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A/N: I had no idea there was more to this story, but apparently there is?


This just in!

Listen up, darlings, ‘cause we have some juicy news to share. Guess which notoriously chilly fashion maven was seen in a steamy embrace on a Manhattan corner? If you guessed Anna Wintour, you should turn your thermometers a little lower, toward the Ice Queen herself. That’s right, Miranda Priestly was heard to be canoodling a gorgeous brunette in broad daylight. Is orange really the new black? Stay tuned, we’ll let you know!

Page Six, Your Number One Stop for Celeb Gossip!

Word of your kiss with Andrea travels fast. You have no idea why you are so shocked. Page Six is spread out across your lap in bed, mocking you and cheapening your relationship. Thankfully the deplorable publication has not yet gotten a hold of Andrea’s name. She perhaps still has a few precious days (or hours) of security before all major news outlets catch hold of the story and run with it.

Sitting up in bed, you look beside you to the glorious head of chocolate hair fanned out across her pillow. Andrea looks both innocent and sexy, even now in a pair of borrowed pajamas and dead to the world. She hears the rustle of newspaper and burrows deeper into the covers with a sigh. Must she be adorable at all times? Surely this has to be terrible for your concentration.

A cell phone ringing breaks the silence of your peaceful Saturday morning. It’s Leslie, your public relations consultant, so you slide your finger across the screen to answer even though you would love to let her call go to voicemail.

“Hello,” you say, boredom lacing your tone. Andrea stirs beside you, so you run your fingers gently through her hair.

“Miranda, what the hell?”

Leslie is one of the only people who could probably get away with speaking to you like this. She is far too good at her job for you to fire her over a few profanities. Even you, the Dragon Lady, aren’t stupid enough to let your ego overrule your common sense.

“Why didn’t you warn me? This is a fucking mess!” Andrea has slithered her way across your lap, snuggling her head into your stomach and wrapping her arms around your waist. A shock of pleasure courses through you.

You continue to finger comb her hair, loving the sweet smell and silky feel. “Leslie, I’m going to be frank with you,” you say up front, “It was all very sudden.”

The media will have a field day. You cannot find it in yourself to be sorry.

“Like hell it was!” Leslie sounds a little amused, and a little less panicked. She’s seen you through two divorces; this should be a piece of cake. You tell her so.

“Not to mention,” you add, “lesbianism is quite fashionable these days.” At this, Andrea snorts out a little laugh, so you pinch her shoulder. She swats you back.

“It better be,” she mutters. After a moment, she gets the courage to ask, “Who is she?”

You have no idea why you are nervous. Of Andrea, you are in no way ashamed. Still, a little lump forms in your throat and you swallow around it. “My assistant, Andrea Sachs.”

Andrea slides up a little more in bed, covering more of her body with yours. Pink lips press gently to your sternum before making their way up to your neck, making you sigh.

“Are you kidding me?” Leslie bellows into the phone.

Andrea continues gentle assault, her mouth keeping you grounded. You have no idea how you manage to give Leslie further instructions, making sure your job, and Andreas, is safe.

Before she hangs up, Leslie says to you, “Miranda, she better be worth it.”

You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life, “She is.” With that, the call is disconnected.

After dropping your phone back onto the bedside table, you find your arms filled with a very attractive woman. “You know,” you say to Andrea, “eavesdropping is very rude.”

Andrea giggles at your antics, “Oh really,” she teases back, “and what are you going to do about it?”

Taking advantage of her distracted state, you surprise her when you roll her onto her back in the middle of the bed. She laughs a twinkling laugh at the turn of events, the sound washing over you pleasantly. When was the last time you laughed with someone else in bed? When was the last time you felt this light?

Hovering over her, you are taken aback once again by her beauty. The previous night you both spent a significant amount of time kissing and touching and learning each other. You wouldn’t mind spending the morning in the exact same way. Your lips meet hers, the little shock in your belly still present even after hours together last night. You have a feeling it will take a long time to fade. Everything about Andrea is refreshingly different than your previous marriages. When you think about how they ended, you are grateful for this fact.

Andrea is delicious. You learned this, too, the night before. You also learned that she loves when you nibble on her lower lip, so you do a little of that as well. She lets out a breathy little moan, her fingertips rubbing at the base of your skull. Moments go by before you realize that you are purring, but you’re too caught up in her to feel ashamed.

Before you know it, you are straddling Andrea’s hips and your lips have migrated to the shell of her ear. You try to tell her how amazing she is but all that comes out is, “Mmmm.” Your breath in her ear makes her shiver, her chest arching up into your body.

“My God,” she says, before kissing you again. Her tongue finds yours and you can’t help grinding into her a little. This whole morning feels so amazing; Page Six could not be further away from your mind. Andrea’s hands slip from your hair, down your back, and to your ass. Your moans are loud this time and she smiles into the kiss.

After a few minutes of this, you look down into her eyes. She smiles back up at you and nods her head without you ever having to say a word. Before you go any further, you need to be clear about your feelings.

“I love you, Andrea.” The admission feels weightless on your tongue. She smiles her million-watt smile at you and returns the sentiment.

“I love you too, Miranda.” She kisses your palm.

Both sets of pajamas form a pile at the end of your bed. Soon the room is filled with nothing but kissing and whispers of oh yes and right there. You can’t believe that something so sweet is suddenly yours.

In a warm sated pile, your head is on her chest. Andrea plants the sweetest kiss on your forehead melting the Ice Queen’s heart into a pile of goo. While your fingertips trace her arm the words slip out, “I can’t believe I’ve lived this long without you.” You didn’t mean to say them but once they are out you cannot deny the truth.

Andrea takes a deep breath and you can feel the smile in her voice. “Well it’s a good thing you’ll never have to live without me again.” There is so much promise in that one statement. Your track record is betting against you, but you are determined to make this one stick for good.

The shower you share is both pleasant and efficient, and an hour later you are side by side at your kitchen counter. The space seems larger when not full of children, and you take advantage of this by making French toast from scratch. The girls would be jealous if they knew what you were up to this morning so you promise to yourself to make it up to them.

As if reading your mind, Andrea pipes up from beside you at the stove, “Do Cass and Caroline like French toast?”

You plant a kiss on her shirt-covered shoulder just for asking. “They do,” you say while focusing on whisking eggs and cinnamon with a fork, “quite possibly more than they love their own mother.”

The words come out in a chuckle making your glasses slip down your nose a little. You wanted to put in your contacts this morning, but Andrea insisted your prescription tortoise-shell frames were charming. You have no idea why.

“Now that,” she says while cutting wheat bread into triangles, “is impossible.”

You clear your throat to cover your blush, but Andrea knocks your hip with hers to show that she’s seen it anyway. She looks delightful with her hair in a ponytail and void of pants. Andrea waits patiently for you to finish whisking, so that she can dip the bread before tossing it in the pan. You’d discovered pretty quickly that she was terrible at cracking eggs when the first one she cracked in the bowl was littered with eggshell. You love her dearly, but you do not like your breakfast unnecessarily crunchy.

Breakfast goes off without a hitch, and you leave the dirty dishes in the sink. Andrea looks around the room a little awkwardly, as if she is waiting for you to ask her to leave. You may be loath to admit it, but as long as she walks around pantsless she may stay however long she likes. Taking pity on her forlorn look, you grab her hand gently. “Come along, Andrea,” you say, “let’s pick out a movie.”

Upstairs, Andrea is awed by the size of the television in your home theater. Instead of the comfortable chars, you both opt to spend the duration of the movie on a bed of pillows on the floor. Halfway through, you’ve lost interest in the characters on screen in favor of Andrea’s hand rubbing little circles on your thigh. She notices your distraction and humors you with a make out session. Brilliant girl.

The movie leads to an afternoon snack, which bleeds into a game of scrabble in your upstairs study. You realize while playing that you have met your match in the wordsmith that is Andrea Sachs. The game is a lot more intense than you originally planned because this girl is just as competitive as you are. It only makes you love her more. In the last round, you have a ten-point lead, but she gets to make the last move.

“How about we make things interesting,” you dramatically stroke your chin like a movie villain.

“How so?” she asks, leaning back in her chair with her mussed ponytail.

“If I win, I get something I want,” you say, “and if you win the same goes for you.”

Andrea’s lips spread into a wide, Cheshire grin. “Deal.”

It turns out Andrea’s coveted prize is getting to second base with you on the couch. You neglect to mention that you would have gladly given this away for free.

When you glance at the clock, you realize that soon you will have to leave to pick up Caroline and Cassidy from the train station. At the same time, you realize that you will probably have to say goodbye to Andrea and pop your safe little bubble of warmth and contentment. The paparazzi have no doubt been camping out on your front porch the entire day.

Andrea must feel the shift in the air. “It’s almost time, huh?” she says with her head snuggled into the crook of your neck. She left a mark there earlier that will not be easy to cover up. Her legs shift around yours under the blanket that is covering you both.

“Mmmm,” you say noncommittally while stroking her back. Andrea pulls the blanket back and stands up, the cool air shocking you a little. You follow her to your bedroom and watch as she collects her things from around the room.

“Leave them,” you say softly, “I can send your things with the dry cleaning.”

“Oh. Um, okay,” she responds, leaving her clothes in a little folded pile on the dresser. You cannot meet her eyes, a little ashamed at how pitiful talk of her leaving makes you feel.

Her feet come into the line of vision as your gaze stays firmly rooted to the carpet. “Miranda?” she asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Andrea,” you say a little more harshly than you meant it. Your tone softens to the point of being hard to hear, “I do not want you to go.”

At your words she hugs you close. “Oh Miranda, me too.”

“I can come over tomorrow for dinner,” she says with a lilt as if trying to coerce a child into a plate of vegetables.

“We can have dinner with the twins and I can beat them at Scrabble too.” You hate that this made you laugh.

“Alright,” you sigh with a little smile.

“Just think of how awesome if will feel when you pick the girls up from the train station,” Andrea says with a little kiss to your nose, “I know how much you miss them when they’re gone.”

It ought to be a little uncanny how well this woman knows you. You wouldn’t change a thing about it if you could. You let her go so that she can finish getting dressed, and in the mean time you pull on slacks and tuck a blouse into them. If the world is going to take your picture today, you may as well look the part. The heels that you slip into matches the DVF trench in your hall closet perfectly. Not to mention, it’s got the high collar that you need. With a quick brush to your hair and a dusting of makeup, you are ready to go.

Before she leaves your room, Andrea walks to your bureau and spritzes herself with a splash of your perfume. She slips past you standing in the doorway and whispers, “so I can have you with me all night.” You shiver.

You lead Andrea down to the kitchen, where she will slide out the back door to escape the hassle of the many people itching to capture you both on film. You do not wish to hide her forever, but at the same time you do not wish to cause her unnecessary harm. Gossip rags breed vultures and you want to keep her as safe as you can.

With another lengthy kiss and a promise to come to dinner tomorrow, Andrea is gone. You look around your empty kitchen and try not to feel so lonely. The dirty dishes in the sink are there to remind you of the spectacular day you’ve had, so you choose to smile and remember it instead of mourning its loss.

Roy sends a text to let you know that he is ready to ferry you off to go get your daughters. You hope that he is ready to face the media storm outside your home. You know that with your girls and Andrea at your side, you are ready to face anything.