The Creator

Author: JAZWriter/JAZWriter13

Pairing: Miranda/Andrea, The Devil Wears Prada

Author Notes: This is a companion piece to The Truth. It is not necessary to read it to understand this story. That said, it does provide context.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Devil Wear Prada, its characters, New York, or French and English words. I am not profiting from this story (except through positive comments which feed my Muse). It is created through the fair use doctrine or some such pish-posh.

Rating: NC-17 since it is written through a grown-up's point of view instead of a sixteen-year old's viewpoint (see The Truth for that sweet, limited POV—thanks!)

Special Thanks—to my lovely betas, who got to read this several times from the (extremely) rough draft to the (somewhat) polished finish. So, thank you, shesgottaread, quiethearted, and law_nerd (I'm blowing kisses at you right now!)

Part 1

Duplicity: early 15th century, from Modern French duplicite, from Late Latin duplicitatem "doubleness" or "being double," in Modern Latin "ambiguity," from duplex "twofold." The notion is of being "double" in one's conduct; deception.

1. speaking or acting in two different ways concerning the same matter with intent to deceive; double-dealing.

2. a twofold or double state or quality.

One hand resting on a cocked hip, Miranda stands in front of her office window gazing down at the river of people streaming past Rockefeller Center. Her eyes feel tired from hours of peering at photograph thumbnails, the results of their latest photo shoot. Idly, Miranda plays with the chunky opal necklace she wears while allowing her mind to wander.

Cassidy is away at soccer camp for the month. Miranda sighs. She misses her daughter. Now sixteen years old, Cassidy and her twin sister, Caroline, are young adults displaying pronounced independent streaks. They are growing so quickly. Where has the time gone?

Caroline had begged Miranda to allow her to attend a week-long writing conference. So different from her sister. Miranda remembers when the girls did everything together. Not so anymore. It seems Caroline desires to follow in Miranda's footsteps to some extent. Caroline has mentioned several times her dreams to write for a fashion magazine, to be the one to comment on the latest trends.

Miranda isn't sure how she feels about that. She is not oblivious to all the sacrifices she has had to make to become and remain a successful businesswoman. Nor of how her passion to succeed has driven away those closest to her. Her personal failings have become fodder for jokes made at her expense. And why wouldn't those trashy rags and late-night funnymen joke about what they perceive to be her inability to love and to be loved? In Miranda's case, they portray her, a successful, independent businesswoman, as truly a failure in disguise. They interpret her fierce persona as a frigid, forceful, and unlovable woman.

After so many years and so many failed relationships, Miranda is beginning to wonder whether she has unwittingly become the woman others believe her to be.

Knowing how easily she has shut herself off from others time and again, from the possibility of being vulnerable and failing yet again, Miranda has worked particularly hard to create close relationships with her daughters. After the last divorce, Miranda feared they would simply withdraw from her. However, Miranda would not allow it. Instead, she made a point of being home for dinner with them several times a week, even when that meant she needed to return to Runway afterward.

The girls noticed her efforts. In return, they talked to her, really talked to her. No longer did they chatter away about inconsequential subjects while Miranda's mind wandered toward the work she needed to complete. No. They began to ask Miranda questions, enough questions that Miranda remained grounded in their interactions. It became habitual. Now Miranda's mind never wanders when communicating with either of her daughters. Miranda believes this to be an excellent change.

Miranda has included this change into her interactions with others, too. Emily nearly melted into the floor the first time that Miranda stopped perusing the periodicals spread over her desk and focused completely on her assistant. Miranda has no doubt Emily had been frantically wondering what she had done so abhorrently to garner Miranda's undivided attention. Miranda cannot help but smile slightly at the remembrance. Emily has since moved on to work in the art department at Miranda's urging. Sometimes she misses the redhead.

Not as much as she misses Andrea, though. Never that much.

Andrea.

Andrea had shocked Miranda when she had displayed the temerity to walk away in Paris.

Miranda should have recognized in that moment of awful truth, that moment when she watched Andrea cross the plaza with a determined pace, just how unusual her reaction was toward a person she should have long forgotten by now.

She hadn't recognized anything, though. She hadn't wanted to examine her feelings.

She had wanted to forget the insolent girl. She had wanted to forget the doe eyes and silky hair, the tremulous smile and alluring body. She hadn't wanted to remember how the young woman had earned her respect or how essential she had become—no.

Nor does Miranda want to think about her at this moment.

Striding to her desk, Miranda calls for the current assistant, softly. "Where is my coffee?"

"Did you ask—"

Miranda lifts an eyebrow imperiously and glares at the insipid fool as her words peter off uncertainly. How dare she. In a low voice, Miranda states, "You have five minutes to get me a fresh cup. Not a second more." Smiling grimly as she watches the girl rush away, Miranda refocuses on her work. A muscle jumps in her jaw as she clenches her teeth.

There will be no more thoughts about the past. No more thoughts about failed relationships and lonely nights. No more thoughts about what she should have done, if only she had faced her feelings years ago.

It has been five years. Five years of avoiding the truth that has taunted her through dreams. It is only during those nights, those nights filled with dreams of Andrea, that she is not able to control her regret and yearning for what cannot be with a woman who had swept through Miranda's world and, without regard, rent it apart upon her exit.

Just last night Miranda dreamt once again of climbing a mountain. Andrea walked ahead of her clearing the way. When it began to rain, streams of water threatened to sweep Miranda off her feet. Andrea's grasp on her arm kept Miranda steady. As Miranda became more and more tired, she leaned on Andrea while slogging her way across the muddy ground. When it became too hard to continue, she realized that Andrea's hand no longer supported her. Looking around through the steady precipitation, Miranda's panic rose. She could not find Andrea.

The mountain was so steep, the rain so heavy, the ground so slippery, and Andrea was not next to her.

Sometimes at this point in the dream, she would fall, sliding on her belly down the mountain while her arms flailed helplessly. Other times, Miranda would feel tears of hopelessness mingle with the rain as she lifted her head toward the weeping sky. In last night's dream, she simply lowered herself to the ground, wrapped her arms around her knees while placing her cheek upon them, and closed her eyes in defeat. She did not wish to continue. Not without Andrea by her side.

Today her heart feels heavy. Miranda shakes her head in irritation. To think she is still grieving the loss of that silly girl!

Although Miranda may not be able to control her sorrow while asleep, she sure as hell can control such thoughts while awake. She will not—

"Miranda, Barbara Carson from the Columbia University summer program is on line one." Miranda feels a flutter in her stomach as uneasiness washes over her. That's where Caroline is taking her writing course.

Picking up the line, Miranda says, "Yes?"

"This is Barbara Carson from Columbia University. I'm calling regarding the creative writing course your daughter, Caroline, is registered to attend."

"Yes?" Miranda wonders where this is going. It is only the first day of the workshop.

"Well, she isn't here. I was wondering whether she had changed her mind about attending. We have a long waiting list, so if she doesn't need the spot, I'd like to go ahead and give it to someone else."

Miranda pulls the phone away from her and stares at it in confusion. "She's not there," Miranda says in a flat tone.

"No. You knew that, didn't you?"

Miranda cuts her off as she waves a hand dismissively. "Of course. I thought you'd been notified. Please do give the seat to another deserving student. Thank you for your call." Miranda hangs up without waiting for a response and turns her chair around. She stares sightlessly through the window. What is my willful child playing at?

Miranda is a master manipulator. She likes to stay one step ahead of everyone else. She has always thrived upon the look of shock and grudging respect—with the odd spattering of hatred and grief thrown into the mix—when she has outmaneuvered those who have sought to obtain the upper hand against her. It is why she was so astonished by Andrea's abrupt exit from her life.

Acknowledging ignorance in any situation, particularly when pertaining to her girls, is anathema to her.

Before Miranda can call anyone to determine just where Caroline is, her cell phone rings. Miranda reads Caroline's name in surprise. Taking the call, Miranda says softly, "Hello, Bobbsey. How is your day?"

"It's great, Mom. I'm learning so much!" Caroline sounds excited.

At least she's safe. "Where are you? It sounds noisy." Miranda can hear traffic and voices—not the normal classroom environment.

"Oh. I, um, I'm outside. We were given a break for lunch, and I wanted to stretch my legs," Caroline explains.

Miranda withholds a sigh. Why is Caroline lying to me? She debates confronting Caroline regarding her duplicity but quickly discards the impulse. She needs to see Caroline's face when she talks to her about why she is not where she should be, why she is calling as if she hasn't been lying for months about how great this workshop is supposed to be and how desperately she has wanted to attend. "I see. Don't eat the junk food that is so prevalent on college campuses. Have a salad."

"I will, Mom. I'll see you tonight. Love you!"

"I love you, too. Have fun and be safe." Disconnecting the call, Miranda taps her chin with the arm of her glasses. Although her first reaction is to call Caroline back and demand to know her location, Miranda firmly squashes those feelings. Her daughter has gone to great lengths to cover up where she is.

Caroline has never lied to her before. Miranda has always been able to read her children easily. She cannot help but wonder why her daughter has felt the need to lie about the workshop. Miranda would do anything to make her children happy. They know that.

Don't they?

Five years ago, the answer might have been no. However, Miranda finds it hard to believe that all the efforts she has made since Stephen left, and since Andrea left, have been for naught.

Miranda cannot shake the nagging feeling that she is missing something. Caroline was so excited this morning, bouncing around like Emily on five cups of coffee. Miranda's lips curl at the thought.

Seeing her assistant hurry in with piping-hot coffee, Miranda makes a decision. "I am leaving at five today."

"O-Okay," she stutters. As she practically runs out of the room, Miranda can hear her muttering the names of people she will have to call to reschedule the evening appointments. Miranda isn't concerned. Caroline is much more important.

Although undeniably brilliant, Caroline is not well-versed in deception. For this, Miranda is grateful. Miranda's inclination is to believe that Caroline is going to some predetermined destination each day, somewhere that makes her daughter extremely excited.

Is it a boy? Miranda doesn't think so. But she isn't sure.

That bothers her.

She will simply have to compel Caroline to tell the truth.

The problem, Miranda acknowledges, is that Caroline and she are very much alike. Stubborn, driven, independent. To a fault. If Caroline has gotten it into her head that she must do this, whatever "this" is, alone, then Miranda will have to tread carefully.

Regardless, Miranda will find out what she needs to know. No one can prevent her from uncovering the truth. Not even herself.