Chapter Text
Andy weaved through the crowds at the Manhattan Cruise Terminal. Her suitcase rolled behind her as she half jogged, half stumbled toward the massive ship looming ahead. Her heart raced not just from her sprint to make it on time but from the sheer relief of finally, finally escaping the claws of her job at The New York Mirror.
At 29, she had become something of a legend in New York’s journalism world. Her exposé on corruption in the city’s public housing system had sent shockwaves through City Hall, earning her a nomination for a journalism award and a rare pat on the shoulder from her boss. “Sachs, you’re killing it,” he’d said, sliding the proofs across his desk. “But you’re also killing yourself. Take a vacation before you keel over."
She’d brushed him off at first, there was always another story, another lead to chase, but Doug, her best friend and the eternal voice of reason, had other plans. “Andy, I’m not letting you cancel on me again,” he’d said over coffee at their favorite diner two tweeks ago. “We’re going to sip cocktails, flirt with cute bartenders and pretend we’re not chained to our desks. Deal?"
Now, as she dodged a family with matching fanny packs and searched the crowd for her best friend, she felt a pang of guilt. She was late, again. A last-minute rewrite on a story about a Brooklyn artist had kept her at the office until nearly 2 a.m. and she’d overslept her alarm. Her phone rang in her pocket and she didn’t need to look to know it was Doug, probably texting her something like, Are you still at your desk? Get your ass to the port!
Sure enough, she spotted him near the check in counter, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched. “There you are!” Doug called out as she approached. He didn’t sound mad, though, just resigned, with that teasing tone that had been their friendship’s soundtrack since their college days at Northwestern. “I was this close to boarding without you and claiming the suite for myself. You know I’d look great sprawled out on a king-sized bed with a drink in each hand.”
“I’m so sorry,” she panted, catching her breath as she hugged him. “I got stuck at the office. There was this piece and my boss was breathing down my neck and then my laptop crashed and-”
Doug pulled back and shook his head with a grin that said he’d heard this song before. “Nope. Stop right there. I have one request for this trip, Andy. Just one. For the next seven days, we are not talking about our jobs. No deadlines, no bosses, no soul-crushing inbox notifications. We’re on a Caribbean cruise, babe. It’s time to live a little."
She opened her mouth to protest, then caught herself. He was right. She’d been running on fumes for months, surviving on cold coffee and the kind of adrenaline that left her staring at her ceiling at 4 a.m. wondering if she was actually living or just collecting bylines. This trip was her chance to hit pause, to reconnect with herself and with Doug, the guy who’d been her rock through every breakup, every career milestone and every late night existential crisis. She owed him this. Hell, she owed herself this.
“Okay, okay” she conceded, exhaling dramatically. “No work talk. Just sun, sand and… what’s that ridiculous drink you’re always raving about again?”
"Piña colada!" Doug beamed. It's like a tropical hug that hits you right in the relaxation spot. You're gonna be hooked after the first sip. Trust me.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the gangway where a stream of excited passengers was boarding the ship. "Come on, let’s get on this floating paradise before you start interviewing the porters about labor conditions.”
Andy laughed as she handed her boarding pass to the attendant. Doug was already chattering about their route, snorkeling in St. Thomas, a beach day in Barbados, maybe a salsa dancing class if find the courage. His enthusiasm was contagious and Andy let it wash over her, trying to focus on the promise of turquoise waters and lazy afternoons instead of the nagging voice in her head whispering about unread emails.
They stepped into the ship’s grand atrium and Doug nudged her, pointing to a bar tucked into a corner where a bartender was shaking cocktails for a group of passengers. “First stop, drinks,” he announced. “You in?”
“Absolutely,” Andy said, feeling the first real spark of excitement flicker to life. “Let’s kick this vacation off right.”
She was about to follow him when her eyes caught a flash of silver hair across the atrium. Her breath hitched and her stomach performed an Olympic-level somersault.
No. It couldn’t be.
She blinked, certain she was imagining things, but there she was, Miranda Priestly, looking as flawless as ever in a cream-colored linen suit.
Nigel stood beside her, gesturing animatedly as he spoke to a staffer. At her other side were the twins, Cassidy and Caroline, now taller and teenage, but still with that mischievous glint in their eyes that Andy remembered from her days as Miranda’s second assistant.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, grabbing Doug’s arm and digging her nails into his skin. “Doug...Doug.”
“Ow! What the-” He followed her gaze and his jaw dropped. “No. Freaking. Way. Is that-"
“Miranda,” she breathed, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The twins were talking to each other, while Nigel seemed to be charming the staff member into submission. And Miranda, as always, stood apart, her expression unreadable behind oversized sunglasses.
Her mind raced. It had been years, five to be exact, since she’d walked away from Runway in Paris. She’d rebuilt herself, carved out a career she was proud of, but seeing Miranda now brought it all rushing back.
Part of her wanted to dive behind the nearest marble pillar and stay there until Barbados, but another part, the part that had survived Runway and come out stronger, was curious. What was Miranda doing on a cruise ship?
“Andy, breathe,” Doug said, snapping her out of her spiral. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. You're turning paler than a ghost."
"I can’t believe this,” she muttered, unable to tear her gaze away. “What are the actual statistical odds? Of all the cruise ships in all the oceans-”
“Relax,” he said, guiding her sideways toward the bar. “She probably won’t even recognize you. You’re not her assistant anymore, you’re Andrea freaking Sachs, badass journalist. Besides, we’re on vacation. She’s not your boss here. She’s just… some lady on a cruise."
She nodded, trying to convince herself he was right. But as they moved through the crowd, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Miranda’s piercing blue eyes would find her, just like they always had at Runway. And when they did, Andy wasn’t sure if she’d be ready for whatever came next...