Chapter Three

The next few weeks went by rather quickly, and neither Andrea nor Miranda discussed their New Years kiss. The Runway offices were busy with a pre-spring energy, and Miranda's schedule was crammed with run-throughs, showings, and luncheons with designers—both new and established—who wished to be featured in the spring editions. There were a few days when Miranda had multiple lunches back-to-back, even.

But, no matter how busy she was, true to her word, she continued to meet with Andrea on Tuesday and Thursday evenings to help her advance her career. Those meetings always took place at the townhouse, now, and Miranda's daughters were always present. She claimed she wanted to maximize her time with them, even if it meant sitting in the same room, but working on separate things.

Andrea couldn't help but wonder if Miranda was maybe afraid to be alone with her. On the weekends when the twins went to their fathers, she always had meetings and appointments, too. Andrea wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but couldn't help feeling disappointed. Regardless, a few hours here and there with a busy Miranda was better than no Miranda at all.

Miranda proved to be an incredible mentor in the world of publishing. They spent time looking through some of Andrea's own writing, with Miranda pointing out issues of style and tone, and describing circumstances when one way of saying things would be more or less appropriate than another. She helped explain the tenuous relationship between advertising and editorial, and even offered some insight regarding nonfiction essays, long form narrative, and watchdog journalism. Andrea was filled with shock and awe as she tried to absorb her mentor's instruction. Also during the month of January, Andrea was able to reach out to several high-profile journalists who were, on Miranda's request, happily obliged to meet with a young up-and-coming writer. She met with Christiane Amanpour, Thomas Friedman, Hubert Rauscher, and had an upcoming informational interview with Maureen Dowd. For the first time in many months she felt confident as she thought of applying for jobs again.

"Good morning Andrea, Emily…Nigel," Miranda said as she walked into the office, a smile plastered across her face.

The three employees exchanged glasses. "Miranda, I'm sorry, but is something wrong?" Andrea asked.

"Today is Thursday, January 30th," Miranda said in an almost sing-song voice. "Remember this date as the day on which I am no longer Mrs. Stephen Tomlinson," she said, throwing her hands in the air and shaking her hips in a little dance.

Emily's jaw nearly hit the floor. Andrea brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she laughed. Nigel, ever the gentleman, swooped in and led Miranda around the office while he hooted and hollered.

"How did that happen so fast?" Andrea asked as she leaned against the desk.

"Guam," Miranda said with a shrug. "Apparently there's no waiting period. And, it's recognized by ALL FIFTY STATES!"

"Well, congratulations," Andrea said, grinning.

"Thank you, my dear," she said, winking at her as she made her way into her office. "And Emily, don't look so shocked, it makes you look fat. I think you may have hated Stephen even more than I did."

Miranda sat at her desk and began reading through her papers, but Nigel, Emily, and Andrea were still speechless after what they just witnessed.

"Hey Em, why did you hate him so much?" Andrea asked.

"Before you came," Nigel whispered, "Stephen offered Emily a Cartier bracelet in return for her services."

"What a dickwad," Andrea said. She heard Miranda chuckle from her office.

"Well said. He ended up giving me that bracelet," Miranda said, joining in the conversation. "The girls use it when they play dress-up because I've always refused to acknowledge it."

"Do—do I really look fat?" Emily asked.

"Nah, well, only when you're frowning," Andrea teased.

"Yeah you should probably smile—it has a slimming effect, sweetie," Nigel said, walking back to his office and shaking his head.

"Andrea?" Miranda called. "Shut the door."

She quickly grabbed her notebook and ran into Miranda's office, shutting the door behind her.

"Isn't that wonderful, Andrea?" Miranda said.

"Yes, yes it is. You didn't have to go to Guam, did you?"

"No, no. I just had to sign the papers and have them notarized. He was down there. He didn't contest the pre-nup, and, my lawyer called first thing in the morning to tell me the news," she said. "I didn't want to say anything until it was finalized, since, well, I could hardly believe it was legal."

Andrea laughed. "Whatever works. Why was he in such a hurry?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "He got his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend pregnant, and she wants to get married. Can you believe that? He'll be seventy-five when the kid graduates from high school, eighty at the child's college graduation!"

"Wow," Andrea said. "Well, I guess we should be glad she made it easier for everyone, right?"

"Did you not see how happy I was when I walked in?" Miranda asked.

"Of course," Andrea said. "Let's celebrate tonight."

Miranda raised her eyebrow.

"Just dinner, and maybe some champagne or something…and if you want, you could send the girls to their father's a little early," Andrea said with a shrug.

"They would be very disappointed if they missed you."

"Well, we could always wait until a better time."

"Then I would be very disappointed," she said with a smirk. Andrea couldn't help but notice the blush creeping up the editor's cheeks.

"I'll make reservations. Anywhere in particular? Delmonico's?"

"No, I have been going there too much lately. Let's do Barbetta. Get that table I like. I should be finished here by 5:30."

"Will do," Andrea said. "See you later."

"Andrea—wait, come here," she said, beckoning the young woman closer.

She walked over and squatted down next to Miranda's chair, taking her hands.

"You know I don't make it a habit to date my employees, but," she leaned closer, whispering in Andrea's ear, "you're my exception."

Andrea gulped as a shiver went through her body. "Miranda, you can't do this to me at work."

"Do what?" she asked, letting go of her hands and turning back to her papers.

"To the newly single Miranda Priestly," Andrea said, lifting her glass.

"And to my bastard of an ex-husband who couldn't keep it in his pants," Miranda added. "The first and only time I'll ever thank him for that."

"You know, the tabloids are much more likely to take your side, now," Andrea said.

"Or they'll just say I drove him away."

"Yeah, but driving him into the arms of a twenty-two-year-old still makes him look worse. Have you told the girls?"

"A little. They obviously know that Stephen and I were divorcing, and surprisingly they were okay with that. I am hoping to wait a little before they learn of his new girlfriend."

"Why?"

Miranda sighed. "Andrea, there is a difference between knowing you've been cheated on and explaining to your nine-year-old child that you've been cheated on. Children are quite persistent in asking 'why.'"

"Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no. It's okay. Three husbands, and each of them found something better than…than me."

Andrea reached across the table and softly laid her hand on Miranda's. "They didn't deserve you."

"How can you say that? Anyway, I think I'm the common denominator there."

"Was James your first or second husband?" Andrea asked.

Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as the server brought their meal.

"You don't have to answer that," Andrea said, setting down her fork after taking several bites."

"No, I will," Miranda said as she dabbed her lips with her napkin. "I was starving."

"Wait—didn't you eat today? At lunch with Michael?"

"Not really. My stomach was bothering me. This gazpacho is delicious, though," she said, taking a few more spoonfuls and ordering a second bottle of champagne. "James was my first husband. We were married nearly ten years, and divorced when the girls were two. Just before they turned four, I married Winthrop, but that lasted less than a year. I met Stephen shortly thereafter, and we dated for a year before we got married."

"I don't think I've ever heard anyone mention Winthrop," Andrea said.

"Mm, yes. We disagreed on most things, but he was incredibly wealthy."

"Miranda, I'm—I'm shocked."

"That I married old money? Or that I just admitted it?"

"Well, both," she said. "So, would that be Winthrop Rockefeller?"

"Well, his son. He died from leukemia last year, actually. He was a very kind man, but I think I was a bit too strong-willed for him. He was…you know, I don't want to talk about him."

"I'm sorry. That's my fault. I asked," Andrea said. "We're supposed to be celebrating your newly single status."

Miranda quirked an eyebrow.

"I mean, you are single, aren't you?"

"I suppose that depends on who's asking," Miranda said with a smirk that was interrupted by her ringing phone. "Hello Bobbsey…yes…okay…mm-hmm…okay, Mommy loves you, too…tell your sister goodnight." She ended the call and looked up at Andrea. Her eyelids were heavy and her lips were turned up ever-so-slightly at the corners.

"I take it they're settled at their father's?" she asked.

"Yes. Let's head back," Miranda said, waving the server over and asking for the check.

Andrea sent a quick message to Roy, and within a few minutes, they were tucked away in the backseat of the town car. Miranda's hands desperately reached for Andrea, caressing her cheek, palming her breast, tracing along her abdomen and hips—all while humming with delight. She began kissing Andrea's neck and chest, "Mmm, so beautiful," she hummed.

Andrea firmly took Miranda's shoulders and pulled her away as she pressed her index finger to Miranda's lips. "That's just the champagne talking," she said. "We'll be home in a few minutes, okay?"

Miranda nodded and rested her head against the younger woman's shoulder. "I—I was scared. On New Years," she said quietly. "I thought that Stephen would…well, that's over now."

The car pulled up to the townhouse, and Andrea took Miranda's hand. "I don't have to come inside, it's okay," she said reassuringly. "I had a lovely evening with you, Miranda."

"I want you to come in," she said. She squeezed Andrea's hand, then stepped out of the car and went straight up the stairs to open the door. Once inside, Miranda turned to face Andrea who was stopped in the middle of the foyer. "Come upstairs. I want to change into something more comfortable."

Andrea nodded and followed the woman up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where she disappeared into the bathroom. She anxiously sat on the edge of the bed, trying to decide whether she should take her shoes off when Miranda stepped out of the bathroom, bathed in a deep currant silk nightdress.

"Wow, you look amazing," Andrea said, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist. She softly kissed her cheek.

"I don't feel amazing right now," Miranda said, pushing away slightly. "I should never have had that last glass of champagne."

"Let's go to bed then. Do you have something I could wear?"

Miranda looked at Andrea as if she had two heads. "Of course I have something, but—I thought you wanted—tonight—"

Andrea pulled her closer and softly kissed her cheek. "I just want to be with you. We have plenty of time for—other stuff."

Miranda smiled and walked over to the drawer, pulling out a long cotton tee. "Will this be suitable?"

Andrea nodded and went to change.

"Help yourself to anything you need in the bathroom," she called after her.

When the brunette returned, Miranda was already in bed. She crawled into the other side and set the alarm on her cell phone before turning out the light.

"Hmm, Andrea, get over here," Miranda said, patting the space on the mattress between them. When she scooted closer, Miranda kissed her lips gently, then draped herself over the young woman and fell asleep.

Andrea couldn't help but smile down at the beautiful, intriguing woman in her arms.

The next morning, Andrea woke to the sound of Miranda's vomiting echoing throughout the bedroom. She quickly made her way to the en suite and saw Miranda crouched down next to the toilet.

"Ughh," Miranda groaned. "Never mix champagne and gazpacho."

Andrea ran a washcloth under the faucet and handed it to Miranda as she kneeled next to her. "What can I get you?" she asked, rubbing gentle circles along her back.

"White Gatorade. There should be some in the fridge downstairs."

In the kitchen, Andrea poured a glass of gatorade and made some coffee for herself. Looking through the fridge, she cracked some eggs into a dish and set four slices of bread to soak while she ran back upstairs to check on Miranda.

"How are you doing?" Andrea asked, handing her the glass.

"Fine. I feel better now. I—I'm sorry I ruined everything," she said.

"No, don't say that. I look forward to many more dates and sleepovers with you," Andrea said. "Come on downstairs, I'm making french toast."

"I'm not very hungry, but thank you," she said.

"Well, go take a shower and get ready, and breakfast will be waiting for you if you want."

"Shit! It's Friday."

"Yes-?"

"And we have to go into the office."

"Well, I have to. I'm pretty sure you can qualify for a sick day."

Miranda bit her lip as she seriously considered it. "Okay. When you get to the office, I'll call and have you make an appointment with my doctor for a physical."

"Miranda, you don't need to make an excuse. If you're not feeling well, no one expects you to work."

"I know. But I do need you to make that appointment."

"Um, don't you think it's just a hangover?" Andrea said.

"I don't know. I've been feeling kind of sluggish since Mexico. It might be a virus or something."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to go put the french toast into the oven, then I'll come back upstairs and shower. Can I borrow a blouse and skirt?"

"Of course, whatever you need. And take a shower in my bathroom—less for Cara to clean next week."

Later that evening, Miranda sent a text message to Andrea: Working late?

Andrea smiled and quickly typed back: I work my ass off for you.

Miranda chuckled and replied: Don't work too hard. Bring dinner with the Book? I'm starving.

Andrea replied: Will do. Chinese? Salad? Sushi?

Miranda replied: Chinese. Crab Rangoon, Cashew Chicken, Pork Fried Rice, Beef & Broccoli w/ Jasmine Rice. Thank you :-*

Andrea smiled and called in an order to Miranda's favorite Chinese take-out place. Within a few minutes, the Book was ready, and she soon found herself at the townhouse, bearing hot, delicious gifts.

They ate and exchanged casual conversation from Andrea's day at the office, but after a while, Miranda grew quiet.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Andrea asked.

"Andrea, what are we doing?" she asked. "I'm fifty years old, divorced with two kids. I have a ridiculously demanding job, and…and…what are we doing?" Miranda pushed her plate away and began crying.

"Come on," Andrea said, leading her off the barstool and onto the couch. She wrapped her arms around Miranda's shoulders and pulled her close. "Now look, I don't know what we're doing, but it feels…good. I enjoy spending time with you, and I'm grateful that I've had this opportunity to see you, not just the bitch who crushes dreams. I like you, and I care about you. I hope we stay friends for a very, very long time."

"Friends?" Miranda said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"For once, I need you to not be an editor. Don't worry about the words I'm using. Friends. Lovers. Acquaintances. Whatever you want to call it. I want you in my life forever. I know we've tried the lovers thing a little, but circumstances always prevented anything from really happening."

"Are you saying—?"

"What I'm saying is that it doesn't matter to me. It doesn't change how I think of you—whether we've slept together or not. Honestly, I've never had sex with another woman before, so I'm kind of nervous. Of course I think you're beautiful and sexy and I just want to touch you and kiss you everywhere…but if you decided to get married to Sir Bartholomew Michael Worthington, I would be okay, and I would still be in your life as your best friend. Hopefully."

"If you let me marry someone named Sir Bartholomew Michael Worthington, we are never talking again," Miranda said, softly punching Andrea in the arm. "And for what it's worth, I've never been with a woman like that, either. But I don't know if I can be just friends. Not without trying at least once."

"What, you don't want to live the next five decades with all this pent-up sexual tension?" Andrea whispered in her ear.

Miranda sat up and straddled her lap. "Andrea Sachs, you are impossible, and I—"

Before she could say any more, Andrea pulled her in for a kiss, which quickly turned into an extended make-out session on the couch.

"Miranda," she said, "how about if we tell each other what we want? Like, put your hand here, or do this or that? Maybe we can take turns and learn a little about what each other likes and dislikes. For example, I know you like my breasts."

Miranda's eyes widened. "How—"

"I had to use a good deal of makeup remover to scrub the lipstick off my chest last night."

"Oh right, I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize. I didn't say I didn't enjoy it," Andrea said. She began to unbutton her blouse. "I'll start."

"Let me do that," Miranda said. She unbuttoned and removed the blouse, then reached around to unclasp her bra. "Wait, can I?"

"You don't have to ask me. Just do what feels right."

Miranda nodded and slipped the bra off, pulling Andrea's arms above her head as she trailed kisses from her arm to her chest.

Andrea moaned as Miranda's hands found her nipples. She reached up and untied Miranda's robe, pushing it off her shoulders, gasping when she realized Miranda was naked beneath. Her hands explored the older woman's body carefully, as if she were memorizing every inch.

Miranda unbuttoned Andrea's pants—actually, they were her trousers that Andrea borrowed that morning. She moaned heartily when she realized Andrea was not wearing any underwear. The fact that they were her pants only served to heighten her arousal. "Ohh, Andrea," she moaned, grinding herself against the woman's thigh.

Andrea straightened out her leg, but Miranda reached back and bent it again, cupping her own breasts as she cried out in orgasm. Andrea quickly flipped their position and removed the trousers as she ran her hands over Miranda's body. Her thighs, her hips, her breasts, her neck—she wanted it all. Andrea slowly licked Miranda from her pelvis to her nipple, pausing only for a moment to suck on her perfect breasts.

"Oh god, Andrea, please!" Miranda moaned, bucking off the couch.

"Tell me if this feels good," Andrea said as she placed her hands on Miranda's hips before pressing her lips to the woman's folds. "Mmm," Andrea hummed as she kissed and licked her juices.

"Don't stop…Andrea…Fuck…don't stop," she cried out.

Andrea pressed her thumb against the woman's clit and another orgasm raged through her body. Seeing Miranda's exhaustion, she quickly frigged herself and collapsed next to her on the couch.

"So," Miranda said after some time, "I'm glad we tried that, but I'm exhausted."

"Are you okay?" Andrea asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes, just tired. I'm old, remember?"

Andrea smiled. "You're perfect," she said.

"Did you ever schedule that appointment with my doctor?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's on your calendar at work. 7:15 AM on Tuesday. Your morning is clear, so everything should be fine."

"What time is Miranda coming in today?" Nigel asked.

"She had an appointment at 7:15, so we weren't expecting her until at least 9:30," Emily said.

"Well, it's nearly eleven-thirty. Six, did she text you?"

"Huh? What?" Andrea said. The mere mention of Miranda's name sent a very not-safe-for-work shiver down her spine. After spending the weekend in Miranda's bed, she didn't imagine it would be this difficult to spend ten hours a day around the woman.

"Oh, cut it out. We all know that you two are buddy-buddy. She talks to you. Any idea what's taking her so long? I need a decision on Testino," Nigel said.

"Uh, no. I haven't—"

"Nevermind," Emily said. "Roy just texted that she's on her way up. Really, Andrea, do try and make yourself useful around here!"

"Cut it out, she'll be here in a minute," Nigel said, leaning against Andrea's desk, safely out of firing range.

Miranda approached the outer office slowly, much slower than her usual pace. She stopped between the desks, and Emily helped her out of her coat. And she just stood there.

"Miranda?" Andrea said with concern. She was suddenly terrified that she had received terrible news from the doctor.

Miranda turned and looked at her with tears in her eyes.

"Jesus, Miranda, you're scaring us. Did everything go okay at the doctor?" Nigel asked.

Miranda bit her lip and nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm fine. I'm more than fine, actually," she said. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she started laughing hysterically.

"Miranda, what is it?" Andrea asked.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm pregnant."

TBC