The Gift of Possibilities ~ The Epilogue
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is neither mine nor CeeLyn's. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
The Gift of Possibilities ~ A Baker’s Dozen
Epilogue ~ Ruari’s
Miranda’s gift, however. That one she’d struggled with for an eternity. And she knew she’d hit a winner when she saw Miranda’s jaw actually drop for the briefest of moments.
And seconds later, that clear blue gaze pinned her to her chair.
Andy gulped. Oh boy.
Miranda stared at Andrea in abject disbelief; simply astounded at what she’d been given. She turned her gaze back down to the box in her lap, its contents nestled in blankets of tissue paper. The craftsmanship, the detail, the meaning. All of it…beyond extraordinary, and Miranda had no frame of reference from which to draw a conclusion.
When she again looked up at Andrea, her features softened. She nodded once to the young woman, then turned to tell the twins to carry their things upstairs and to wash up for Christmas dinner.
Once they were heard stampeding up the stairs, Miranda turned back to the journalist, curled up in the corner of the sofa and sighed. “This is quite something, Andrea.”
Andy nodded and spoke so quietly Miranda had to strain to hear her reply. “I know. Are you mad?”
Miranda chuckled mirthlessly. “No.” She gave the brunette a pointed look. “Now, however, would be a fitting time to explain to me the ‘distinction’ between leaving Runway and leaving me.”
Relieved, Andy smiled her biggest, fullest smile at the editor. And if Miranda had to catch her breath because of it, well…Andy pretended not to notice. For now.
“You see me. I think you probably always have, even from day one.”
And though it wasn’t a question, Miranda nodded anyway.
“Well, no one else ever really has. And because you ‘see’ me, you know why I left, don’t you?” Andy asked. “That it wasn’t because of what you did to Nigel?”
Miranda looked away but gave a short jerk of her head.
“Hey,” Andy reached out and boldly placed a hand on Miranda’s knee. “I needed to know I could fit the image I had of myself. I didn’t fit in at Runway, you know that. But I did fit in with you. Yes?”
Miranda looked back. “Yes,” she replied thoughtfully.
“You were right when you said you could see parts of yourself in me. The good parts,” Andy teased. “That’s the distinction, Miranda. While at Runway, I was never able to tell if my image was my own or if it was the magazine’s.”
“And were you? Able to tell?”
Andy offered up another, smaller, smile. “Look again,” she gestured to the package on the editor’s lap. “You see me like no one else ever has.”
Miranda glanced down at her gift. The portrait was exquisitely crafted. The paints soft, yet full of life and character. The scene itself, a soul-searing glimpse of both joy and heartbreak. How Andrea had found an artist who could capture her, Caroline, and Cassidy so perfectly without ever having sat before him, she had no idea. His renderings were flawless. He’d painted them all together in the den. He’d even perfectly captured her smirk! Though they were the forefront of the painting, she and her girls were not the focus. No, the entire crux of the piece was the subtext. For there looking through the window, from the outside in, was Andrea. Her eyes, those large, deep brown eyes, filled with sadness, hope, longing. It was gripping. It was piercing and dare she think it…heart-stealing. She ran her hands over the canvas gently, touching the lines, the figures, the expressions…the possibilities. “It’s quite a gift, Andrea.”
Andy again sighed in relief. “Hope usually is.”
At the sound of renewed hoof beats on the stairs, Miranda shook off the emotion of the moment, set the package aside, stood and held out a hand. “Well?” she asked imperiously, complete with faux long-suffering glare and jerk of her head. “You wanted in, Andrea. And there’s nothing more ‘in’ than Christmas dinner with the Priestleys. Come on.”
Stunned, Andy reached out and took the proffered hand, butterflies churning nervously in her stomach. She walked hand-in-hand with Miranda until they reached the base of the staircase, where they let go to greet the girls. Andy followed them back through the house to the kitchen, only to suddenly halt in amazement.
“Oh. My. God.” This time, it was Andy’s jaw that fell open in shock. “Look at all the carbs!”
~ NOW that’s all.
~R
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
The Gift of Possibilities ~ A Baker’s Dozen
Epilogue ~ Ruari’s
Miranda’s gift, however. That one she’d struggled with for an eternity. And she knew she’d hit a winner when she saw Miranda’s jaw actually drop for the briefest of moments.
And seconds later, that clear blue gaze pinned her to her chair.
Andy gulped. Oh boy.
Miranda stared at Andrea in abject disbelief; simply astounded at what she’d been given. She turned her gaze back down to the box in her lap, its contents nestled in blankets of tissue paper. The craftsmanship, the detail, the meaning. All of it…beyond extraordinary, and Miranda had no frame of reference from which to draw a conclusion.
When she again looked up at Andrea, her features softened. She nodded once to the young woman, then turned to tell the twins to carry their things upstairs and to wash up for Christmas dinner.
Once they were heard stampeding up the stairs, Miranda turned back to the journalist, curled up in the corner of the sofa and sighed. “This is quite something, Andrea.”
Andy nodded and spoke so quietly Miranda had to strain to hear her reply. “I know. Are you mad?”
Miranda chuckled mirthlessly. “No.” She gave the brunette a pointed look. “Now, however, would be a fitting time to explain to me the ‘distinction’ between leaving Runway and leaving me.”
Relieved, Andy smiled her biggest, fullest smile at the editor. And if Miranda had to catch her breath because of it, well…Andy pretended not to notice. For now.
“You see me. I think you probably always have, even from day one.”
And though it wasn’t a question, Miranda nodded anyway.
“Well, no one else ever really has. And because you ‘see’ me, you know why I left, don’t you?” Andy asked. “That it wasn’t because of what you did to Nigel?”
Miranda looked away but gave a short jerk of her head.
“Hey,” Andy reached out and boldly placed a hand on Miranda’s knee. “I needed to know I could fit the image I had of myself. I didn’t fit in at Runway, you know that. But I did fit in with you. Yes?”
Miranda looked back. “Yes,” she replied thoughtfully.
“You were right when you said you could see parts of yourself in me. The good parts,” Andy teased. “That’s the distinction, Miranda. While at Runway, I was never able to tell if my image was my own or if it was the magazine’s.”
“And were you? Able to tell?”
Andy offered up another, smaller, smile. “Look again,” she gestured to the package on the editor’s lap. “You see me like no one else ever has.”
Miranda glanced down at her gift. The portrait was exquisitely crafted. The paints soft, yet full of life and character. The scene itself, a soul-searing glimpse of both joy and heartbreak. How Andrea had found an artist who could capture her, Caroline, and Cassidy so perfectly without ever having sat before him, she had no idea. His renderings were flawless. He’d painted them all together in the den. He’d even perfectly captured her smirk! Though they were the forefront of the painting, she and her girls were not the focus. No, the entire crux of the piece was the subtext. For there looking through the window, from the outside in, was Andrea. Her eyes, those large, deep brown eyes, filled with sadness, hope, longing. It was gripping. It was piercing and dare she think it…heart-stealing. She ran her hands over the canvas gently, touching the lines, the figures, the expressions…the possibilities. “It’s quite a gift, Andrea.”
Andy again sighed in relief. “Hope usually is.”
At the sound of renewed hoof beats on the stairs, Miranda shook off the emotion of the moment, set the package aside, stood and held out a hand. “Well?” she asked imperiously, complete with faux long-suffering glare and jerk of her head. “You wanted in, Andrea. And there’s nothing more ‘in’ than Christmas dinner with the Priestleys. Come on.”
Stunned, Andy reached out and took the proffered hand, butterflies churning nervously in her stomach. She walked hand-in-hand with Miranda until they reached the base of the staircase, where they let go to greet the girls. Andy followed them back through the house to the kitchen, only to suddenly halt in amazement.
“Oh. My. God.” This time, it was Andy’s jaw that fell open in shock. “Look at all the carbs!”
~ NOW that’s all.
~R