Author's Note. I had expected to wait until May 1st to launch this story, which will be the last in my series, 'Miranda's Sabbatical', but as the Corvid virus continues to wreak misery on so many people, I thought we all might need cheering up, even with a little story like this. I am planning on fourteen chapters in total, and hope to finish by the anniversary of Andy's wedding day, May 15th.

If this is your first trip into my Alternative Universe, then many of the characters and allusions you read may puzzle you, but you can find them all in earlier stories, which apart from the very first one, "The Touch", simply run in sequence, by the date they were published. Thanks so much for reading and as always, reviews, comments and favourites are warmly received and appreciated.

"I see you've caught the sun in Italy. Be careful darling. We don't want that delicious apricot bloom to descend into ravaged prune by the time you are forty."

"Thank you too, Nigel. Lovely to see you're as complimentary as ever."

"Madly jealous, darling, that's all. While you were sight-seeing round Florence with La Priestly, I've been losing most of my sleep and all of my hair on pushing through the current issue, as well as prepping both your outfits for the wedding of the year."

Andy leaned across the desk on which she was cheekily perched, and pinched Nigel's cheek affectionately. "Well, here I am, as asked. We did have a wonderful time, but I'm back on parade now. I'm so grateful for everything you've done. Do you want me to try on the dress today, or just run through everything in general with you?"

Nigel leaned back in the Editor-in-Chief's chair, and surveyed his young protégée as he twirled a pencil. Miranda's office, (for in reality it would always really be Miranda's office), had turned in recent months rather into a man-den, and the previously gleaming clear surfaces were now piled up with proofs and layouts, even abandoned coffee-cups, and lunch wrappers. She would have had a fit.

It looked organised chaos, well, Andy hoped it was organised underneath all the muddles, but she remembered Nigel had now been in the hot-seat at Runway for the last eight months, and he had managed to produce the last eight regular editions, which if not as scarily brilliant as Miranda's, were far from disappointing.

But the next four months' magazines would be created without any of her direct creative influence. The stakes were higher than ever for him, if he was to then move on to a permanent Editor in Chief post in the new men's Runway they were talking about within the company.

Andy knew he was busy. Editors and assistants kept coming in and out in an alarmingly casual but frenetic way, so she didn't want to waste his time.

"Yes, I want you to see it and try it on. So let's go," he said. He rose to his feet and escorted her off to look at the beautiful frothy Valentino dress he had chosen for her, now hanging discreetly at the back of the Closet.

As they walked, he asked, "When did you come home? I need to get hold of Miranda and the twins as well of course. But I had better come to the town-house with a team of fitters to sort them out. I know she won't want to come back in here until the First of September."

"We flew in late last night, and Miranda has flown again over to Ohio to collect the twins from my Mum and Dad. They'll all be back later this evening. I'm still pretty jet-lagged, but wanted to sort as much stuff out as possible before they return."

They strolled down the long corridors of the Runway offices together. Andy looked sideways at him. Nigel seemed sleek and happy, despite all the strain of his current job. She ventured to ask, "How is it going with Douglas? Are you two still seeing each other?"

"Yes, in fact, after California, we hooked up properly. He now lives with me in my apartment. "

"Nigel! I'm so happy for you both! You must both come round for dinner one evening and tell us all about it."

"Hmm, yes, that will be nice. He's very young of course. . ."

"But he's the same age as me!"

"Exactly. But while Miranda might be a shameless cradle-snatcher, I never thought I'd fall for someone who barely needs to shave. But we get along very well. He's a joy in fact. I love knowing he'll be there in the evening when I finally get in."

"He's lucky to have you. Anyone would be. I hope it works out for you both. You really deserve to be happily settled with someone who appreciates you, and so does Douglas."

Andy was always generous with her compliments, but she smiled to see Nigel's face blush with embarrassed pleasure. The guy needed affirming, and had never received enough of it, she knew well enough, from darling Miranda. He hastily changed the subject though.

"Well you look good, not piled on too many pounds with all that pasta, I'm happy to see."

"It helped that Miranda made us walk miles every day. We were hardly ever still, but she did tuck into to a few ice-creams along the way. Don't you dare say anything to her if her gown is a little tight when you bring it over."

"I know better than that, darling. But I have noticed Miranda is metamorphosing before us all into a happy woman who can even take a little teasing. That is shock enough for an old retainer like me. So, maybe, by the time you've finished with her, she'll be one of those candidates for America's fattest people shows."

He and Andy exchanged glances, then both shook their heads. "No, that will never happen!" they both laughed simultaneously.

"While you're here, no doubt you'll want to see Emily. Did you know she and Serena have been up to Provincetown to find out about getting married there? This germ you and Miranda have caught seems contagious. Look, go in and have a word now. I'll be in the Closet talking to the wardrobe boys and girls." And Nigel sashayed away.

Andy popped her head round the door of the main Art Room. Emily was sitting at a large table in the centre of the space. Her head was down and she was deep in the process of choosing photographs. Andy could see the enormous diamond ring on her left hand, and she looked good, stylish as ever, but fit and healthy, no longer the bag of bones she'd been in the autumn. Andy coughed and she looked up.

"Sachs! Hi, have you come slumming it round the salt-mines for a change? How was Rome, Florence, Milan? Did you manage to keep Miranda happy against all rational expectations?"

Andy invaded Emily's space and gave her a bear-hug, purposely to annoy her. "Very happy, so she informed me. I'm here today to try on my wedding dress. But what about you and Serena. I see by the size of that rock that we are now officially affianced, and why wasn't I invited to the party?"

"There were only two of us there," replied Emily, with the good manners to blush as she recalled the exact circumstances of Serena giving her the ring. "Then we went to Brazil to confront her family and give them the good news."

"How did that go down? No broken bones at least?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Just to say, between my Dad and her father, there isn't a sheet of paper's difference in the natural homophobic tendencies of the unreconstructed male. But Seri was magnificent. She basically said, "Take it or leave it. We are getting married. You can all come if you like, or not. I don't really care." But of course she does, underneath. And the parents at least will be there, and maybe some more of the family. She has countless siblings."

"So when will it be, and have you decided to go up to Massachusetts?"

"Yes, and we've booked the same venue as you. It has kind of significance, you'll remember?"

"I sure do. And the date?"

"The week after yours, May 15th."

Andy's head turned. "No, that's our date. Miranda and I are getting married on May 15th. I talked to them myself. We've booked out the whole Inn. "

Emily went white. "But I talked to them too. The woman assured me it would be fine. She was almost expecting my call. We've booked out the whole inn as well."

"We are talking about the Windhover? Where we all stayed last August?"

"Yes."

"You cannot be serious."

"Fucking hell!"

"Do you think they thought we were talking about the same wedding?"

"All of our invitations have gone out now. Remind me the time of your ceremony?"

"Twelve Noon. Ours have gone out too. I sent them before we left for Rome. You'll have had yours if you looked."

Emily had indeed received her invitation which now sat proudly next to Serena's on their dresser. An icy trickle of fear ran down her spine as she visualised the elegant gold print which yes, had clearly stated May 15th. How could she not have seen it?

Her default position a few months before would have been to scream at Andy and blame her entirely for the mistake, but she knew Miranda's decision on the date had come way before her and Serena's. And thinking about Miranda's inevitable reaction made her stomach heave. No way would her boss tolerate this. Emily could only just manage to stop herself rushing off to the bathroom to throw up.

"Bloody Hell."

"What shall we do? What time is your wedding?"

"Two pm. We need to call the Inn, like now. It's really their fault entirely, but it doesn't alter the crisis."

Nigel had returned and put his head round the door. "Buck up Six. We can't keep everyone waiting."

Andy had picked up Emily's sense of panic, and she as well began to tremble, thinking about Miranda's reaction. Back in the walls of Runway she was in danger of slipping back into terrified assistant mode, rather than the actual bride of the upcoming nuptials.

"Nigel, didn't you notice on your invitations? Emily's and our wedding have been double-booked at the same place on the same day! "

He looked at them both over his glasses, and then had the nerve to actually burst into laughter.

"Wonderful! Well, in that case, you'll just have to make it a double wedding! Half of your guests will be coming along to both anyway. It will save Douglas and me at least making the trip twice. But no, I didn't notice, sorry. You're both in a bit of a pickle jar. What fun!"

"Don't joke. Miranda will be beyond furious."

"Yes she will, but wait, perhaps no she won't. Girls, Miranda is deeply, overwhelmingly in love. She'll only have eyes for Andy. But . . . I maybe wouldn't tell her about your little problem until you've sorted it out. Now I want you, Andy, now! Chop, chop!"

"Chop, chop is right," muttered Emily. "At least they don't allow use of the guillotine in America. Go on Sachs, and look at your dress. I've seen it and it is divine, but of course will be quite wasted on you! I'm going to call the Windhover Inn now and give them hell."

Andy allowed herself to be taken into the changing rooms next to the Closet, and did actually take in a gasp of pure pleasure when she looked at the silk and lace Valentino creation which one of Nigel's minions had fetched for her. It was exquisitely beautiful, shining white, with adorable pearl beading and an extremely clever cut so it swung back and forth against its own bias.

"Put it on and then come out to show us," Nigel instructed, as he shoved her into a cubicle and drew the curtain.

Andy's fingers trembled as she pulled off her socks, jeans, tee shirt and fleece top. Elated by the sight of the dress, which suddenly made her wedding seem more of a reality and less some infantile fantasy that Miranda Priestly of Manhattan, would actually want to marry her, Andy Sachs of Ohio. But she was so devastated by the sudden shock of the clash of dates at the venue, she could barely focus, and she was immobilised for a moment or two.

As she stood in her underwear, a hand came round the curtain, followed by the grinning face of the assistant. She took the offered silk slip to wear under the dress.

"Uh, can you help me here please?" Andy asked her, and gratefully accepted the assistant's assistance. The dress fell in rustling silk and lace to the ground as she was helped into it, and the concealed side zip fastening slid quietly and smoothly up to hold it against her body. She was then also passed a pair of four inch heels to put on her feet, and she felt herself rise up to the occasion. She looked at herself in the dressing-room mirror and then cautiously went back outside and presented herself to Nigel.

He just stood in silence for several seconds. Then he said, "Turn Around."

Andy turned a circle and came back. She hoped it pleased him. At least it fitted like a glove. Those helpings of fettucine and spaghetti carbonara had not jeopardised things too badly, thank God.

"Is it OK?" she asked nervously.

"Stand up straight. You have a terrible tendency to slouch."

"Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry darling. I have to tell you, you look absolutely, stunningly beautiful. You will make your mother cry. You will make your father cry. Damn it, you will make Miranda cry. You make me cry!"

"Oh Nigel shut up!"

"Now about your head. What about a veil?"

"No veil." Andy was vehement. "Maybe a little flower arrangement. But I want to look everyone in the eye. I am not getting married in any sort of disguise."

"Very well. I understand. Well you will look like a princess, whatever. I might find you a little diamond tiara. Miranda will be happy, I am sure, now I've seen it on you. And Valentino's have gifted you the dress by the way. They know all about the publicity they'll receive when the tabloids of the world feature the wedding."

Andy looked horrified. "Oh Nigel, I hope not! No way! That's the last thing Miranda will want. One reason we've chosen Provincetown is to keep the whole thing low-key. We certainly don't want the press there, even less the paparazzi!"

Nigel held her lightly by the shoulders and smoothed down the fabric on her arms.

"Darling, you have lived with Miranda for nearly nine months now. Don't you realise that nothing about her is low-key? She is the Queen of New York fashion after all. Gold star tabloid fodder.

"While you were both away they had a field day here about her divorce settlement, all across the papers and social media, and there were multiple hints about what she'd do next, that, shock horror, she was planning to marry her young female assistant. You can bet on the fact that for the next three weeks, entertainment and society columnists will be madly researching where and when your wedding will be. It will be a miracle if you can keep themaway."

Andy shivered. "Why did I think everything was going so well? I'll change back out of this dress now. Knowing my luck, I'll pour coffee all down the front of it, if I'm not careful. Then I must go back to Emily and see what she's managed to find out about our double booking."

She slithered out of the dress and hung it up very carefully inside its protective bag, then pulled on the perfectly ordinary, completely non high-end clothes she was wearing before. They felt like a home-town friend, slightly worn and frayed, but comfortable and warm. She tied up the laces of her trainers, and went back to Emily.

"So, it's not some nightmare? Did we really get double-booked?"

"Yep. Bang on. It seems for some mad reason they thought we were one wedding. One mention of Miranda Priestly on the guest list for mine and they lost all common sense. I chewed them into tiny pieces and almost threatened that both of us would cancel, but then I realised we can't. International flights are booked. Miranda's brother Charles, and your sister from Australia and Japan, Serena's parents from Brazil, my father and his weird woman from London. We just have to find a way round it."

"What did the Inn say? Did they have any constructive ideas?"

"Well, they grovelled a lot, as they should, but they did say they have an arrangement with the Inn next door, which could possibly give them fifteen more rooms, just across the lane. And they suggested they could do a double reception, increase the size of a marquee on their lawn."

"So it might work?"

"Yes, it might, just. Who's your celebrant?"

"A local registered official, a woman. She's called Agatha Burrows. We have a date next week to discuss the ceremony."

"She also doing ours! She actually mentioned she had another wedding the same day when we booked in."

"And the caterers, we need to combine the order so they can work together."

"And the florists, and the table designers, and the band, and the . . . . "

"Heck, Em, let's do it. You and I, you know between us, we could sort this. It's what we're good at. It might all work out for the best."

"We could perhaps do it, if there's no alternative. But I first have to explain it all to Serena. She's bound to feel overshadowed by Miranda. She may not want to share."

"What about you? How do you feel about getting married the same day as me?"

Emily pulled a face. "Not sure. I rather hoped you might be my bridesmaid, as long as you don't fall over going up the aisle, or turn up in hideous clothes and wellington boots. But there's safety in numbers. Seri and I might still need protection from our fathers. Miranda certainly threw a curved ball at Dad during your Christmas party to shut him up. I never did discover what she said, but he's been quiet as a mouse ever since."

"Miranda is the one we have to convince."

The two looked at each other, as they considered the size of this challenge.

Andy would have to explain the new idea very calmly and gently to Miranda. And they both worried that Nigel was over-optimistic if he thought Miranda would be too much in love to care. She always cared, about the smallest detail, and this wasn't a tiny detail. Not in any way.

Andy looked at her phone to check the time. Miranda's plane would have landed in Cincinnati just about now. Should she take the plunge and call her? Or was that not a good idea?

She decided to wait for a while.

"Fancy a Starbucks?" asked Emily. "For old times' sake?"

"You're on!" smiled Andy. "Come on. Let's take a little break."

So, together, they walked along to the elevators, and down to the foyer, then out into the New York spring sunshine. What Miranda didn't know, couldn't upset her, just for now at least. But they would both have to each tell their fiancées soon, and that certainly wasn't going to be easy.