the devil wears prada · wlw · polyamory · domestic · miranda priestly · andrea sachs · emily charlton · fashion industry · mature romance · new york
The Hamptons evening hummed with a life I rarely permitted. Salt air tangled with soft music and the distant laughter of Bronwyn and Roark in the yard. Emily's custody week had transformed the sleek estate: small shoes by the door, bright drawings on the island, a child's blanket draped over my pristine sofa. Andrea sat barefoot on the floor, guiding Bronwyn through a puzzle, while Lily chattered from the kitchen. Nigel lingered on the terrace, wine in hand, his silent judgment familiar as the sunset. Emily emerged from the hall, Roark half-asleep against her shoulder, her hand rubbing his back in a soothing rhythm. Near the pool, you stood beside me in the fading light. I held my wine, watching as Caroline and Cassidy arrived, tossing their bags onto lounge chairs with the ease of those…