We had room service dinner by the window, where I did my best to eat, but could barely manage the starter dish, even if it was my favorite, shrimp cocktail. Miranda's frown deepened the more I chased my food around on my plate, but she didn't say anything. Perhaps she sensed that it wouldn't have gone down well. My thoughts were jumbled, and I had problems sorting among the scattering images and sounds that seemed to echo in my mind.
Of course, eventually, the silence did not sit well with Miranda and her patience was up.
"Andrea. I can understand if you don't have much of an appetite after today, but this is so unlike you that I have to wonder if there is something else on your mind as well." She placed her utensils neatly to the left on her empty plate. She had devoured her stake, but now she pressed a hand against her stomach, which made me wonder if she had wolfed the piece of meat down too fast.
"I'm just tired and my head, well, it doesn't hurt exactly, but I feel…dizzy. Sort of." It was hard to explain. "I'm sure I'll have bounced back tomorrow." I attempted a smile, but Miranda's narrowing eyes proved I wasn't successful.
"Since this is like pulling teeth, I'm going to ask bluntly. What else, apart from your health scare, makes you appear this distant?" Like my failed attempt at smiling, her version of sounding patient did not do so well either.
"Fine. All right." I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably. "It was something you said."
Miranda flinched so hard, I might as well have slapped her. Realizing belatedly my words weren't clear enough when talking to a woman with a veritable minefield around her, I winced and shook my head.
"Explain." Miranda plucked her linen napkin from her lap and clutched it with both hands.
"Don't look like that. Please." I tried to clear my voice. "I'm not accusing you of anything. You suggested I might talk to my parents. Inform them."
Miranda slowly let go of the napkin and even if she was not relaxed—when was she ever, really?—she leaned against the backrest. "Yes?"
"Perhaps a good idea. Or an idea. I worry it will backfire. They'll want to either come here, or for me to go home to Cincinnati." I flipped my hair back and studied the plate holding my vortex of Chicken Alfredo. My stomach churned.
"You still regard Cincinnati as home?" Miranda managed to sound non-committal, but my hearing was so finetuned when it came to her tone, I sensed the concern.
"Only as my childhood home. I can never see myself returning to live there. Visit, yes, of course, but I'm where I belong." Glad that the truth helped strengthen my voice, I studied Miranda, who nodded after exhaling with more air than normal breathing produced. "Surely you didn't think I pined for my hometown?" I leaned forward and extended my hand.
Miranda covered the back of my hand so fast with hers, she nearly slapped it in place. I got up from my chair and tugged gently at her. She rose slowly, still studying me as if she was trying to find missing clues. "Just because I could never live anywhere else than in New York, I can't assume this is true for everyone," Miranda said quietly.
"All right. I'll be clear. I love New York." I pulled her into my arms. "I'm sorry I was a lousy dinner companion. You've been nothing but wonderful and loyal. You didn't deserve the silent treatment."
Miranda tilted her head and then pushed her free hand into my hair and around to the back of my head. Pulling me down, she kissed me lightly. She tasted of the red wine she just had. "I will think some more about if and when I inform my parents. If I'm this apprehensive about it, I think that is a sure sign I shouldn't decide just yet."
"Sounds logical." Miranda caressed my neck and slid her fingertips to the front where she found the indentation between my collarbones.
"I have to prioritize us, first of all." Again, my filter was gone, and I spoke my mind without having planned ahead. This interrupted Miranda's gentle exploration of my skin.
"Oh?" She tipped her head back a little as we were both shoeless which gave me an inch on her. "I think I want to hear about this." She tugged me to join her on the couch. "Proceed."
Feeling dampness at my lower back, I tried to choose my words, but my thoughts were clearly still as jumbled as before. "I…eh…I just don't want to involve them just when…when we are trying to figure things out. Between us. I'm afraid it would ruin everything. And if it did, I would—it would break my heart." Damn. I hadn't planned to say it like that or be quite so frank. Miranda could only take so much at a time when it came to certain things, and I didn't mean to sell her short, but this might just be a little too much for her. Then again, she had very little, if any, patience for rambling and people not getting to the point, which made navigating around her linguistically a challenge.
Miranda was quiet for a few moments after I stopped talking, and I was so busy ducking inwardly that I initially missed how bright blue her eyes became. "I see." She ran her index finger along my lips and down around my chin. "This makes me quite curious about your parents, as I can't imagine what they could possibly say or do that would make me let you go."
I gaped, and I'm sure I must have looked like an unintelligent fish, but Miranda obviously saw something else as she slid closer and pressed her mouth against mine. Her hands shifted and pushed in under my shirt. She kept them still against my back, and merely held me in place.
"Listen to me, Andrea." Miranda spoke so quietly, I had to lean in. "We are new as, um, lovers." She colored faintly. "But we're not new together. You know me better than most. Then anyone, not counting my daughters who of course know me from a child's point of view. I've gotten used to you reading me flawlessly over the years. That might not be the case in the same way now. Yet. It's one thing to read me as your boss, to anticipate a set of needs that keep appearing and become routine. It's something entirely different to read me as your lover. Different set of feelings. Definitely not routine. A lot more than a job at stake."
"Yes?" I could hardly believe how calmly she explained her thoughts to me, and let along that she explained anything at all, which she was rather infamous for never doing. Yes, she was right, so very different.
Miranda averted her eyes for a moment, but then looked back at me. "Yes. When it comes to our hearts, there's a lot more at stake, as we now seem to have the power to truly injure each other. Speaking for myself, I must do things differently with you than I've done before. That is on me." Miranda still held on to me, but she felt rigid. Was she afraid that I would doubt her, or worse, reject her after all? I knew how her former husbands had treated her, and suddenly I envisioned a much younger Miranda having her love thrown back in her face when she refused to let them force her into some fucking mold. It pained me enough for me to lose my breath and I wasn't sure what my expression showed, but it made Miranda cover her mouth with an unsteady hand.
"I understand what you mean, how you see it," I said, and there was no way I could completely tone down the growl in my voice.
Her eyes grew wide. Shocked. "Andrea?" she murmured.
"It's not just on you." I moved down onto the floor, almost in the exact place where she comforted me only a few hours ago. I parted her legs and moved in between them to get closer, and then placed my hands on her thighs. Nailing her with my gaze, not wanting her to be able to misunderstand so much as a syllable, I spoke slowly, succinctly. "I know I see the private you, which very few people do, now that we are together." I couldn't believe my own audacity, but I forged on. "I'm not saying that you're two different people, but at home, when it's just us, or when the girls are home, you are more. And you don't have to jump through hoops with me. You are enough, Miranda. That's what I want you to know. For me, you're enough." I refused to shed more tears, but I could feel my eyes burn and I willed them back into their ducts. "I think my feelings for you make me see more, and, also, I cared for you so very deeply long before I knew you like…this." I made a vague gesture with my hands, indicating her whole body.
Miranda slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her expression could only be described as fragmented. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Her eyes still displayed a certain sense of shock, and her face was pale, but the skin on her neck was flushed. "Just when I think you can't surprise me…" Husky and tremulous, Miranda's voice barely carried.
I waited. Not sure how I knew, but I was certain I had to give her time right now. Time to wrap her head around what I just said.
She studied me closely, from my face down to my hands on her thighs, and up again. I had pushed her skirt up to the end of her thigh-high stockings without it being my intentions. She didn't pull the fabric down to cover herself, nor did she push my hands away, which my hammering heart hoped was a good sign.
"I drove them away," Miranda whispered. She startled me with her stark tone, and I wanted to contradict her so badly, I had to bite into my lower lip to keep my mouth shut. "They insisted I did. That this is what I do. A character flaw. Or a defect. Even the press said I drove them away because of…what I am, and…remember I told you they would—that day in Paris?"
I did. I remembered her tearstained voice from Paris that time, "…The snow queen drives away another Mr. Priestly…"
Miranda continued. "And all those monikers they've attached to me over the years? Dragon Lady, Snow Queen, Devil in Prada, etcetera. They're glued to me for a reason. Not just as a businesswoman. My ex-husbands have made sure that people we used to socialize with, people I considered friends once, knew it was entirely applicable in private as well. I suppose it was a win-win for them. It garnered sympathy for them. I suppose I played right into their hands for not saying anything at all, either to the press or people around us. The more I refused to acknowledge it, the more space I gave them to put their spin on it all. It eventually became a self-fulfilling prophecy, or a universal truth, because of who I am—as a person." Miranda was breathing faster now, and I wondered if my strategy to let her keep talking without any objections on my part, was causing her to spiral.
When she quieted and merely looked at me as if she had run out of words, I saw tremors run along her body. "And now, since you have assumed the blame for two failed marriages, you fear this 'universal truth' will drive me away?"
Miranda blinked and her lips lost their tension and regained their natural color.
I ran my hand back and forth along her thighs, hoping to warm her as she looked so cold. "The Miranda I know, and is getting to know even more of, is warm, caring, and very, very loyal. I know this." I searched for the right words. If I were to sound too sappy, too cheesy, she would stop listening. "I know what you work entails. What your hours are. What duties you need to keep on top of and just how many people depend on you for their livelihood." I swallowed against a persistent lump at the back of my throat. "You said once that you didn't want me to even address the topic of leaving. I said I wouldn't, but I have to right now."
"What?" Blanching, Miranda presses her back against the couch, obviously recoiling.
"I can't imagine being without you. I can't imagine what could happen to make me leave. Unless you didn't want me around, that is. I need you to know that this is truly how I feel, it is important." I lean in and grip her shoulders and tug her forward. "Please. If you think you're a hopeless case that needs to change and bend over backward because you think that's what I need you to do, to stay, you couldn't be more wrong. I really, really need you to understand that." I was starting to lose my voice because of all my harnessed feelings, and perhaps Miranda understood, because she nodded slowly, and I didn't think she was placating me.
"Andrea." Miranda framed my face with her hands. "I—I don't know what to say, other than I'll hold you to those very words. I trust that you are truthful, because that is who you are." She leaned further in and kissed me, and her kiss was salty, even if I hadn't seen her shed any tears. Perhaps some tears only flow freely on the inside? "You really are prepared to fight for us." She sounded, not surprised exactly, but wondrous.
"Like a madwoman," I muttered, which made her smile.
"Is that so?" She tugged at me, and I slipped up to straddle her lap.
"It is." I didn't take my eyes off hers, even when she started unbuttoning my shirt. She pushed it off my shoulders, down my arms, and then traced the lace at the neckline of my tank top with her fingertips.
"Well, then." Miranda sighed. "I had planned to suggest a completely different ending to our evening."
I blinked. "What? I mean, what kind of ending?" At times like this, I sure as hell wasn't able to use my assistant-spidey-sense and read her flawlessly.
"Oh, more toward a night of carnal pleasures, you could say," Miranda murmured.
"And I suppose I put a damper on that idea." I sighed. Great. Go me.
"No, no. That's not how I look at it. I'd say we made progress in other ways." She cupped my ass with both hands and tugged me closer. "And the night's not over."
"You're brilliant, Miranda." I smiled and this time, I felt, and I knew she saw, that it was entirely genuine.
Miranda pulled me in for yet another kiss, and murmured against my lips, "Silly girl," and I had to give her right, to a degree.
"Bed?" I whispered after a long, searing kiss.
Miranda gasped for air but huskily managed a one-syllable word of her own. "Yes."
Continued in part 16.