The Cruise

by SRA94

Summary:

Andy and Miranda meet again after 5 years - on a cruise.

Chapter 1

Andy weaved through the crowds at the West Side cruise port. Her suitcase rolled behind her as she half jogged, half stumbled toward the massive cruise 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, Andy 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, tossing her article proofs across his desk. “But you’re also killing yourself. Take a damn vacation before you collapse.”

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. “We’re going to sip piña coladas, 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 scanned 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 lilt 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 gasped, catching her breath as she reached him. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “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 held up a hand, cutting her off. “Nope. Stop right there.” He leaned in. “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, her life a chaos of late nights and coffee stained notebooks. 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, every 3 a.m. existential crisis. She owed it to him and to herself, to try.

“Okay, fine,” she said, exhaling dramatically. “Deal. No work talk. Just sun, sand, and… what’s that drink you’re obsessed with again?”

“Piña colada,” Doug grinned. “And you’re gonna love ‘em. They’re like a tropical hug in a glass.” He slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the gangway where passengers were streaming onto the ship. “Come on, let’s get on this floating paradise before you decide to write a 2,000-word feature on the port authority’s baggage handling system.”

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 declared. “You in?”

“Absolutely,” Andy said, feeling a spark of excitement. “Let’s start this vacation 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 did a 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 that probably cost more than Andy’s rent. 

Nigel stood beside her, gesturing animatedly as he spoke to a staff member. 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 assistant.

“Oh my God,” Andy whispered, grabbing Doug’s arm and digging her nails into his skin. “Doug...Doug.”

“Ow, what?” He followed her gaze, and his jaw dropped. “No way. Is that…?”

“Miranda,” she finished, 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 duck behind a potted palm and hide, but another part, the part that had survived Runway and come out stronger, was curious. What was Miranda doing here?

“Andy, breathe,” Doug said, snapping her out of her spiral. He was grinning now, clearly enjoying her panic. 

"I can’t believe this,” she mumbled, her eyes still locked on Miranda. “What are the odds? I mean, of all the cruises in the world…”

“Relax,” he said, directing her 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...

Chapter 2

Miranda couldn’t believe she was here, on a cruise of all things, a floating petri dish of loud families, sunburned tourists in flip-flops and buffet lines that stretched into oblivion.

She adjusted her oversized Chanel sunglasses, as if they could shield her from the sensory assault of this garish aquatic prison. This was not her world. Not by a long shot.

Yet here she was, because of love. Love for her twins, Cassidy and Caroline, who had turned sixteen last month and had begged for this trip as their birthday gift. With college looming on the horizon, Miranda felt the weight of time pressing against her. These moments with her girls were slipping through her fingers like sand and she’d be damned if she didn’t seize this chance to hold onto them a little longer.

“This place is insane!” Cassidy said as they stepped through the grand entrance. “Look at that waterfall! It’s, like, straight out of a Disney movie or something!”

Caroline, nodded but kept her eyes on her phone. “Yeah, it’s cool. Can we go to the suite now? I need to change before we hit the pool.”

“A city on water,” Miranda murmured, her voice dripping with her signature disdain. “How… quaint.”

Nigel, standing at her side, chuckled under his breath. “Oh, come on, Miranda. You can’t deny this place has a certain charm. Over-the-top, yes, but it’s Royal Caribbean. They don’t do subtle.”

“Charm is not the word I’d use," she replied with a dry tone. "Try garish. Excessive. Or perhaps nauseating."

“You’ll survive. Besides, this is for the girls. And, frankly, for you.” His tone softened, just enough to hint at the concern he’d been carrying for months.

There was a third reason for this trip, though, one Miranda didn’t know about. 

Runway was on the edge of irrelevance, struggling to compete in a world obsessed with digital content. Her days bled into nights as she micromanaged every pixel of their new app, every Facebook post, every Youtube video. Nigel had watched her push herself to the brink of collapse. Her hands shaking slightly as she signed off on layouts, her silences growing heavier, her temper shorter. She was burned out and she either didn’t see it or refused to acknowledge it. He suspected the latter, knowing her stubborn pride all too well.

He orchestrated the entire thing with the twins’ help. Knowing the only way to drag Miranda away from her desk was to make it about them. A cruise for their birthday? She’d never say no. And to ensure she didn’t sneak off to answer emails or revise layouts, he had invited himself along. She’d given him a scathing look when he’d proposed it, but she hadn’t argued. Deep down, beneath the layers of ice and couture, she was grateful for his loyalty even if she’d never say it aloud.

Now, the four of them stood in the atrium, surrounded by staff in crisp white uniforms fussing over their Louis Vuitton luggage. A young man with a name tag reading “José” approached, bowing slightly. “Your suites are ready, Ms. Priestly,” he said with a nervous tone, as if he’d been briefed on her reputation. “We’ve arranged everything as requested, fresh orchids in every room, Evian stocked in the minibars and the balconies have been set up for private dining. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know immediately.”

Nigel leaned in. “And the Wi-Fi blocker I asked for? To keep our fearless leader from working?” He winked at the twins, who chuckled next to their mother.

He blinked, unsure whether Nigel was joking. “Of course, sir, as you wish. We’ll ensure everything is perfect.” 

Miranda shot Nigel a look that could’ve frozen the entire Caribbean. “If you think for one second I’m going to be cut off from civilization, you’re gravely mistaken. She stepped closer to him. “I have a magazine to run, in case you’ve forgotten."

“Oh, relax, darling,” Nigel said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll thank me when you’re sipping a martini on a beach instead of arguing with the IT department about server crashes. Besides, the girls deserve your full attention.” 

“Mom, you’re not seriously going to work on this trip, are you?” Cassidy asked, crossing her arms. “You promised us a real vacation. No phone, no laptop, no Runway drama. We’re supposed to be, like, bonding.”

“Yeah,” Caroline chimed in, finally pocketing her phone. “You’re, like, contractually obligated to chill for once. We made you sign that pact, remember? You literally wrote ‘no work’ in your own blood.”

Miranda exhaled sharply through her nose, a sound that signaled both annoyance and surrender. “It was red ink, Caroline, not blood. And fine. But if I hear one word about a missed deadline or a botched layout, I’m holding all three of you personally responsible.”

Nigel smirked, adjusting the cuff of his blazer. “Deal. Now, let’s get to those suites before you start critiquing the ship’s interior design. I saw you eyeing that wallpaper and I know you’re itching to call it a crime against taste.”

Before she could respond, a crash echoed through the place. Every head turned, including Miranda’s, as a young boy, maybe nine or ten, stood frozen near a bar, with a shattered glass at his feet. Orange juice pooled on the marble floor and his mother was already apologizing to a staff member.

“Really,” the editor in chief muttered with disdain in her voice. “Is it too much to ask for a modicum of decorum? She said and removed her sunglasses. "This is a cruise, not a daycare."

“Mom, chill,” Cassidy rolled her eyes as she tugged at her sleeve. “It’s just a kid. Accidents happen.”

Nigel chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “She's right, you know. Let’s not start the trip by terrorizing the staff. Or the children.” He leaned closer. “You’re on vacation, Miranda. Try to act like it. Maybe even smile. It won’t kill you.”

She shot him another icy glare but said nothing, allowing the group to move toward the elevators. José led the way with quick steps. The twins chattered ahead, debating whether the ship’s pool had a slide or a diving board, while Nigel hummed softly, clearly amused by the whole ordeal.

As she walked in and faced the hall one last time, her gaze drifted across the place. Something, some instinct she couldn’t name, pulled her attention to the bar across the room. Her eyes landed on a dark-haired woman seated on a barstool, with a half-finished cocktail in front of her, laughing at something the man beside her had said. There was something familiar about the way she tilted her head, the way she laughed, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear-

Miranda’s brow furrowed as she stared, her pulse quickening. It took a moment. Two, three seconds, for recognition to click into place.

Andrea.

The name crashed over her like a cold wave, dragging up memories she’d buried years ago. Her former assistant. The one who’d walked away in Paris, leaving her stunned and, though she’d never admit it, wounded. The one who’d seen through her armor, challenged her in ways no one else dared and left a void at Runway that no subsequent assistant had ever filled.

She looked different now. Older, of course, time had softened the sharp edges of her youth, but also more assured, more herself. Her posture was relaxed yet confident, her smile unguarded. She was no longer the awkward, wide-eyed girl who’d stumbled into Runway ’s offices in ill-fitting skirts and clunky heels, clutching a resume and a desperate need to prove herself. This was a woman who knew who she was, who carried herself with an ease Miranda hadn’t seen in her before.

As if sensing the weight of Miranda’s stare, Andy turned her head, her glass pausing halfway to her lips. Their eyes locked across the crowded atrium and for a moment, the noise of the ship faded to nothing.

Andy’s expression shifted from shock to recognition, then to something softer, more complicated. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something but no words came. The man beside her was saying something but she didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on Miranda’s.

Nigel, who’d been chatting with the twins, noticed her sudden stillness. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he followed her gaze. His eyes widened and a slow grin spread across his face. “Is that…?”

“Andrea,” Miranda said, as the elevator doors slid shut.

Chapter 3

Miranda leaned against the railing of her private balcony and stared out at the water. The ship hadn’t yet left port of Manhattan and the distant hum of activity from the dock below mixed with the soft crash of waves. She should have felt relaxed or at least a little less tense but her mind churned like the sea below.

"I see a great deal of myself in you,” she had said to Andy all those years ago in Paris.

It had been the first and only time she had allowed herself to acknowledge an employee in such a personal way. She’d seen something in Andy, something beyond the wide eyed Midwestern naiveté: a spark of ambition, a quiet resilience that mirrored the young Miranda who’d fought her way to the top of the publishing world. But Andy had rejected the comparison, rejected her and walked out of Miranda’s world with a decisiveness that had cut deeper than she would ever admit.

The sting lingered, a bruise buried beneath layers of tailored Chanel and glacial poise. It wasn’t just the loss of an assistant, though she had been exceptional. No, it was something deeper, something that pricked at the soft, vulnerable core Miranda loathed to acknowledge. She had seen through the myth of Miranda and chosen to walk away, not out of fear but out of conviction. 

And yet, a part of her, the part she despised for its weakness, admired Andy’s courage to choose her own path.

She’d followed her career in secret, late at night when insomnia clawed at her and the glow of her laptop was her only company. Articles in The New York Mirror, hard-hitting exposés on political corruption, human rights abuses, stories that demanded the world’s attention, proved Andy had built a career, a name for herself. Without Runway.

The editor told herself she didn’t care. That she was just another ex-assistant, one of dozens who had passed through the door of her office over the years, replaceable and insignificant. But the clippings, carefully folded, meticulously organized and tucked away in a locked drawer in her townhouse told a different story. She’d never admit to keeping them, not even to Nigel. Especially not to Nigel.

Speaking of whom, he stepped onto the balcony with a glass of sparkling water in hand. “You’re brooding,” he said and leaned against the railing beside her. His eyes studied her with the familiarity of someone who’d seen her at her best and worst. “Care to share or shall I guess? Let me see… is it the twins’ latest rebellion? Cassidy’s new piercing, perhaps? Or maybe the board’s insufferable meddling? No, wait-” He tilted his head, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Dare I say, a certain former assistant who’s been making waves in journalism?”

Her jaw tightened, her fingers digging into her arms. “I don't brood,” she said, each word laced with icy disdain. "And there’s nothing to discuss. She’s an ex-assistant. One of many. I don’t waste time on people who couldn’t handle the job.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a knowing smirk “Couldn’t handle it? Please, she was the best assistant you ever had and you know it. And then she walked away. Right out of your life in the middle of Paris Fashion Week, no less. That takes guts, darling. More guts than most of the spineless sycophants who’ve kissed your Louboutins over the years.” He sipped his drink, watchng her over the rim of the glass. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Miranda. I was there. I saw how you looked when she left. You can tell yourself it was just business, but we both know it was more than that.”

“You’re delusional,” she hissed, her head snapping toward him. “She was competent, I’ll grant you that. But naive. Sentimental. Utterly unprepared for this world. I did her a favor by letting her go.”

"Mmm, keep telling yourself that. But I’ve seen you fire assistants for breathing too loudly. And yet, Andy? She walked away from you. From Runway. From the empire you offered her on a silver platter. But you never blacklisted her. Never whispered a single word against her to the industry. You could’ve crushed her career with one phone call, God knows you’ve done it before, but you didn’t." He set his glass on the railing, his voice softening. “She got under your skin, Miranda. Maybe it’s time to admit it, at least to yourself.”

She said nothing for a moment and let the sound of the waves and the distant dock noise fill the silence. The truth in his words was a blade, slicing through the defenses she’d spent decades building. She hated him for it. Hated him for seeing her so clearly, for knowing her better than she sometimes knew herself.

Miranda fingers tightened around the railing as she fought to keep her composure “This conversation is exhausting. And if you’re quite finished playing therapist, I suggest you find something useful to do.”

He chuckled softly. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I’m off to explore this floating theme park. Rumor has it there’s a karaoke lounge on deck seven that’s just begging for someone to kill a Celine Dion classic. Care to join me? I could use a duet partner for ‘My Heart Will Go On.’"

Her lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement breaking through her icy facade before she smothered it. “No,” she replied flatly, already turning to head back into the suite. “I have better things to do than watch you butcher a perfectly good song.”

“Suit yourself,” he called after her, grabbing his sunglasses from the coffee table inside the suite’s luxurious living room. “See you at dinner. Try not to toss anyone overboard while I’m gone, hmm? I’d hate to miss the show.” He winked, slipping out the door with a grin.

---

As Nigel sauntered along the deck of the ship, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of lightness despite the weight of his earlier conversation with his boss. She was a storm wrapped in silk and he knew better than to push her too far. Still, he’d planted a seed, a subtle nudge toward confronting the past. Nigel was nothing if not patient when it came to Miranda.

He found himself at the pool bar and slid onto a stool. “A gin and tonic, darling,” he said to the bartender and adjusted his sunglasses. “Make it quick and don’t skimp on the lime.”

As the man nodded and got to work, Nigel’s eyes watched the crowd. Families, couples, a few solo travelers nursing cocktails and existential crises.

Then, a familiar figure caught his attention and his lips curved into a grin. “Andy!” he called out.

She froze mid-step and a wide smile broke across her face. Andy hurried over and before he could stand, she enveloped him in a hug. “Nigel!” she exclaimed and pulled back to look at him. “Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you again!” 

He held her at arm’s length, taking in her casual ensemble. White sundress, simple sandals, hair falling in loose, sun-kissed waves. She glowed with a confidence of a woman who’d found her place in the world. “Look at you. Journalism agrees with you, doesn’t it? You’re practically radiating Pulitzer energy, darling."

She laughed, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she swatted his arm playfully. “Oh, stop it. I’m just trying to keep up with the world’s chaos. No Pulitzers yet, but I’m working on it.” She looked to her side. “Nigel, this is Doug, my best friend. Doug, this is Nigel Kipling, the style genius I told you about.”

Doug extended a hand with a grin. “Nice to meet you. Andy's stories about Runway are basically legendary.”

The art director shook his hand, sizing him up with a quick, approving glance. “A pleasure, Doug. I hope she’s told you only the good stories.”

“Mostly,” he replied with a chuckle then looked at his best friend. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll see you later back at the room, okay?” He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and headed off. 

Andy slid onto the stool next to Nigel and flagged the bartender. “A mojito, please,” she ordered, then turned to the art director, propping her elbow on the bar. “So, how are you, darling?” she asked, mimicking his tone with a playful glint in her eye.

He smirked, stirring his drink. “Oh, you know me. Surviving the fashion jungle, one editorial crisis at a time. And you? I hear you’re out there saving the world, one exposé at a time.”

She laughed. “Something like that. It’s been… intense but good. Really good.”

“Intense is your brand, Six,” he said, slipping into the old nickname without thinking. “Always was.”

Her smile softened and she paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as it arrived. The silence stretched for a moment and her expression turned thoughtful. “So, you’re here with Miranda and the twins? I would never have thought Miranda was the cruise type.”

Nigel’s laughed as he looked down at his drink. “Oh, she isn’t. Definitely not. The twins, bless their rebellious little hearts, insisted on this for their birthday. And, well, Miranda and I…” He trailed off, his lips quirking into a wry smile. “Let’s just say we’re in desperate need of a vacation. Between the board’s meddling and the endless parade of incompetent interns, I’m half-convinced we’re one bad photoshoot away from a mutiny.”

Andy grinned, sipping her mojito. “Sounds like Runway hasn’t changed much.”

“Oh, it’s evolved,” Nigel replied, leaning back with a theatrical sigh. “More digital, more chaos. But Miranda? She’s still the eye of the storm. Untouchable, terrifying and utterly brilliant.”

Her smile softened and she paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “I didn’t expect you to still be at Runway,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to her glass. “Not after… well, you know. Paris.”

His chuckle was low, tinged with something bittersweet. “Looking back, I have to say I’m happy how it all played out.”

Andy's brows shot up. “Really? Why?”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Let’s just say James Holt’s grand vision didn’t quite pan out. His company went bankrupt three years ago. Poof. Gone.”

Her jaw dropped, her eyes widening further. “What? James Holt? The guy who was supposed to be the next big thing? I mean, I know I was out of the fashion loop, but… wow.”

"Oh, yes,” Nigel replied, savoring the moment. He leaned forward. “Miranda, in her infinite wisdom, saw it coming. When we got back to the hotel that night in Paris, after your, ahem, dramatic exit, she sat me down. Well, as much as Miranda ever sits anyone down. She poured me a glass of obscenely expensive scotch and explained why she pushed Jacqueline for the job. She didn’t believe in James’s vision. Too flashy, not enough substance. She knew it wouldn’t last. And, well, she wasn’t wrong.”

She blinked, processing this. “So… she did you a favor?”

His lips quirked into a wry smile and he removed his sunglasses. “In her own Machiavellian way, yes. I never asked her outright but I suspect she was playing 4D chess the whole time. Saving her own position, keeping Irv in check, getting rid of a competitor, and, whether she’ll admit it or not, saving me from a sinking ship. I stayed at Runway and now I’m deputy editor-in-chief. Not a bad consolation prize.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “That’s… wow. That’s Miranda. Always three steps ahead.”

“Always,” he replied, raising his glass in a mock toast. The ice clinked softly and he took another sip, his eyes glinting with amusement. “She’s a nightmare, but she’s our nightmare. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it. Runway’s my home, chaos and all.”

She smiled, but her expression sobered as her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the last sliver of Manhattan was fading into the distance.

He watched her. “You should come say hello,” he said with a gentle tone. “To Miranda. The twins, too. They’d love to see you. They still talk about the Harry Potter stunt you pulled. Cassidy swears you’re a wizard.”

Her head snapped back to him, her expression a mix of surprise and fear. “I don’t think she’d want to see me. Especially after all these years. I mean, come on, Nigel. That ship has sailed.”

Nigel looked over her shoulder, catching the faint movement of the cruise ship pulling away from the dock. He turned back to her, a slow grin spreading across his face. “No, it hasn’t,” he replied, then nodded toward the water. “Though, technically, this ship is sailing.”

Andy followed his gaze, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you got me there,” she said, shaking her head. But her laughter faded and she bit her lip, her fingers tapping nervously against her glass. “No, really. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Come on, Andy,” his voice softened. "It’d be more awkward if you spent the whole cruise hiding from her and then ran into her at, say, the buffet line,” he pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “Imagine the look on her face if you’re caught mid-bite of a shrimp cocktail, sauce on your chin.”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t even put that image in my head. I'd die."

Nigel reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card with the suite number scrawled on it in his neat handwriting. He slid it across the bar to her. “Here. Suite 1701. I have to go unpack my things, but think about it, okay?"

She took the card and looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “You really think she wouldn’t have me thrown overboard?”

“Not unless you spill red wine on her McQueen,” he joked, standing and pulling her into another hug, this one lingering a little longer. “Good to see you, Six. Don’t be a stranger.”

She smiled, tucking the card into her bag. “You too, Nigel.”

---

Back in her cabin, she paced the small space, while Doug was sprawled on one of the beds, scrolling through his phone with a bag of potato chips open beside him.

He looked up when he noticed her restlessness. “You’re doing that thing where you overthink everything," he said, popping a chip into his mouth. "Just go talk to her.”

She stopped, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know Miranda. She’s… a force of nature. And I walked out on her. In Paris. During Fashion Week. That’s like… I don’t know, spitting in the Pope’s face at the Vatican.”

Doug sat up, brushing crumbs off his faded band tee. “Okay, first of all, dramatic much? Second, Andy, you’ve taken down corrupt politicians and shady corporations. You wrote that piece on the opioid crisis that got a senator hauled in front of Congress. I’m pretty sure you can handle one conversation with your old boss even if she’s the queen of fashion.”

She sighed, flopping onto the other bed. “It’s not just a conversation. It’s… her. She has this way of making you feel like you’re two inches tall with just a look. What if she just looks at me like I’m some random nobody who used to fetch her coffee? I mean, I threw my phone in a fountain, Doug. A fountain. Who does that?”

He snorted. “You, apparently. And it was badass, by the way. Look, Andy, you’ve been carrying this around for years. You told me yourself how much Runway changed you, for better or worse. You can’t keep dodging the past. Maybe you need to close that chapter. Or at least try. Besides, Nigel seemed pretty chill about it. If he thinks it’s a good idea, maybe it’s not as crazy as you think.”

Andy stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. He was right. She’d been haunted by that moment in Paris, the way she’d tossed her phone into the fountain and walked away, leaving Miranda’s world behind. It had been liberating, yes, but also terrifying. She’d never stopped wondering what Miranda thought of her, whether she’d been just another assistant or something more. The card in her bag felt like a challenge, a dare to face the past.

“Fine,” she said finally, sitting up and grabbing her keycard from the desk. “I’m going. But if this goes horribly, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal. I’ll be here with the ice cream when you get back," he called as she headed for the door.

Chapter 4

Andy’s legs felt like lead as she navigated the ship's labyrinthine corridors toward Miranda's suite.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a relentless, erratic drumbeat that made her wonder if she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. What the hell am I doing? The thought looped in her mind like a bad headline she couldn't edit out. 

The card Nigel had slipped her was tucked into her palm, its edges worn from how many times she'd pulled it out and stared at it back in her cabin.

Suite 1701. Simple numbers but they might as well have been a bomb defusal code. One wrong move and boom everything blows up in her face.

She could already picture it: Miranda's icy dismissal, the twins' awkward sympathy and her own humiliating sprint back to the safety of her tiny room, where she could pretend this whole reunion idea had never crossed her mind.

The brunette reached the door, raised her hand to knock and for a split second, imagined sprinting back to her cabin, barricading the door with Doug's suitcase and burying herself under the covers. 

But before she could lose her nerve, the door swung open and Caroline stood there. “Andy?! Oh my God, Cass, get out here! It's her!"

She barely had time to blink, let alone process before Cassidy appeared. “No way! Andy!” The twins launched themselves at her, enveloping her in a double hug that nearly knocked her off balance and squeezed the air right out of her lungs.

“Girls, hi!” she laughed. “You’re so… tall now!”

“Duh, we’re sixteen,” Cassidy replied, rolling her eyes but grinning. “Come in, come in! Mom’s in the living room, you have to see her.”

“I—uh, okay,” she stammered as they practically dragged her into the suite. 

Caroline snatched a keycard from a side table, already halfway out the door. “We’re hitting the arcade on Deck 7. But we’ll swing back later with snacks. Don’t let Mom scare you off, okay? She’s been extra grumpy since we boarded."

“Love you!” Cassidy called over her shoulder, blowing a kiss as they breezed out, the door clicking shut behind them with a finality that left Andy in the sudden, suffocating silence of the suite’s foyer.

She took a slow step forward, then another, her breath shallow as the living room opened up before her. It was all clean lines and subtle luxury, mirrored accents that caught the golden afternoon light filtering through the windows, a massive abstract painting on the wall and a faint scent of orchids in the air. But none of it mattered, because there, by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the endless horizon, stood Miranda.

She had her back to the room, phone pressed to her ear, one manicured hand gesturing faintly as if conducting an invisible orchestra of utter incompetence. Her silver hair was swept into that iconic bob, not a strand out of place and her cream linen blouse hugged her frame like it had been tailored by the gods themselves.

"...and if those digital proofs aren't delivered in a state of absolute perfection by nine a.m. tomorrow, consider your career trajectory rerouted to the frozen tundra of Siberia. That's all." Her voice sliced through the air as she lowered the phone.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, gazing out at the endless blue. Was that a sigh? A softening of her shoulders? Andy couldn't tell, but in that unguarded instant, the queen looked almost...human. 

Her pulse was so loud she was sure Miranda could hear it thundering across the room but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but drink in the woman who’d once defined her life, shattered her illusions, rebuilt her sharper and bolder, then haunted her dreams for years after.

She looks exactly the same. Timeless. Beautiful. Untouchable. The years hadn’t dimmed her; if anything, they’d refined her, like a vintage Chanel sharpened by time into something lethal and exquisite. 

Andy's fingers twitched at her sides, itching to smooth her sundress but she held still, rooted like a deer in headlights. 

Then she turned and their eyes met, blue on brown, ice on fire. 

The silence stretched until she forced herself to speak first, her voice coming out softer than she'd intended, laced with a shy smile despite the butterflies rioting in her stomach. “Hello, Miranda.”

Miranda's gaze swept over her, taking in the simple sundress, the sandals, the nervous way her fingers twitched at her side. No judgment in those eyes, not yet, just a cool curiosity that made the journalist feel peeled open, layer by layer. 

“Andrea,” she said finally, her voice a low purr that sent shivers racing down Andy's spine. She walked away from the window, closing the distance just enough to make the room feel smaller, more intimate. “This is… unexpected."

Andy nodded, her mouth drier than the Sahara. "Yeah. It is. I mean, the odds of us both on the same cruise? It's like the universe has a sick sense of humor." She let out a nervous laugh, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. "I was hoping we could talk. If that's... okay."

“Talk?” the older woman repeated and crossed her arms. "About what, precisely? The weather? The ship’s abysmal decor, which I can only assume was designed by a committee of colorblind enthusiasts?"

She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet those piercing blue eyes. "None of the above. Though, yeah, the decor's giving me Titanic vibes. Fingers crossed we skip the iceberg part." Another shaky laugh escaped, but she powered through, her voice steadying. “No, I came because... I ran into Nigel at the pool bar and he… he gave me your suite number. And I just… I needed to see you. To say I’m sorry. For Paris. For everything.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line and for a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the ship and the soft crash of waves beyond the window. Then she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. Anger, hurt or something Andy couldn’t name. “You walked away from an opportunity most would kill for. Threw your phone into a fountain, if memory serves. A rather theatrical flourish even for someone with your... flair for the dramatic. And now, half a decade later, on a gaudy pleasure barge in the middle of nowhere, you're sorry? What precisely are you sorry for, Andrea? That you were too good for Runway? For me? That you’d rather chase stories in some dingy newsroom than seize the chance to shape an industry? Enlighten me. I do so hate ambiguity.”

Her cheeks burned, but she held her ground. “It wasn’t about being too good," she shot back, her voice gaining strength. "It was about being true to myself. I saw what Runway did to people, what it was doing to me. I had to choose. Between the person I wanted to be and the one Runway was molding me into."

“You chose,” Miranda repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the room. She circled slowly, like a shark scenting blood, her gaze never leaving Andy's face. “And you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? Your exposés on corporate greed, your awards cluttering up that little apartment of yours in Brooklyn, I’ve read them, you know. Every one. The Times called you 'the voice of a generation.' Quite the ascent from fetching dry cleaning.” There was no warmth in the praise, but no outright venom either, just a quiet intensity that made Andy's chest ache.

She swallowed hard, the vulnerability creeping in unbidden. “I worked hard for it,” she admitted, her voice softening as she leaned against the arm of the sofa for support. “Every article, every sleepless night. But I wouldn't be standing here, hell, I wouldn't be me without you. Runway... you... you pushed me. Broke me down and built me back tougher, smarter. You saw potential in this clumsy Ohio girl and you demanded I live up to it. And yeah, I disappointed you. I hate that more than you know. It keeps me up at night, wondering if I could've handled it better."

Her gaze sharpened, her posture stiffening as if Andy's words had struck a nerve she kept buried deep. She stopped her pacing, facing her fully now. “Yes, you did disappoint me,” she admitted. “You left without a word. In the middle of Fashion Week, no less. Do you have any idea what that cost me? Not just an assistant, though, God, the parade of incompetents that followed was a special circle of hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. But trust."

The word hit Andy like a punch in the gut. Trust. She’d never thought of it that way, never imagined Miranda Priestly trusting anyone, let alone her. “I didn’t think you trusted me,” she replied, her voice breaking. “I thought I was just… another assistant. A placeholder until the next wide-eyed idiot wandered in. You made me feel like nothing sometimes, like I’d never be enough.”

Miranda's eyes flashed, a spark of indignation cutting through the frost and she closed the gap between them in one fluid stride. Close, too close. Andy could smell the faint citrus bite of her perfume, feel the heat radiating off her like a secret finally confessed.

"You were never nothing, Andrea," she hissed, her hand lifting as if to grip Andy's arm but halting midway, curling into a loose fist that she let drop to her side. "If you were, I wouldn't have invested in you. Time, energy, expectation. I don't squander those on mediocrity. You were... infuriatingly promising. A diamond in the rough all heart and hustle wrapped in that ridiculous sweater set."

"Then why let me go?" The question burst free, desperate and unfiltered, years of wondering flooding out like a dam break. “You could've called, dragged me back kicking and screaming, or worse. You could've blacklisted me with one whisper to the right ear, turned the whole damn world against me. But you sent that reference letter instead. Why, Miranda? Why give me that gift after everything?"

She froze, her eyes searching the younger woman's face as if looking for something she'd lost long ago.

“Because,” she said finally, exhaling like the word had been trapped inside her for years. “I saw myself in you. That fire, that unyielding drive wrapped in too much heart. The girl who clawed her way up from nothing. I'd forged myself in that same fire, Andrea and when I looked at you, I saw the echo of it. The potential to rise without becoming... this.” She gestured vaguely at herself, a rare flicker of self-doubt shadowing her features. “A reminder of who I might have been, if I'd chosen heart over hunger. And I couldn't destroy that. Not when I'd spent my life carving it out of stone just to survive."

Tears pricked hot at the corners of Andy's eyes. She blinked them back, but one escaped, tracing a warm path down her cheek. "You said that in that car," she whispered, stepping closer without thought until their breaths mixed in the charged space between. "And I... I ran from it. From you. After seeing what you did to Nigel, what you were willing to do to keep your position. I admired you, Miranda. God, more than admired. I idolized you, but I was scared, terrified of becoming you. Of waking up one day with that same hollow look in my eyes, trading pieces of my soul for the next cover story, wondering if the woman in the mirror was still me.”

Miranda's lips parted on a soft inhale, as her thumb rose, hesitant, almost reverent and traced the damp path of that errant tear with a tenderness that made Andy’s heart stutter. The touch was electric, soft as silk against her skin and for a moment, the world narrowed to that single point of contact.

“Andrea,” she breathed, “you have no idea what it took to become this. The pieces I surrendered, the lovers who saw too much and stayed too little, the friends who faded into footnotes, the girl who once dreamed of stories instead of spreads. The nights I lay awake in that townhouse, wondering if the crown was worth the isolation, if the view from the top was just a prettier prison. You think I wanted that for you? That hollow echo, the mornings where you wake up and can't remember the last time you laughed without calculation? No. I wanted you to soar, not to scrape and bleed like I did. To chase your exposés without the weight of an empire on your shoulders, without the constant whisper that one wrong step means the fall. But when you left... it felt like betrayal. Like you’d glimpsed the monster and fled without seeing the woman who’d forged her from necessity. The one who still wonders, in quiet moments like this staring at the sea, if it was all worth it. If the throne is just a gilded cage.”

"I saw her," she murmured, her hand rising to cover Miranda's, holding it there against her skin. "I always did. That's why it hurt so much to leave, why it still does."

The air between them crackled and Miranda's eyes darkened, her thumb stilling on Andy's cheek. "Then why come back now? What do you want from this, Andrea? Absolution? Forgiveness? A clean slate to scribble on?"

She exhaled shakily. "I want... I want to know if it's too late. If we can rewrite the ending. Not as boss and assistant but as... us."

Miranda's breath hitched and for a heartbeat, Andy thought she might pull away, might summon the walls that had always kept the world at. But instead, she leaned closer, her forehead nearly brushing Andy’s...

The door burst open with the force of a small hurricane, shattering the moment like dropped crystal. Cassidy and Caroline tumbled in.

"The arcade was a total rip-off," Cassidy said, kicking the door shut with her heel and dropping onto the nearest sofa. "They charged, like, five bucks for a single game of air hockey! But we got Skittles and Mountain Dew, score!"

Caroline looked between Andy and Miranda, her eyebrows shooting up. “Uh, did we interrupt something? You guys look like you’re about to duel or something.”

Miranda’s mask snapped back into place, but not before Andy caught the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. She straightened, releasing the younger woman's hand with a lingering brush of fingers and turned to her daughters. “Hardly, darling,” she said smoothly. “Andrea and I were merely… reminiscing."

She forced a shaky smile, her heart still racing. “Yeah. Just catching up."

As she turned to leave Miranda’s voice stopped her. “Andrea,” she called" enjoy the cruise. And do try to avoid any more dramatic exits. We wouldn't want an encore."

“You too. And no promises on the drama, it's kinda my brand now,” she smiled. “But... maybe a sequel. One with a better ending.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, she leaned against it for a long moment, still smiling. 

Chapter 5

The Next Day, Mid-Morning, Deck 5.

"Okay, I’m telling you, this place is insane,” Doug said as he and Andy wandered along the promenade. “They’ve got a rock-climbing wall, a freaking FlowRider surf simulator and get this; a trivia night themed around ‘80s rom-coms. I’m signing us up for that one, no question. Oh and there’s a sushi-making class at three! We could be rolling California rolls like pros by dinner. What do you think?”

Andy managed a small, distracted smile, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her denim shorts as she gazed out toward the endless blue horizon. "Sounds fun.” 

Her mind wasn’t on surf simulators or sushi. It was anchored firmly in Royal Suite 1701, replaying every second of yesterday’s encounter with Miranda. The way her thumb had brushed Andy’s cheek, wiping away a tear with a tenderness she hadn’t known the older woman was capable of. The almost-touch of their foreheads, so close she could feel the warmth of her breath. The air between them crackling with something unspoken, something electric. It wasn’t just the gesture, it was the look in Miranda’s eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her, that had left Andy reeling. She couldn’t name the pull between them, but it was there, undeniable, and it was driving her to absolute distraction.

Doug was still rambling, now about some onboard comedy show and she nodded absently, her thoughts drifting again.

What is she doing right now? Andy wondered. Maybe she's sipping her coffee on her balcony, maybe she's hunched over her laptop, editing layouts for Runway’s next issue with that razor-sharp focus. Or, maybe, maybe Miranda was thinking about Andy the way Andy couldn’t stop thinking about her. The thought sent a flush of heat to her cheeks and she shook her head, annoyed at herself. God, Sachs, get a grip. She’s Miranda Priestly. She doesn’t… do this. Whatever ‘this’ even is.

“Hello? Earth to Andy?” he waved a hand in front of her face. “You okay? You’ve been, like a million miles away all morning.”

She blinked, snapping back to the present. “Huh? Oh, sorry. What’d you say?”

Doug rolled his eyes, but his grin was affectionate. “I said, you want to hit the pool with me? They’ve got this massive one on Deck 15 with like four hot tubs and a bar that serves these ridiculous frozen cocktails with little umbrellas. I’m thinking we lounge, we sip, we people-watch. You in?”

“Oh, yeah, why not?” she replied, forcing her focus back to him. “Pool sounds great.”

"That's my girl." He clapped her on the back, steering them toward the elevators. “Gotta get you out of your head. You’re acting like you’ve got a deadline looming or something."

If only, she thought, trailing behind him as they headed back to their cabin to change.

By the time they reached the pool deck, the sun was climbing higher and the area was alive with activity. Kids jumped into the water with ear-splitting shrieks while parents lounged under oversized umbrellas, sipping drinks. She spread her towel on a sunbed, putting her sunglasses on and pulling out a book she had no intention of reading.

“This is the life,” Doug grinned, already slathering sunscreen on his arms. “Sun, water and a Piña Colada with my name on it. You sure you don’t want to try the waterslide? It’s got a loop, Andy. A loop. I’m telling you, it’s calling us.”

“Maybe later,” she replied, her lips twitching into a smile as she leaned back on her sunbed. “I’m just gonna… relax for a bit.” She adjusted her sunglasses to hide the fact that her eyes were already scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar silhouette.

Part of her, a ridiculous, hopeful part kept imagining Miranda striding onto the pool deck in some impossibly chic swimsuit.

But that was absurd. She didn’t do crowded pool decks, screaming kids or spilled cocktails. Did she? Stop it, you idiot. She’s not here.

Andy bit her lip, forcing herself to focus on the book in her lap. But her heart didn’t listen and her eyes kept wandering, catching on every glimpse of silver hair only to be disappointed when it wasn’t her.

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the shout of her name.

“Andy!”

Her head snapped up and there were the twins, weaving through the crowd in matching teal bikinis. Cassidy waved enthusiastically while Caroline’s was more reserved but no less warm.

She laughed, tossing her book aside and standing to meet them. “Girls!” she called as they reached her, tackling her with a double hug that nearly knocked her back onto the sunbed. “Okay, okay, I’m happy to see you too! You’re gonna drown me before I even get in the pool!”

Cassidy pulled back, removing her sunglasses to reveal sparkling blue eyes that were so like her mother’s. “We’re just excited to see you. This cruise is awesome, but it’s, like, ten times better now that you’re here.”

Her heart warmed. “You guys are too much. I’m happy to see you too.” She turned to Doug, who was watching the scene with an amused smirk. “Girls, this is Doug, my best friend. Doug, meet Cassidy and Caroline, Miranda’s daughters.”

He stood, wiping his hands on his towel before offering one to shake. “Nice to meet you both. Andy’s told me stories, something about you two pranking her."

Caroline smirked, shaking his hand. “We were like ten. We’re way cooler now.”

“Yeah, we only cause elegant chaos,” Cassidy added, tossing her hair dramatically.

She burst out laughing. “Elegant chaos, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, you will,” Caroline said, her eyes glinting. “Stick around us long enough and you’ll be roped into something.”

Her laughter faded into a softer smile, but her curiosity got the better of her. The twins’ presence only made it harder to push thoughts of the editor-in-chief away and before she could stop herself, she asked, “So, you guys are out here causing trouble on your own, or…?” She tried to sound casual but her voice betrayed a hint of hope, her eyes scanning the deck again.

Cassidy flopped onto Andy’s sunbed, stretching out like she owned it. “Nah, Nigel’s over there at the bar. He’s obsessed with these mango mojitos they’re serving. Says they’re ‘divine’ or whatever.”

Her sister snorted, leaning against Doug’s sunbed. “Yeah, he’s probably on his third one already. And Mom’s still sleeping. Like, passed-out, won’t-even-stir sleeping. I literally poked her arm to check if she was breathing. I was like, ‘Mom, are you alive?’"

Andy’s eyebrows shot up, a smile tugging at her lips. “Miranda? Sleeping past ten? That’s… not her at all.”

"Right?” Cassidy replied, throwing her hands up. “Nigel says she’s ‘catching up on sleep debt’ or whatever. Apparently, she hasn’t slept more than four hours a night since like, forever. He’s all, ‘Let her rest, girls, she’s earned it.’ So we’re letting her crash. But it’s super weird. She’s usually up at dawn, terrorizing someone on the phone."

Her smile softened, a strange warmth spreading through her at the thought of Miranda allowing herself to rest. “Well, good for her,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “She deserves a break.”

Caroline tilted her head, catching the wistful note in her voice but not commenting. Instead, she grinned, kicking off her flip-flops. "Come swim with us! The water’s perfect and Cass keeps trying to dunk me but I’m way too quick for her.”

"Yeah come on, Andy!” Cassidy demanded, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the pool. “You can’t just sit here looking all serious. Let’s have some fun!”

She looked at Doug, who waved her off with a grin. “Go play. I’m gonna scope out that bar and see if Nigel’s mojitos live up to the hype.”

"Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she laughed, shed her cover-up, tossing it onto the sunbed and followed them into the water.

Cassidy tried (and failed) to dunk Caroline, who retaliated with a perfectly timed splash that caught Andy square in the face. For a few blissful minutes, she just let herself be, screaming with laughter as the girls ganged up on her. 

“Truce, truce!” she gasped, holding up her hands as Caroline aimed another splash her way. “You two are relentless!”

“Learned from the best,” Cassidy said with a wink, clearly meaning her mother.

As they caught their breath, floating in the shallow end, Caroline’s expression turned mischievous. “So, Andy, you and Doug should totally have dinner with us tonight. On our balcony. It’s super fancy; private chef, candles, ocean views, the whole deal. Way better than the buffet line with all the screaming kids.”

“Yeah,” her sister added. “It’s boring with just Mom and Nigel. He keeps trying to teach us about wine pairings, like we care and Mom’s all ‘’Cassidy, sit up straight or ‘Caroline, no phones at the table. It's exhausting. We need you to make it fun.”

Andy’s stomach did a full-on somersault at the thought of dinner with Miranda. After yesterday’s raw, heart-stopping conversation could she sit across from her at a candlelit table and act normal? Pretend her heart wasn’t racing, her mind wasn’t replaying every second of their encounter? She hesitated, her fingers trailing through the water as she searched for an excuse. “I don’t know, guys. Your mom might want it to be just family. I don’t want to intrude-”

"No way, she’ll be cool with it,” Cassidy interrupted, already fishing her phone from a waterproof pouch slung around her neck. “I’m calling her right now. She’s probably awake by now, grumbling about the Wi-Fi or something."

“Wait, Cass, maybe we should-” she started, her voice rising with panic, but the redhead was already dialing. 

The phone rang four times before her voice came through. Cool and slightly husky, as if she’d just woken up. “Bobbsey, this had better be important. I’m attempting to enjoy five minutes of peace."

“Mom, chill,” she replied. “Can Andy and her friend Doug come to dinner tonight? It be fun, I swear and we need new people so Nigel doesn’t bore us to death with his wine lectures. Pleeease?”

There was a pause, long enough that Andy’s heart sank, imagining Miranda’s icy rejection, some cutting remark about “unnecessary additions” or “disrupting her evening.”

But when she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “Very well. Eight o’clock. Tell Andrea I expect punctuality. That’s all.”

The line went dead.

Cassidy whooped, tossing her phone back into the pouch. “She said yes! You’re in, Andy! You and Doug, tonight, our place. Be ready for some serious food. Last night it was, like, lobster and this chocolate cake that was basically heaven.” 

She forced a smile, her voice a little too bright. “Great. Sounds… incredible.” Her heart was pounding and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear. 

Caroline nudged her. “Don’t look so freaked out. Mom’s not gonna eat you. Just don’t wear those sandals to dinner she’ll have a meltdown.”

She laughed, splashing Caroline lightly. “Noted. I’ll try to avoid a fashion felony.”

Chapter 6

The door of Suite 1701 swung open and Nigel stood there with a wide grin.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite runaway assistant," he pulled Andy into a hug that smelled faintly of citrus cologne and expensive wine. "Welcome to the royal court.”

Her sleek black dress, simple yet chic, pressed against the fabric of his tailored navy blazer and she couldn’t help but smile into his shoulder. “Thanks, Nigel. You’re looking unfairly chic for a cruise ship."

“Darling, I could make a life raft look couture,” the art director quipped, releasing her with a playful wink. He stepped back and gestured toward the suite’s luxurious interior. “Now, make yourselves at home, my dears."

Doug, standing beside her, gave a low whistle as they walked inside. “Holy crap,” he muttered, nudging her arm as his eyes darted from the crystal chandelier to the velvet couch. “I feel like I need to whisper so I don’t offend the furniture.”

Before she could say anything, the girls burst in from the balcony.

“Andy!” Cassidy squealed and wrapped her arms around her. “You’re here! I was totally betting you’d bail.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” she teased, ruffling the girl’s hair as she hugged her back.

Caroline, trailing behind her twin, offered a cooler but no less genuine smile, her arms crossed casually as she leaned in for a quick hug. “Ignore her. She’s just hyped on sugar and the fact that she didn’t fall off the zip line today...Hey, Doug, good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he replied, chuckling as he shook her hand.

“Come on, you guys gotta see this view!” Cassidy grabbed Andy’s wrist, tugging her toward the balcony with Caroline and Doug close behind. “Mom’s just finishing a call, but she’ll be out in a sec."

The balcony stretched wide, framed by sleek glass railings that offered an unbroken view of the ocean, which shimmered under the setting sun. There was a long dining table at the center, set with polished silverware, crystal glassware and flickering candles that danced in the warm sea breeze.

Andy sank into a cushioned chair and wrapped her fingers around a chilled glass of water to keep them from fidgeting. Every sound; the clink of glassware, the rustle of a waiter adjusting the table settings, the faint creak of a door inside the suite, made her pulse jump. She was hyper-aware of everything, her nerves screaming that Miranda was about to appear.

The twins, blissfully unaware of her inner chaos, sat across from her and launched into a spirited debate about the ship’s zip line.

“It’s so cool,” Cassidy said, leaning forward. “You’re, like, flying over the pool deck and it feels like you’re gonna crash into the hot tubs. I only screamed a little.”

“A little?” Caroline scoffed. “You sounded like a horror movie victim. I thought the lifeguards were gonna dive in to save you from yourself.”

“I was excited,” Cassidy shot back, tossing her hair. “Doug, you gotta try it. Andy, you too. It’s a total rush."

She forced a smile, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she tried to focus on the twins’ enthusiasm. “I’ll think about it. Heights aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a ‘keep both feet on the ground’ kind of girl.”

Cassidy grinned. “Oh, come on! You’re tougher than that. Nigel said you were, like, the only assistant who didn’t cry in the first week. That’s like superhero-level.”

Andy's laugh caught in her throat, her eyes flicking toward the suite’s glass doors. “Yeah, well, I saved my breakdowns for the subway. Fewer witnesses.”

The redhead opened her mouth to press further but the air shifted and the world seemed to pause as Miranda stepped onto the balcony. She was a vision in a sleeveless ivory dress that draped her frame like liquid silk, catching the light of the sunset in a way that made her look almost ethereal. 

She looked breathtakingly beautiful and younger somehow, as if the sea air had peeled back the years of stress and sleepless nights that Runway demanded. But there was no mistaking the power in her presence, the way she commanded the space without saying a word.

Her icy blue eyes swept the table, lingering shortly on her daughters, then Nigel, before landing on her ex-assistant.

For a moment, their eyes locked and Andy felt it again; that electric pull from yesterday, the one that stole her breath, set her heart stumbling and made her feel like she was falling and flying all at once.

She couldn’t look away and neither, it seemed, could the editor.

“Good evening,” she said at last, her voice a low, velvety purr that sent shivers down Andy's spine. She broke the spell as she approached the table with the grace of a panther. “I trust you’ve all made yourselves comfortable?”

Doug stood quickly, offering his hand with a warm, awestruck smile. “Ms. Priestly, thank you so much for having us. This is incredible."

She shook his hand. “Douglas, you’re quite welcome. And please, no need for formalities. Miranda will suffice.”

“Just Doug, then,” he said, his grin widening as he sat back down. “And seriously, thanks. This balcony is unreal.”

She nodded slightly. “Very well, Doug.”

Then it was Andy’s turn.

She stood, her legs feeling unsteady as her ex-boss extended a hand.

Their fingers brushed and the contact was short but electric, sending a jolt through the younger woman's entire body.

Her skin tingled where Miranda’s fingers had grazed hers and their eyes held for a beat too long, intense and searching, as if they were both replaying yesterday’s moment.

“Andrea,” she said in a low, intimate tone. “Punctuality is a virtue. You’ve not lost it.”

She forced herself to breathe, her lips curving into a small, nervous smile. “Miranda. Thank you for having us. This is… really special. I mean, it’s stunning. All of it.”

Miranda's gaze lingered. “Indeed,” she murmured, releasing her hand, her fingers brushing Andy’s one last time before she turned to take her seat at the head of the table.

The first course arrived moments later: a chilled cucumber soup with a drizzle of truffle oil, served in porcelain bowls so fine they looked like they belonged in a museum.

The twins dove in, keeping the conversation lively as they recounted their pool antics with Andy from earlier that day.

“You should’ve seen her, Mom,” Cassidy said, waving her spoon for emphasis, nearly knocking over her water glass. “Andy was dodging Caro's splashes like a ninja. It was epic."

Caroline rolled her eyes, swallowing a bite of soup. “Please. I was going easy on her. She’s lucky I didn’t go full dunk mode. I could’ve taken her down in like two seconds.”

The brunette grinned, leaning back in her chair. "You two are menaces. I’m still coughing up pool water from your sneak attack.”

Miranda's expression softened a little bit, as she watched her daughters, her spoon pausing midair. “It seems Andrea has a talent for keeping up with you two.” But before Andy could respond, she shifted the conversation, her gaze turning to Doug. “And you, Doug. Tell me about yourself. What occupies your time when you’re not… enabling Andrea’s aquatic adventures?”

He chuckled, setting down his glass. “I’m a lawyer, corporate stuff, mergers, acquisitions, not exactly glamorous. Andy and I met at Northwestern, bonding over late night study sessions and her truly tragic coffee choices.”

She swatted his arm, laughing. “My coffee was fine, thank you very much. You’re just a snob who thinks instant coffee is a crime against humanity.”

“Oh, please,” he shot back, grinning. “You drank that stuff like it was a lifestyle choice. Anyway, we became best friends after she set me up with my first boyfriend. Total game changer. She’s basically the fairy godmother of my love life.”

Her eyes widened for a split second and Andy caught it immediately, her cheeks burned as she realized Miranda had likely assumed she and Doug were a couple. The editor’s lips parted slightly, as if she were about to speak, but Cassidy let out a giggle that broke the moment.

"What’s so amusing, darling?” She asked, her eyes narrowing at her daughter, her tone a perfect blend of curiosity and warning.

The redhead smirked. “Nothing, just… you and Andy both showed up with your gay best friends. It’s like the setup for a romcom. Or one of those fanfics Caro’s always reading on her phone.”

She shot her sister a death glare, her cheeks turning bright red. “Shut up, Cass. Oh my god, you’re the worst."

Nigel, who’d been quietly sipping his red wine, let out a bark of laughter that made the candles flicker. “Well, isn’t that the truth? The only person who can handle a strong woman is a gay man. We’re immune to the drama, darling."

Caroline smirked, recovering quickly as she leaned forward with a glint in her eye. “Or another strong woman,” she teased as she shot a pointed look at Andy.

The journalist nearly choked on her water, her eyes flicking to Miranda, who was already watching her with an unreadable expression. The air thickened and her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to think of something, anything, to say.

She tilted her head, her voice dry but laced with a rare, playful humor. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Though I’d argue a strong woman needs no handler, just a mirror to remind her who she is.”

Andy chuckled softly, her blush spreading as she met her gaze. “Touché,” she murmured.

The moment hung between them until the main course arrived: seared scallops with lemon herb risotto, plated like a work of art.

Nigel raised his glass. “To a wonderful holiday,” he grinned. “To sun, sea and the exquisite chaos of good company.”

“Here, here!” Cassidy chimed in, clinking her water glass against Nigel’s and Caroline’s with such enthusiasm that water sloshed onto the table. Doug and Andy joined in and when her glass touched Miranda’s, their eyes met again. Andy could’ve sworn she saw the ghost of smile on her face before they both sipped. 

As the meal continued, Caroline turned to Andy, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, spill. You’re this big deal journalist now. What’s the craziest story you’ve ever worked on?”

She laughed, relaxing a little as she set down her fork. “Oh, God, that’s a tough one. Probably the time I went undercover at this shady biotech startup. They were faking clinical trial data to push a sketchy drug and I posed as an intern for three weeks to get the dirt. Got chased out by security when they figured me out. My boss still calls it my ‘Jason Bourne moment.’”

The twins’ jaws dropped. “No way!” Cassidy said, leaning forward. “Did you, like, dive under a gate or something? Tell me there was a car chase.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “More like speed walking to my car while trying not to trip in my heels. But we got the story and the CEO’s in jail now, so… worth it.”

"That’s insane,” Caroline replied. “Okay, but has anyone ever tried to bribe you to kill a story? Like, straight-up movie villain stuff?”

She chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, a few times. The worst was this politician last year. He was funneling campaign funds into his side hustle, and when I started digging, he offered me a six-figure check to ‘reconsider’ publishing. Called it my ‘future security fund,’ like he was doing me a favor.”

Cassidy’s eyes bugged out. “Six figures? How much exactly?”

Miranda’s voice cut in, sharp but calm. “Cassidy.”

“What?” she protested, throwing her hands up. “I’m just asking! It’s, like, a valid question!”

Andy laughed, waving it off. “It’s fine. It was a lot, let’s just say that. But I turned it down. No amount of money’s worth selling out who you are.”

Caroline tilted her head, impressed. “Wow. Most people would’ve taken the cash and run.”

Nigel nodded, raising his glass to Andy. “Integrity, darling. It’s a rare gem. You wear it like couture.”

Her cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, Miranda spoke, her voice quiet but piercing. “You always had a spine, Andrea. Even when it was… inconvenient. It’s served you well."

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I… I really appreciate that.”

Cassidy, oblivious to the weight of the moment, piped up again. “Okay, but real talk. Why’d you leave Runway? You were, like, Mom’s favorite assistant."

Miranda’s spoon paused, her eyes flicking to her daughter with a warning look. “Cassidy. That’s enough."

Andy swallowed, but she met Cassidy’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, looking at Miranda before continuing. “I… I needed to find my own path. Runway was incredible, it taught me how to be tough, how to demand more from myself. But it wasn’t where I was meant to end up.”

She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “But you could’ve stayed. Mom totally would’ve given you a promotion or something, right? Like, you were great. Everyone said so.”

Her cheeks burned and she looked at Miranda, expecting a deflection or a sharp change of subject. Instead, she set down her fork, her gaze softening in a way that made Andy's breath catch. “Andrea made her choice,” she said. “And she’s proven herself more than capable. I always knew she would.”

The praise warmed Andy like a shot of sunligh, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered. Their eyes locked again and for a moment, she felt like she was seeing the real Miranda, not the editor-in-chief, not the icon but the woman beneath the armor.

Cassidy grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Well, you’ll always be our fave, though. Way better than Jenny.”

Nigel’s eyebrow arched, his wineglass pausing midair. “What’s wrong with Jenny? She’s… efficient in her own way.”

Caroline snorted, rolling her eyes. “Efficiently creepy, maybe. She’s obsessed with Mom. Like, she literally has a picture of her as her phone wallpaper. It’s giving stalker vibes.”

Cassidy nodded, grinning. “Yeah, it’s like she’s in a cult. The Church of Miranda Priestly.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Would you two please stop?”

“But it’s true!” Caroline insisted, leaning forward. “She’s always, like, staring at you and taking notes on your outfits. I caught her sniffing your scarf once. Sniffing it, Mom. That’s not normal. I’m telling you, she’s got a shrine in her apartment or something.”

Andy bit her lip to stifle a laugh but her amusement faded as Miranda’s phone rang on the table, her expression tightened as she looked at the screen.

She excused herself with a curt, “Pardon me,” before stepping back into the suite, her voice already sharp as she answered, “Jennifer, this had better be life or death."

Andy watched her through the glass doors, her heart sinking as she saw the tension creep back into Miranda’s posture. The editor paced, her hand gripping the phone like it was both a lifeline and a curse, her free hand gesturing sharply as she talked. The softness from earlier was gone, swallowed by Runway’s relentless demands. She could almost feel the weight settling back onto Miranda's shoulders.

The table resumed eating, the twins chattering about their plans for the next day, but her eyes kept drifting to the window, worry gnawing at her.

Miranda's stress was palpable, even from a distance and the she fought the urge to go to her, to offer… what? Comfort? A listening ear? She wasn’t her assistant anymore, hadn’t been for years. But the instinct to fix things, to ease her burden, was as strong as ever.

When she returned, she slid back into her seat without a word, her expression closed off as she picked up her fork. The twins didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in their story about a seagull that had stolen Cassidy’s fries at lunch, but Andy did.

She saw the faint crease between her brows, the way her fingers tightened around her utensils, the way her eyes stayed fixed on her plate, avoiding everyone. It was like watching a light dim and it made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite name.

As dessert arrived, a Coconut cake, so decadent it could’ve graced a Runway spread, Doug leaned back, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Okay, this has been amazing, but I’m thinking we hit a bar next. There’s a jazz lounge on Deck 8 that’s calling my name. You guys in?”

“Totally!” Cassidy replied, bouncing in her seat. “They have mocktails, right? I’m not missing out.”

“Sure, Nigel said, tossing his napkin onto the table. “I need a martini to recover from all this family bonding. No offense, darlings.”

“None taken,” Caroline grinned, already standing. “But I’m picking the music if we do karaoke later. No way am I listening to Cass butcher Katy Perry again.”

Andy looked at Miranda, waiting for her response, hoping she’d join them, if only to see her relax for a moment longer. But her phone rang again, the sound like a needle scratching a record. 

The twins groaned in unison. “Mom, seriously?” Caroline said, crossing her arms. “You promised no work tonight. Like, an actual promise.”

Her eyes flicked to her daughters with a mix of guilt and exasperation. “I’ll join you later. This won’t take long.” She stood, already lifting the phone to her ear as she disappeared into the suite, her voice sharp as she answered, “What now?”

Andy’s heart sank further. She wanted to follow, to ask if everything was okay, to tell her to put the damn phone down and breathe. But the twins were already pulling her and Doug toward the door, chattering about the jazz lounge and the mocktails they planned to order.

Nigel caught her eye as they stepped into the corridor, giving her a knowing look that said he’d seen everything; the glances, the tension, the unspoken pull.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “She’s fighting her own battles. Always has. Give her time.”

She nodded, forcing a smile as they headed toward the elevators. But as the music from the jazz lounge grew louder, her thoughts stayed with Miranda, alone in her suite, chained to a world that never let her rest.

As they reached the place. The twins moved to a high-top table near the stage, while Doug and Nigel headed to the counter, her best friend promising to return with “something strong enough to survive teenage enthusiasm.”

Andy sat at a table near the entrance, her eyes drifting back toward the corridor, picturing her striding in, silencing the room with her presence.

But the minutes ticked by and Miranda didn’t come.

Chapter 7

Next Morning, 8:00 a.m.

The ship’s horn cut through the morning air, signaling their arrival at St. Thomas, the first stop on their Caribbean cruise. 

“Oh wow, I’m officially in love with this island,” Doug said, sliding his sunglasses down his nose as they wove through the masses toward the harbor gate. “I mean, look at that! It’s like a postcard exploded...So, what’s the plan? You feeling adventurous or just wanna chill?

Andy grinned. “Little of both,” she said, dodging a group of tourists taking photos with a giant anchor. “How about we wander the main drag, check out the shops, get a feel for the island? Then we can plot something bigger."

He nodded, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m down for some retail therapy. Fun fact: did you know St. Thomas has more jewelry shops and perfume vendors per square mile than anywhere else in the Caribbean. It’s basically a duty free mall with palm trees and better views.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, spinning to face him with a teasing smirk. “Whoa, who are you and what’d you do with Doug? Since when do you know random Caribbean trivia?”

The lawyer shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can do research. I read the guidebook last night while you were busy mooning over a certain silver haired fashion queen. Gotta keep up with my investigative journalist bff."

She laughed, giving him a playful elbow nudge that made him stumble slightly. “Alright, Mr. Guidebook, I’m impressed. Let’s hit the shops. I could use some new earrings.”

They walked into a small shop and she moved toward a display of delicate gold stud earrings shaped like tiny starfish, holding them up to the light. “These are cute, right? Not too flashy.”

Doug, meanwhile, was rifling through a rack of T-shirts, pulling out a neon-blue one with “St. Thomas Vibes” emblazoned in bold letters. He held it up, grinning. “This is a masterpiece. I’m wearing it ironically, obviously.”

Andy snorted, shaking her head. “You’re gonna blind someone with that thing. But sure, live your truth.” She paid for her earrings and a conch shell keychain that felt like a tiny piece of the island, tucking them into her tote bag as they stepped back into the blinding sunlight.

The heat was already climbing and she fanned herself with a shop flyer. “Okay, this is fun, but I’m roasting. How about we grab a cab and do some sightseeing? Maybe a fort or a lookout before we hit a beach?”

He nodded, wiping his brow. “History and an ocean breeze? You’re speaking my language, Sachs."

They were scanning the curb for a taxi when a sleek black Mercedes-Benz van screeched to a halt in front of them. The tinted window rolled down, revealing Nigel’s grinning face, his Gucci sunglasses perched low on his nose. “Look who’s slumming it in paradise! Where are you two off to?”

“Nigel!” Her face lit up as she stepped closer. “Just planning a little island adventure. Sightseeing, maybe a beach. You know, living the tourist dream. What’s your deal?”

Cassidy’s head popped up from the middle row, she waved like she’d just spotted a celebrity. “Andy! Doug! Oh my God, you guys have to come with us! We’re doing a private sightseeing tour and it’s gonna be epic!"

Her eyes flicked to the back of the van where she caught a glimpse of Miranda, seated by the left window. She was dressed in a crisp white blouse and tailored linen pants, her head bent over her iPhone. 

Doug raised an eyebrow at his best friend, his look screaming this is gonna be good. “Uh, we were just gonna grab a cab," he replied, testing the waters. “Don’t want to crash your VIP tour or anything.”

"Nonsense!” Nigel scoffed, waving a hand like he was swatting a mosquito. “There’s plenty of room and I refuse to let you two bumble around in some rusty taxi with questionable air conditioning. Get in, darlings.”

“Yeah!” Caroline piped up, leaning forward. “We’ve got AC, snacks, the works. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Andy looked at Doug, who gave her a subtle nod. She turned back to the van, hesitating for a split second. “Okay, but only if we’re not intruding.”

Miranda’s voice cut through, cool and commanding, with that undertone of impatience that could make anyone snap to attention. “Andrea, Doug, get in. I won’t have my daughters begging like street vendors. Let’s not waste the morning.”

That settled it. The two exchanged a quick look, half amusement, half surrender and climbed into the van. He slid into the seat next to Nigel up front, already striking up a conversation about the island’s rum, while Andy made her way to the back row. Caroline scooted to the middle, leaving Andy the right window seat and her mother on the left.

“Alright, team, buckle up!” Nigel announced, clapping his hands as the driver started the engine. “Our man here promises stunning views, and I, for one, intend to hold him to it.” He turned to Miranda, his tone playful but firm. “And you, my dear, put that phone away before I confiscate it and turn it into a very chic paperweight.”

She paused mid-tap, shooting him a look. “Try it and you’ll be swimming back to Manhattan.”

The twins burst into giggles and Andy couldn’t help a chuckle, stealing a glance at Miranda, who allowed the tiniest smirk before returning to her screen. Caroline nudged her, grinning. “See? You’re already part of the chaos. Welcome to the Priestly road show.”

Nigel launched into tour guide mode as the van rolled through the island’s capital, pointing out landmarks with theatrical flair. “To your left, Fort Christian: charming, but a bit weathered like some of us after too many martinis. To your right: Government House, where I’m certain the governor wishes he had Miranda’s interior decorator. And up ahead: the 99 Steps, don’t worry, darlings, we’re not climbing them. I’d rather save my energy for cocktails.”

Miranda sighed, her voice dry as desert sand. “Nigel, must you narrate like a budget travel show host?”

“Absolutely,” he shot back, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “Someone’s gotta keep this crew entertained while you brood poetically by the window.”

Andy stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and looked at Caroline, who was biting back a grin.

Then Cassidy leaned forward, beaming with excitement. “Okay, but seriously, Mountain Top’s next, right? The view’s supposed to be insane.”

Her sister nodded, barely looking up from her phone. “Yeah, but only if you don’t take a million selfies and block it for everyone else.”

Andy leaned back, grinning at the twins’ banter. “You two are gonna keep us entertained all day aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Cassidy said, flashing a cheeky grin. “It’s our job.”

As they reached Mountain Top, the highest point on the Island, the van pulled into a lot overlooking a panorama that stole Andy’s breath; green hills rolling down to a blue sea, dotted with sailboats and distant islands. They piled out of the van and the twins immediately raced to the railing, phones already out to capture the view.

“Oh my God, this is unreal!” Cassidy squealed, snapping a photo. “My friends are gonna die when they see this.”

Nigel smirked, adjusting his sunglasses. “Told you, darlings. St. Thomas doesn’t disappoint. Now, who’s joining me for a banana daiquiri at the gift shop? They’re world famous for a reason.”

Doug’s hand shot up like he was in a classroom. “Count me in. I’m not missing out on anything with ‘world-famous’ in the title.”

Andy’s eyes drifted to Miranda, who stood alone at the railing. The breeze tugged at her blouse and for a moment, she looked like she belonged to the island not the steel and glass world of New York City.

“Go talk to her." Doug murmured, nudging her arm. "You’ve been staring like a lovesick puppy.”

“I’m not-” she started, then sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. Shut up."

She took a deep breath and approached, leaning against the railing beside her ex-boss. The ocean stretched out below, endless and peaceful and she felt a flicker of courage. “Pretty incredible, huh? Makes you forget about emails and deadlines for a minute.”

Miranda turned, her Prada sunglasses hiding her eyes, but her lips curved slightly. “For a second, perhaps. Though you’re better at forgetting than I am.”

The brunette chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not really. I’m just better at pretending.” She hesitated, then softened her voice. “You… you okay? After last night, I mean. That call seemed intense.”

Her fingers tightened for a second on the railing. “It was nothing I can’t handle,” she claimed. “Runway doesn’t pause, Andrea. Not even for vacation.”

The journalist bit her lip, her heart ached at the weight in Miranda’s words, the way they carried years of never ending pressure. “Maybe it should,” she said gently. “Just for a little while. You’re here with your girls, with… us. That’s gotta count for something."

She tilted her head, her sunglasses reflecting the sea as she studied the younger woman. “You’re persistent,” she replied with a hint of amusement in her tone. "And far too earnest for your own good.”

“Maybe,” her smile widened. “But I learned from the best. You taught me to chase what I want, even when it scares me.”

“And what is it you want, Andrea?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the breeze.

Andy’s heart pounded, her eyes locked on Miranda’s, or what she could see of them behind those sunglasses. “I’m still figuring that out,” she said honestly, her voice shaking a little. “But I know I want to be here. Right now. With you.”

Her breath hitched, almost unnoticeable. But before she could respond, Cassidy’s voice broke through, shattering the moment like a dropped glass. “Andy! Mom! Come over here! We need a group shot!”

Caroline jogged over, grinning. “Yeah, come on! We’re not leaving without proof we all survived each other.”

Andy looked at Miranda, who sighed but pushed off the railing, her posture regaining its usual elegance. “Very well.”

A friendly couple from Chicago offered to take the photo and the six gathered against the glittering sea. Andy stood between Caroline and Miranda, her shoulder brushing Miranda’s as they posed. The contact sent a shiver down her spine and she hoped her flush wasn’t too obvious. Doug flashed a goofy grin, Nigel struck a runway-worthy pose and the twins threw up peace signs. The camera clicked and Cassidy declared the photo “iconic” before they wandered into the gift shop for those famous banana daiquiris.

Caroline and Cassidy, relegated to nonalcoholic versions, slurped theirs with excitement, while Doug and Nigel debated the rum blend. 

Andy sipped hers, catching Miranda watching her over the rim of her glass. “Not bad,” she said, raising her drink in a mock toast. “You should try it. It’s like vacation in a glass.”

Her eyebrow arched but she took a tentative sip. “Acceptable,” she said, though a faint smile betrayed her enjoyment.

Her daughters cheered and Cassidy leaned over, grinning. “Mom, you’re actually having fun! I need to record this.”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, her tone sharp but playful and the group dissolved into laughter.

Next stop was the Skyride to Paradise Point, the cable cars lifting them high above the island. At the top, they settled into an open air restaurant and ordered plates of shrimp, conch fritters and mahi-mahi.

Between bites, the redheads launched into a story about their last family vacation: a disastrous ski trip in Aspen that ended with Cassidy stuck in a snowbank and Caroline accidentally ski jumping into a pile of equipment. “I thought I was gonna die,” Cassidy said, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her soda. “And Mom was just standing there, sipping hot chocolate, looking like she was ready to disown us."

Miranda's lips twitched, her fork pausing midair. “You two were a menace. I nearly had to bribe the ski patrol to pretend it never happened.”

Doug laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, but Andy, tell them about our last vacation. Remember that camping trip in Michigan? You tried to start a fire and almost burned down the tent.”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I did not almost burn it down. It was a controlled… incident. And you were no help, screaming about bears the whole time.”

“Bears are a valid concern!” he protested, grinning. “I was protecting us.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow, sipping his iced tea. “Darlings, you’re giving me secondhand embarrassment. Miranda, surely you have a vacation horror story to top this.”

Miranda’s lips curved, her voice dry. “I once had to endure a week in the Hamptons with a host who thought polyester was a personality trait. That was horror enough.”

The table erupted in laughter, stories pilled on top of each other and for a moment, Andy felt like they were just a group of friends, not a mix of ex-assistants, fashion moguls and teenage hurricanes.

As the meal wound down, Cassidy leaned back, patting her stomach. “Okay, that was nice but I’m ready for the beach. Sapphire Beach, right? Nigel said it’s like the prettiest one.”

"Correct,” the art director replied, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Crystal waters, white sand and a bar that makes a mean cocktails. Let’s move."

They pulled into a private section of the beach, where a resort had set up sunbeds and umbrellas exclusively for them.

Nigel stripped off his shirt, revealing a surprisingly toned body and announced, “Alright, team, let’s get beach ready!”

Andy, Miranda and the twins slipped into a beach changing room and emerged in their swimwear. Her blue bikini felt bold but right for the vibe, the twins sported matching neon pink suits. But Miranda—Miranda stopped her cold. Her black bikini was sleek, elegant, paired with a sheer cover up that did little to hide her stunning figure. The brunette fumbled with her bag, cheeks burning as she forced herself to look away.

They walked back to their sunbeds, where Doug and Nigel were already sprawled out, sipping drinks and debating the best beach playlist. Doug pushing Bob Marley, Nigel insisting on Earth, Wind & Fire.

The twins sprinted for the water and Doug and Nigel followed,  Andy stood and looked at Miranda, who was meticulously applying sunscreen.

Caroline splashied water toward the shore. “Mom, get in!" She shouted, her hands on her hips.The water’s perfect!”

She waved a hand. “Later, darling. Go enjoy yourselves.”

A few minutes later, the girls came back. “Mom!” Cassidy called. “You can’t just sit there all day. It’s a beach!"

“You two are relentless,” she muttered but she stood, slipping off her cover-up. Her daughters grabbed her hands, pulling her to the water’s edge, where she dipped her toes in with a skeptical expression.

“It’s not going to bite, Miranda!” Doug called from the water, grinning as he floated on his back.

Andy laughed, her voice carrying over the waves. “Yeah, come on!"

“Don’t make us drag you in!” Nigel added, splashing water in her direction.

Her lips twitched and with a final sigh, she stepped forward, the twins cheering as she waded in. Cassidy climbed onto her back like a koala. “Gotcha!” she squealed and Miranda let out a bright and joyful laugh that made Andy heart race. She’d never seen her like this, her face lit with pure happiness, her laughter mixing with the girls as they splashed together.

The six swam together, the twins ganging up on Doug for a dunking contest while Nigel pretended to be a shark, grabbing Caroline’s ankle and making her scream with laughter. 

Cassidy splashed her playfully and Miranda retaliated with a perfectly aimed splash that caught both twins off guard. 

“Okay, okay, truce!” Cass gasped, laughing as she shook water from her hair. “You’re too good at this, Mom!”

She brushed a wet strand of hair from her face with a grin. “I’m nothing if not precise, darling.”

Caroline pointed toward a buoy floating in the distance. “Hey, let’s race to the buoy! Winner gets to decide what we do tonight!”

“Oh, you’re on!” Doug said, already stretching his arms like an Olympian warming up. “Prepare to lose, kid.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. “You expect me to race like some overzealous teenager?” 

“Yes!” The redheads replied in unison.

She sighed dramatically but positioned herself beside them with a smirk. “Very well. But don’t cry when I win.”

Nigel leaned toward her, grinning. “And if I win, I’m demanding a raise and a corner office.”

Her laugh rang out again, bright and unguarded. “Keep dreaming.”

They surged forward. Nigel, true to form, made a dramatic dive, then immediately pretended to cramp up, flailing comically. “Oh, the agony!” he wailed, splashing wildly.

Miranda, swimming beside him, let out another bright laugh. "Nigel, you’re pathetic,” she teased with a warm tone.

Andy kept pace, her eyes flickering to the editor. The sight of her, silver hair slicked back, her face lit with amusement, was almost too much and she nearly forgot to swim.

Caroline, with her long, powerful strokes, pulled ahead, reaching the buoy first and letting out a triumphant whoop. “Suck it, losers!”

The six swam back to the shallows, breathless and laughing. Miranda returned to her sunbed, slipping her sunglasses back on, while Andy, feeling the heat on her shoulders, decided to take a break too. She shook water from her hair and headed to the beach bar, ordering two sparkling waters with lemon and approached Miranda. 

“Thought you might be thirsty,” Andy said, offering a glass with a small, nervous smile.

She took it, her voice soft. “Thank you. That’s… thoughtful.”

Andy sat on the sunbed next to her, sipping her own drink. “No problem. You looked like you were having fun out there. I didn’t know you could laugh like that.”

Her eyebrow arched, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m capable of many things, Andrea. Most of which don’t involve splashing like a child but the twins have a way of… persuading me.”

She grinned, leaning back. “They’re good at that. And you’re good with them. It’s nice to see.”

“They’re my world,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Everything I do, it’s for them. Even when they drive me to the edge of sanity.”

Andy nodded, her voice gentle. “They’re lucky to have you. And… I don’t know, it’s kind of amazing to see you like this. Not the Runway Miranda, but… just you.”

Before she could respond, her phone rang on the sunbed. Andy’s stomach twisted. For a split second, she imagined snatching the phone and tossing it into the water, like she did in Paris when she’d ditched her own. It would feel so good, better, even, because this time it would be for Miranda, not against her.

But to her surprise, Miranda looked at the screen and set the phone down without answering. Her eyes widened, a smile tugging at her lips before she could suppress it. 

The silver haired woman caught her look, her eyebrow arching as she took another sip of her sparkling water, her lips curving slightly. “What? I’m capable of ignoring a call, Andrea. Don’t look so shocked.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not shocked. Just… impressed. That’s a big deal for you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She took another sip, then tilted her head, studying her former assistant with a curious expression, her eyes lingering on the wild curls framing her face. “I didn’t know you had curly hair,” she said, her voice soft, almost tender.

Her cheeks flushed, a wave of embarrassment crashing over her. “Oh, God, these?” she laughed nervously, tugging at a curl. “I hate them. I used to get mocked for them in high school. They were so monstrous, my comb broke once while I was trying to brush them out. Snapped right in half. That’s when I started ironing my hair into submission.”

Miranda's eyes glinted with rare warmth. “Ironing,” she repeated. “A drastic measure. But I must say they suit you. They’re...captivating."

Andy’s blush deepened, butterflies erupting in her stomach. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Their moment was interrupted as Nigel, Doug, and the girls returned, collapsing onto their sunbeds.

“Best. Beach. Ever,” Cassidy declared, flopping dramatically onto her towel. “But I’m starving. Can we get ice cream now?”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “You just ate, like, ten fritters at lunch. Chill.”

Doug grinned, stretching out. “I’m with Cass. Ice cream sounds perfect. Who’s paying?”

Nigel pointed at Caroline. “The buoy race champion, obviously.”

The twins laughed and Miranda shook her head with a fond expression.

They all relaxed, but the pull of the water was too strong. Nigel stood, grinning. “One more swim before we pack up. Miranda, you’re not getting out of this.”

She sighed, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re as bad as my daughters.” She stood, slipped off her sunglasses and followed Nigel and Andy into the water.

A shout from the girls drew their attention and they swam over to find them pointing excitedly at a small sea turtle gliding through the water. “Look, Mom!” Cassidy squealed. “It’s so cute!”

Miranda watched it, her eyes bright with a childlike wonder. “It’s… remarkable,” she said, her voice soft with awe.

“Even you can’t resist a turtle, huh?” Andy teased with a playful tone, swimming closer. 

She turned and grinned. “Careful, Andrea. I might decide to adopt it and make you its babysitter.”

Andy chuckled. “Oh, I’d be the best turtle nanny you’ve ever seen,” she shot back, splashing Miranda lightly.

She laughed, retaliating with a perfectly aimed splash that caught the journalist off guard. “Don’t tempt me.”

Nigel watched them, his smirk knowing as he swam nearby. “Look at you two, thick as thieves,” he teased. “I’m starting to think this cruise was a terrible idea. You’re stealing my best friend, Six.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “Oh, please, Nigel. You’re far too dramatic for your age.”

They swam for a bit longer and chased each other through the waves until the art director checked his watch, “Alright, darlings, as much as I’d love to stay and become a marine biologist, our driver’s picking us up soon. Let’s get changed and head back to the ship.”

The six rushed back to their sunbeds to gather their things. Miranda slipped her cover up back on and Andy couldn’t help but watch, her heart skipping at the sight of her, the way the sunlight caught her silver hair, the elegance of her every move.

Then they hurried to the changing rooms, swapping wet swimsuits for dry clothes and piled back into the van, laughing and talking about their turtle sighting and the buoy race.

“Today was the best day ever,” Cassidy declared, leaning against the window.

Caroline rested her head on her mother's shoulder, her voice quiet but sincere. “Thanks, Mom. This was awesome.”

She smiled, gently stroking Caroline’s hair. “I love you,” she said softly and kissed her forehead. 

As they boarded the ship, they all lingered in the atrium for a moment.

“Okay, I need a shower so bad,” Cassidy said, shaking her wet hair with a grin. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got sand in places sand should never be.”

Her sister nodded. “Same. But we’re all meeting at the jazz bar tonight, right? I won the race, so I’m picking the vibe. We’re not ending this day without more fun.”

Miranda sighed, her eyes gleaming. “If I must endure another evening of your antics, I expect a decent martini.”

Andy laughed looking at her. “I’ll make sure they stock the good stuff,” she said. “Can’t have you settling for anything less than perfect.”

“See that you do,” she replied, her tone teasing, her eyes holding Andy's for a moment longer than necessary.

The twins, catching the exchange, looked at each other with a knowing glance and Caroline smirked, whispering to Cassidy, “Okay, they’re totally flirting.”

They said their goodbyes, promising to meet at the jazz bar at 10:00 PM. “See you tonight!” Doug called, waving a hand.

As they parted ways, Andy and Miranda shared one last smile, before heading to their rooms to prepare for whatever the evening would bring.

Chapter 8

Andy and Doug walked into the jazz bar right on time and she looked around, there were couples swaying to the music and groups laughing over cocktails. No sign of Miranda and the other three yet. 

The friends settled at a small round table near the stage and a waiter appeared almost instantly.

As the man wrote down their order and vanished into the crowd, her gaze drifted back to the entrance. Her stomach fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves, the kind that always seemed to surface when Miranda was involved. She told herself it was just the setting, the music, the dim lights, the promise of a fun night out. But deep down, deep down she knew better.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, they appeared. She was a vision in a deep purple dress that hugged her frame like it had been poured over her. A delicate silver necklace gleamed at her throat as she approached their table with that trademark poise.

God, she’s stunning, Andy thought, her cheeks warming as she forced herself to look away before she started staring like an idiot. But her presence was magnetic, pulling every eye in the room and the journalist wasn’t immune, not even close.

“Hey, guys,” she called, her voice softer than she intended, almost shy. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly nervous of her own appearance. Did her dress look okay? Was her eyeliner smudged? Why did Miranda always make her feel like she was auditioning for something?

The silver haired woman sat across from her. “Andrea, Doug,” she greeted smoothly. “I trust we haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Nope, right on time." She swallowed, then blurted, “You look… incredible.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her cheeks burned. Smooth, Sachs. Real smooth.

A flicker of surprise crossed Miranda's face before her lips curved into that enigmatic half smile. “Thank you, Andrea. You’re not so bad yourself.” Her gaze lingered, taking in Andy's simple but chic little black dress and her straightened, shoulder length hair. “Though I must say, I’m still partial to those curls.”

She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “You’re never gonna let me live that ironing story down, are you?”

“Never,” she teased as she and the twins settled at the table.

“I love this place!” Cassidy said, her eyes wide as she took in the bar. “It’s like, all classy and vibey.”

Caroline nodded, already observing the room. “Yeah, but we need a bigger table. There’s no way we’re all fitting here.”

Nigel, standing behind them, adjusted his glasses and surveyed the room, his brow furrowing. “Well, damn,” he said, hands on his hips. “She’s right. Every table’s taken, and I’m not about to stand all night like some tragic wallflower. Doug, you’re with me. Let’s commandeer some stools at the counter and leave the ladies to their table. We’ll be the glamorous outcasts, won’t we?”

He grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Lead the way, maestro."

As the two men walked toward the counter, the waiter reappeared, setting Andy’s gin and tonic in front of her. “Anything for the new arrivals?” he asked with a smile.

“A dry martini, gin, three olives,” Miranda ordered in a clipped but polite tone.

“Two virgin coladas,” Caroline added. “Extra cherries, please.”

“Coming right up,” the waiter said, flashing a quick smile before disappearing into the crowd again.

The four of them sat in a comfortable silence for a moment and watched the band. Andy stole a glance at Miranda. There was an unreadable expression on her face, but a softness in her posture that her former assistant wasn’t used to seeing. 

When the drinks arrived, she took a sip and arched an eyebrow as she set the glass down. “I thought you promised they’d stock the good stuff, Andrea.”

Andy's eyes widened and her cheeks turned red as she fumbled for a response. “I uh, I mean, I can call the waiter back, I’m sure they can-”

“I’m joking,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Really, you should see your face.”

Her mouth fell open and her shock morphed into a disbelieving laugh. “You, Miranda Priestly, joking? I need to mark this day on my calendar. Maybe frame it.”

“I think you should…” She paused, tilting her head toward her girls with a playful glint in her eyes. “What’s that word you two are always using?...Chill?”

“Chill!” The redheads cheered in unison, their faces lighting up. “Mom, you’re so cool! 

Cassidy leaned over, grinning ear to ear. “Seriously, Mom, you’re killing it tonight.”

Andy laughed, shaking her head. “I’m with them. Cool is definitely the word.”

The twins exchanged a looked, their expressions suspiciously conspiratorial. Cassidy let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms dramatically above her head. “Okay, wow, I’m, like, exhausted,” she claimed. “Today was intense. Beach, sun, swimming, all that. I think I’m gonna crash.”

Caroline nodded and copied her sister’s yawn. “Yeah, same. Long day. We’re totally wiped out. Gonna head back to the suite and, like, pass out.”

Andy blinked, her glass pausing halfway to her lips. “Wait, you two are tired? You guys have more energy than a Red Bull factory.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed as she studied them. “Indeed. You’re never tired. What’s this about?”

Cassidy shrugged, her grin a little too innocent. “It was a long day, Mom… we’re beat.” She faked another yawn.

“Yeah, we’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Caroline added, already standing. She waved at them, her smile mischievous. “Have fun, you two!”

Andy watched them grabbing their purses and practically skipping toward the exit, whispering to each other and giggling. "Did they just… ditch us?”

Miranda's fingers tapped lightly against her glass. “They’re plotting something. I know my daughters." She took a sip, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “But I suppose we’re left to our own devices now.”

Her heart skipped, a nervous laugh escaping her. “Looks like it.” She glanced toward the counter to distract herself and her eyes widened. Doug and Nigel were leaning close, their heads bent together as they laughed over their drinks. Doug’s hand brushed Nigel’s arm, and the art director's grin was unmistakably flirtatious. “Okay, you have to see this,” she chuckled softly. “Check out our boys over there.”

She followed her gaze and her lips parted in surprise before curving into a genuine smile. “Well, well,” she murmured. “It seems Nigel’s found a new muse. They’re a perfect match, aren’t they?”

The journalist laughed, then nodded. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the two shared a conspiratorial grin. “Oh, absolutely. He's been single forever, and Nigel’s exactly his type: witty, stylish, and just the right amount of theatrical.”

Miranda sipped her martini, her gaze lingering on the two men. “Nigel does have a talent for stealing the spotlight. “But I must say, your friend holds his own. I’m… pleased for them.”

She grinned. “Me too. They look happy. Like, stupidly happy.”

They watched for a moment longer, until a shadow fell over their table. A woman, maybe in her late thirties, with a nervous smile and a camera phone clutched in her hand, hovered beside them. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry to bother you but… are you Miranda Priestly? Me and my friends were watching and you look exactly like her.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked at her ex-assistant with a flicker of mischief in her eyes, before turning to the woman with a chuckle. “Oh, you’re not the first to say that. I get it all the time." Her tone was lighter than Andy had never heard before. “Miranda Priestly on a cruise? Can you imagine someone like her here, surrounded by flip-flops and buffet lines?" She laughed again, shaking her head as if the idea were absurd. "I’m flattered, truly, but I’m just here enjoying a little vacation.”

“Oh, I… well, I guess not,” she stammered, laughing nervously. “She’s probably too busy running the fashion world or something. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No bother at all,” Miranda said smoothly, waving a hand. “Enjoy your evening.”

The woman mumbled another apology and hurried back to her table, where her friends were whispering and stealing glances. Andy stared at the editor-in-chief, her mouth slightly open. “I… wow,” she said, her voice soft with disbelief. “That was… incredible. I’ve never seen you like that.”

“What?" Miranda asked with a grin. "You look as if I’ve just sprouted wings.”

She laughed nervously. “Nothing, it’s just… I’ve never seen this side of you. So relaxed, so… humorous. It’s like you’re a different person.”

“Every person has two sides, Andrea,” she replied quietly and took a slow sip of her martini, her glare softening. “I’ve kept this one locked in a closet since I came to New York.”

“Why?” Andy asked, her voice gentle but curious. “Why hide it?”

Her eyes grew distant for a moment, as if she were looking through the years rather than at the table in front of her. “Runway demands it,” she explained. “A certain distance, a certain… armor. I wouldn’t be where I am today without it. The world of fashion doesn’t reward vulnerability. It devours it.”

Andy’s throat tightened, her eyes searching Miranda’s face. “Back in Paris,” she began, her voice shaking with the weight of the memory, “when I came into your suite and you told me about your divorce… I didn’t understand how you could just slip your mask back on and move on so fast. I thought you were… cold, somehow. Untouchable. But now I get it. You weren’t cold. You were protecting yourself.”

“Andrea-”

“No, it’s true,” she interrupted gently. “I ran away because my boyfriend couldn’t handle my job, couldn’t handle me. He said I’d changed, and I blamed you. It took me a long time to realize it wasn’t the job he couldn’t handle, it was my drive, the way I was evolving. I was becoming someone new, someone stronger, and he couldn’t deal with it. I thought you were the problem, but you… you were the one who saw who I could be.”

“Andrea,” she whispered. “you were always that person. I simply… pushed you to see it. Your strength, your fire, it was there from the beginning."

Her eyes stung with unshed tears and her voice broke as she talked. “You have no idea how much that means...I wanted to make you proud. I still do.”

Miranda's lips curved into a genuine smile. “You’ve done far more than that,” she replied quietly. “You’ve surprised me, Andrea. And that is no small feat.”

Andy’s heart pounded as she leaned closer. “I’m full of surprises,” she teased. "And I’m not done yet.”

The editors eyebrow arched, but her smile widened. “Is that so? And what surprises do you have in store for me tonight?”

Andy’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing as their eyes met. “I don’t know,” she admitted. "How about we stay right here and find out? Just… talk."

She leaned back in her chair, her martini glass cradled delicately in her hand. “Very well, Andrea,” she said in a smooth tone. “Though I must warn you, I’m not entirely sure I know how to… what was it again? Chill?” She tilted her head, her tone teasing, but there was a genuine question in her eyes, as if she were testing the waters of this unfamiliar territory.

Andy laughed. “Oh, come on, you’re already nailing it. That whole ‘I’m not Miranda Priestly, I’m just on vacation’ bit? Oscar-worthy. You’re practically a pro at this already.”

She smirked and took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving Andy’s. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she retorted, but the warmth in her tone betrayed her. “But I must admit, it’s… refreshing to be someone else for a moment. Even if it’s just for one night.”

The newswoman leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gin and tonic forgotten for the moment. “You don’t have to be anyone else with me,” she said softly. “Just… you.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been told that before,” Miranda admitted in a quiet tone. “And I’m not sure I know how to be… just me.”

Andy’s heart skipped a beat, but she pressed on, her voice gentle but curious. “You said you’ve got two sides. I’ve seen the Runway Miranda, the one who can silence a room with a single look. But who’s this Miranda? The one who’s swimming with turtles and joking about martinis."

She sighed softly and leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. “This Miranda is someone who hasn’t existed in a very long time. She’s… a woman who used to laugh at her own terrible puns, who spent summers reading novels on her grandmother’s porch, who once dreamed of being a painter before New York and Runway and all the rest of it swallowed her whole.”

The brunette gasped. “A painter? Like, watercolors and canvases and all that?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile on her lips. “Don’t sound so shocked, Andrea. I was young once, you know. I had a whole life before Runway. I used to spend hours sketching, losing myself in colors and shapes. I wasn’t half bad, either, if I do say so myself.”

“Okay, I need details,” Andy leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What kind of stuff did you paint? Landscapes? Portraits? Abstract stuff that makes people tilt their heads and pretend they get it?”

She let out a real, unguarded laugh. “A bit of everything. Mostly landscapes. There was this one summer, I was seventeen, and I spent every morning at a lake near my grandmother’s house, trying to capture the way the light danced on the water. I was obsessed with getting it right, the way the colors shifted, the way the world seemed to hold its breath at dawn. I think I painted the same scene a hundred times.”

Andy's smile softened. “That sounds beautiful. Do you still have any of those paintings?”

“No,” she replied quietly and looked down at her glass. “They’re gone. Lost in a move, years ago. Or maybe I threw them out. I don’t remember. It was a different life.”

Andy’s heart ached at the sadness in Miranda’s voice, and she reached out, her hand hovering just above Miranda’s before she caught herself and pulled back. “I bet they were amazing. And I bet you could still paint circles around anyone if you picked up a brush again.”

Their eyes met. “You have an alarming amount of faith in me, Andrea,” she teased with a warmth in her voice.

“Well,” she replied, her tone light but sincere, “you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Miranda’s eyebrow arched, but her smile widened, and she leaned back in her chair, studying her former assistant. “You’re different, you know,” she said after a moment. “You’ve always been different. Most people would have crumbled under the pressure at Runway, but you… you thrived. Even when you hated me, you never backed down.”

Her cheeks burned and she took a quick sip of her gin and tonic to buy herself a moment. “I didn’t hate you. I was terrified of you, sure. Frustrated, definitely. But hate? Never."

“Really?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Even when I sent you on impossible errands and critiqued your wardrobe choices?”

“Okay, the cerulean belt lecture was a lot,” she admitted with a chuckle. “But yeah, even then. You were so… sure of yourself. You knew exactly who you were and what you wanted, and you didn’t apologize for it. That’s powerful, Miranda. It’s inspiring.”

Her gaze softened further, and she tilted her head. “And who are you now, Andrea? You’re not the same wide eyed girl who walked into my office with those dreadful shoes. So who are you now?”

Andy took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to the dim lights of the bar before meeting Miranda’s piercing stare again. “I don’t know if I’ve figured that out yet,” she confessed quietly. “I mean, I’m not that girl in the dreadful shoes anymore, you’re right. But sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m just… running. Chasing deadlines, chasing stories, chasing something to make me feel like I’m enough. And I’m terrified that one day I’ll stop and realize I’ve been running in circles.” She looked down at her drink and swirled the ice to avoid Miranda's gaze, embarrassed by the honesty that had spilled out. 

The fashion icon leaned forward, her voice soft but commanding. “Andrea, look at me.”

Her heart pounded as she met her beautiful ocean eyes. There was no judgment in them, only a quiet intensity that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t in years.

“You are not running in circles,” her tone left no room for argument. “You are building something extraordinary. Your work, your passion, it shines through in every story you write. You have a voice that demands to be heard, and you wield it with a courage most people only dream of. Don’t you dare doubt that.”

She blinked swiftly, trying to keep her composure, and managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. That-"

Before she could finish, the waiter reappeared. “Another round?” he asked.

Brown eyes looked at Blue. “Uh, yeah. Another gin and tonic for me, please.”

"Another martini...please,” Miranda added.

The waiter walked away and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Miranda sighed and set her glass down. “Since we’re baring our souls…” she began, her tone lighter but laced with something vulnerable, “I suppose it’s only fair I share something as well.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “When I was younger, I used to dream of escaping to Greece. I’d run a small hotel on an island, nothing grand, just… simple. A place where people could come to breathe, to exist. I’d serve breakfast on a terrace overlooking the water, and I’d paint in the evenings. No deadlines, no demands. Just… freedom."

Andy’s eyes widened in surprise. The image was so un-Miranda, yet it felt achingly real. “Greece,” she murmured. “That’s… beautiful. Why didn’t you do it?”

Miranda’s smile was bittersweet, her eyes distant. “Life happened. Runway happened. I chose a different path, one I don’t regret, mind you. But sometimes, late at night, I still see that terrace." She paused, then added, “I’ve never told anyone that."

She leaned forward, her voice soft but earnest. “It’s not too late, you know. You could still have that terrace. Maybe not full time, but… a summer. A month. You could paint again.”

“You make it sound so simple."

“Maybe it is,” Andy replied with a gentle smile. “You’re Miranda Priestly. You make the impossible happen every day.”

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible,” she said, but there was no bite in her words, only warmth. “And what about you, Andrea? What’s a secret you’ve kept locked away?”

The reporter took a deep breath, her voice shaking slightly. “When I was a kid, I used to write these stories, whole novels, practically, in these spiral notebooks I hid under my bed. They were silly, you know, about princesses and dragons and girls who saved the world. I stopped writing them when I was thirteen because my dad found one and laughed, not meanly, but like it was cute, like it wasn’t serious. And I was so embarrassed I burned them all. Every single one. I told myself I’d never write fiction again, that I’d stick to facts, to journalism, because that was real. But sometimes I miss it. I miss making things up, creating worlds where anything could happen. And I’m terrified that I killed that part of myself, that I let someone else’s laughter take it away.”

Miranda's eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip. “That part of you isn’t dead. It’s still there, waiting for you to give it permission to breathe again. Those stories you wrote, those worlds you created, they were never silly. They were you, pouring your heart onto the page. And that kind of courage, that kind of imagination, doesn’t just vanish because someone laughed. You owe it to yourself to pick up a pen and write again. Not for anyone else, but for you.”

“Okay, deal,” she replied, her grin widening. “I’ll write something. But only if you promise to paint again. I’m serious, Miranda. I want to see one of those sunrise landscapes you were talking about.”

She laughed softly and her eyes glinted with amusement. “Relentless as ever,” she murmured. “Very well. I’ll paint. But don’t expect a masterpiece overnight.”

“I’ll settle for a sketch,” Andy teased. “But I’m holding you to it.”

Miranda’s smirk softened, and she hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again. “Alright,” her voice was quieter now. “I’ll give you another. But this one stays between us, understood?”

Andy nodded, her curiosity piqued. “Cross my heart,” she said, making a playful gesture over her chest.

“When I was in my twenties, just starting out in New York, I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have. A woman.” She paused, letting the words settle. “It was… complicated. She was an artist, wild and untamed, the opposite of everything I was trying to become. I was so focused on clawing my way up the ladder at Runway, on proving myself, that I pushed her away. I told myself it was for the best, that I couldn’t afford distractions. But the truth is, I was terrified. Terrified of what it meant, of what people would think, of what it would do to my career. So I ended it, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Andy’s breath caught, her mind reeling. Miranda Priestly, admitting to a past love, a woman, no less, with such raw honesty was almost unthinkable. Yet here she was, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of old pain. “Miranda,” she said softly, “I’m… I had no idea. That must have been so hard.”

"It was,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve never spoken of her to anyone. Not my husbands, not my closest friends. But sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been braver, if I’d chosen her instead of ambition.” She looked down at her glass, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem. “It’s a secret I’ve carried for decades, one I thought I’d take to my grave.”

Andy’s heart ached, and she reached out again, letting her hand rest lightly on Miranda’s. “You were brave,” she said firmly. “You built an empire, raised two incredible daughters, and you’re still here, still standing. That’s not just ambition, that’s courage. And you’re brave now, telling me this. Thank you for trusting me.”

Her eyes flicked to their joined hands, and for a moment, she didn’t pull away. “You make it easy to trust you, Andrea,” she whispered. “You always have.”

Just then, the screen of Miranda’s phone lit up with a notification. She looked at it, her lips pursing slightly as she registered the time. “Midnight already,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the bar. Andy followed her gaze, noticing how the crowd had emptied.

The Journalist set her glass down, her heart sinking at the thought of the night ending. “It’s getting late,” she said softly, her voice carrying a reluctant edge.

Miranda nodded, placing her martini glass on the table and gathering her purse. “Yes. I think we should leave."

Andy hesitated for a moment. The idea of the night ending here, of saying goodnight and retreating to her own cabin, felt wrong, like closing a book before the best chapter. “Let me walk you to your suite,” she blurted, her voice a little too eager. She winced internally, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. 

Blue eyes flicked up and looked at her. “That’s not necessary, Andrea.”

She leaned forward with a grin, her elbows resting on the table. “Come on. It’s not like I’m offering to carry you there. Besides, I could use the walk. Clear my head after all that gin.”

With a soft sigh and a smile that was equal parts exasperation and warmth, the editor relented. “Very well.” 

They reached the elevators and the doors slid open with a quiet ding. Andy hesitated, her mind flashing back to the Runway days when Miranda’s elevator solitude was practically a sacred rule. She stood rooted to the spot, her fingers twisting nervously.

She stepped inside and turned, her brow arching as she noticed Andy’s pause. “Well?” she said, her voice teasing but gentle. “Are you coming, or are you planning to take the stairs?”

The brunette chuckled, walking in with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.” She leaned against the wall as the doors closed. “I just… you know, I remember how you used to hate sharing elevators. I didn’t want to, uh, invade your space.”

Miranda smirked and leaned against the opposite wall, her arms crossed casually. “Is that so?” she asked in a playful tone. “And here I thought you were simply dawdling to prolong our evening.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, maybe a little of that too,” she admitted, her eyes meeting Miranda's. “But seriously, what’s with the elevator thing? I always wondered. You’d give people that death glare if they even looked at the elevator while you were in it.”

“It’s not a particularly glamorous tale,” she began with a quiet voice. “Years ago, before Runway, I was stuck in an elevator for nearly an hour. With a man who, let’s just say, had a rather… unfortunate relationship with personal hygiene. The smell was absolutely traumatizing. I thought I’d never recover.”

Andy’s mouth fell open, a laugh escaping before she could stop it. “No way. I need to hear more. What happened? Did you, like, hold your breath the whole time?”

“I survived, obviously,” she replied dryly, her eyes glinting with mock indignation. “But it was a formative experience. I decided then and there that I’d only share confined spaces with people I could endure being stuck with."

Her blush deepened. “So… I made the cut, huh?” she teased, her voice light but her eyes searching Miranda’s for a reaction.

“You’re more than tolerable, Andrea,” she said softly. “For now.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Andy chuckled, stepping out into the hallway of the suite deck. “Tolerable,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I’ll take it. For now.”

They walked side by side, with slow and unhurried steps, as if neither wanted the moment to end. The conversation flowed effortlessly in a mix of light banter and deeper revelations. Andy told her about her first disastrous attempt at cooking risotto, which had ended with a kitchen full of smoke and a very unimpressed fire alarm. Miranda, in turn, shared a story about the twins’ attempt to “redecorate” her office with glitter glue when they were six.

As they reached Royal suite 1701, they paused outside the door. Miranda turned to face Andy, her expression softening. “Thank you, Andrea. This… this has been an unexpected pleasure.”

Her throat tightened, her eyes locked on the older woman. “I have to thank you,” she whispered. “Today was amazing. I mean, swimming, drinking, laughing with you, all of it. I haven’t felt this… alive in a long time.”

Miranda’s smile was small but radiant. She reached into her purse for her room card, but her fingers fumbled, betraying her nerves, and the card slipped from her grasp, fluttering to the floor. 

Without thinking, the journalist bent down to pick it up, quick and instinctive. As she stood with the card in hand, she found herself inches from Miranda, their faces dangerously close. 

“Miranda,” she murmured, her voice shaking with the weight of everything she felt, everything she wanted. Her eyes dropped to the woman's lips and her body leaned closer almost of its own accord, drawn to her like a tide to the shore.

Miranda's breath caught and her ocean eyes darkened with a desire so raw it made Andy’s knees weak, her lips parted slightly as she leaned in, just a fraction, as if pulled by the same irresistible force.

For a moment, it seemed like they might close the gap.  

But then a loud, drunken laugh echoed down the corridor, followed by the sound of a couple stumbling toward their own suite. 

The spell broke, and both women flinched, pulling back with flushed cheeks and racing hearts. 

Miranda cleared her throat, taking the card from her hand and their fingers brushed in a way that sent a shiver through the reporter's entire body. “Goodnight, Andrea,” she said, her eyes still holding a trace of that unguarded desire.

“Goodnight, Miranda,” she replied under her breath as she watched her unlock the door and get inside. 

Inside the suite, Miranda leaned against the closed door, her breath coming in a slow, shaky exhale. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her hand pressing against her chest as if to calm the wild rhythm of her heart. She closed her eyes and smiled as she replayed the moment, the way that Andy's eyes had burned with desire, the way her voice had trembled with her name, the way their lips had been so close, so impossibly close. Her fingers brushed her mouth as if she could still feel the ghost of the younger woman's breath and her smile widened, tinged with a longing she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Outside, Andy was still standing there in the hallway, her fingers grazing her own lips as she stared at the closed door. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

Her mind was a whirlwind, her heart a riot of emotions she couldn’t untangle. She’d been close, so close, to crossing a line she’d never dared to imagine before. And now, standing there in the quiet corridor, one truth hit her like a tidal wave: she was in love with Miranda.

Chapter 9

The next morning

Andy woke up feeling like she’d been dragged behind the ship instead of sleeping on it.

Her sheets were a tangled mess, knotted like they'd been in a wrestling match with her subconscious all night. One pillow had mysteriously ended up on the floor, looking as defeated as she felt, while the other was squeezed against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away into a sea of what-ifs.

Every time she'd managed to drift off, even for a few precious minutes, she’d snapped awake again: heart racing, lips tingling, Miranda’s almost-kiss replaying in HD. She could still feel the warmth of her breath, the way her lashes had fluttered, the tiny hitch in her throat when their faces had been a whisper apart.

She groaned into the pillow and rolled over to check the time. 7:12 a.m. Fantastic. She’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep total, four if you generously counted the feverish half-dream where Miranda's fingers traced her jaw, pulled her closer and everything was perfect - until reality crashed the party. 

By 7:15 she gave up and stumbled into the tiny bathroom, blasted the shower until the mirror fogged and stood under the spray until her fingers pruned. She scrubbed her scalp like she could wash the memory right out of her mind, but it only made her think of Miranda’s fingers threading through wet hair after the turtle swim.

Great. Now even showering was a problem.

She threw on a white sundress, slapped on sunscreen and met Doug for breakfast in the Main Dining Room, before the two left the ship.

The moment they passed through the harbor gate in Saint Martin, the island assaulted their senses in the best way: hot sun, colorful buildings and the faint smell of sea salt. 

She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and inhaled deeply, hoping the fresh, tropical air would ground her, chase away the fog of exhaustion and that persistent, gnawing desire clouding her head. It helped, a little. "So," she said, linking her arm with his as they strolled toward the market, "what do you wanna do?"

The lawyer grinned and adjusted his own shades. "Wander until our feet fall off, haggle for tacky souvenirs we'll regret but secretly love, then plant our asses on a beach with something strong, fruity, and topped with a tiny umbrella. You in?"

“God, yes. Let's go.”

They drifted into the market and Doug spotted a straw hat that looked like it belonged on a cartoon explorer and plopped it on his head. "How do I look?" he asked, striking a pose with his hands on his hips.

She burst out laughing, snapping a photo on her phone. "Like a deranged tour guide who got lost on the way to Jurassic Park. This is absolutely your new contact pic. Forever."

He struck an even more exaggerated pose, one hand shading his eyes as if watching the horizon. "Jealousy is unbecoming, babe. This is high fashion, island edition."

For a little while, it was easy. Normal. They bantered over trinkets, tasted fresh mango slices from a street cart, dodged tourists like pros. But then she went quiet. Too quiet, her mind wandering back to blue eyes and unspoken words.

Ten minutes into their silence, Doug set down a bar of coconut soap he'd been pretending to admire and fixed her with that knowing look. “Okay, seriously. You’ve been somewhere else since we left the ship. What the hell happened after I ditched you at the bar last night?"

She opened her mouth to deflect, closed it, then opened it again like a fish gasping for water. "Nothing. We just... talked. A lot. About work, life, the usual."

Doug raised an eyebrow so high it vanished under his curls, crossing his arms in mock skepticism. “Uh-huh. And I’m straight."

Andy groaned and pulled him into a quieter side street, away from the crowds. She leaned against a sun warmed wall painted turquoise and covered her face with both hands, peeking through her fingers as if that could shield her from the truth. “I’m in love with her," she mumbled. 

He went very still. No teasing. No dramatic gasp. Just patient silence. 

"I mean it," she continued, dropping her hands and staring at the cobblestones under her sandals as sudden tears pricked at her eyes. "I'm so in love with her it physically hurts. Last night-" Her voice cracked. "Last night we almost kissed. Twice now. The first time was in her suite, after I went to apologize for... everything. We talked, really talked, about Paris, about how I left. I cried and she... she wiped my tear away with her thumb and for one heartbeat I thought she was going to kiss me. But then the twins burst in, and I told myself I imagined it all. But last night, outside her door... she dropped her keycard, I picked it up, and we were so close I could taste her lipstick on the air and then some drunk guys laughed down the hall and the moment shattered. She just... closed the door. And I stood there like a total moron." 

Doug pulled her into a tight hug, his chin resting on her head. "Oh, honey. Come here."

"I love her so much I can’t breathe,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I love the way she says my name like it's something precious. I love that she let me see her laugh at bad martinis and pretend she’s not Miranda Priestly for five minutes. I love her and I’m terrified she’s going to push me away and I’ll die."

He rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. "Hey, hey. Breathe with me. In... out. There you go...Have you told her? Any of it?"

She pulled back a little, sniffling. “I can’t. God, no.”

“Why the hell not?” 

“Because what if she laughs? What if she looks at me like I’m the world’s biggest fool who misreads everything? What if I ruin this… this fragile, impossible thing we’re building? She trusts me now, Doug. She let me see her without armor, showed me the real Miranda. If I screw this up, if I say it and she doesn’t feel the same, I lose her forever and I can’t-” Her voice broke completely, a sob escaping as fresh tears spilled. 

"Andy.” He cupped her face with his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. “Think back, okay? Really think about those moments. When you leaned in, both times, did she look like she wanted to push you away or like she was recoiling?"

“No,” Andy whispered, the memory flooding back. "She… she leaned in too. Her eyes went all dark and soft and her lips-” Another crack in her voice. “She parted them, like she wanted it just as bad as I did."

He smiled brightly then. "There it is. She likes you too, you colossal dumbass. Like, head-over-Louboutins likes you."

Andy bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. "But what if she was tipsy? What if it was the cruise magic or the alcohol talking, loosening her up? People do stupid things on vacation, hook up with strangers, regret it in the morning. What if that's all it was?"

"Tipsy people don't gaze at someone like they personally hung every damn star in the sky, Andy," he cut in, his tone kind but firm. "Tipsy people slur words, giggle at nothing and face plant into potted plants. Trust me, I've been there, remember that time in college with the tequila? But Miranda? I’ve watched her watching you. The way her eyes linger when you laugh, the way she softens, just for you, her voice drops, her shoulders relax. That’s not booze. That’s real."

She stared at him, tears slipping sideways into her hair as she tilted her head.

Doug wiped them away again, his touch lingering. “You have two choices, babe. One: you run again. You avoid her for the rest of the cruise, hide in your cabin or behind excuses and you’ll hate yourself forever. Wondering 'what if' until you're old and gray. Two: you grow a pair, find her, and tell her you’re in love with her. Lay it all out. Worst case, she says no and you survive. You pick up the pieces, like you always do. Best case…” He grinned wider, eyes sparkling. “You get the girl. And I get to say I told you so at your wedding."

Andy hiccupped a laugh through the tears. “I’m scared.”

“I know, baby.” He kissed her forehead. “But you’re also the bravest person I know. You can do this.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, nodding against his shoulder. “I’ll think about it. Promise.”

"That's my girl." He slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her back toward the market. "Now come on. Let's buy stupid shit to commemorate your impending courage."

They wandered some more, the heaviness lifting bit by bit with each laugh and each ridiculous find. She bought a tiny sun necklace and he found a T-shirt that read I Survived St. Maarten and All I Got Was This Lousy Tan, holding it up triumphantly.

"Classy,” she snorted, rolling her eyes but grinning.

“Iconic,” he countered, draping it over his shoulder like a cape. “Nigel would approve. Hell, he’d steal it and pair it with couture pants just to mess with people. 'Darling, irony is the new black.'"

“Speaking of Nigel.” She nudged him playfully, bumping hips as they weaved through the stalls. “You two looked pretty cozy at the bar last night. Spill, counselor. What's the deal? Don't hold out on me now."

His cheeks flushed. “We exchanged numbers. He’s… God, Andy, he’s everything. Funny in that dry, cutting way that sneaks up on you. Sharp as a stiletto. And that smile? Should be illegal in at least twelve countries. We talked for hours, fashion, life, bad cruise cocktails. He gets me, you know? Like, really gets me. The ambition, the sarcasm, the whole package.”

She linked arms with him. “Look at us. Falling for unattainable fashion legends on a cruise ship of all places. We’re a romcom disaster waiting to happen.”

“Speak for yourself," he shot back, bumping her hip in return. "I’m getting a second date in New York. Coffee, maybe dinner. Your turn to catch up."

They bought two fresh coconuts from a vendor then made their way down to Great Bay Beach. The sand was powder soft and the water a ridiculous shade of turquoise. The two claimed sun beds under a palm, cocktails in hand and Andy let the waves lull her thoughts.

Doug's words looped in her head: Choice One or Choice Two. Run or Confess. She watched a little girl nearby building a lopsided sandcastle, complete with uneven towers and a moat that kept collapsing. Absurdly, it mirrored her heart, crooked, vulnerable, one strong wave from total ruin. But maybe, just maybe, worth the risk to build something beautiful, something that could withstand the tide if she was brave enough to try.

Back on the ship hours later, sun-kissed and salty, she showered off sand and sunscreen in her cabin. Blow-dried her hair straight and changed into a grey mini skirt that hugged her hips and a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to hint at the sun necklace gleaming against her collarbone. 

She and Doug snagged a corner table at the jazz bar and just clinked glasses, hers a cuba libre with extra lime, his a piña colada, when Nigel approached them with his signature flair. “Darlings! You look edible.” The art director kissed Andy’s cheek with a dramatic mwah, then Doug’s, lingering just long enough to make the lawyer blush deeper than the sunset painting the windows outside.

Before he could slide in beside them with a quip about the band's questionable tempo, the twins swept in like golden retrievers in sundresses. “Andy!” Cassidy launched herself with a hug that nearly toppled the table. “We missed you all day! Where’d you guys go? Tell us everything!”

Caroline plopped down beside her sister, stealing a sip of Doug's cocktail. "Yeah, spill. Mom's not coming tonight, some massive Runway emergency. Jenny's been calling like twenty times, freaking out about servers or something."

Andy’s stomach dropped like an anchor, her drink halfway to her lips freezing in mid-air. Miranda. Alone. The almost-kiss flashbacks hit harder than the rum in her drink. 

Doug kicked her shin under the table, his eyes screaming now or never.

She swallowed, setting her glass down with a clink. "Actually... girls, would it be okay if I borrowed your keycard? Just for a minute? I, um, need to talk to your mom about something. Important.”

"YES,” Caroline said instantly, digging in her tiny purse and producing the card like a magic trick. 

Cassidy grinned ear-to-ear, exchanging a knowing look with her sister. "Take your time. Like, all the time."

She stood on legs that felt like jelly, keycard in her palm. "Thanks. I owe you both... everything."

Heart hammering like a war drum in her chest, she turned toward the elevators, the jazz fading behind her into a distant hum as Choice Two loomed large and terrifying ahead. 

Outside the suite, Andy swiped the card with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. 

You will not run away again, she told herself fiercely, stepping inside and letting the door click shut with finality.

Not this time. Not from her.

The space was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp casting golden shadows across the elegant furnishings, and the faint, intoxicating scent of Miranda’s perfume hung in the air like a siren’s call that wrapped around Andy, pulling her deeper into the suite.

From the living room, she could hear her voice: low, clipped, exhausted but unyielding, laced with that signature authority that sent shivers down the brunette's spine.

“I don’t care what the IT team says. I care that Runway’s digital presence is apparently being held together with spit and prayer. Call whoever you need to call. Wake up the entire tech department if you have to. I want it back online by dawn, and I want a full report on my desk, my virtual desk, by the time I wake up. Am I clear? That's all.”

She ended the call with a vicious stab of her thumb and tossed the phone onto the side table with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet suite.

For a long moment she just stared out at the dark water beyond the balcony. 

Andy watched her own reflection appear behind Miranda's in the glass and saw the exact second she noticed her presence: shoulders stiffening in surprise, a sharp inhale that lifted her chest, then a slow relax, as if the air itself sighed in relief at the sight of her.

Then she turned and their eyes met across the shadowed room, blue locking onto brown. 

“Andrea,” she whispered.

Chapter 10

"Hi," Andy said with a shy smile. "I, um... borrowed the girls' keycard. I hope that's okay. I know it’s late. I know you’re busy. I just, I couldn’t wait anymore." 

Miranda looked at the keycard still clutched in her hand, then back to her face. "What is it you couldn’t wait to say, Andrea?"

She took one step forward, then another, closing half the distance between them. “I figured it out...What I want."

Miranda's breath caught audibly. “And what,” she murmured softly, her eyes never leaving Andy's, “do you want?”

The air crackled between them like the prelude to a storm and Andy couldn't hold back anymore. She closed the last of the space in two quick, decisive strides and stopped so close she could feel the warmth radiating off Miranda’s skin, could smell the faint trace of the red wine she’d been sipping earlier. “I want you."

For one endless second, the editor-in-chief looked utterly, beautifully stunned. Her lips parted, her eyes wide, every layer of composure stripped away in a single breath. Then, as if flipping a switch, she tried to rebuild her walls, her words tumbling out in a rush that betrayed her. "Andrea, you... you can't. You deserve someone who-"

“No.” She cut her off with a gentle but firm tone, shaking her head. "Don't say that. Don't tell me what I deserve or what I should want. I know you think I'll leave again. I know you're scared, God, I'm scared too. But I won’t. I'm not that girl anymore. I'm the woman who stood outside your door last night praying you'd open it and kiss me until I forgot my own name. I'm the woman who sees the painter under the editor, the mother who let her daughters drag her into the ocean and looked happier than I’ve ever seen her. I love you, Miranda. And I will not leave again unless you look me in the eye right now and tell me you don’t feel this too."

Her voice trailed off, thick with emotion and in that suspended moment, a tear slipped down Miranda's cheek. Andy reached out, brushed it away with her thumb the way Miranda had done for her in this very suite just days ago. 

“Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" She murmured. Her hand came up to cover Andy's, holding it against her face.

“Yes, I do," she replied with a smile, while her thumbs stroked Miranda's cheeks in slow, soothing circles. "I’m asking for the side you lock away in a closet, the one that laughs at bad puns and dreams of Greek islands where no one knows your name. I’m asking for mornings where you don’t have to be perfect, where we can just be. I’m asking to be the person you share elevators with, the one who gets your soft smiles, your quiet laughs, the stories you don't tell anyone else.”

Miranda’s eyes searched hers, desperate and hopeful all at once. “And if I can’t? If the armor is welded on so tight I don't even know how to take it off? If it's all I have left after building walls so high no one could scale them, after pushing away everyone who tried because it hurt less than letting them in and watching them leave? What if I'm too broken, too set in my ways to give you the kind of love you deserve. What then, Andrea?"

Andy felt her own tears welling up but she blinked them back, refusing to let go of Miranda's gaze. She leaned in closer, so close that their foreheads nearly touched. “Then I’ll love the armor too,” she replied without hesitation. “I'll polish it until it shines, stand beside it in every battle, fight with it, for it, against the world if I have to. But I think it’s cracking already, Miranda. I saw it yesterday. It's there. Please, let me in, let me love you. All of you with everything I have."

A broken sound escaped Miranda then, half sob, half laugh. It was the sound of defenses crumbling, of ice finally melting.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, another tear escaped, and when they opened again, they were blazing with a passion that stole Andy's breath.

Then she moved.

Her hand slid to the back of Andy’s neck, fingers threading into brown hair and she pulled her in like the world was ending and this kiss was the only salvation.

The first touch of lips was soft, almost unbearably soft and Andy let her set the rhythm, let her explore, let her choose. She kept her hands light on Miranda’s waist, thumbs stroking the silk of her navy dress, afraid that this dream might shatter if she pushed too hard.

But then Miranda made a low, hungry noise in the back of her throat and the kiss changed. It deepened, turned desperate, wild. Her fingers tightened in Andy’s hair, angling her head so she could claim her mouth more thoroughly, and the journalist answered with equal fire, parting her lips, letting her in, giving everything she’d been holding back. 

The two stumbled backward together, still kissing, unwilling to separate even long enough to breathe properly.

Miranda’s heel caught on the rug and Andy steadied her without thinking and the editor laughed, actually laughed, against her lips. “Bedroom,” she whispered. “Now.”

Andy didn’t need to be told twice. They moved down the hallway like a hurricane, bumping into a console table, knocking a framed photograph askew. Neither of them cared.

Miranda’s mouth was on hers again before the bedroom door even clicked shut behind them. She backed the her against the door, kissing her like she was starving, hands already working at the buttons of that white blouse, popping them open without breaking the kiss.

One button, two, three, her lips never leaving Andy’s, then she dragged her mouth down the column of her throat, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

“Miranda-” 

“Shh,” she breathed against her skin, pushing the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. More kisses followed along Andy’s collarbone, her neck, the sensitive spot just below her ear that made her knees weaken.

“I’ve wanted this,” Miranda confessed in a whisper, “for so long. You have no idea."

Andy’s hands fumbled at the zipper of the dress, her fingers trembled with a mix of nerves and desire. “I think I do,” she murmured back with a smile as Miranda’s lips found hers again in a searing kiss that left them both gasping.

They tumbled onto the bed and Miranda’s dress slid off her shoulders as she shrugged it away, revealing lace that hugged her curves like it was made for her. Andy's breath hitched while her eyes drank in the sight. “God, you're beautiful.”

Her grey skirt followed, tugged down with impatient hands, until they were skin to skin. 

The editor-in-chief paused then, propping herself up on one elbow, her gaze locking onto Andy’s with an intensity that made the journalists pulse thunder in her ears. She looked deeply into her brown eyes and noticed the flicker of nervousness there, the way her breath came in shallow bursts and her fingers clutched the sheets just a little too tightly.

"Andrea,” she said softly while her hand traced a gentle path down her arm. “Have you ever been with a woman before?”

She blushed as she shook her head, unable to meet those piercing ocean eyes for a moment. “No,” she admitted, her voice quiet but honest. “I... I haven’t. I've thought about it, dreamed about it, with you, but no.”

Her expression didn’t change to one of judgment or hesitation. Instead, she reached out, tracing a gentle finger along Andy’s jawline, tilting her chin up so their eyes met again. “It’s alright, darling,” she soothed in a warm and reassuring tone. "We'll go at your pace. I’ll make you feel good. I promise. Whatever you need, whatever feels right. Just tell me if it's too much, or if you want me to stop.”

Andy nodded. Her blush deepened but her eyes shined with trust and anticipation. “I want this, with you,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cup Miranda's face, her thumb stroking the soft skin there. “I want to feel everything.”

The fashion icon leaned in, capturing her lips in another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, pouring all her unspoken affections into it. As they kissed, she began to move downward, her lips trailing a path of fire along Andy’s jaw, her throat, her shoulders.

“Miranda,” she sighed, her head falling back against the pillows.

Her fingers followed, gentle and exploratory, running lightly over Andy’s arms, her sides, her hips, teasing the edges of sensitivity but staying far from the core of her desire, building the tension like a master storyteller drawing out the climax.

Her lips brushed the curve of Andy's breast through the lace of her bra and her righht hand slipped behind to unhook it with a flick of her fingers. The fabric fell away, and her mouth closed over one nipple, sucking gently.

“Miranda, please," Andy moaned softly.

“Not yet,” she whispered against her tanned skin as she kissed her way back up, exploring every inch with adoration, nipping at her earlobe, sucking lightly on her neck, leaving a trail of faint marks that would bloom like secrets tomorrow.

She returned to her lips, kissing her deeply, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “You’re so beautiful, Andrea. Every part of you. The way you challenge me, the way you see me... it undoes me.” 

Her hands stroked Andy’s body in long, languid sweeps, over her belly, along her thighs, teasing the boundaries but always retreating, always leaving her wanting more.

Andy moaned again and her hips shifted restlessly. Miranda’s teasing was exquisite torture, each kiss to her neck, her belly, her lips sending waves of heat through her. “God, you’re driving me crazy,” she gasped, fingers tangling in her silver hair, pulling her closer, needing more.

“That’s the idea,” she replied with a low chuckle, her eyes dark with desire as she kissed her belly once more, nipping gently at the skin there. She worshipped Andy body like it was a canvas she’d longed to paint, her touches light and adoring, her words a steady stream of praise whispered between kisses. “... so perfect for me.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of delicious buildup, Miranda shifted lower. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Andy’s white panties, sliding them down with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving Andy’s face, watching every reaction, every flutter of her eyelids. “Look at me,” she commanded softly, and Andy did, her breath ragged and her body shaked with anticipation.

Once they were removed, Miranda began kissing and stroking her inner thighs with a feather light touch, inching closer to the heat at her center. “You’re so wet for me,” she whispered while her fingers caressed the mound, the outer labia, exploring with a tenderness that made Andy's breath hitch. “Tell me how it feels.”

"Incredible,” she moaned, her body trembling with need. “Please,” she begged, her hands clutching at the sheets. “I need you... please. I can't take it anymore."

Miranda's eyes softened with affection, but the hunger there was undeniable. She grinned triumphantly, which made Andy's heart race even faster and surged up to kiss her on the mouth once more before trailing back down.

Finally, she dived between her legs, kissing the outer labia with soft, open mouthed presses, savoring the taste. Her tongue flicked out, lightly licking Andy's clit in slow, deliberate circles, tasting the sweetness there.

“Oh God, yes,” Andy moaned loudly, her hips bucking involuntarily. Her hands flew to Miranda's hair, holding her in place. 

She continued. Her movements werre unhurried at first. Teasing licks, gentle sucks. Then building in intensity as Andy’s responses guided her: faster circles, firmer pressure with her tongue, a finger slipping inside her entrance, hitting that sensitive spot deep within that made stars explode behind Andy's eyelids. 

“Come for me, darling,” she murmured against her.

And with a cry that echoed off the walls, Andy reached her climax, waves of ecstasy crashing over, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Miranda eased her through it with gentle kisses to her thighs, soothing strokes along her hips, before crawling back up to lie beside her. She gathered Andy in her arms and looked at her with a soft, genuine smile. “I love you,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “So much.”

Andy turned to her, still catching her breath, and pulled Miranda into a lingering kiss. “I love you too,” she murmured against her lips.

Chapter 11

The next morning

Andy stirred slowly and for a disorienting moment, she forgot where she was. Then it all rushed back and a slow, unstoppable smile spread across her face as she turned her head toward the window and looked at the endless blue of the carribbean sea.

A soft sound from the bathroom door pulled her from her reverie and she propped herself up on one elbow, not bothering to pull the sheet back up over her bare chest, and there she was: Miranda, fresh from the shower, wrapped in a plush gray robe that hugged her figure like it was tailor made for her. 

Their eyes met across the room, and her lips curved into a warm, genuine smile, the kind that softened her sharp features and revealed the woman beneath the icon. "Good morning," she murmured.

Andy grinned, pushing herself up a little higher against the pillows. "Good morning," she replied, her voice still husky from sleep and last night's moans.

She couldn't help the way her eyes traced the lines of Miranda's silhouette against the morning light, the elegant curve of her neck and the way the robe clung just so to her hips. "You look... incredible. Even first thing in the morning. How do you do that? It's like you wake up runway-ready."

Miranda's smile widened as she crossed the room. "Flattery so early? You're incorrigible, Andrea," she teased.

"Guilty," Andy admitted with a soft laugh, reaching out to catch her hand as she neared the bed. She tugged gently, pulling her closer until she perched on the edge of the mattress. "But it's true."

"Did you sleep well?" she asked gently, her thumb now stroking the back of Andy's hand in slow, soothing circles.

Her cheeks flushed with the memory of last night. "Like a rock," she replied, her voice laced with playful exaggeration. "A very happy, very thoroughly rocked rock. Your fault, by the way."

The editor chuckled again and leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll take the blame," she murmured against her skin, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "Gladly."

They shared a quiet moment, just gazing at each other. Then Andy looked toward the windows, squinting at the bright light. "What time is it?"

Miranda reached for her phone on the nightstand, looking at the screen. "8:10," she replied, setting it back down with a faint sigh at the notifications blinking insistently. Emails from Runway, no doubt, but she ignored them for now.

Her eyes widened and she bolted upright. "8:10? Oh God, Doug's probably freaking out. I didn't text him last night. I left my phone in my cabin like an idiot. He's going to think I vanished or something." She rambled on, half laughing at her own panic, already swinging her legs over the side of the bed and scanning the room for her scattered clothes from the night before.

Miranda's hand caught her wrist gently. "Andrea," she said in a calm and amused tone. "Breathe. Doug is a grown man and from what I've observed, he's far too sensible to assume the worst without evidence. Besides...why rush?" She paused, her thumb stroking soothing circles over her pulse point. "Why don't you take a shower first? Freshen up. Then go to him. And perhaps extend an invitation for breakfast, with us? The girls would love it and Nigel will undoubtedly turn it into a spectacle. It would be... nice. To start the day together. All of us."

"Yeah," she said, her smile returning. "That sounds perfect. He'd love it, Doug lives for group brunches. And honestly? I could murder a stack of pancakes right now."

Miranda's eyes sparkled with quiet laughter. "Then it's settled." She released her hand with a final brush of her fingers and stood, straightening her robe. "Everything you need is in the bathroom. Toothbrush, products, fresh robes. Take your time. I'll be on the balcony if you need me."

"Okay," she replied, watching her go with a lingering gaze, admiring the sway of her hips. God, she was in deep.

After stepping out of the shower and brushing her teeth, she wrapped herself in a spare robe and padded out to the private balcony. 

Miranda was stretched out on a lounger, legs crossed at the ankle, robe parted just enough to tease a glimpse of thigh. She had a notebook in her lap and a pencil in hand, sketching with focused intensity. Andy's heart raced at the sight, this private, creative side of her that so few ever saw.

She crept up behind her quietly, sliding her arms around Miranda's shoulders and resting her chin on the top of her head. "Morning again," she whispered, peeking at the page. “It looks beautiful...Is that us? At the mountain top?”

Miranda laughed softly. "Yes, it's us. Or at least, my interpretation." She set the pencil down and twisted just enough to tug Andy around and into her lap.

Andy snuggled in and looped her arms around her neck. "It's perfect. You're perfect. I mean, look at the details, the way you got the light on the water. You're a genius, Miranda Priestly. Runway's loss if you ever decide to go full time artist."

Her fingers threaded into Andy's damp curls, twirling one absent-mindedly as she gazed up at her. "Flattery again? You're going to spoil me, Andrea." But her eyes were shining, and she wrapped her arms around Andy's waist, holding her close. "Your turn," she murmured. “I want to read your novels. The ones you wrote when you were thirteen and hid under the mattress. Or the new one. All of them."

She laughed, bright and a little shy. "I have an idea for a new one, actually."

Miranda tilted her head slightly. "Tell me. Every detail."

Andy shifted slightly in her lap, getting comfortable, and began tracing idle circles on her collarbone through the robe. "Okay, so it's about two women. One's terrifyingly brilliant, runs this massive fashion empire, scares the hell out of everyone she meets with just a look. The other's kind of a mess, ambitious but stumbling, trying to find her place in the world. They clash at first, all fire and ice, but then they fall stupidly, hopelessly in love. Only, they're both too proud and too scared to admit it, so they push each other away. The messy one walks out, thinking it's for the best, chasing her dreams. Years go by, careers soar, hearts ache with what-if's. Then, completely by accident, they end up on the same ridiculous cruise ship, surrounded by meddling friends and family. And this time... they don't let go. There's drama, of course. But in the end, they choose each other and they sail into a future full of love, laughter and maybe a few more adventures."

Her eyes softened. "This sounds suspiciously familiar," she said dryly, though her voice was warm. "Though I must quibble with 'terrifyingly brilliant.' I'd prefer 'enigmatic and visionary.'"

The journalist grinned, leaning in closer. "Artistic license. And hey, the brilliant one gets all the best lines, witty, cutting, but with that vulnerable undercurrent that makes her irresistible."

"I would love to read this," Miranda whispered, her hand cupping the back of Andy's neck. "Every chapter. Especially the happy ending."

Their foreheads touched and their lips met in a kiss that started sweet: soft brushes, tender nips, then turned hungry fast. Her hands slid inside Andy's robe, pulling her closer and she arched into the touch, her own fingers tangling in silver hair as she deepened the kiss.

"Andrea," she breathed, lips trailing lower to kiss the slope of one breast, her tongue flicking over a nipple until Andy whimpered.

They were seconds from tumbling straight back to bed when the phone on the table buzzed like an angry hornet.

Miranda froze, lips hovering against skin, and cursed under her breath. "That damned thing," she muttered,

Andy laughed and dropped her forehead to her shoulder. "We'll catch up on that later," she said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Promise. Multiple times, if I have my way."

"Count on it," she replied with a smirk and stole one last kiss, before they reluctantly untangled, retied their robes, and moved inside.

Dressing turned into a game of flirtation. Andy slipped into her mini skirt from the night before, shimmying it up her hips while stealing glances at Miranda, who was buttoning her linen blouse with deliberate slowness, her fingers lingered on each pearl button as if daring Andy to watch.

"You missed a button," the brunette teased, stepping closer under the pretense of helping, her hands reaching to fix it, only to have Miranda catch her wrist and kiss it.

"Perhaps I like you undressing me," she purred while kissing Andy's knuckles one by one. "It's far more entertaining than doing it myself. And you have such... capable hands."

Andy's knees went weak and she let out a breathless laugh. "You're evil. Pure evil. How am I supposed to function when you do things like that?"

"Only a little," she replied with a wicked grin, releasing her wrist but not before nipping lightly at her fingertip. "But you love it."

"God, yes," Andy admitted, laughing as she helped with the last button. They traded more kisses while she zipped up Miranda's skirt, her hands lingering on her hips. "You know, if we keep this up, we'll never make it to breakfast."

"Tempting," the editor said, her eyes twinkling as she adjusted Andy's collar, smoothing it down with proprietary care. "But the girls are waiting. And I suppose we should eat... eventually. Though I could subsist on this alone." She pulled her in for one more kiss before stepping back with a satisfied sigh.

They were still laughing when they made their way out of the bedroom and walked straight into the twins in the living area of the suite.

Cassidy was cross legged on the couch demolishing a bowl of Froot Loops while Caroline was perched on the armrest, scrolling on her phone with one hand. Both heads snapped up in perfect unison.

"Andy?" Cassidy squeaked, her eyes widened as she took in the sight. "What are you?.... I mean, hi? You're... here. In Mom's suite? This early?"

Caroline's phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She didn't even bother picking it up, her mouth agape. "Oh my God. You... stayed over? Like, stayed, stayed?

The room went still and Andy became nervous. These were Miranda's daughters, after all, the center of her world. What if they hated this? What if it was too much, too soon?

But Miranda didn't miss a beat. She squeezed her hand once and took a step forward. "Girls, there's something we need to tell you." She paused, looking at her girlfriend and they shared a smile that lit the room.  Then she turned back to the twins. "Andrea and I... we're a couple. We love each other. Deeply. Truly. And we hope, more than anything, that you two can accept that."

"Are you guys SERIOUS?!" Cassidy shrieked, jumping to her feet, her bowl tipping precariously but miraculously not spilling. 

Andy's stomach dropped like a stone. She stepped forward instinctively, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “Yeah, yeah, I love your mom. More than anything. And if that’s weird or too much or if you need time to process-"

But Cassidy cut her off with the highest, happiest squeal known to mankind, launching herself at them like a redheaded missile. Her sister was half a second behind and suddenly Andy and Miranda were enveloped in a chaotic, giggling twin hug. 

Andy blinked, stunned, as the twins squeezed tighter. "Wait, you're... okay with this?"

Caroline pulled back first with a wide grin on her face. "Okay with this?! Um, we've been shipping you since day one on this ship! Like, literally, Cass and I even had a whole bet going on when you'd finally make a move. You're perfect for her, Andy, you're funny, you're real, and you make her smile like... actual, genuine smiles, not the scary ones she gives at work. We love it. We love you."

"My girls," Miranda murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much this means. I admit, I worried. But you two... you never cease to surprise me. In the best ways. Thank you."

She laughed through the sudden tears pricking her own eyes, hugging the twins tighter. "You guys are the best. Seriously, the absolute best. I was so nervous. I mean, you're her everything, and I didn't want to mess that up. But this? This is more than I hoped for."

The group hug lingered for a moment longer, before Andy reluctantly pulled away, wiping at her eyes. "Okay, emotional overload. I'll be right back, gonna grab Doug for breakfast. Save me a spot? And maybe order those pancakes extra fluffy? With all the toppings."

Cassidy saluted dramatically with an infectious grin. "Aye aye, captain! Extra blueberries and whipped cream? And bacon, lots of bacon. Maybe some French toast too? We're going all out. This is a celebration brunch now!"

Caroline nodded, retrieving her phone with a laugh. "I'll text Nigel. This is gonna be legendary."

"Perfect," she laughed.

Miranda's eyes sparkled as she nodded, her hand brushing Andy's arm in a final, lingering touch. "Hurry back, darling. We'll be waiting."

"Will do. Love you," she whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly before heading for the door.