath the robe and parting the lapels with her left. Her lips trailed down my chest as her fingers found my warmth. My eyes were closed tightly as I arched into her touch, into her lips.

I whimpered when she plunged her fingers in my wetness. I was so wet and her fingers were so slender and…long. She curled them and twisted and pumped in and out while my hips leapt off the bed. She was touching me everywhere except where I needed it most. When at last she thrusted three fingers inside me, she held them there, moving the palm of her hand ever so gently against my sensitive bud while she whispered that she loved me.

I gasped and my eyes shot open. I was so close. All it would take now was just a little—I froze and reached down for her wrist, pulling her hand away.

"What?! Miranda, what's wrong?"

"Don't you see? This—this isn't going to work," I said. "If you just want to fuck each other for a while, I think we could do that, but—"

I was cut off when she rammed her hand inside me, crushing my clitoris against her palm and sending shock waves through my body.

As I was trying to catch my breath, she pulled her hand out from my body and ran to the bathroom. I tried to imagine what this would look like if we were only having sex, and my mind was drawing a blank. I imagined that over time, we'd figure it out. It wasn't going to last anyway. I straightened out my robe and covered my body.

"Miranda, please," she said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't understand why you keep thinking that this isn't going to work, that I can't possibly love you or want a relationship with you. I know you've been treated miserably by your partners in the past, but please, can we try it first? I love you. You are everything to me. If I misinterpreted and you're not interested, then tell me now. If this is just about sex for you, I can't do it."

I thought about what she said. The more I thought, the more arguments I came up with in my mind for either side. It didn't make sense, but it felt right. It was totally cliche, but my heart said yes and my mind said no. It wouldn't be pretty, but…if it was worth it in the end, did it really matter how we got there?

I heard the door shut and suddenly realized Andrea was gone. I don't know how long it had been, but apparently, she took my silence as an answer. I quickly climbed off the bed and followed the sounds downstairs, hoping to catch her before she left.

"Andrea," I called from the base of the stairs.

She stopped and turned around, her eyes focused on the ground. Her hair was down, and she turned her head so her hair would block her face from my view.

"I love you," I said. Once the words were out of my mouth, I suddenly felt lighter. "I am still not sure this is a good idea, but I want to try this with you. I take a little longer than most to make a decision," I explained. "But when I do, I don't back down. You can't change your mind in a month on me."

The young woman looked up and smiled, dropping her bag and running over to wrap her arms around me. "I understand. I won't change my mind," she said.

"Good," I said. "Because darling, you were absolutely phenomenal and I want to feel that every day of my life. Do you think you can manage?"

"Do I ever!" she said.

She kissed me and my fears slowly melted away. I was beginning to think that my backache was the absolute best thing that had ever happened to me.

.

.

.

The End

A/N: Let me know what you thought of this. I am really sorry I wasn't able to develop it any further, but I felt I at least owed it to all you wonderful people to wrap it up with a nice pretty (smutty) bow. Now that I'm in school I don't think I will be able to write much-and if I do, it will most likely be one-shots, not continuing stories. All the best! xo