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Andy groaned in frustration, the words in front of her blurring. She set her laptop aside and stretched, feeling her back crack in protest at long hours of poor posture.
“You know you could have a desk if you wanted one.”
Andy craned her neck back over the arm of the couch. Miranda was studying the book intently, but she glanced up over the top of her glasses when Andy didn’t reply immediately.
“I think best like this.”
Miranda cast a critical look at the way she was stretched full-length along the soft leather couch, her socked feet propped up on the arm at the other end, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, she removed her glasses to look at Andy properly.
“You didn’t sound particularly happy just now.”
Andy sighed, casting a disgruntled look at her laptop. “I just can’t get this article right.”
“You said you had everything you needed, and you’ve got time,” Miranda said calmly. “You’ll get there.”
“I know I have, but… well, you know.”
“This is the first article you’ve pitched that you’re actually getting to write.”
“Exactly.”
“It won’t be the last one,” Miranda said with certainty, but Andy frowned up at the ceiling.
“Hopefully not, but it still matters. It’s my name on the line, you know? I want to get right.”
“Our name,” Miranda murmured. Andy looked around and she clarified, “By the time it’s actually published it’ll be our name on the line, won’t it? Or at least—”
“On the byline,” Andy grinned. She still couldn’t believe they were actually getting married in a little over a week. “Yeah, it will be.”
She scrambled off the sofa and went to join her fiancée, circling around the imposing desk and leaning against the edge. Miranda sat back in her chair, turning slightly so her knee just rested against Andy’s thigh.
“Andrea Priestly-Sachs,” Miranda said with the slow smile Andy never tired of.
“I still think Sachs-Priestly deserved more consideration,” she joked.
“Well, you know who you have to convince,” Miranda replied, raising an eyebrow.
“I know, I know. Their argument that there are more Priestlys than there are Sachses was pretty persuasive, but I do sort of think that shouldn’t matter, given the whole point of hyphenating is that there won’t be Priestlys or Sachses.”
“I’m staying out of it, darling. As long as I don’t end up a Sachses I’ll be happy,” Miranda teased.
Andy nudged her in protest, but the truth was she was more than happy for the girls to have their way on this one; the fact that they were so keen to add her surname at all was all that mattered, and Priestly-Sachs did have a certain ring to it.
“You know you don’t actually have to use it on your byline,” Miranda said a little uncertainly.
“I want to,” Andy replied immediately. “I can’t wait to see it in print.” Miranda nodded, seeming relieved, and Andy wondered how long she’d been thinking about this. Once they’d realised it was what everyone wanted, they hadn’t really talked much about the practical implications of hyphenating. “I should be the one saying that you, anyway—you’re the icon here.”
“Mmm,” Miranda hummed, looking pensively at today’s copy of the book, which she’d pushed aside when Andy had joined her. “When I chose this name all those years ago…”
“… you wanted to make it the most recognised name in fashion, and you’ve succeeded,” Andy said proudly.
“I don’t know about that,” Miranda deflected, frowning slightly at her work.
“We’d better so,” Andy said with an exaggerated grimace. “I’m here to marry the best of the best. The queen bee, so to speak. I’d be pretty miffed if it turned out that wasn’t you—I don’t think I’d like Anna nearly as much.”
That got Miranda’s attention, and she glared at Andy in mock outrage. “Don’t even joke about that, or I’ll start cancelling the caterers.”
Andy grinned, unapologetic. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’re the one.”
“So to speak,” Miranda said dryly. “You have aspirations of being the power behind the throne, do you?”
“Yep,” Andy said with a pop. “I’ve been playing the long game.”
“Is that so?” Miranda asked, amused.
“I’m here for one thing and one thing only.” She paused, letting the suspense build. “I’m going to get you to bring tie-dye back.”
Miranda laughed, whatever had been troubling her forgotten. “That might be beyond even me, darling.”
Andy sighed dramatically and shrugged. She thought Miranda’s laugh might just be her favourite sound in the world, though there were plenty of strong contenders. “The point is,” she began when Miranda had fallen quiet.
“There was a point to that?” Miranda interrupted with a smirk.
“The point is,” Andy continued meaningfully, “that you’re Miranda Priestly. I know how difficult it would be to change that. Even if you wore a name badge everywhere you went, people would still call you Miranda Priestly. I don’t mind, because that’s who I fell in love with.” She raised a hand to push back the iconic white forelock of hair. “Plus, speaking as someone who used to answer your phones, Miranda Priestly-Sachs’ office is a bit of a mouthful.”
Miranda rolled her eyes, but she sounded entirely serious when she said, “They’ll get used to it.”
“Yeah?”
Miranda nodded and flipped to the first page of the book. Andy leaned over to get a good look, and—there it was, in black and white. The space for Miranda’s letter from the editor was empty, it was always the last thing to be added, but there at the bottom was a new signature: Miranda Priestly-Sachs, in her usual spiky handwriting but well-balanced and intentional, nothing about it an afterthought. Andy traced the printed letters gently.
“I love that,” she said around the sudden lump in her throat.
“I know people will still call me Priestly,” Miranda said softly, “but I will correct them as often as it takes. It matters now as much as when I chose it in the first place, Andrea. Our marriage… you know as well as I do that it won’t be legally recognised in most of the world, or even in every state here. But the name we choose is permanent, it’s there for everyone to see. They can’t ignore that.”
Andy didn’t think she could have said anything just then even if she’d known how to express the way she felt. Instead, she leaned down and kissed Miranda deeply, one hand on the back of her chair for balance and the other cupping her face.
“I love you so much,” she said fervently when the need for oxygen forced her to pull away.
Miranda looked dazed, her pupils almost swallowing the stormy blue of her eyes.
“Did you—” she cleared her throat, voice raspy, and tried again. “Did you want me to read through your draft, to see whether that helps?”
Andy was thrown by the subject change, having all but forgotten the article which had been causing so much frustration. “No, you were right, I’ll figure—”
“Good,” Miranda said. She stood abruptly, forcing Andy to tilt her head back to look up at her. “You should know by now that you can’t kiss me like that without following through.”
She swept out of the room without waiting for a response. Andy, tripping over herself with haste, followed—she certainly didn’t need any more prompting.