I wake up and I am disorientated. I don't recognise the room I am in for a few seconds, and all I can think about is the pounding in my head. Then I remember.

Everything.

I carefully sit myself up, hoping that the waves of extreme nausea I am experiencing don't become actual sickness. There is a note on the coffee table in front of me, and then it hits me, I have spent the entire night on the sofa. That's something I haven't done for a very long time. Not since I was a student and sharing a small flat in London with three other girls.

I pick up the note, and Andrea's elegant handwriting is instantly recognisable to me. I would know it was from her, even if she hadn't signed her name at the end of it.

Miranda,

Hope you're not feeling too ill when you wake up ;)

I'm going for a run but won't be too long. Hopefully, you won't wake up until I am back.

See you soon,

Andy.

How can she possibly feel like running this morning? Then I realise, I had only seen her drink one, maybe two glasses of whisky, so of course she is faring better than me.

I only have the vaguest memories of last night, and I'm panicked by the thought that I can't remember everything that was said and done. I don't normally drink so heavily, not because of the inevitable hangover but because of the loss of control. There is not much I loathe more than waking up with blanks in my memory, unable to clearly recall events from the night before.

Despite my gaps, I am sure of one thing though; I didn't go to sleep on my own. I remember finally breaking down under the weight of my emotions, and Andrea holding me in her arms. I remember her laying us down, and my head resting on her shoulder, as she protectively held me and offered me quiet comfort.

I feel vulnerable that she has seen me like this. I am uncomfortable knowing that she has seen me at my lowest point. What must she think of me now?

I require coffee, so I gingerly stand and make my way slowly into the kitchen. My legs are as unsteady as a newborn foal but I am managing to keep the nausea at bay, much to my relief. There is a very expensive coffee machine in the corner, and I am elated to see it. I open cupboards at random, trying to locate the mugs, and finally hit the jackpot.

I am shocked at what is in front of me though and reach for the mug at the front. It is a photo collage mug, and every single picture is of Andrea and a pretty young woman with warm umber brown skin and tight black curls framing her face. Why on earth would someone have a mug with Andrea's photo on it?

Then it hits me. Andrea must know them, and she probably knows this house. It's how she knew her way around and could point me in the direction of the master bedroom. It's how she knew where the dishwasher was hiding. She even knew that the handle to the cupboard in the living room turned the opposite way.

She has been here before.

I make my coffee and sit down at the table where my phone is waiting for me. I see that the battery is at 100% and once again I am shaken by the kindness of the woman who is no longer my assistant. I have a ridiculous number of missed calls and emails, and for the first time in my life I decide that work can be put off until later. All of it can wait until I don't feel quite so wretched.

I hear the door open, and close again, and footsteps padding closer to the kitchen. When I see her enter the room I can't help but stare at her, my eyes dropping down her body, and then back up again to find her smirking at my reaction.

She is in the smallest pair of running shorts and sports bra I have ever seen, outside of a layout in Runway. Despite the cold outside, her skin is flushed pink and she is sweating. I have never seen her anything less than fully covered up, so to see her like this, makes my mouth dry and I struggle to swallow. Such is my luck, she sees my difficulty and smirks again.

I cannot help but lick my lips, as my eyes drop down to the most toned stomach I have ever laid my eyes on. Three years ago I called this woman the 'smart, fat girl', but I can see that she is anything but that. She is pure muscle and strength and I want her to pull me into the bedroom and take me. I inhale sharply, reprimanding myself for the thoughts I am having about her, yet again.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

"Like I drank far too much, and passed out," I roll my eyes, "completely self-inflicted, I know."

"I'm sorry," she walks past me, brushing a hand over my shoulder casually, and sits down in the chair next to me.

"I'm gonna shower once I've cooled off, and then I was thinking about making breakfast. Are you hungry?"

I am. I'm starving. I want nothing more than to take her to bed and feast on her.

"Breakfast would be nice," I agree faintly, before holding up my mug, "I discovered the coffee already, as you can see."

Her eyes widen as she notices the mug I have chosen, and she opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again.

"Is there something you would like to share with me?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at her in challenge.

She shrugs, avoiding my eyes, "so I guess you figured out this is my place."

Her place? Not her friends, or a relatives, but hers? This modern house, situated on a large plot of land, overlooking a lake, is hers?!

"This is a prime piece of real estate…" I trail off, desperately curious but not wanting to be intrusive.

"You want to know how I came to own it?" she guesses.

"By all means, share if you want to," I drawl, as if I am only casually interested.

"So I had a friend, Lily. We grew up together, and she moved to New York with my ex and another of my friends."

Lily? Ah yes, I remember overhearing conversations in the office about this woman.

"I heard you talking to Emily about your friends. Did they not abandon you, when you split up with that hairy cook you were dating?"

She nods, "they did, but we worked it out. Eventually."

"How did that happen? I don't think I could have found it within myself to forgive them for their betrayal," I tell her honestly. I'm damn well sure I would have destroyed them.

"Well, that's a semi-interesting story," she grins sheepishly, "I ran into her one day when she was having lunch with her mother. Her mom, Gayle, recognised me and called me over, inviting me to sit and have lunch with them."

"And just like that, you let her back in?"

I watch curiously as she pauses, and her cheeks become a vibrant shade of pink.

"It took a while actually, and things got worse before they got better," she cringes as she speaks, and now I am even more curious. What has caused this level of embarrassment?

"What happened, Andrea?"

"I started dating her mother," she replies bluntly, flushing an even darker shade of pink. I am quite sure that if I held out my hands, I would feel the glow from her face.

Andrea dated a woman? A much older woman?

She continues to tell her story, "Gayle had just bought a place in New York, and we spent a lot of time together. Lily hated it at first, but she eventually got over it and we regained our friendship. It took time, but it was worth it. She was worth it and so was our friendship."

"You're a much more forgiving person than I am," I take a sip of my coffee, "but none of this explains how you ended up with this gorgeous property?"

"Lily died," Andrea looks at me then, and I can see the pain in her eyes, "this was her place, and had been left to her by her grandmother, or she would never have been able to afford it. She left it to me in her will."

This place was Lily's? Which means the paintings were hers too. Was it Lily herself that stopped me from buying the second painting? I remember it being mentioned that she worked at an art gallery.

"Andrea, I am so sorry. How long ago was this?"

"About 18 months ago."

"And what of Gayle? Are you still together?" I hate myself for asking but I have to know.

"We broke up a few months after the funeral. I think we would have been over a long time before if Lily hadn't died," Andrea's shoulders sag and I can see that this is difficult for her to talk about. She continues talking though, "Gayle knew when we got together that I had feelings for someone else. I thought with time I could be happy with her, but my feelings for this other person only got stronger, even though I was in a relationship with Gayle, and she knew it. My heart belongs to someone else, even though I tried so hard to get over them."

Belongs? Not belonged? I feel cold, despite the heat of the room. If Andrea is in love with someone else, then I will never get my chance. I feel myself sinking under the weight of that statement, and I want to get into the car and drive away.

I know she is waiting for me to answer, so I pull myself together.

"What is stopping you from being with the person that holds your heart so securely?"

Andrea sighs, "it's just impossible. She's way out of my league, and she's older. She just sees me as some young kid, I think, and not the woman I could be for her. She has children, and they have already had to deal with a lot. I don't want to make life more difficult for any of them."

I'm shocked. Andrea is perfect and anyone would be lucky to have her in their life. I am angry to know this woman has made her feel so unworthy. Like she isn't good enough for them. I want to find out who it is and shake them, even as all hope for my future with her goes out of the window.

I can't stop myself reaching across and taking her hand, squeezing gently.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you. You are wonderful," my voice is soft and I can hear the affection in my own words, "you are stunningly beautiful, intelligent and you are the kindest person I know. She must be stupendously idiotic if she makes you feel like you would not be worthy of her."

She beams at me then, and her grip tightens on my hand, "really?" she asks, just as softly.

"I don't know anyone who wouldn't want you as their partner, Andrea," and the truth is there, sitting between us, as we both just stare at each other. I am pulled into her gaze like she is magnetic and I can't force myself to look away.

"Even you?" her eyes are genuinely curious, and I am about to answer her, but then she pulls her hand back. She stands up so quickly her chair nearly tips over in her haste to get away from me.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda, I should never have asked you that!"

I try to tell her that it's ok, but she cuts me off saying that she needs to shower, and she walks away. I am left wondering what the hell has just happened.

Why did she just run from me? I was the one who stepped over the line, telling her just how amazing I found her. My heart nearly stopped when she asked me "even you?" in that beautifully soft tone. I almost felt hopeful that she wanted me to say yes, but then she fled the kitchen. I am left with the resounding thought that no matter what just happened, she is in love with someone else.

There is a traitorous voice in my head that speaks up, telling me that I am an older woman with children, but I know it can't be me. We have grown so much closer over the last few years. Surely she knows how much I think of her? How much I respect her? How much I care?

She said this woman was out of her league, and I know that if anything, she is out of mine. I finish my coffee and go to my room, and for the second time in as many days, I cry.

After I have showered, I put on comfortable pants and another of my favourite cashmere sweaters. It is jet black and suits the depression I am now spiralling into with Andrea's revelation.

I check my reflection and see that my eyes are red-rimmed, but there is nothing I can do to hide this. I quickly apply some foundation and concealer. I attempt to relieve the redness in my eyes with drops and coat my lashes with mascara. A quick coat of lipstick and I walk back to the kitchen, following the scent of mushrooms frying.

Andrea is standing at the stove, in the process of making us omelettes. She is cooking mushrooms and spinach, my favourite combination, and she has removed the yolks, just as I like it. She smiles at me, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes and I can see that she is uncomfortable.

I want to reassure her, but for once I am at a loss to know what to say. Instead, I settle with walking over to her and resting my hand on the small of her back, as I lean forwards and inhale deeply.

"This smells wonderful, thank you," and she turns to me and offers me a more genuine smile.

She serves my omelette and then quickly works on one for herself too, and I am aghast at how much cheese she adds to it. How does she stay so toned, when she eats like this?

She laughs, when she sees my expression, and answers my unasked question, "I run at least once a day, and I work out whenever I can."

"I can see that," I speak without thinking, as I take note of the form-fitting t-shirt she is wearing over the leggings that do nothing to hide the muscles in her legs.

Andrea makes a strange squeak as she turns back to her omelette, and I can see the tips of her ears pink-up from where I am sitting. She serves her breakfast and joins me at the table, not quite meeting my eyes as she asks me what I would like to do today.

I can't tell her. What would I say? I want to take you to my room, and undress you, revealing each glorious inch of your skin. I want to lay you out on my bed, and make love to you?

No. That wouldn't do at all, so I turn the question back to her.

"What would you recommend? Is there anything that you wish to do?"

"We could go for a walk? Or there is a movie theatre on the other side of the house? We could talk, and work out what we're going to do in the future?"

"No talking, not today." I am firm on this. "I know we must, but not today. I'm not sure I want to walk either, since I feel rather delicate," I admit, feeling embarrassed that I am so hungover as she laughs.

"A movie then, to start with, and we can see how we feel later?" she suggests.

"Acceptable." I find myself smiling.

We eat breakfast and then she takes the time to show me the rest of the house. It truly is an incredible property, and I think how bittersweet it must be for her to own this. It will always, I suspect, remind her of her friend, Lily.

I think of the master bedroom I am staying in, that she so graciously allowed me to have, even though it must be her room. I am suddenly furious and bitter with jealousy when I suddenly realise that she probably stayed there with Lily's mother. They have undoubtedly slept together in that bed, and the thought destroys me, bringing back all of my earlier nausea.

I have to get away from her. Every time I look at her, I see an imaginary woman pawing at her. Touching her in all the ways I have only dreamt of doing.

"I'm sorry, Andrea, maybe we can watch something later," I watch the disappointment on her face as I add, "I'm going to lay down for a while."

She stares at me, and at that moment I swear she has seen right through me and knows that I just need space, though hopefully, she hasn't guessed why. She accepts my answer though, and steps toward me with concern in her eyes.

"Are you ok?" she asks, as she holds a hand to my forehead, and then strokes my cheek with the back of her fingers. Speaking has become almost impossible, and I nod.

"I'm just tired," I manage to lie, but it sounds weak to both of us, I'm sure.

"Ok, well, have a good sleep and I will wake you later for something to eat," she suggests.

I nod again and leave her standing there, watching after me as I leave the kitchen and head to my room. Once I am there I realise what a bad idea this was. I may be away from her and the unwitting heartbreak she is making me feel, but now I am in this room with nothing but my imagination.

This is becoming a habit now, I think to myself, as I slide under the covers, and yet again, allow myself to cry.