Andrea wakes me with a kiss and tells me she is going for a run. I don't want her to leave, but I know she usually runs every day, and so it's not fair of me to ask her to stay. She sweetens her leaving by telling me that when she is back, we can take a shower together, which of course I could never refuse.
I try to go back to sleep but the bed is too cold and too empty without her in it. I'm waking up to the realisation that I never want to sleep alone again. I'm not sure I can, now I've known what it is like to spend all night, held all in her arms.
Begrudgingly, I accept that I won't sleep anymore, and get up. I put on my robe and head into the kitchen to make coffee and can hear the giggles of my twins coming out of their room.
I look out the window and realise the world is starting to go white. It's the first snowfall of the year, and it's cold; no wonder I am shivering. I use the control panel to start the heating, but it's one of those days where it will be nice to have a fire going. It's unlikely that we will be able to go out on the water in this weather so we will have to entertain ourselves indoors for the day.
Salacious images flick through my mind, of all the things we could do if forced to spend the day inside. I almost groan out loud when I remember that the girls are here and so it's unlikely we will spend any time alone.
The girls arrive in the kitchen looking sleepy, but excitable. They have always loved the snow, and immediately upon seeing me they are asking if we can all have a snowball fight later, or build a snowman. I tell them to ask Andrea when she gets back from her run. I have a feeling she won't mind playing with them today, even if I don't. There are benefits to having a partner who is so much younger than me, I realise with a small smile.
It becomes apparent that Andrea is rubbing off on them because this morning they ask if they can help me with anything. I don't want to start breakfast until she is back, but I tell them that they can go and get logs in from the shed. We have a fireplace at the townhouse and they have never really shown an interest, but now they have decided that they want me to show them how to set a fire. I agree, and they practically skip out of the room, to put their shoes on and go in search of logs.
I pour juice for the girls, make myself a coffee, and sit down at the table with my laptop. Our time here is running out and there will be decisions to be made. I'm not ready to read Page Six or any other of the gossip papers yet, so I sit and work through some of my emails instead. To my surprise, there are several job offers from rival magazines to Runway, but I haven't given the future much thought yet.
Do I even want to work in fashion anymore? I've always had a dream to branch out and focus a spotlight on more inclusive clothing, but will it be too hard for me to remain in that world now?
The world is my oyster, as they say. I am wealthy enough to take the time to find something else that makes me happy. Runway made me successful, but not necessarily happy, so maybe I should consider that when choosing my next role. I could work in the arts, and open an art gallery. I could start a charity, and help the people that I've always intended to help but never gotten around to doing. Donating is something I have always done for the causes that I believe in, but I would like to participate on a more active level.
Caroline and Cassidy come back into the room, and they look shocked, though I am not sure why.
"What's going on, girls?" I ask, wondering what has them looking this way.
"Mom, is Andy rich?"
"This house belonged to her friend, who unfortunately passed away 18 months ago. Andrea didn't buy it, it was given to her."
"Yeah, we know that, but is she rich?"
"Well, she was my assistant for three years, and they don't earn very much. Why are you asking this?"
"You know that artist you like? Tremayne?" Cassidy asks.
"Yes, Bobbsey, they're my favourite. Why?"
"Andy has about 20 of their paintings in her shed, where the logs are kept."
"Don't be ridiculous, Cassidy, they can't possibly all be Tremayne's. There weren't even that many at the gallery I bought ours from."
"No, really, Mom. They all have the signature at the bottom; Tremayne." Caroline confirms, nodding.
I trust my girls to recognise the signature. They don't have quite the same appreciation as me for art, but they have grown up around it and know what to look for. I do not doubt that they would recognise the angular 'T' and the flourish on the 'y' in Tremayne.
Why would Andrea have so many of them? She doesn't even like them! Did they belong to her friend Lily? Is that why she is so attached to them?
She kept referring to the artist as female, I remember now. Does that mean that she knows the artist? Then it hits me, and I know exactly who the artist is. It's the only thing that makes sense.
The artist was Lily. It's why Andrea is holding on to them so tightly, even if she doesn't like them. They belong to her lifelong friend, and will always be something that connects them.
Caroline and Cassidy are staring at me, as I work through all of this in my head, and I realise I have yet to answer them. I start to speak, but before I can continue, Andrea comes in through the door, flushed from the cold and dripping water from the snow that has fallen on her.
"Andrea, you must be freezing! I'll get you a towel," I guide her into a chair and she sits gratefully.
"It wasn't that bad when I left," I hear her telling the girls, as I find her towels. I walk back into the kitchen and wrap one around her shoulders and use the other one to dry her hair.
I am burning with questions regarding Tremayne, but I don't want to get into another argument about art. I am very passionate about it, and Andrea is not. I hope that one day I will be able to share my interest with her and that maybe she will develop an appreciation for it, but I don't want to press the issue right now.
Andrea has had plenty of opportunities to talk to me about Lily and her paintings but has chosen not to. So much as it is difficult for me to let something drop, I know it is the right thing to do. I have to trust that she will tell me when she is ready.
"Andy," I hear Cassidy start talking, "why do you have loads of Tremayne paintings in your log shed?"
So much for waiting until she comes to me, then.
As I watch, Andrea's complexion pales, and her eyes widen as she glances at me. She stands up, and I can see she is staring at the door, as though she wants to bolt out of here and never look back.
I reach out for her hand, "Andrea, you don't have to answer. You don't have to talk about it, if it's difficult for you, but please, don't leave."
I can see how surprised she is that I guessed her intentions, and she slumps back down in her chair defeatedly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hide it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you after so long."
"You said the paintings came with the house, were they Lily's?"
"The ones inside the house were hers," Andrea reluctantly tells me and then tenses, as if she knows what my next question will be.
"Then who do the paintings in the shed belong to? The girls said they found about 20 when they were looking for logs?"
"They're mine," she whispers, not looking at any of us.
Hers? How on earth could she afford all of those paintings? She is sitting on a gold mine, surely.
"I don't understand," I wait for her to look at me, but she doesn't.
"I'm sorry," Andrea stands up, "I'm not running, Miranda, I promise, but I just need a moment, ok?"
I can see she is upset. Her shoulders are tense, and there is a tightness around her eyes that isn't normally there. She pulls on her fingers, in obvious agitation, unable to quite meet my eyes.
"Of course, take whatever time you need. We'll make breakfast and you can join us when you're ready." I try to reassure her that everything is ok, but she is on edge and I don't know how to make her feel better.
I stand and walk over to her, "before you go, Andrea, remember this; no matter what your story is, or what you are struggling to tell me, I love you and nothing will change that."
I step closer and her arms slide around me, holding me close.
"Thank you," she murmurs in my ear.
She takes a step back and disappears off to her room, and I guess she will shower before she finds her way back to us here.
"What's wrong with Andy?" Caroline asks, and I want to tell her that Andrea is fine, but truthfully, I'm not sure what is wrong.
"She just needs a moment, girls. These paintings are a big part of her life, and she wants to share this with us, but I think she's just a little overwhelmed."
It's not a great answer, but I'm not sure what else I can say. They have as much information as I do at this point.
The girls decide on french toast for breakfast, and so I set about making it for us, all the while deep in thought. I hope that Andrea can open up and talk about these paintings since they seem to be very important to her, even if she is not a fan of this artist. They must be sentimental to her, and so I can understand the 'love/hate' relationship she has with them, especially since Lily has passed away.
When Andrea comes back, she has showered and her hair is still wet. She is wearing sweatpants and her NorthWestern university sweatshirt. Her eyes are glassy and I feel a twinge of pain as I realise she has been crying.
I pull out a chair, and she sits down at the table, smiling sheepishly at the girls. I stand behind her and hug her from behind, kissing her hair, trying to let her know that everything will be ok. She turns her head then, and I quickly press my lips chastely to hers.
I serve breakfast for everyone, but it's strangely quiet until finally, Andrea speaks up.
"You're all waiting for answers, aren't you?"
The girls nod but stay silent, so it is for me to talk.
"We only want to know what you are willing to share. We don't want to make you uncomfortable," I reassure her.
Andera ducks her head and concentrates on eating her breakfast, but I can see she is deep in thought. She takes a deep breath and straightens herself up.
"Tremayne is my mothers maiden name," she blurts out.
"Wow!" Cassidy whistles slowly, "your Mom is an artist?"
"That's so cool, Andy!" Caroline joins in, looking very impressed. She has always been the more artistic of the two of them.
I'm surprised to see Andrea look even more uncomfortable, and her cheeks have turned a delightful but vivid shade of pink.
"No, my Mom is not the artist," and she looks at me then, giving me a timid smile.
Oh. Not her Mom, no. Andrea.
The woman that I fell in love with so wholeheartedly, is the artist that I fell in love with at first sight? I feel myself trembling, and again, I am in awe of the sense of inevitability that this all has. How amazing that they are the same person. I am almost speechless at her revelation, but I need her confirmation.
"You're Tremayne? You're the artist?" I ask her to clarify.
"Um, yeah." She picks up her cutlery and begins to eat again, but I can see that she is blushing down her neck and chest. She is adorable when she is embarrassed.
"Why did you work for Mom? You must be rich!" Cassidy asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
"I never intended to become an artist or sell my work. This all happened after I joined Runway," Andrea explains, "by the time I started selling my work, I didn't want to leave Runway."
"You didn't want to leave Mom?" Caroline boldly asks the question that I was too afraid to voice.
"Yeah, kid," she agrees, "I couldn't imagine a life without your Mom in it, and if I had to continue working as her assistant, just to see her every day? Then for me, it was worth it."
"That's so romantic," Cassidy sighs dreamily.
It is. It's incredibly moving that she would stay as my assistant for so long just to be near me. I also feel guilty though, because I have held her back from her life. The feeling eats away at me, and I wish things had been different. I should have been braver, and then maybe we could have started a relationship years ago. Andrea wouldn't have had to put her life on hold, just to feel like she didn't lose me.
"How did this even happen? You said you never intended to be an artist?"
"I loved painting as a child, but my parents insisted that I grew up and found a career. They wanted me to do Law at Stanford, but as a compromise, they allowed me to study Journalism, and they supported me while I did. They told me if I followed my heart and went to art college, then I would have to support myself."
"But you're so talented, Andrea, surely they can see that?" I ask, because how could you not see the astonishing amount of talent that she has with a paintbrush?
"They only see it now that I am worth something, and they want money from me. Until then, they were cruel about my chances of being an artist and dismissed me. They belittled me at every chance they had."
"So you studied Journalism and then became my assistant? I'm still confused how you have become so well known?"
"Well, Lily ran an art gallery, and I had been painting a lot, to um, help me deal with a few things, and she thought they were good." Andrea rolls her eyes, "she snuck three of them from my apartment that she knew I was going to throw away, and she added them to a new artist spotlight they were running at the gallery. My work was seen by a well-known collector and the rest is history."
"Andrea, your work is exquisite, but you don't seem to like any of your paintings?"
Caroline gasps then, "you don't like your paintings?! Why?!"
"I just don't think they are very good. I never intended anyone to see them, they were for me and my eyes only," Andrea replies.
"Can I see them, Andrea?" It is sweet torture to know that there is a multitude of unseen canvasses that are hiding so close to where we are sitting.
"Yeah. I guess. Do you really want to?"
"I do," I say firmly, standing up.
"We're gonna go and skype Lauren and Henry," Cassidy informs me, and then they disappear off to their rooms.
Andrea and I walk outside, and she stops before she opens the door to the shed. Although now that I have seen it for myself, I see that calling it a shed doesn't exactly do it justice. It is a proper building that just so happens to be made out of wood, more like a ski chalet than a shed.
I regret not putting on a coat now. The snow has settled all around us and is still falling heavily.
"These are so personal to me, and I'm scared to show you," she admits, with her hand on the handle of the door.
"I won't judge you, Andrea, I promise. You must know after all our conversations that Tremayne," I stop and correct what I was going to say, "that you are my favourite artist? I'm truly honoured to be able to see them."
"Ok," she agrees, and opens the door.
