Blissful. That's the first thing that comes to mind when I wake up on my side, and become aware of Andrea behind me, curling around my body protectively, with her arm over me. I have never wanted to wake up in someone's arms before, I always felt trapped, and have not been a good sleep partner previously. Both of my husbands have ended up in separate rooms because if there is one thing I hate, it's sharing my bed.
Wrong. I just hated sharing my bed with them.
I realise this now. It was never about me, it was about who I chose to share my life with. Now, as I am wrapped up in the arms of my soon-to-be lover, I can't imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else. The thought that we have to get up, and function like normal people, rather than stay in bed, makes me want to cry.
Andrea stirs behind me, and I feel her arm tighten as she wiggles impossibly closer to me.
I turn in her embrace, and rest my arm over her, feeling the skin where her tank top has risen. My fingers explore her, revelling in how soft and smooth she is, and delighting in the feeling of muscle underneath.
"Morning." She smiles softly and leans forwards to kiss me chastely. It's not enough though, and I turn on to my back, pulling her on top of me, hoping she will get the hint. She does, to a point, and kisses me deeply. I feel my hips rocking upwards to meet her body, and she laughs at my obvious attempt to gain pleasure.
"Soon, sweetheart, I promise," she tells me, kissing me again. She kisses me so slowly and deeply until my toes are curling and my back is arching in a desperate attempt to press myself ever closer to this divine being above me.
We decide to get up and have breakfast, much to my disappointment. The delicious tension between us since that first kiss this morning is almost too much to bear, and my skin burns every time she touches me so casually.
I find myself wondering when we became so comfortable touching each other. Most people treat me as though I am untouchable, and I have a reputation at Runway as being someone that you never get close to. I know my assistants all warn each other, 'do not touch Miranda. Never touch Miranda'.
I think back to the last few years, and realise she has always ignored this though and has always offered me casual touches. Our fingers will sometimes brush when she hands me my coffee, something no other assistant has ever done, always choosing to place it directly on the desk. She will bump my shoulder with hers when she says something comical, and she has often reached out and placed a hand on my arm when she knows I need comfort.
Today feels different though. A brush to the shoulder as she walks past. A kiss to my cheek when she put my breakfast down in front of me on the table. Even the flick of her eyes to mine is enough to make me heat up. If it was anyone else I would be terrified that they were able to make me feel so much, with so little.
This isn't just anyone though, this is Andrea, and if there is anyone that I trust to have this kind of power over me then it's her.
Just when I am about to suggest that maybe we go back to bed, and finally take that step together, she surprises me by asking if I want to go out for the day.
"Where were you thinking?" I ask her, but inwardly I am groaning.
"Across the other side of the lake is a wonderful restaurant. I'd like to take you out on a date," she smiles nervously at me, and there is a slight but distinct pinking to her cheeks.
It clicks then, she wants to do this right. She has no intention of just taking me to bed. She wants to date me. I melt a little at the thought of her wooing me, even though we both know that I am already hers. I can't help but smile and nod, telling her I would love to go on a date with her. I can see her tangible relief as she realises that I understand what this is about.
We get showered, separately, though I am almost brave enough to ask her to join me. She tells me to dress warmly, but with layers so that I am not too hot in the restaurant.
We head outside, and she takes my hand, leading me not to the car, but along a path at the side of the house.
I look down at my shoes and frown, and she catches my look.
"We're not walking, don't worry," she grins, and as we round the corner, the jetty and boathouse come into view.
"We're going by boat?"
"Yup!" she almost skips then, and I have to smile because her enthusiasm is catching. Inside the boathouse, I see the source of her excitement for the first time, and it is beautiful. Sleek, white and modern, it is jarring against the dilapidated wood of the boathouse. I look at the name painted on the back of the boat; she is named 'Runaway Queen'.
"Runaway Queen?"
"Well, it turned out to be kind of appropriate, didn't it? Since we both ran from Paris and arrived here. Plus, I thought it might be too obvious to call her Runway Queen or La Priestly."
"You named your boat after me?" I ask, feeling immeasurably flattered, "you should have just called her 'Miranda'."
"I didn't think we would ever get to this point. 'Runaway Queen' would almost have been explainable, but 'Miranda' would not!"
She jumps down into the boat and holds out her hand to help me make the step down. I settle myself on a seat and she zips me into a life jacket, much to my displeasure.
"You do realise I can swim, don't you?" I ask her, slightly annoyed at her insistence that I wear this awful fashion disaster. Not only is it shapeless and bulky, but it is also bright orange. It clashes horribly with the coat I am wearing. I want to tear it off and throw it down, crushing it under my Prada heel.
"I know, but the water is freezing at this time of year. You might be able to swim, but hypothermia would still get you, and your body would stop cooperating. In a matter of minutes, you would be unable to keep yourself afloat. I can't live my life without you in it, now that I have you."
Well, what can I say to that? I will never do anything to cause her any kind of pain if I can help it, so I stop my grumbling and just watch her untie the boat and start the motor.
It's more fun than I anticipated, racing across the water, even though I can feel the spray across my face, and the wind is bitingly cold. All too soon we are at the other end of the lake, and she is jumping out and tying us to the pier. She helps me up onto the wooden planking and out of my life jacket. She smoothes my hair for me, and tenderly wipes the spray from my face, blotting carefully with a tissue.
"There. You're perfect," she declares with a smile. She makes quick work of her own appearance, trying to flatten her hair again and drying her face. She looks divine standing there with her windswept hair and flushed cheeks. Her boots are knee high and she is wearing dark skinny jeans and a shirt that accentuates all of her curves. I want to tell her to take us home, but I know how important this is to her.
We head into the restaurant, and it becomes obvious that everyone here knows her. The way she is greeted and the sense of awe in the people that say her name, is almost like she is a celebrity returning home. It is the oddest thing to observe and I wonder if that's how she feels trailing around after me in New York?
The dining area is stunning. At the end of the room, there is a wall of glass, looking out over the lake. The colours are soft, muted creams and blues, and in the corner I spot what I know immediately to be a Tremayne. How is it that this artist is everywhere I look at the moment? Are they local to this area? I don't want to ask Andrea, because art is apparently a source of contention between us, but I will do my own research at some point.
I wonder if they could be commissioned to paint a family portrait for us, just Andrea, myself and the girls? I am probably getting ahead of myself, but I already know I want her in my life forever.
After our entrance, it is of no surprise to me, when it is the head chef that comes out to greet us and take our order.
"Andy! Welcome! I've been meaning to call you to discuss your next-"
"Not here and not now, Marco," she cuts him off, "I'm on a date."
"Of course," and he turns to me, "please accept my apologies for the interruption."
"It's no problem," and I mean it. I give him the most genuine smile I can, though, of course, I would rather not have interruptions to my time with Andrea.
"What can I get for you ladies?" he asks, "or would you like to see a menu?"
Andrea turns to me and explains, "they do have a menu, but Marco is very accommodating when I come here. If there is anything you particularly fancy, then just let him know and if he can make it happen, he will."
I have to stop my jaw from falling open. The head chef is willing to go off-menu for Andrea, and therefore for me? I know that this is not usual in restaurants unless you are a very highly valued customer.
"I'm quite in the mood for steak, actually, perhaps with a vegetable side dish of some description. I'm sure anything you prepare will be perfect," I tell him.
"You will never have better," he promises me, with a small bow, "how would you like your steak?"
"Medium rare, please."
"And for you, Andy?"
"The usual, Marco, you know what I like," she smiles widely at him, and he winks at her.
"I will send wine to the table unless you would like something else?"
Andrea defers to me, but I answer that wine would be lovely, and he disappears in a flurry of orders issued to his staff in Italian.
"They seem to know you quite well here?" I ask, so curious as to the reception we have just been given.
"I used to come here during summers with Lily, and we used to hang around with his son. Then, over the last couple of years, I've spent all of my holiday time here."
"What did he want to discuss with you when we arrived?"
"Oh. Um, well, I'm not sure really, but it can wait, whatever it is." She is firm, but adds nervously, "I'm on a date with my girlfriend, and didn't want to be distracted from her."
"Is that what I am?"
"Oh god, do you not see this that way? I thought-"
"Andrea, calm down," I can't stop my laugh at her visible panic, "I'm happy to be your girlfriend, your partner, your paramour, your lover; whatever you want to call me as long as I'm yours. I've just not been called that for a very long time."
She takes a deep breath and I see her relax again.
"I don't care what the label is," she tells me honestly, "all I know is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
The simple truth of that statement is so clear on her face, and the fact that she is not too scared to make that declaration so calmly is incredibly moving. It is soon, and some might say it was too fast for such words, but with her, it's not. With us, it's not.
"I would like that very much," I reach out to take her hand because if there is one thing I don't want to do, it is to hide this relationship. No one here seems to recognise me, but I wouldn't care if they did. The love I feel for this amazing woman is not something I am ashamed of and I want us to be 'out'. I want to shout our love from the rooftops and share it with the world at large.
Wine is served, and not much later our lunch is presented. It is the single most delicious dish I have had in at least ten years. This place is amazing, and I'm already wondering if we can steal the chef to come and work in New York. It hits me then though. Is New York actually where I will continue to live?
We ran from Paris, and my initial response was to avoid New York because of the press. What now though? Where will we go and what will we do? We have embarked on this relationship without discussing our future. What if we don't want the same things?
"Are you alright?" Andrea asks, and I realise I have been staring at my plate and not eating.
"We need to talk, Andrea." I hear the panic in my voice, and try to get it under control, "we have no idea what the future will bring."
Hurt eyes look towards me as she leans back in her chair, and I realise how I sound, "I don't mean us, darling, I just mean our lives."
She is quiet then, and I realise that for all our declarations of love, she remains still uncertain that I am really 'in' this with her.
"I don't care what the future holds, as long as I have you," she tells me, turning her face away, staring out of the windows that face the lake.
"You left your job, Andrea. Do you have any idea what you want to do now?"
"Not really. I'm sure I'll find something," she replies, without looking at me.
"How can you be so casual? You walked out of your job and didn't give notice. You won't even get a reference! You need to start thinking about what's next."
"I've got time to figure it out, Miranda. Please just drop it and enjoy lunch." Now she does turn and face me again, and I can see the tension around her mouth and eyes.
I take her hand, and try to make her understand that time is the last thing she has.
"You can't just sit around and hope for the best. You need to take this seriously. I can't imagine that you can have much in savings? I am willing to help you, of course, but I also know that you are independent and won't want me to support you forever. You need to think of your future career."
Warm eyes turn cold then, and she speaks in a low voice, "I have asked you not to make judgements about my finances, Miranda. You may not see us as equals, but trust me when I tell you I neither want nor need a single penny of your money."
"Darling, of course I will help you out, that's not what I was saying," I try to reassure her, because I would never let her go hungry. If I thought she would agree, I would invite her to come and live with me and the girls as soon as we get home.
She snatches back her hand then and glares at the plate of food she is now not touching. She takes a deep breath and brings her eyes back up to meet mine. I'm devastated to see that she is not just angry, but hurt.
"It's always going to come back to this with you, isn't it? You think you have more money than me, so you judge me for it. You have a career in the public eye, and assume that I am not taking my life seriously because I am not pushing to be in the limelight? I thought you knew who I was? I am not like you. I don't want to be you."
Now it is me that is recoiling from her words. I remember in the car, the first time we were in Paris, just before she nearly left me, I spoke similar words. I told her that everyone wanted to be us. She evidently strongly disagreed, because when I got out of the car, she ran from me.
I then did the most out of character thing I have ever done. I chased after her, dodging traffic in my attempt to reach her before she was lost to me forever. We talked and in the end, she stayed, but now she has thrown that in my face, and I wonder where that leaves us.
She raises her hand to a passing waitress and requests the bill, not even asking me if I have finished, though I can't bring myself to eat another bite.
Andrea won't look at me, and I don't dare to offer my card when the bill arrives, despite knowing how expensive this restaurant must be. We walk back to the boat in silence, not holding hands, and I hate it. She zips me into the life jacket again, carefully making sure I am as secure as I can be. She is thorough, and gentle with me, but it is different this time. There are no smiles, no casual touches and no unnecessary words spoken between us.
The journey back drags out and seems to take twice as long as the journey over here, even though she seems to be motoring at twice the speed.
She helps me out at the other end, just as attentively as she did when we had arrived at the restaurant, but she drops my hand immediately and walks briskly back to the house.
I expect her to leave me alone and hide out in her room, but she doesn't. Both my ex-husbands used to punish me for my perceived infractions by refusing to spend time in my presence. They would leave the house or sulk in their rooms. If I upset either one of them, then they withdrew all affection and treated me as though I was the enemy. The silent treatment would go on for days after the worst arguments.
Not Andrea though.
Even though I know she is upset with me, she's not running from me. She's not ignoring me, and when I meet her eyes, they are gentle and she offers me a smile. She doesn't scowl at me or frown. She doesn't shout, call me names or even say horrible things. She's quiet, but not hostile, and I never get the feeling that she doesn't love me, although I understand that I have made her angry. Yet again.
She lights the fire in the living room and settles into an armchair with her laptop. I decide to face the world and so get my laptop and settle into the other armchair. I have a ridiculous number of emails waiting for me, and I wish at that moment that I still had an assistant. I don't work for Runway anymore, but I have accumulated a large number of useful contacts. Until I know what my future holds, it would be remiss of me not to maintain at least polite contact with them.
There are a few that surprise me, namely I have emails from both Nigel and Emily. Both of them express their shock regarding what happened. Nigel went so far as to express even greater shock that Andrea and I disappeared together and he's asked me upfront if we have finally got our act together. I wonder how he knew of my feelings? Or hers? Was it so obvious to everyone else?
We both work for hours. She gets up a few times to put more wood on the fire and comes back with a coffee each for us at one point too, which I thank her for. We are talking, a little, but not saying anything worthwhile to each other, and I can't stand it. She is sitting no more than a few feet away from me, but I miss her.
My heart thuds as I get up, knowing that she will break my heart if she rejects me at this moment. I stand in front of her and take her laptop, setting it down carefully on the table. She watches me with guarded eyes, as I move her arms to the sides to make room for myself on her lap. I sit sideways, tucking my knees up onto her legs, and snuggle into her. I breathe a sigh of relief when her arms immediately wrap themselves around me. My face finds its new favourite place, buried into the side of her neck, and I take comfort in her scent, inhaling discreetly.
Neither of us speaks, but it's ok. I can sense without her words that she is as comforted by my presence as I am by hers. My hand comes up and I trace her collarbone so slowly. I place a soft kiss there and I hear her sigh and relax a little more.
I don't know how long we are sitting there for, but at some point, we both fall asleep, with me still tucked up in her arms on her lap.
