Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren Weisberger

and tens of thousands of words later, she was able to launch her very own magazine, The Plunge, a beautiful glossy high-end book that was three years into the endeavor and, despite all predictions to the contrary, was actually making money. The Plunge was getting nominated for awards, and advertisers were clamoring. And now, in the midst of all her professional success, she was getting married! To Max Harrison, son of the late Robert Harrison and grandson of the legendary Arthur Harrison, who’d founded Harrison Publishing Holdings in the years right after the Great Depression and had built it into Harrison Media Holdings, one of the most prestigious and profitable companies in the United States. Max Harrison, long on the circuit of most eligible bachelors, a guy who’d dated the Tinsley Mortimers and Amanda Hearsts of New York City, and probably a fair number of their sisters, cousins, and friends, was her betrothed. There would be mayors and moguls in attendance that afternoon, just waiting to cheer on the young scion and his new bride. But the best part of all? She loved Max. He was her best friend. He doted on her and made her laugh and appreciated her work. Wasn’t it always true that men in New York weren’t ready until they were ready? Max had started talking marriage within months of their meeting. Three years later, here they were, on their wedding day. Andy reprimanded herself for wasting another second thinking about such a ridiculous dream and led Stanley back to her suite, where a small army of women had gathered in a nervous, twittering panic, apparently wondering if she’d fled the scene. There was a collective audible sigh of relief the moment she walked in; immediately Nina, her wedding planner, began issuing directives.

      The next few hours passed in a blur: a shower, a blowout, hot rollers, mascara, enough spackle foundation to smooth the complexion of a hormonal teenager. Someone tended to her toes while another fetched her undergarments and a third debated her lip color. Before she could even realize what was happening, her sister, Jill, was holding open Andy’s ivory gown, and a second later her mother was cinching the delicate fabric in the back and zipping Andy into it. Andy’s grandmother clucked delightedly. Lily cried. Emily sneaked a cigarette in the bridal suite bathroom, thinking no one would notice. Andy tried to soak it all in. And then she was alone. For just a few minutes before she was expected in the grand ballroom, everyone left her to get themselves ready, and Andy sat perched awkwardly on a tufted antique chair, trying not to wrinkle or ruin any inch of herself. In less than one hour she would be a married woman, committed for the rest of her life to Max, and he to her. It was almost too much to fathom.

      The suite’s phone rang. Max’s mother was on the other end.

      ‘Good morning, Barbara,’ Andy said as warmly as she could. Barbara Anne Williams Harrison, Daughter of the American Revolution, descendant of not one but two signers of the Constitution, perennial fixture on every charitable board that socially mattered in Manhattan. From her Oscar-Blandi-coiffed hair to her Chanel ballet flats, Barbara was always perfectly polite to Andy. Perfectly polite to everyone. But effusive she was not. Andy tried not to take it personally, and Max assured her it was all in her head. Perhaps in the early days Barbara had thought Andy was another of her son’s passing phases? Then Andy convinced herself Barbara’s acquaintance with Miranda had poisoned any hope of bonding with her mother-in-law. Eventually Andy realized it was just Barbara’s way – she was coolly polite to everyone, even her own daughter. She couldn’t imagine ever calling that woman ‘Mom.’ Not that she’d been invited to …

      ‘Hello, Andrea. I just realized I never actually gave you the necklace. I was racing so frantically this morning trying to get everything organized that I ended up late for hair and makeup! I’m calling to let you know that it’s in a velvet box in Max’s room, tucked into the side pocket of that vile duffel bag of his. I didn’t want the staff to see it lying about. Perhaps you’ll be more successful in persuading him to carry something more dignified? Lord knows I’ve tried a thousand times, but he simply won’t—’

      ‘Thanks, Barbara. I’ll go get it right now.’

      ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ the woman trilled sharply. ‘You simply cannot see each other before the ceremony – it’s bad luck. Send your mother or Nina. Anyone else. All right?’

      ‘Of course,’ Andy said. She hung up the phone and headed into the hallway. She’d learned early on that it was easier to agree with Barbara and then go on to do what she pleased; arguing got her nowhere. Which is exactly why she was wearing a Harrison family heirloom as her ‘something old’ instead of something from her own relatives: Barbara had insisted. Six generations of Harrisons had included that necklace in their weddings, and Andy and Max would, too.

      Max’s suite door was slightly ajar, and she could hear the shower running in the bathroom when she stepped inside. Classic, she thought. I’ve been getting ready for the last five hours and he’s just now getting in the shower.

      ‘Max? It’s me. Don’t come out!’

      ‘Andy? What are you doing here?’ Max’s voice called through the bathroom door.

      ‘I’m just getting your mom’s necklace. Don’t come out, okay? I don’t want you to see me in my dress.’

      Andy rummaged around in the bag’s front pocket. She didn’t feel a velvet box but her hands closed around a folded paper.

      It was a piece of cream-colored stationery, heavyweight and engraved with Barbara’s initials, BHW, in a navy script monogram. Andy knew Barbara helped keep Dempsey & Carroll in business with the amount of stationery she bought; she had been using the same design for birthday greetings, thank-you notes, dinner invitations, and condolence wishes for four decades. She was old-fashioned and formal and would rather have died than send someone a gauche e-mail or – horror! – a text message. It made perfect sense that she would send her son a traditional handwritten letter on his wedding day. Andy was just about to refold it and return it when her own name caught her eye. Before she could even consider what she was doing, Andy began to read.

       Dear Maxwell,

       While you know I do my best to allow you your privacy, I can no longer hold my tongue on matters of such importance. I have mentioned my concerns to you before, and you have always pledged to consider them. Now, however, due to the imminence of your upcoming wedding, I feel I can wait no longer to speak my mind plainly and forthrightly:

       I beseech you, Maxwell. Please do not marry Andrea.

       Do not misunderstand me. Andrea is pleasant, and she will undoubtedly make someone an agreeable wife one day. But you, my darling, deserve so much more! You must be with a girl from the right family, not a broken family where all she knows is heartache and divorce. A girl who understands our traditions, our way of life. Someone who will help shepherd the Harrison name into the next generation. Most important, a partner who wants to put you and your children ahead of her own selfish career aspirations. You must think carefully about this: do you want your wife editing magazines and taking business trips, or do you desire someone who puts others first and embraces the philanthropic interests of the Harrison line? Don’t you desire a partner who cares more about supporting your family than furthering her own ambitions?

       I told you I thought your unexpected get-together with Katherine in Bermuda was a sign. Oh, how delighted you sounded to see her again! Please, do not discount those feelings. Nothing is decided yet – it is not too late. It is clear you’ve always adored Katherine, and it is even more clear she would make a wonderful life partner.

       You always make me so proud, and I know your father is looking down on us and rooting for you to do the right thing.

       All my love, Mother

      She heard the water turn off and, startled, dropped the note to the floor. When she scrambled to pick it up, she noticed her hands were shaking.

      ‘Andy? You still here?’ he called from behind the door.

      ‘Yes, I’m … wait, I’m just going,’ she managed to say.

      ‘Did you find it?’

      She paused, unsure of the right answer. It felt like all the oxygen had been