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Late in the evening, Andy let herself into the townhouse, her steps tired and heavy. She hadn't made it past the foyer when she heard the familiar, domineering voice call, "Andrea."
Quickly following the sound, she found its source in the den, sitting in her favorite chair, eyes lifted expectantly to greet her.
"Hey," she said softly.
Miranda cut straight to the chase. "Do you have the Book?"
After a pause, Andy smiled, nodding. "It's on the hallway table."
"Sit down, I have some requests."
Obediently taking her seat on the edge of the opposite chair, Andy clasped her fingers in her lap until they were white with effort, waiting for Miranda to delve into her dictations.
"I want to see the proofs from the winter shoot. Have Richard give them to you first thing tomorrow morning."
"Alright." Andy nodded patiently.
"Call Simone about the models for the April piece. I don't want to have the same catastrophe as last-- you're not writing this down. Why are you not writing this down?"
With an indulgent smile, Andy leaned toward the coffee table and grabbed an open magazine and a pen left haphazardly beside it. "I'm writing it down," she pacified.
Miranda's list of demands, however, had been interrupted, and an irritable hand flew to her face, rubbing back and forth. "I forgot what I wanted to say. What did I want to say?"
"It's okay." Andy's voice softened further, the magazine and pen returning to the table. "Why don't you go lie down? Try to get some sleep."
"Yes," Miranda relented with a sigh. "I'll do that."
Andy waited until she was out of the room and the sound of her footsteps was heading in the right direction before she collapsed back into the chair cushions, letting out a heavy exhale.
From behind her, a new sound intruded on her momentary peace. "At least she remembers you."
She didn't need to turn around to recognize Cassidy's voice, nor to acknowledge her. Every bone in her body was too exhausted to react, and the hint of bitterness in Cassidy's voice only added to her fatigue. It wasn't a bitterness aimed at her, nor was it directly aimed at her mother, but the hidden jealousy it was born of--subconscious or not--was one Andy couldn't help but notice and take to heart.
As she heard Cassidy's movements retreat back into the kitchen, she brought the back of her hand up to wipe her reddening nose.
*****
"She hates being so helpless," Andy said despairingly, feeling quite helpless herself.
"For what it's worth," Cassidy replied, hugging her steaming mug between both hands, "I don't think she knows she is."
"She knows," Andy determined with the kind of certainty that only she could have. "She always knew. She'd hate that I let it get this far."
"You didn't." Cassidy's brow furrowed with the gentle need to convince her.
Andy ignored her, bringing her own mug up to her lips. "Is it wise to drink coffee this late?"
The clock on the kitchen wall signaled it was just past midnight, and Cassidy knowingly asked, "Are you gonna get any sleep tonight?"
After a moment's thought, Andy conceded she had a point and took a sip, reveling, almost masochistically, in the scorching path the liquid burned down her throat.
"I can be here when you're not," Cassidy's quiet voice offered into the ensuing silence, causing Andy to lower the mug with resolute objection.
"Cassidy, no--" she began.
"Listen--"
"No, you have your own life and--"
"It's a half-hour drive. It's nothing for me," Cassidy argued.
Closing her eyes, Andy said, "I can't ask you to--"
"You're not," Cassidy replied in a definitive tone that had her reopening her eyes. "It's my mom."
Andy nodded her understanding, and her agreement.
*****
One of the EMTs checked the microwave clock to jot down the time--8:35 P.M.--in his report while the other finished bandaging Miranda's hand.
Down the hall, the front door slammed closed, and soon thereafter Cassidy's panting breaths followed. "Sorry it took me so long," she apologized upon entering the kitchen. "Traffic was crazy."
"You didn't have to come," said Andy, who'd updated her and her sister earlier via text.
"Yes, I did," insisted Cassidy, shooting her an incredulous look before turning her attention onto her mother with a much more tender attitude. "Mom, are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Miranda reassured ardently, although her eyes kept shifting restlessly between the room's occupants and her bandaged hand, incomprehension and confusion warring with anxiety on her agitated face. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. I just wanted to make dinner."
"It's okay, Mom. You're okay. Why don't we go sit down?"
As Miranda obediently let her daughter guide her out of the room and the second EMT began packing up his gear, the first one turned to Andy with a severe gaze. "You gotta be more careful."
"I swear, nothing like this has ever happened before." Andy's arms wrapped tightly around her midst, physically and figuratively holding herself together as tears burned in her throat. She felt ashamed, almost criminal. She felt as though she'd let this EMT down, as though she'd let Cassidy and Caroline down, and worst of all, she felt as though she'd let Miranda down.
"You understand it's not going to get better, right? It'll only go downhill from here, and next time you might not get here in time. You're lucky it was just her hand; she could have burned the whole place down."
"I was only gone for ten minutes," Andy said, almost pleading with this stranger for... what? Understanding? Sympathy? Forgiveness?
She got none. "And in those ten minutes a disaster could have occurred. She can't be left alone, do you understand that?" Perhaps it was Andy's ashen face that made his voice soften when he added, "Listen, I have the names of some great places, I can give you the--"
"That won't be necessary," Andy cut him off, her own voice hardening.
"Look, I know you probably think you can--"
"It won't happen again," she assured him.
*****
Quiet sounds filled the library in the comforting hush of the early evening: the clock on the desk ticking its way to the 7:15 mark, the gentle whoosh of the curtains in the breeze and the rustling of the leaves on the trees outside, the pages steadily turning on Andy's novel, the crackling wood in the fireplace. They all mingled and harmonized together in a beautiful melody of stillness and peace.
And then a new sound, not any less pleasant. In fact, it was the prettiest of them all.
From her chair in the corner, fingers lazily flipping through the glossy pages of a Runway issue draped over her crossed legs, Miranda began to hum. It was difficult for Andy to place the tune at first, but it caught her attention nonetheless, making her lower her book and stare at its source on the other side of the room.
Then lyrics replaced the soft humming, just as quiet and absentminded, "Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new. Flashback..."
As she trailed off, eyes moving across the newly turned page but likely seeing nothing, her attention was grabbed by the gentle singing from the couch, "...warm nights, almost left behind, suitcase of memories..."
Miranda didn't jump back in. Perhaps she couldn't remember any more lyrics; maybe she'd been pulled out of the moment. Either way, her face had resumed its earlier blankness. Andy trailed off as well and smiled at her, eyes warm and loving.
"Why do I remember that song?" Miranda inquired at last.
"It's our song," Andy answered, smile widening. "Remember? They played it that night at the restaurant in Sicily. You thought it was ridiculous. You said, 'We came all this way just to hear '80s American trash?' You might have also had some comments about '80s fashion--"
"And then you asked me to dance."
Quieting down at once, Andy felt her chest inflate with a breath that refused to leave her throat. "I did," she whispered.
She was on her feet a moment later, crossing the room slowly and stopping before Miranda's chair with an outstretched arm. And to her delighted astonishment, Miranda's hand grasped hers.
As they languidly swayed in the center of the room, held closely in each other's arms, there was no actual music to guide their movements, but they both heard it nevertheless.
If you're lost, you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting
Time after time
Time after time.
*****
Finishing her call, Andy looked down at her phone screen. At that very moment, the digits at the top changed from 4:28 to 4:29 and she realized it'd been awfully quiet for a while.
"Miranda?" she called, beginning to wander the house.
Her final destination was the backyard, and she gently opened the door at the sight of the still body facing away from it, measuring her steps as if she were approaching a timid animal that might flee at the smallest disturbance. "Miranda?" she said, almost whispering.
When Miranda turned around, her face was a mixture of puzzlement and trepidation. She looked as lost in her own backyard as if someone had shaken her brain clear mid-thought.
"I came out here," she explained, her eyebrows squeezing together in a futile effort to make sense of her own words, "but now I can't remember why."
Smiling her understanding, Andy slowly approached her until they were standing side by side. Reaching her hand up, she tenderly cupped Miranda's cheek and proceeded to caress it as Miranda's expression transformed from perturbed to grieving to resigned and finally to soothed.
*****
Andy's alarm went off at 7:00 A.M. and a second later her hand flew to slap it quiet. Blinking into consciousness, she rolled over in the comfort of her sheets to find Miranda, wide awake, lying on her side and staring at her.
"It's happening, isn't it?" she asked without preamble, forcing Andy awake. "It's no longer just the little things."
Andy's somber silence was her confirmation, and her eyes closed in grief. "What am I forgetting?"
"Nothing I can't remind you," Andy whispered reassuringly. In truth, they had long passed the phase of people's names, tasks to do, important dates on the calendar. To Miranda, the lowest point had been the first time presented with the difficulty to tell her daughters apart. As for Andy, every day she could see the woman she loved disappearing a little bit more right before her eyes.
"Promise me something, Andrea."
"Anything."
"Don't let me lose myself. Don't let me become someone I'm not."
"I won't," Andy promised, but it was a shallow promise, and Miranda and she both knew it. This was one thing she couldn't do for Miranda, no matter how many strings she pulled and how many hoops she jumped through, even if it was the one thing she wanted to accomplish most of all.
"I'm serious, Andrea," Miranda said knowingly. "At some point, I won't remember how to speak, how to eat. I won't know where the bathroom is, or where I am at all. I'll still be here, but everything that makes me me won't be. I'll have become a shell of myself. And when that happens..." She let her eyes fall shut again, rephrasing her words, "Before that happens. Don't let them take me away. And don't let anyone see me become that person. Especially... especially the girls," she said with a gulp. "When you notice me start to slip away, Andrea, I want you to put a pillow on my face."
Staring into the earnest eyes unwilling to let her escape, Andy knew Miranda meant every word. She also knew it was the one other request she'd never be able to fulfill. But she said nothing, not a word of agreement and not one of objection. Instead, she scooted closer until they were a mere breath apart, and closed the distance with the softest touch of her lips to Miranda's.
*****
"Mark the day, Andrea. June 30, 6:54 P.M. My last time coming home from work."
"You don't have to do it." Andy shook her head with a sad smile that knew Miranda wouldn't be changing her mind. The woman who loved her job more than most anything in life had willingly given it up, and yet the sorrow of her decision was undisguised as she sealed the last day of doing what she loved with a glass of scotch in her living room, staring intently at the wall clock as if daring it to stop, or move in the opposite direction.
"I refuse to let anyone see me get worse," she said nevertheless. Her stubborness, her conviction, the authority that Andy knew so well were almost enough to make her believe that perhaps, despite all, she wouldn't.
But it was no more than wishful thinking. Time couldn't be turned back, and perhaps it wouldn't take a week, or a month, or even a year, but time would continue to march forward, and with it take every bit of the person sitting before Andy until there was nothing for her to be left with.
*****
"You sent me on a date?!"
"I set you up with a potential publisher," Miranda replied airily. "Whatever else comes out of it... well, that's for you to decide."
"Miranda, what the hell?!" Andy cried in outrage, her incredulity with Miranda's nonchalance adding to her already absurd actions.
"You're young enough to find someone new. And you're too young to be left alone," Miranda stated matter-of-factly. "You need to start thinking about that."
Seething, Andy ground out through a clenched jaw, "This isn't funny."
"Do you see me laughing?" challenged Miranda, and sure enough, her flinty eyes stared unyieldingly into Andy's.
"What happened to 'it's all gonna be okay?'" Andy threw her arms in frustration.
"It will be," Miranda said unconvincingly and turned toward the stairs. "It's after 10, I have work tomorrow."
"So-so what is this?" Andy called after her. "Are you planning on leaving me?"
In an abrupt move that took her aback, Miranda spun back to face her. "I already left you!" she shot back, and despite the raised voice, despite the height advantage provided by the stairs, she suddenly seemed so small. The emotion had finally returned to her eyes, but it manifested as fear and anger, dancing in flames that even the icy blue around them couldn't distinguish.
The same flames shot into Andy's body, scalding her chest with their unbearable heat, the thick, black smoke suffocating her until each breath that was emitted was labored and pained. She understood the meaning behind Miranda's words immediately, and although she wasn't going anywhere, the Miranda she knew was certainly not staying, her diagnosis as definitive as a death sentence.
A whisper was the only intelligible sound Andy could produce as she approached Miranda's rigid body. "You didn't leave me," she promised and stopped on a lower step to cup Miranda's face and kiss her reassuringly. "You're not leaving me."
*****
According to Andy's laptop screen, it was 5:17 P.M. when a heavy stack of papers landed with a thump on her desk, right next to it. Lifting questioning eyes from her work, she inquired, "What is this?"
"I took care of everything," Miranda stated vaguely. "Read it over and sign where you're supposed to. I already did."
"What's..." Andy murmured, sifting through the papers with a frown, "what's 'everything?'"
"Everything is now in your name," Miranda explained, bussinesslike. "The houses, the cars, the stocks. So you don't have to deal with any of it when..."
As Andy skimmed the legal words filling the pages, Miranda added, "I had my lawyer do it so, you know, nothing would be forgotten."
"Miranda..." Andy looked back up, placing her hand on top of the stack. "Isn't it too early still?" For all the fighting and pushing she'd had to do, Miranda's change in behavior caught her off guard and she suddenly felt as if they'd traded places. Miranda seemed to have sped through the stages of grief, going from denial straight to acceptance and leaving her somewhere in the middle, and her sudden one-eighty perplexed Andy.
Miranda's face set in resolute conviction. "I only care that it's not too late."
*****
"Andrea?" Miranda's groggy voice inquired as she squinted against the light of the den.
From the couch, Andy lifted her gaze, eyes red and puffy with the evidence of her nighttime activities. Approaching her, Miranda said, "It's 3 A.M., what are you doing up?"
"Nothing." Andy shrugged. "Just... thinking," she said evasively, but her voice broke on the last syllable, making way for a fresh wave of tears.
She felt the cushion dip before her weak, lethargic body was gathered into a warm embrace, a hand smoothing up and down her shaking back as she let herself cry freely into Miranda's robe.
"I'm sorry," she squeaked miserably against that soft, comforting fabric. "I didn't mean for you to see me like this."
"Shhh," was all Miranda said, repeating the soothing sound in her ear while the sobs continued. It did anything but sooth, however, when it reminded Andy of how much she needed to keep hearing it, how close she was to never hearing it again, and how deeply and utterly she loved the person producing it.
"This isn't fair," she cried. "It's just not fair. It's like the universe keeps throwing obstacles at us and I don't know how to evade them anymore. We think we're so smart, we think we're so much smarter. And we find a way to be together, and we find ways to stay together, and we figure out how to be happy. And then, just when we think we've tricked it into leaving us alone, when we think enough time has passed for us to feel safe, then this, this final blow. This thing that I have absolutely... absolutely no idea how to beat. And you can pretend all you want that this isn't happening or it doesn't faze you or whatever, but it fazes me, okay? It fazes me and I'm scared. I'm so... f-f-fucking scared."
The sobs that had previously stayed moderated now racked her body. The tears that had slid, slow and warm, down her cheeks were now joined by snot and saliva. And through it all, Miranda held her, the one who needed it most providing her with solace instead.
"It's all going to be okay," she whispered into Andy's hair, and she kept on repeating it until Andy's weeping quieted down.
*****
Andy stared at Miranda while Miranda stared at the clock on the wall while the doctor's voice echoed in the background. At precisely 1 P.M., when the long arm reached the sixty minute mark and began its journey into a new hour, Miranda soundly inhaled through her nose and cut the doctor off with, "That's all."
She was out of her chair before Andy uttered a scolding, albeit quivering "Miranda."
"I need to get back to work." Miranda slid her arm into the handles of her handbag.
From behind her desk, Dr. Horatio patiently said, "Miranda, I want to make sure you understand what's happening."
"I understand just fine," Miranda replied in a low, menacing voice that almost made Andy shrink in her seat.
Dr. Horatio, however, merely nodded. "Okay, good."
Miranda didn't let her finish. "I understand I need to get a second opinion."
"Of course. I always encourage my patients to get more than one--"
"And when every other doctor tells me I'm just fine and that everyone forgets every once in a while where they put their keys, then I'm going to sue you."
"Miranda, will you just sit down and listen to what she has to say?" Andy beseeched.
"You can stay and listen to that nonsense," she said acidically. "I have work to do."
"Miranda, you forgot how we got together!"
"Well, maybe it just wasn't that memorable." She pinned Andy with one last long, freezing look before storming out of the office.
*****
As their chauffeur drove them through the quiet neighborhoods of the Upper East Side, Andy steadfastly stared at the neon green digits on the dashboard, bright against the darkness, to avoid staring at Miranda instead. The numbers changed steadily--10:43, 10:44, 10:45--and the silence stretched on.
"Are you giving me the silent treatment now?"
Andy remained unresponsive.
Exasperated, Miranda said, "So I mixed you up with Stephen. It happens. It was ages ago, you can't expect me to remember."
Met with only the whirring sound of the car engine, she relented. "We had sex in your Broome Street apartment. It was terrible. That's our story. Would you have rathered I told the Newmans that?"
Finally, Andy's eyes shifted from the clock, but refused still to meet Miranda's. "I want us to go see a doctor."
"Give me a break," Miranda dismissed immediately, rolling her eyes.
Turning her gaze onto her, Andy's frown was filled with outrage. "Miranda, there's no way you still think it's nothing."
"What I think is you're overreacting. You're reading too much into things. Find something else to obsess over and leave me alone."
Teeth grinding, Andy returned her frown to the clock. "I'm making an appointment whether you like it or not."
"Fine," Miranda spat. "So long as afterward we go see a psychiatrist to tell you you're neurotic."
*****
Laughter filled the air around Joel and Celeste's dinner table, some of the few people in Andy and Miranda's circle with whom laughter was not feigned. Halfway through her third (or was it fourth?) glass of red wine, Andy was having a genuinely good time that she couldn't care less about the watch on her wrist reminding her the time was fast approaching 10 on a work night.
"I meant to tell you, Andy," Celeste changed the subject, "your dress is absolutely gorgeous."
"Thank you. It was a gift." Andy grinned widely, inching closer to Miranda. In her tipsy state, she allowed herself to get a little bit handsy.
"Well, someone has to take matters into their own hands," supplied Miranda. "If it were up to her, she'd be wearing sweatpants all day."
"That's so true," Andy seconded her, pointing her glass at Celeste.
"You should have seen her when we first met," Miranda continued. "She was incorrigible. The first time I saw her, she was wearing this lumpy, purple sweater over a shirt that hadn't been ironed in, how long?" She sent Andy a faux-inquisitive look. All Andy could do in response was smile in astonishment as Miranda added, "And on top of that, she'd dug this hiedeous beige, curduroy jacket that completely clashed with the color out of god knows where. And don't get me started on the hair."
As laughter once again erupted around the table, Andy gushed in wonder, "You remember?"
Leaning in, Miranda murmured into her ear with insufferable self-satisfaction, "And you thought my memory was going."
"My, Miranda, how ever did you forgive her?" asked Joel in obvious sarcasm. He loved his Armani as much as anyone else, but he also knew not to take fashion too seriously.
"Well." Miranda smirked, laying her hand on Andy's knee. "She more than made up for it."
With a curious gleam in her eye, Celeste encouraged, "Do tell."
"For our first date, she chartered a private jet to take us to Paris, where she got us a private room at this lovely, little restaurant on Rue Saint-Martin." At once, Andy's smile vanished as if someone had flicked a switch across her face. "It was incredibly obnoxious, but here we are."
Quiet confusion settled over the room as Joel and Celeste tentatively nodded, unsure how to respond but not quick to question the uncharacteristic story. Covering the hand on her knee, Andy whispered for only Miranda to hear, "I think you're thinking about your first date with Stephen."
The smugness was wiped off Miranda's face as swiftly as Andy's smile. The wheels were visibly turning in her head as she mulled it over, as if trying to figure out where the words had even come from, as if unsure of everything all at once.
"Well," she said at last, covering her perplexity up with her usual elegant confidence, "that's clearly enough wine for me."
Uncomfortable, little chuckles answered her from their dinner companions while Andy continued to stare at her. To make the awkward moment pass, Miranda rallied with "Speaking of relationships, did you hear that Gary Cavendish is divorcing his wife?"
*****
Entering the living room with two glasses of wine, Miranda said, "Did I tell you Gary Cavendish is divorcing his sugar baby?"
"Yeah," Andy mumbled absentmindedly, looping a sewing needle through the fabric of a pant leg.
Sitting down on the footstool at her feet, Miranda placed one of the glasses on the side table. "Apparently, she cheated with someone her age. Now she's getting nothing."
"Ow!" exclaimed Andy, yanking her hand away from the bruising needle like from a scorching flame.
"I told you we'd last longer."
"Yeah, well, I'm not risking getting nothing." She tried making another loop before getting exasperated. "Can you just..." she asked irritably, holding the uncooperative garment out for Miranda to take.
"You're hopeless," sighed Miranda, but took the pants nevertheless. "This is what we have a seamstress for."
"Why should I waste time and money when I can do it myself in five minutes?"
"You mean when I can do it in five minutes."
"Tomato, tomahto."
"What do you want to do for dinner tonight?" Miranda asked a minute later while expertly fixing the damage in the pants. It was approaching 8 P.M. and it reminded Andy she'd skipped lunch that day. Right on cue, her stomach grumbled.
"I don't know. I don't feel like cooking. Do you feel like cooking?"
"We can go out."
"Or order in."
"That way you don't have to get out of your sweatpants," Miranda pointed out.
"Exactly," confirmed Andy, and thus the negotiation commenced. "Thai?"
"French?"
"Italian?"
Following a brief consideration, Miranda allowed, "Oil and cheese, no breadsticks."
"Entrées without starters, but with dessert."
"If we're getting a dessert, it's only the tiramisu from Via Carota."
"That works for me. I can get their Pappardelle Broccoletti."
"No broccoli."
"Fine. I won't have the broccoletti if you don't have the fried rabbit."
"Deal," Miranda agreed, handing Andy back her fixed pants.
With a satisfied smile, Andy accepted the pants and picked up her wine glass. "Cheers." They took their respective sips before she leaned back into the couch cushions and spoke again, "So how was your day?"
"Fine, nothing interesting," Miranda answered mildly. "Oh," she remembered, "Gary Cavendish is divorcing his sugar baby, did I tell you?"
Mid-sip, Andy lowered her glass, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Like, five minutes ago."
"I did?" Miranda asked, looking genuinely surprised.
"You don't remember?"
Quickly shaking her head, she dismissed, "I must be distracted. I'm starving. Make the call, I'll set the table," she ordered and promptly got up to leave, but Andy kept staring after her, not making the call.
*****
"Andrea," Miranda called impatiently up the stairs, checking her watch again.
"I'm coming!" Andy yelled.
"It's almost 9, they're going to close the kitchen by the time you finish getting dressed."
"Jeez." Andy emerged at the top of the stairs, leisurely sauntering down in her figure-hugging, navy dress. "You're in a hurry. You'd think you were one year closer to death or something."
"You're so funny." Miranda narrowed her eyes at her as she joined her at ground level, walking smugly into her personal space. "Look how funny you are. Makes me want to just..." A slap to Andy's ass finished her sentence, ringing resoundly through the hallway.
"Ow!" Andy yelped, then giggled, wrapping her arms around Miranda's neck. "Save that for later." She smirked seductively.
"Why wait when we can stay in?" Miranda's hold on her waist tightened while Andy tried to disengage herself.
"Forget it. We're going."
"If we get there and a hundred people jump from under the tables and scream 'surprise,' I'm leaving you."
"Give me some credit, will you?" Andy lightly pushed on her shoulder. "It's just you, me, and the girls, like I promised. I know you well enough."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Miranda grumbled doubtfully, making her roll her eyes before her expression softened.
"Hey. Happy Birthday," she said, stealing a chaste kiss. Miranda happily kissed back, so Andy knew she was on safer ground.
Leaning back, she began teasingly, her smile delighted with mischief, "Happy sss..."
"Don't say it." Miranda's glare was almost murderous.
Nodding in concession, she amended, "Happy thirty-fourth birthday," and earned another spank. "Let's go, we're gonna be late."
As she left Miranda's arms and headed toward the front door, Miranda looked around her. "Where did I put my purse?"
"On your arm." Andy nodded helpfully toward the purse dangling from the crook of her arm before unlocking the door.
"Oh," Miranda said and followed her.
*****
Holding her flexed hand up before her, Andy admired her newly adorned finger, the sparkle in her eye shining twice as bright as the golden band. "My parents are gonna freak."
Lying beside her in their hotel bed, Miranda drew lazy circles on her naked abdomen with her fingers. "Because you didn't tell them or because it's me you married?"
Andy considered, then answered, "Both."
"Then it was worth it," concluded Miranda, making her lower her hand to playfully slap her arm with it.
"This was better," Andy thought out loud, snuggling further into Miranda's warm body.
"What was?"
"Doing it this way instead of some big, lavish wedding with people we don't even know or care about. Not to mention all the publicity. Just you and me in this beautiful middle of nowhere."
"I wouldn't exactly call Sicily the middle of nowhere," argued Miranda. "But I agree."
Rising onto her elbow, she lowered her face, where halfway down it was caught by Andy's hand, fingers threading into her hair, the coolness of her ring pressing lightly into her cheek. Their kiss was slow and thorough, and it ignited their passion anew.
Later, when their bodies were cooling again, Andy spoke into the quiet of the suite, "What time is it?"
"No idea," Miranda answered, lazily scanning the room with her eyes and finding no indication. There were no clocks on the walls or the nightstands, no sounds from beyond the walls. For the first time in a long time, they were in their own little bubble.
"I wish time could stand still," said Andy, "and we could stay in this moment forever."
"Promise me something, Andrea," Miranda said.
"Anything."
"Promise you'll remember this moment twenty years from now, when I'm old and shriveled and you're not, and you won't regret it."
Rolling onto her side, face to face with Miranda, Andy's smile was bright enough to light up the whole suite. "Never."
*****
Later that evening, having sent Cassidy home like a babysitter dismissed, Andy walked into her and Miranda's bedroom. Miranda was lying flat on her back on her side of the bed, eyes closed, as peaceful as if she had no idea how tumultuous their life had become. It was likely she didn't.
Quietly approaching the bed, Andy stared at her still form, and then off to the side. With a racing heart, she eyed the unoccupied pillow on the bed, feeling her chest tighten with every second that passed, with every step she took toward it.
She was snapped out of her trance when movement on the bed caught her attention, and when Miranda's eyes opened and found hers, she let out a breath so heavy it seemed to shake her entire body. Wordlessly, she perched on the edge of the bed, offering Miranda a soft, comforting smile.
"You're not my assistant anymore, are you?" Miranda asked into the darkness, her gaze searching deep inside Andy's.
"I'm not," Andy whispered, shaking her head.
"No," she said as if she hadn't heard, as if resuming her own train of thought. "You're my wife."