Archive of Our Own

Later, Miranda was able to concede that perhaps she had overdone it a little bit. But Stephen was long gone, and you couldn't exactly sing your second assistant's praises to the rest of the office without sounding like you were going soft, so her only available audience was the twins. Besides, at the time she'd had no idea she'd been so…effusive.

"Andrea Sachs is really working out well. Didn't she do a good job with your science project?"

"Mommy was very impressed with the way Andrea helped her in Paris. Did you know she tried to save me from that wicked old Irv Ravitz? Not that she had to."

"You know, Andrea really is very patient. Never whines--well, not anymore. I wish I could say the same of everyone else in the office. And you. Eat your string beans."

"I'm so pleased Andrea finally learned how to dress. You see, girls, what a little effort can do?"

In retrospect, her overt enthusiasm should have struck her as, well, overt. But at the time, it came as a real shock to Miranda when Cassidy finally snapped, "If you like Andy Sachs so much, why don't you marry her?"

"Cassidy!" Caroline said, and punched her sister in the arm. Cassidy bit her lip and looked remorseful. Miranda forbade them dessert, and they sulked all evening.

And yet.

That night, when Andrea delivered the book, Miranda waited for the sound of her stilettos. Then she swept into the foyer, pleased to see that Andrea only jumped a little bit at her presence, and looked her second assistant up and down.

An extremely pretty girl, really, and that was saying something, given how many girls surrounded Miranda on any given day. She did turn herself out well now. And, after the initial moment of surprise, she met Miranda's gaze more-or-less unflinchingly with her own large hazel eyes, eyes that managed to convey sweetness, sincerity, and the tiniest bit of terror all at once.

Everything fell into place. Miranda, surprised and utterly pleased, stroked her own chin and said, "Well. My goodness. Yes."

Andrea opened her mouth to say something, then just smiled helpfully. Perfect.

"That's all," Miranda said. Andrea left.

Not wanting to rush into anything, Miranda gave the matter her careful consideration for nearly twenty-four hours. Then on the next evening, during dinner, she cleared her throat, and said, "Girls."

They paused--Cassidy had her pork chop halfway to her mouth--with something that looked like dread on their faces.

"I have something very special to tell you," Miranda said.

Cassidy groaned and dropped her fork. The pork chop fell in her lap and Caroline threw a bread roll at her. "Way to go, genius," she said.

"It's not my fault," Cassidy whined.

"Girls," Miranda said sharply.

"Sorry, Mom," was the glum chorus.

"You can be the flower girls again," Miranda suggested.

"Oh boy, again," Cassidy muttered. Caroline kicked her and said, "We're too old to be flower girls."

"Bridesmaids, then."

"Which one of you's the bride?" Cassidy said.

Miranda frowned. "Well," she said, pondering.

"At least bridesmaids get better dresses," Caroline said.

"Let's hurry up and get this over with," Miranda said.

"I couldn't agree more," Stephen replied, and signed his name with a flourish. Later that day, the gavel came down, and they turned to each other in the courtroom as the judge left.

"I'm glad that's done," Stephen said. "Look, it's--okay, I'm sorry. I don't want to be enemies anymore. Let's just move on." He extended his hand.

Miranda saw no real reason not to shake it. "It's nice to be amicable," she said, and added, "although I don't suppose you'll want to attend the wedding."

Stephen stared at her. "The what?"

"I'm getting married again," Miranda said.

Stephen yanked his hand away at once. "Oh, my God," he said. "I hate you." He turned around and stalked off.

"How childish," Miranda said, to nobody in particular.

"Andrea," Miranda said, giving her bride-to-be the careful once-over, "wear something white tomorrow. Pure white."

"Yes, Miranda," Andrea said obediently.

"Good. Now, what do you think--summer or fall?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Summer or fall?" Miranda repeated, deciding that good marriages started with patience. "Which do you prefer?"

"…depends on where you are, I guess?" Andrea said.

A very good point. Miranda valued this sort of attention to detail. "Well, in that case, do you prefer New York or--" Miranda paused and considered. "Maui?" They could always use Oprah's house for the ceremony.

"Well, I've never been to Maui," Andrea said, "but I bet I'd like it." She had a lovely, if timid smile.

"Fine," Miranda said. "Maui it is. Now, summer or fall? Never mind. Fall."

"I was going to say fall," Andrea said quickly.

"I'm glad we agree," Miranda said. "Don't forget: white."

"Oh, no, no, no," Miranda said the next day, appalled. Andrea looked like a snowman with red lipstick. "Ivory for tomorrow."

"I suppose it's an improvement, but…cream? Try cream."

"Good Lord. We might have to go with champagne. It's a pity black's bad luck, you look rather nice in black."

"Th-thank you," Andrea stammered. "Um. Bad luck?"

"Of course it is. Didn't you ever hear that?"

"Um. No, but. So, you want me to stop wearing black?"

"Well, not generally," Miranda said, irritated and wondering why Andrea looked so spooked.

"Married again?" Evelyn said, and her self-control was such that her martini only wobbled a little as she set it back down on the table at Nello's. "So soon?"

"Why wait?" Miranda said. "We're not getting any younger, are we?"

"Well. I suppose not, darling. To--to whom?"

"A wonderful girl," Miranda declared. "My second assistant. She's delightful. Cheers." She paused. "Evelyn, are you feeling all right?"

"Your second assistant? You're…" Evelyn paused and shook her head. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Miranda said.

"But you do know it's illegal?"

"Ah," Miranda said, and frowned. "There is that." She pursed her lips. "I'll have to speak to Eliot Spitzer."

"I can whip up a petition if it would help."

None of Evelyn's petitions had ever accomplished a thing, but Miranda smiled at her friend nevertheless. "You are a dear. Will you agree to give a toast?"

"I don't see why not," Evelyn said, and downed her martini in one gulp.

There was only one person on Earth Miranda shared an elevator with, and she hated doing even that. But there was little help for it.

"You're not going to believe the gossip in the parlors, Miranda," Irv said, as he pressed the 'Door Close' button in the face of an oncoming senior citizen.

"I never believe any of it."

"Wise decision." He chuckled, although it sounded strained. They were both still cautious, after Paris. "This one's pretty out of left-field, but I actually heard it from Evelyn Tandy. She said you're going to marry your assistant. Emily, isn't that her name?"

"Don't be absurd," Miranda said at once, revolted.

"I thought not," Irv said, and laughed. "Nutty, huh? I told you you'd never believe it."

"I don't," Miranda said. "Who in their right mind could confuse Andrea with Emily? It would be like confusing Patricia with a Pomeranian."

"I," Irv said, and then, "what?"

"Ridiculous," Miranda said. "But anyway, I'm thinking October. Perhaps the first weekend. I do hope you'll keep it free."

"What?" Irv said again.

"We're having it in Maui. Andrea adores Maui."

"You can't be serious," Irv said.

"I know, I know," Miranda said, and waved her hand. "I'm going to talk to Eliot."

"You're going to talk to--oh. Well. I suppose that explains everything. You're going to talk to Eliot."

"Just keep the weekend free, Irv," Miranda sighed. "And of course I insist you sit at my table at the reception."

She hoped he wouldn't come, but he was bound to send a nice gift.

"What's your favorite flower, Andrea?" Miranda inquired that afternoon.

"I don't know," Andrea replied, looking surprised. "Orchids, I guess."

"That shows taste," Miranda said, pleased. "Order a bunch from my florist to keep on your desk."

"I, um, okay," Andrea stammered. "What col--I mean, okay."

"You choose the color," Miranda said. "I can't micromanage every detail, Andrea. Honestly."

Nigel Kipling was the only man Miranda had ever met who actually kept a bottle of smelling salts. They came in handy the next morning. When she'd revived him, Miranda said, "For God's sake. Did you skip breakfast or something?"

"Breakfast," Nigel moaned, pressing his hand to his forehead. "You're going to marry Andy." He grabbed the bottle and waved it under his nose again.

"Yes. Focus, Nigel," Miranda said. "There is no one whose opinion I trust more in matters of fashion." In the interests of honesty, she added, "Except my own. Now: she looks hopeless in white, ivory, and cream, and I have my suspicions she won't be able to carry champagne. She's just so pale." Miranda paused for a moment to picture Andrea's flawless skin. "What do you suggest? I'm thinking a smartly-cut suit. But that seems to veer so dangerously close to butch-femme, and I think we can all agree that's awful."

"Awful doesn't begin to cover it," Nigel said, and lowered his head to his drawing board.

"Nigel," Miranda said, irritated. "This isn't like you."

"I'm sorry," Nigel said, not raising his head. "I'm thinking. Oh my God. I can't stop thinking."

"Well, think faster," Miranda said. "When you've worked out her suit, I can pick out my dress."

"John Galliano's doing amazing dresses this year," Nigel mumbled.

"And Zac Posen has all those sculptural suits," Miranda said, remembering. "That's right. Perfect. You're a wonder, Nigel."

"That's one word for it," Nigel said.

In a burst of sentimentality, Miranda added, "You'll be my best man, of course." Then she frowned. "Well, I'll be the one in the dress. So actually you'd be the maid of--"

"Miranda," Nigel said, his head still on his drawing board, "I have never, ever told you to can it before."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Nigel said. "Where did I put my bottle?"

"I must say, you look ravishing tonight," Miranda said.

"Th-th-thank you," Andrea said, and clutched her wineglass as she looked around the restaurant in confusion. "Is, isn't anybody else coming?"

"Anybody else?" Miranda stared at her. "Why would I tell you to reserve a table for two if more people were coming?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Andrea said.

"Clearly," Miranda said. Perhaps Andrea had had a very long day.

"You, um, you know," Andrea said. "Nigel was acting really weird today. He couldn't seem to look me in the eye."

"Really," Miranda said, not at all interested in talking about Nigel tonight.

"Yeah. And, uh, Emily too. In fact, every time Emily looked at me, she started to cry."

"Fascinating." Miranda wanted to talk about Emily even less. "Are you looking forward to Maui?"

"Maui? When am I going to Maui?"

Miranda glared, before remembering that she hadn't actually told Andrea she'd picked a date. "Oh, that's right. The first weekend in October. I should have mentioned that. Tell Emily to call Oprah first thing tomorrow."

"I, um," Andrea said, and pulled out her notebook. "Gotcha. Sure. Oprah. First thing tomorrow."

"I'm glad that's taken care of. Now." Miranda raised her wineglass towards Andrea. "To the future."

"To the, to the…" Andrea put down her pen and clinked her glass with Miranda's. Her hand was trembling with excitement. "Yeah, the…um, Miranda?"

"What?"

"Don't you think--" Andrea looked around the restaurant. "I mean, isn't this kind of--don't you think it's--"

Miranda frowned. "Think what is what?"

Andrea looked at her, blanched, and said, "Nothing. Never mind." Then she took a very long drink of her wine.

"Hello?"

"Is this the Sachs residence? May I speak to Richard?"

"Speaking."

"Oh, good. This is Miranda Priestly."

"I, you're, um, what? I mean…hello."

"I'm sorry to bother you at home, but it can't be helped."

"What's wrong? Is Andy okay? This is about Andy, right?"

"Of course it is. And she's fine. Better than fine, really. That's why I'm calling."

"How's that again? Wait a second. Helena! Pick up in the kitchen. Andy's boss is on the phone. Something's going on."

"Well, I certainly hope you won't think of me simply as her boss, Mr. Sachs. Richard. I suppose I'd better call you Richard, if that's all right."

"What? I mean--I guess--"

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello. You're Andrea's mother? Helena, is it?"

"Yes. You're Miranda Priestly? Is everything okay?"

"Most definitely, on both counts. I'm sure we're all very busy, so let me get to the point. Richard: I am calling to ask for your permission."

"My what?"

"Oh, I know it's old-fashioned. But I believe that if you're going to do something, you might as well do it right."

"Old-fashioned? Permission for what?"

"Permission to marry Andrea, of course."

"…what the hell?"

"I suppose it might come as something of a surprise--"

"You're joking."

"I assure you, I am not."

"You're…you have to be…you're Miranda Priestly?"

"Yes."

"And you want to marry my daughter."

"Absolutely."

"You'll have to forgive me for not taking any of this even remotely seriously."

"I'm quite serious. I'm marrying your daughter, with or without your permission--though naturally we would both prefer you agree. Consider this merely a formality."

"You--and she--but she's never said--"

"Oh, yes she has."

"Helena?"

"Come on, Richard. We can't have a conversation with the girl without 'Miranda this' and 'Miranda that.' Andy thinks the sun shines out of her--rises and sets on her."

"Oh, my God. And I never saw it."

"Parents are often the last to know this sort of thing. I have two daughters, myself. They dote on Andrea, naturally."

"Well…well, that's, that's good…listen. I'm just not sure this is--she's so young. And you're--she's so young."

"But wise beyond her years. Richard, you have nothing to worry about. I adore her, and I'm rich."

"You…well…"

"And of course I'll pay for the wedding. I'm the bride."

"What? But I always dreamed of helping my little girl pick out her wedding gown."

"Helena, I'm not sure that's--tell me, did she get her impeccable sense of style from you?"

"What?"

"I'm just curious."

Andrea sat at one end of the couch and Miranda sat at the other. Caroline and Cassidy stood in front of Andrea with glossy photographs.

"I like the green dress, and Cassidy likes the pink," Caroline said, showing Andrea a photo. "Mom said they both look okay, and to ask you to decide."

"The green's Chloé, and the pink's Dior," Cassidy added.

"I, I like them both," Andrea said, giving Miranda a frantic glance. "But the green would bring out your eyes really well. And look nice with your complexion."

"Ha," Caroline said, and stuck her tongue out at Cassidy.

"What does she know?" Cassidy snapped at her. "You saw how she used to dress."

"Girls!" said Miranda, and they looked apologetic at once. "Is that any way to talk to Andrea, even if it's true?"

"Sorry, Andy," they chorused.

"N-no problem," Andrea said, wide-eyed.

"Now, that's settled," Miranda said, and patted Andrea on the arm. Andrea twitched; perhaps she was uncomfortable in front of the girls. Miranda decorously folded her hands in her lap, deciding to respect her fianceé's boundaries. "Why don't you two tell us all about your day at school?"

Oprah's staff wouldn't let Emily make a direct call (fair enough, as Emily really was worse than useless these days), so Miranda was forced to make the arrangements herself. Oprah, the dear, was naturally apologetic.

"I had no idea," she said. "Miranda, congratulations, honey. But what about the law?"

"I'm working on it," Miranda sighed. "I'm going to get Emily to schedule a meeting with Eliot."

"Good luck. You know, I've always believed…hey, why don't you two appear on my show? We can make it all about the issue, you know, give it a human face. It'll work great if she's half as pretty as you are."

Miranda considered this. "It's not a bad idea…but no." She shook her head, even though Oprah couldn't see her. "Andrea's a little shy. And I'm sick of the media being all over my life. Present company excepted."

"Well, I don't blame you."

"And Evelyn's got a petition going, of course."

"Does Evelyn do anything but petitions? Anyway, my house is your house. First weekend in October? How many are you inviting?"

"I'm still paring down the list. I've got it to two hundred and fifty."

"Wow. You're doing the whole minimalist thing?"

"As I said, she's shy."

"Miranda," Emily said, "I've got you meeting with Mr. Spitzer in Albany in three days--"

"Albany?"

"Well, yes," Emily said helplessly. "That's where he lives." Miranda stared at her. "It's the state capitol," Emily added.

"Albany," Miranda repeated.

"I'll, um," Emily said. "I'll call him back."

"You do that." Definitely worse than useless.

"I can't believe it," Nigel said four days later. "I can't believe you did it."

"He's introducing the legislation tomorrow. I have every confidence."

"I can't. Believe. You did it."

"Have a little faith, Nigel," Miranda said, piqued. Then she smiled. "Besides, aren't you excited? It's a great victory for us."

"Us?"

"Well, yes. Now you can get married, too."

"Miranda, I'm not gay."

"What?"

"I said I'm not gay. I was married."

"Really?" Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. She divorced me three years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Miranda said. "That's a difficult thing."

"Yes, well," Nigel said. "She said she could no longer endure my complete psychological and emotional dependency on another woman."

"Nigel," Miranda said, scandalized. "How could--I don't blame her at all. How could you do such a thing?"

"Somehow I always knew you'd say that," Nigel said.

"Well." Miranda regarded him in disappointment, and then sighed. Nobody was perfect, after all. "You're still the best man."

"I'd damn well better be," Nigel said.

"You know, I think you'd really love New Zealand," Miranda said.

Andrea looked up from her plate. She'd barely touched her food. "I, probably," she said. "I've always wanted to go there. And to Australia."

Well, why not both? "The Great Barrier Reef is really something," Miranda said, nodding. Scuba diving. She liked scuba diving. "But it's touristy. And of course it would be nice to get away for a little while. New Zealand first."

"Oh," Andrea said. "Okay."

"Hmm." Miranda tapped her lips. Andrea stared at her finger. "Have you heard of Blanket Bay? It's a lodge on the shore of Lake Wakatipu. Wonderful food, and you can rent your own private chalet."

"Wow," Andrea said. "That sounds, um, amazing."

"Good," Miranda said, nodding. Now the honeymoon was settled. Then she glanced up, and saw Evelyn and her husband Robert making their way to her table. She tried to smile at them, because she really did like Evelyn most of the time. But she also resented having her intimate dinner intruded upon.

"Good evening, darling," Evelyn said, and bent down to kiss the air to either side of Miranda's cheeks. "We won't interrupt you for long. I just had to meet her." She turned to Andrea with a smile, and took her hand. Andrea smiled back tremulously. "So this is Andrea!"

"Yes," Miranda said, watching Robert out of the corner of her eye. He was looking at Andrea with rather too much interest, and her circle didn't call him 'Handyman' behind his (and Evelyn's) back for nothing.

"Evelyn and Robert Tandy. We've heard so much about you," Evelyn said to Andrea.

"Oh," Andrea said, looking utterly baffled, though she kept her smile on. "Well. Thank you, Mrs. Tandy." She glanced back at Miranda. "You've, um, heard about me?"

"Of course!" Evelyn said, and let go of Andrea's hand with a good-natured smile. "Miranda brags about you every chance she gets."

"S-she does?"

"Evelyn exaggerates," Miranda said, glad that the candlelight would conceal her blush. "I might have mentioned you once or twice."

"Oh," Andrea said, and now she looked relieved. "I thought so. Yes."

"Well, we really just wanted to say hello," Evelyn said. "Good evening, Miranda. It was lovely to meet you, Andrea."

"Thank you," Andrea said politely. "Likewise." And to Miranda's relief, they left.

Andrea turned back to Miranda. "They seemed, er, very nice," she said.

"Stay away from Robert," Miranda said flatly.

Andrea gulped. "Okay." Then she picked up her fork and poked at her fish. The candlelight danced over her cheeks, her shoulders, and the enticing curve and rise of her breasts, which were displayed magnificently in a Vera Wang top. Miranda swallowed.

Yes. The candlelight was a very lucky thing indeed.

Two days later, Miranda's plans hit a minor snag.

Andrea was sitting across from her at her desk, busily taking notes while Nigel sat at the table in the corner, looking over the book of layouts Miranda had just handed him. Miranda wrapped up business by saying, "…and tell Lucia I'll want to see those wedges. Now, then." She reached over to the side of her desk, picked up the Tiffany's catalogue, and deposited it in front of Andrea. Andrea frowned and took it.

"I suppose we can go with Van Cleef and Arples or David Yurman if you want," Miranda said, "but I prefer the classics."

"Oh," Andrea said. "Classic. Okay."

"You'll be in a suit--navy blue, didn't we say, Nigel?--but there's no reason you shouldn't sparkle a little. Choose a diamond necklace and some earrings. Anything you want," Miranda added generously.

"What?" Andrea said.

"And the ring, of course, though I hope you'll let me have some input on that." Miranda sighed. "I've got plenty of experience." Then she smiled. "Thank goodness this will be the last time, hmm?"

"The, the last time?" Andrea said. She looked at Miranda. Then down at the catalogue. And then back at Miranda. "The last time for what?"

From the corner of her eye, Miranda saw Nigel looking up from the layouts. His eyes went very, very wide.

"The last time I get married, of course," Miranda said, frowning and returning her attention to Andrea. "What else would I mean?"

"Get married?" Andrea said. She was going a little pale. "You're getting married?"

Miranda glared at her. She heard Nigel say something like 'suddenly, it all becomes clear,' but elected to ignore it. "Of course we are," she said. "What's the matter?"

"I--I don't--" Andrea stared down at the catalogue, clenching it so hard she nearly tore it in two. "We are?"

"If you're getting cold feet," Miranda began, drawing herself up very straight.

"I, I, I," Andrea said, "cold feet," and then her face turned grey. Miranda leaned forward in alarm, but Nigel was already up and hurrying to the desk.

"Excuse us, Miranda," he said, grasping Andrea firmly by her elbow and dragging her to her feet. "Why don't you let me talk to Andy for a minute."

"If you must," Miranda said, and watched curiously as Nigel tugged a stumbling Andrea out of her office and out of view.

Twenty minutes later, they still had not returned. Miranda, irritated, told Emily to go find out what on earth Nigel and Andrea could possibly be up to. Then she scowled. Apparently Nigel was straight. Nothing funny better be going on.

Emily returned wringing her hands. "Nigel's office door was locked, and he's closed the blinds," she said. Miranda scowled again. "But I heard shrieking," Emily added. "Andrea, mostly. I couldn't make out any words, but, um, she sounded a bit, that is--"

"A bit what?"

"--hysterical," Emily finished weakly.

"Hmm," Miranda said.

At that moment, Nigel returned. "Can you go away for a second?" he said to Emily, and then, once she'd left, he shut Miranda's office doors.

"Well?" Miranda demanded. "Is she feeling all right?"

"No," Nigel said. "She is not. Of course she isn't. What's wrong with you?"

"I beg your pardon?" She wasn't about to take that, not even from her best man.

"Are you aware," Nigel said, apparently straining for patience, "that you never actually asked Andy to marry you?"

"Of course I--" Miranda began indignantly, and paused. Then she frowned. "I mean, surely I did."

"Really," Nigel said. He crossed his arms. "Tell me how you proposed."

"I, um," Miranda said, and added, "oh, dear."

"I'm not sure 'oh dear' really does this justice, Miranda."

Well, that was just-- "Since when have you been so snippy with me?"

"Me? Miranda, I have a weeping twenty-four-year-old girl in my office who had no idea she was engaged to be married until a few minutes ago."

"What? You can't be serious," Miranda said. "Of course she picked up on it, even if I didn't actually propose."

"Well, you'd think that, wouldn't you," Nigel acknowledged.

"Send her in," Miranda sighed. "If she wants a proposal, she'll get one. I said I was going to do this properly."

"What?" Nigel said. "You--you're still--you really think--"

"I told her parents I was observing the formalities."

"Her parents," Nigel said, and then rocked back on his feet. "And you're going to propose to her. Right now."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"I've always wondered what it would be like to see a train wreck," Nigel said.

"What are you talking about?" Miranda said, and then shook her head. "Never mind. Send her in. Best to get this out of the way."

"Out of the," Nigel said, and then, "yes," and he turned and left. Five minutes later, Andrea staggered back in and shut the doors. Her face was red.

"Sit down," Miranda said, and Andrea did, possibly because she looked like she would collapse otherwise.

They regarded each other. Miranda found herself at a loss for words.

"Well," she said, after a pause, "how about it?"

Andrea's eyes widened. "How about it? How about it?"

Miranda shrugged irritably. "Andrea, when you get right down to it, that is the heart of every proposal, of marriage or otherwise. When you propose something to someone, no matter what it is, you are effectively saying, 'how about it?'"

"That's the worst," Andrea began, and then said, "I can't believe…"

"What do you want me to do?" Miranda said. "Get maudlin?"

"Maudlin," Andrea said, and she went even redder. "Oh, I'll maudlin you--I'll--you--"

"Watch your tone," Miranda said. Then she admitted to herself that she found it extremely attractive--Andrea, assertive!--and added, "I mean, in public."

"In public," Andrea said, and hid her face in her hands. "Oh my God. Public. You've told everyone in the whole world we are getting married--"

"Of course I did. In our circles, people need time to clear their schedules--"

"--except me."

"Well," Miranda said, "I can't be expected to think of everything. There's a lot of planning involved."

"I guess Emily forgot to put it on your schedule," Andrea said to her hands. "'Drink Starbucks, terrorize employees, propose to second assistant, find nearest defibrillator'--"

"There's no need for melodrama," Miranda said coolly.

"And when you finally got around to it, your proposal sucked, I don't believe it--"

"All right, all right," Miranda said, and rubbed her forehead. Needs must. Then she gritted her teeth. "I love you and I can't live without you. Marry me."

Andrea finally raised her head and stared at Miranda. And stared. And stared some more.

"Satisfied?" Miranda snapped, aware that there was no candlelight to hide her blush this time.

"I," Andrea said. Then she said, "Yes."

"Yes?" Miranda raised her eyebrows. Hopefully that would be it.

"Yes," Andrea said. "I said yes. Oh Jesus Christ. You'd better have meant that. I said yes." She went grey again, and lowered her head down between her knees, breathing deeply.

Miranda attempted to be patient. After a few moments, she gave up and said, "Anyway, the ring. You have lovely slender fingers. I think an emerald cut. Or perhaps an oval."

"I like round."

"I really think--"

Andrea raised her head, narrowed her eyes, and said, "I. Like. Round."

"Round it is, then," Miranda sighed.

Andrea stared, laughed, and then shook her head. "I don't believe this."

"Well…"

"Nobody else is going to believe it either. I mean, nobody I'm going to tell. Oh my God, my parents. I have to tell my parents."

"Ah, yes," Miranda said. "About that."

Andrea's outrage seemed a little over the top, but within ten minutes she'd relented and agreed to marry Miranda again, so it was all right.

"I can't believe you did it!" This time Nigel was actually shouting. "How the hell do you do things like this?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miranda said. "And calm down. People are trying to work around here."

"I'm not wearing a suit," Andrea said at dinner. Tonight Miranda had arranged for a much more private table in the back, in deference to Andrea's desire not to be stared at. "I mean, I'm not all girly-girl all the time, but I've always wanted a wedding dress."

Miranda thought of Andrea's mother, and shuddered. "All right. But I'm helping you pick it out. And you look awful in white."

"Thanks," Andrea said, and rolled her eyes. "But I mean, I guess we can buck tradition. It's not like white's totally appropriate anyway, right?" She managed a smile.

Miranda frowned. "What?" Then her eyes widened and she leaned forward. "What?"

Andrea looked at her blankly, and then her eyes widened too. "Miranda--um, did you think--?"

"My God," Miranda said.

"Miranda, I'm twenty-four!" Andrea said. "I lived with my last boyfriend for a year!"

"I see," Miranda said, sitting back again and drumming her fingertips furiously on the tablecloth.

Andrea narrowed her eyes. "What does it matter, anyway? You think I'm a piece of real estate or something? With timber you're going to cut?"

Oh, really now. "Well," Miranda sniffed, "your past experiences aside, we are doing it properly. We're waiting."

Andrea fumbled her spoon. "We…we are?"

"I suppose it's just the way you were raised," Miranda said, shaking her head.

"The way I was--hold on, now--"

"Anyway, it's the symbolism of the thing." Miranda thought for a moment. "We might have to put you in ecru."

Later, after getting over her little flounce, Andrea sensibly pointed out that Miranda couldn't help her choose her dress because it was bad luck. Miranda immediately delegated the task to Nigel who, it seemed, had given himself up to God and was resigned.

"She'll be a vision," he told Miranda. "Also, I'm quitting. So is Emily. Everybody's quitting. I think we can even talk Irv into it."

"Don't be silly," Miranda said, and added, "Irv? Really? No, no, never mind."

"I've seen the guest list. Why isn't Emily on there?"

"Why in God's name would I invite Emily to my wedding?"

"Why wou--okay. Never mind. Okay. But I can't help noticing that everyone on your list is your friend, except for Andy's parents."

"Christian Thompson isn't my friend." Miranda smiled and showed her teeth.

"You were born evil," Nigel said. "I can't help admiring it."

"Do you want to invite a friend or something?" Miranda asked.

"I already did," Andrea said. "Maybe by October they'll be speaking to me again."

"What? How many did you invite?"

"Two," Andrea said glumly. "Lily and Doug. Shame, really, Lily would have looked fierce in a tux."

"And Doug?"

"He'd definitely have wanted the pink dress instead of the green. It's for the best, I guess."

"I see," Miranda said.

"Are you going to kiss me tonight?"

"Am I marrying some kind of brazen hussy?"

"Apparently," Andrea said. Then she fluttered her eyelashes. Miranda gulped, and covered it by taking another sip of wine.

"Two hundred and fifty people?!"

"It'll be a tight fit, but Oprah says we can manage."

"No. Absolutely not. No. I can't believe--no!"

"It's a destination wedding. Not everyone will accept. Although you can generally count on the people with private jets."

"Miranda! I'm not getting married in front of two hundred and fifty people!"

"Too small?"

"Fifty. A hundred, tops. No, let's split the difference. Seventy-five. No more than seventy-five."

"Impossible! Do you know how many people would stop speaking to me?"

"You probably hate most of them anyway!"

"Andrea."

"Oh, all…a hundred and fifty. No more. I'm serious."

"Done."

"One question. Did you really, actually invite Christian Thompson?"

"Funnily enough, he was one of the first to decline."

In September, Andrea said, "I really can't believe that the first time you're ever going to kiss me is at the wedding."

Put like that, Miranda had to admit it sounded absurd. "I suppose I'm just a romantic," she said.

Andrea gave her a long, thoughtful look. "You are, aren't you?" she said. "You know what? I really believe you are."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, we might look awkward kissing for the first time in front of a hundred and forty-eight of your closest friends, plus my parents."

"There is that," Miranda conceded.

"Kiss me."

"What? Here?"

"We're in the living room of your house, Miranda."

"The children--"

"Are in bed. Miranda," Andrea said.

Miranda swallowed. "What?"

"Kiss me, you fool."

"Now, be serious, Andrea--" But Andrea leaned in, and her mouth was extremely soft, and five minutes later Miranda realized that she had pinned Andrea down on the couch quite by accident.

"I'm glad we're practicing first," Andrea wheezed. Miranda's fingers were tangled in her hair, and rather than extricate them right away, she kissed Andrea again.

Yes. It would have been a little embarrassing to do this in front of one hundred and fifty guests.

"Miranda." Andrea sounded nervous. "This is Lily. We're going out to lunch. Just for half an hour or so."

Miranda looked up from her desk and regarded Andrea's friend over the rims of her glasses. Not bad, although she could stand to lose ten pounds. "Hello," she said. "So you're speaking to her again."

Lily gave her a tight smile. "Oh, you know," she said. "Just trying to talk her out of it. Ha, ha."

"Lily!" Andrea said.

"Don't worry," Lily said, looking straight into Miranda's eyes. "I'm just joking."

"Of course you are," Miranda said.

"Anyway," Andrea said quickly, "we're going to the bistro down the street."

"Try the calamari."

"Will do," Lily said. Her eyes were hard.

Miranda's gaze darted down to her blue satchel. "What a nice handbag," she said. "It looks like something I had once, but didn't want."

Lily's back went ramrod-straight. Andrea stared at Miranda in horror.

"Nice to meet you," Miranda said, and went back to work.

She found Doug to be much less irritating. He was obviously awed by her, and fully willing to make it up to Andrea, which made him fine in Miranda's book.

"I'd rather have a pink tie," he told Andrea.

"Green," she said firmly. Miranda nodded approvingly.

"All right," he sighed. Then he glanced over to where Emily was hovering curiously by her desk, trying to peer into the office. "Is she a natural redhead?"

"No," Miranda moaned, and tugged her hand out from under Andrea's blouse with a superhuman effort. "We're waiting." She sat up.

"What," Andrea panted, "does 'waiting' even mean in a lesbian context? Like, how far can you go before you're doing it?"

Miranda had to look away, because, as it happened, Andrea was well-nigh irresistible when she was sprawled against the couch with her blouse open. "'Doing it' sounds juvenile. And we're not lesbians."

"Says the woman who got the law changed."

"Just in time, too," Miranda huffed, and straightened her hair. "Another week and we would have had to reschedule."

"Does that even matter, since we're not actually getting married in New--"

"Don't pester me with details, Andrea."

"I'll pester you, all right." Andrea smiled slowly. Ferally.

Miranda coughed. "I'm not that kind of girl," she said firmly. "Woman. I'm not that kind of woman."

"Oh yes you are," Andrea murmured, and stroked her hand. Miranda blushed.

One week. Seven days. She could make it.

She made it.

Maui was beautiful in October. Well, at any time, really. But perhaps especially beautiful today, as guests filled Oprah's courtyard. Most of the people in the audience were watching the goings-on with something that resembled slack-jawed shock.

"They can't believe you're going through with it," Caroline said.

"Jet lag," Miranda replied dismissively.

"We can't believe you're going through with it," Cassidy said.

Miranda glared. "It was your idea," she said. "Besides, you like Andrea."

"I guess," Caroline said gloomily.

"Can we go to boarding school?" Cassidy asked.

"Ssh," Miranda said. "The music's starting."

Andrea was, as Nigel had promised, a vision. Miranda's blood buzzed pleasantly in her ears, and she barely heard a thing the officiant was saying. Then again, she'd heard it all three times before, so it didn't matter. She could get married in her sleep.

And then they were wed.

"Nigel did a good job with your dress," Miranda said at the head table, admiring the delicate ivory lace over the Alice blue silk. "I was worried, I admit."

"I know." Andrea stroked the crimson sash that swept across her breast and down her skirt. "You like this? I told him I wanted some red."

"Why?"

Andrea leaned in and whispered, "I'm your scarlet woman, aren't I?"

Miranda almost choked on her champagne.

The toasts:

Evelyn said, "Well. This is very interesting. Congratulations to you both."

Irv said, "I don't even know what to say, except I'm glad Miranda isn't getting sued for harassment, and also, good luck."

Richard Sachs said, "It's so hard to let my baby girl go. I can't believe I'm doing it. I mean, I really can't believe I'm doing it."

Nigel said, "I'm sure Andy and Miranda will be very happy together. In hindsight, this was so obvious. So horrib--so incredibly obvious. Let's drink up."

Oprah said, "Well, I think it's wonderful. Best of luck, you crazy kids!"

"I'm not sure the 'harassment' thing was really necessary," Miranda said to Andrea as they clinked their glasses together.

"No," Andrea agreed, "but I think Irv's the one who sent you the Bugatti Veyron."

"We've always been able to talk cars," Miranda said fondly. "I've very nearly forgiven him for everything."

"I can't believe Emily caught the bouquet," Andrea said as they danced.

"Neither can I, since she wasn't invited," Miranda said.

"Didn't I tell you?" Andrea said. "She's Doug's date."

"Really?"

"Match made in heaven, if you ask me," Andrea said. "How soon before I can change out of this dress? It's kind of heavy."

"I wouldn't know," Miranda said. "My suit is extremely comfortable. I'm glad I thought of it."

Besides the Veyron, Irv had also donated his customized Gulfstream in aid of getting them to New Zealand. Miranda worried briefly that he'd sabotaged it so that it would explode in midair, but then Andrea came out of the bathroom in a negligee and she stopped caring. Her ears started buzzing again.

Andrea strolled up to her with a cocky grin and smoky eyes and said, "Well?"

Miranda was stronger than she looked, and Andrea landed flat on her back on the bed with a very surprised "Oof!" She barely had time to recover her breath before Miranda, in turn, landed on top of her and demonstrated how easily the suit came off.

Miranda then proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly.

Eventually, Andrea moaned, "Sweet Jesus." Miranda licked her sweaty neck and purred in contentment. "That was…you are…do you have a motor or something?"

"Don't be silly, Andrea," Miranda said, although she felt rather silly herself at the moment.

"Gotcha," Andrea said, and rolled over until she had Miranda beneath her. Her tousled hair fell down around her face, her skin glowed, and her eyes gleamed. "My turn," she said.

And for the next little while, Miranda's vocabulary was limited to, "Oh, my God," "Right there," "Yes, yes," "Don't stop," and finally, "Oh! My! Darling!"

Afterwards, beneath a blanket, Andrea proved herself to be a cuddler. Miranda didn't mind, although the bed really wasn't all that big. She'd have to mention that to Irv.

"We got married," Andrea said sleepily.

"That we did. I'm glad you were paying attention."

"I'm Mrs. Priestly."

"Hmm? No, don't change your name," Miranda said. "It's not a good professional decision."

"Okay," Andrea said, and snuggled closer. Then she added softly, "You know, that really was…that really was the best proposal I ever heard of."

Miranda was glad that she could put her flushed face down to their earlier acrobatics. "Yes," she said, "well," and combed her fingers through Andrea's messy hair.

"Mmm." Andrea sighed happily. Then she said, "Miranda?"

Miranda, already half-asleep, said, "Yes?"

"Are we, um. Are we going to have kids?"

Miranda opened her eyes again, and her brow creased in thought. "Hmm. That is a question," she said.

"Yeah," Andrea said.

"We should make a list of the pros and cons. I'll have Emily do it when we get back."

"Sounds like a plan," Andrea said, and added, "Sleep now?"

"Sleep now," Miranda confirmed, and glanced at the intercom button. Its light was already blinking, and she realized it had been on the whole time. Whoops. Oh, well. "Captain," she said briskly.

"Yes, Ms. Priestly," he said. His voice sounded a little strangled.

"Kill the lights in the cabin."

"Yes, Ms. Priestly," he said, and the lights went out.

Andrea was already fast asleep. Miranda made very sure to key the intercom off this time. She had no desire for the captain and co-pilot to listen in if either she or Andrea started to snore. She had her dignity, after all.

And now she had Andrea too. All in all, not a bad bargain. Her children had excellent insight, really. And a good thing Andrea had seen sense. So often the world failed even to see Miranda's vision, much less live up to it. Miranda was grateful that Andrea had finally proven herself to be the exception, not the rule.

Yes, Miranda decided, and curled her arm more tightly around her bride. She would probably make many exceptions for Andrea Sachs in the future. Allowances. Perhaps even compromises.

After all. Needs must.

Fin.