29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug, nor am I responsible for any medical conditions that may come about or worsen as a result of this chapter.

Lucky Us

By: Princess Kitty1

Chapter 29

Somehow, Marinette made it into one of the cars transporting guests from the competition venue to the club where the after party would be held. She guessed it had something to do with Henry and Alexa, who had changed out of her designs and into regular clothes, and now flanked her protectively, each holding one of her hands.

Her designs would be taken back to Agreste HQ, where they could be claimed the following day at any time. Marinette planned to go during the bakery's usual post-lunch lull in customers. She'd bring home the dress and suit, safe in their complimentary Gabriel Agreste garment bags, and she'd put them… somewhere. She wasn't sure where. A large part of her never wanted to see them again. Another part of her, fighting to be heard over the negative voices in her head, shouted at her to quit being such a coward.

On her lap, her phone lit up. A text from Alya. Marinette extracted her hand from Henry's and unlocked her screen.

Alya Cesaire: Just got to the club. Will be waiting by the door.

There were other messages: texts from her employees, cursing Gabriel Agreste and flooding Marinette with love and support. Facebook and Twitter notifications kept coming in, likely messages of a similar nature.

But there were no new emails, and there hadn't been in the past hour.

Marinette turned her phone off.

When the car reached the club, she spotted Alya immediately, standing beside the door as promised. "You two can go ahead," Marinette said to Henry and Alexa, "that's my best friend right there."

Henry hesitated, then gave her a hug. "We'll see you inside, okay?"

Marinette nodded. She let them get out of the car first, then slipped her phone into her purse and followed. She wouldn't check for anymore emails. She couldn't. The silence hurt too much.

She hadn't taken more than two steps before Alya all but tackled her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and squeezing. "Oh Marinette," she whispered, "I don't even know what to say."

Marinette let herself be held. What was there to say? She'd worked hard, she'd tried her best, and she'd lost. Plain and simple. She had nothing to regret.

Alya pulled away from her. "How's Adrien taking the Ladybug thing?"

Marinette flinched at the mention of his name. She thought of Adrien onstage, handing the winner's bouquet to Noemie Chapuis, kissing her on the cheek and congratulating her before making a swift exit. He hadn't spared Marinette a single glance. He'd simply darted into the crowd and vanished.

"I don't know," she said. "He won't talk to me." Her throat tightened. "He won't even look at me."

Alya's eyes widened. "Marinette—"

"But it's fine," she interrupted her. "It's fine. I am very tired, and I have a bakery to open tomorrow, and there's probably going to be a thousand people there so I need to have my head in the game." She gestured towards the club. "I'll just find Monsieur Agreste and thank him for the opportunity, then go home. If Adrien doesn't want to talk to me, I won't force him to."

She tried to walk away, but Alya grabbed her arm. "Wait," she said. "Forget about Adrien for a second. You didn't come this far to give up and go back to baking. So you lost one competition. Big deal! That doesn't mean you aren't a great designer, and it sure as hell doesn't mean you're doomed to fail."

Marinette lowered her head. "I know that."

"Do you really?"

"Let me go, Alya. I'm tired."

"Because I don't want you walking up to Gabriel Agreste looking like a dog with its tail between its legs. You heard what he said up on that stage. All of you deserved to win. That means he thinks you're something special, and so does whichever designer picked you for the finals, and so do I, and so do your parents and your friends and everyone out there who saw your work and hoped you would win," Alya cried. "Now I can't tell you what the hell Adrien is thinking, but I know for a fact he was cheering for you too."

Marinette stared at the sidewalk through tears. In her mind, she saw Adrien outside the movie theater, admiring her outfit and asking if she'd considered entering his father's competition. She saw him raising his glass in a toast to Marinette Dupain-Cheng: fashion designer. She saw every encouraging word Chat Noir had ever sent her.

And she saw him running away from her.

"Marinette?"

She faced Alya and wiped her eyes. "You're right," she said. "Monsieur Agreste may not have chosen me for the internship, but that doesn't give me an excuse to act like a loser in front of him."

And neither did Adrien's silence.

Marinette had already wasted too much of her time moping in the past. She'd let her superstitions about bad luck get in the way of her yo-yoing, which she loved. She'd let Nathanael's rejection destroy her confidence in romance, something she'd always wanted. Would she let the outcome of one competition put an end to her dream of becoming a fashion designer?

There would be other competitions.

And as much as it hurt to think, there would be other guys.

Marinette looped her arm through Alya's and pulled her towards the club's entrance. "Come on," she said. "I've got a designer to thank."

x.x.x

Adrien moved on autopilot. He shook hands, replied to questions he couldn't remember, and laughed at jokes he hadn't really heard. He stopped to pose for photographs. He even took a selfie with a fan.

And all the while, he couldn't get the words out of his head:

The Luck Collection, by designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He'd lost track of Chloe in the crowd. He may or may not have done so on purpose. He didn't want to talk to her, or Nino, or his father, or anyone. If he'd had his way, the limousine that took him from the competition venue to the after party would have driven him straight home instead. The quiet of the mansion may have depressed him most days, but it was preferable to the lights and the noise and the faces and the sheer effort of having to be a put-together human being when Marinette was Ladybug and nothing made sense anymore.

After verifying the VIP guest list with the club's bouncer, Adrien walked inside and headed straight to the restroom. He stopped at the first sink, twisted the faucet, checked the water to make sure it was cold enough, then splashed it on his face. When that didn't get rid of his shock, he did it a second time. A third. A fourth. The fifth time, he began to come to his senses.

Marinette was Ladybug.

Okay, fine.

Marinette was Ladybug and she'd known that he was Chat Noir and she hadn't told him.

He splashed more water on his face and started over.

Marinette was Ladybug. The girl he'd been emailing for more than a year had been right across the bakery counter from him the whole time. And she knew that he was Chat Noir. She'd said so in her email. She'd been in his bedroom. She'd seen his cat.

And she hadn't told him.

Why?

Adrien paced back and forth in front of the bathroom sinks.

Why? Why? Why?

Hadn't she known how much he wanted to meet her? Hadn't she known how much he cared about her? Hadn't she said that he was one of her best friends? Why keep her identity a secret from him? Why play with his feelings like that? What was she after?

He grabbed a paper towel and wiped the water off his face.

To get into the competition?

No. If it hadn't been for his meddling, there wouldn't have even been a competition that year. That didn't make any sense, but neither did Marinette knowing he was Chat Noir and not saying anything to him.

Was she after his father?

She couldn't be. If that was the case, Ladybug would have told him to go to the bakery months before he stepped foot in it the first time. Marinette would have talked to him sooner. It had taken a year to have a conversation with her that didn't involve pastries.

A person with a scheme would not wait that long to enact a scheme.

Nor would they reveal themselves to him once the scheme had ended.

Because Marinette very well could have kept her identity a secret from him. She didn't have to send him her designs. She didn't even have to tell him Ladybug was in the competition. If all she'd wanted from him was to get into the competition, she could have stopped talking to him the moment the finalists were announced.

But she kept talking to him. She emailed him her final designs so that when the time came, there would be no mistaking her for anyone else.

She'd done all that because she wanted him to know who she was. She wanted him to look at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and see Ladybug.

So he closed his eyes, and he did just that.

He saw Ladybug hiding behind a bakery counter, all nervous smiles and stuttered words as she fumbled for the pastry he'd requested. He saw Ladybug sitting across from him, eating an éclair and talking about Jagged Stone. Ladybug enthusiastically agreeing to fake date him in order to get their best friends together. And there was Ladybug, holding his hand in a movie theater, trying to distract him from the zombies onscreen. Ladybug bragging about the chocolate torte she'd made. Kissing his cheek. Standing by her door, promising to cheer for him. It was Ladybug who'd called him so he could listen to Nino's concert from Chateau Margaux. It was Ladybug in the shirtdress with the red ribbon in her hair, beautiful enough to break his heart.

And it was Ladybug he'd run into in front of Notre Dame, crying her heart out in her pajamas because she was in love with her best friend and terrified of losing him.

Adrien opened his eyes.

That day, he'd sent Ladybug a picture of Notre Dame and told her he was going to ask Marinette on a date. Who did he find at Notre Dame? Marinette. Heartbroken and scared Marinette, crying such earnest tears, in love with a guy who had feelings for another woman.

I wanted to find him and tell him right away.

She'd been looking for Chat Noir.

Ladybug had been looking for Chat Noir.

Adrien remembered the way she'd seemed to stare right through him, how she hadn't even noticed him calling out to her until he grabbed her arm.

She wouldn't have reacted that way if she'd known he was Chat Noir.

Oh God, she hadn't known.

She'd run out of her house looking for someone she couldn't even recognize. And she'd found him. And she hadn't known.

Adrien swallowed past the lump in his throat. But if she hadn't known then…

The picture of Plagg on his phone. Of course. He remembered how she'd stared at it, how she'd momentarily gone silent before bringing it up, how she hadn't spoken or joked at all while he navigated to the gallery with the rest of the photos. And he had mistaken that for a normal reaction? He could have kicked himself.

She'd even stopped talking to him after that.

Have you ever lied to me?

She'd gone radio silent for an entire day because she thought he was lying to her. But she must have realized he wasn't at some point.

Her birthday. He'd left her alone in his bedroom with the very letter she'd written to him for their friendship anniversary. She'd stared at him like she wanted something from him—oh yes, he definitely hadn't imagined that. Then she'd held onto his arm all the way to Nino's apartment. She'd emailed him during the party. She'd invited him into her house afterward.

Because she knew. She'd probably been trying to tell him that very evening, but she hadn't gotten the chance, and the next day she'd found out she was a finalist in the competition.

Adrien choked out a laugh. The unbearable pain in his chest faded, and he had to laugh again because Marinette—shy and beautiful and funny and smart and talented and clever and witty and unbelievable Marinette—was Ladybug.

Ladybug worked in sales as a baker. Marinette had lost all her confidence after being rejected by her boyfriend. Ladybug had blue eyes and adorable freckles and blushed like it was no one's business. Marinette had called spraining her wrist before a yo-yo championship the second greatest disappointment of her life. Ladybug liked Jagged Stone and wanted a pet hamster. Marinette had written Adrien a letter, bought him lunch, and sent him to a café where the staff wore her designs.

And Ladybug…

He's impossibly handsome and out of my league.

Ladybug was…

And he's my best friend and I don't want to lose that friendship over something like this.

Marinette was…

You're one of my best friends, Chat Noir. I love what we have now. I don't want to lose this.

Adrien's eyes widened.

I'm so afraid of losing him.

"Shit," Adrien hissed. He threw the wadded-up paper towel into the garbage and ran for the door. "Shit, shit, shit!"

x.x.x

The club was so packed that Marinette had to edge her way around a crowd of dancing bodies to reach the VIP lounges on the other side. She spotted Gabriel Agreste standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of stoic and straight-laced, and envied his ability to not look out of place in the lively nightclub. She strengthened her resolve. Thank him and leave. Thank him and leave.

"Monsieur Agreste," she said, and he turned his head towards her.

"Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. It's good to see you."

Marinette held her hand out to him. He looked at it in mild surprise. "I wanted to thank you. For this opportunity. Your judgment was fair and I believe Noemie's designs really were the best of the evening."

Monsieur Agreste studied her for a moment, then shook her hand. "I was very impressed with your designs as well," he said. "Nathalie told me about the accident you had the other day. It could not have been easy putting together two runway-ready outfits with an injured hand."

"If I couldn't do that much, I wouldn't have deserved my place in the finals," Marinette said.

In the dim lighting, she caught the faintest hint of a smile on Gabriel's face. "Do you have a moment? There is someone here who would like to speak with you."

At first, she thought he might be talking about Adrien, and her heart leaped into her throat as he guided her towards the VIP lounge. But the only people inside the neon-lit lounge were designers. Fashion designers. Marinette's eyes widened. Some of the most famous names in fashion sat around the VIP table, holding drinks, scrutinizing her as Gabriel led her forward: Jose De La Cruz. Madame Gusteau. Cristine. Lupe Moreno, and others that she had practically worshipped as a child.

"Oh, is this the young lady who designed the ladybug and black cat eveningwear?" the silver-haired Cristine cooed.

"Fine work, darling. And with a hand injury, no less," Edgar Ills said. "I couldn't have done it. I'm far too much of a baby."

Heat filled Marinette's cheeks. She didn't know whether to faint or cry or thank them or perform a combination of the three, preferably in the right order. But it was a shorter man in his mid-sixties who rose from the table to greet her: Gianmarco Leuzzi, the powerhouse of the Italian fashion scene.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he said, as warmly as if he'd known her his entire life. He clasped her hand in both of his. "My champion. How good it is to meet you at last! This tasteless Gabriel has broken your heart, no doubt, but try not to hold it against him. He has his reasons."

Gabriel reached for a champagne glass. "I can find someone else for my judge's panel next year," he said.

"You wish you could find someone else," Monsieur Leuzzi boomed. He gestured towards the entrance of the lounge. "Come, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. I will speak with you away from these vultures."

Marinette, who no longer understood what was happening, offered the table a quick bow of the head. "It was nice meeting you all," she said, though she hadn't really met any of them. She hurried after Monsieur Leuzzi, who walked ahead with the assurance of someone who knew he would be followed no matter what.

"By now you have guessed that I was the one who chose you for the finals, yes?" he said.

Marinette nodded. "Yes, monsieur. It's a huge honor. I've admired your work for as long as I can remember."

Monsieur Leuzzi preened a bit at that. "It is because you have good taste. With one look at your work, I could tell. 'She is talented, this one!' I said to myself. 'She will go far!' You understand?"

Marinette nodded again. She wished she could will herself to do something other than nod. Like speak, maybe. Speaking was good. But how could she form words when the greatest fashion designer in Italy had just complimented her work?

Monsieur Leuzzi stopped at the threshold of the VIP lounge and turned to face her. "In fact, I thought to myself, 'if that fool Gabriel makes the mistake of choosing anyone else, I will snatch this girl right out of his hands.' Lucky me!" he cried. "Did you know, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, the benefit of earning top ten in this competition? All of us"—he waved at the table they'd left behind—"notice all of you. Make a good impression, we remember you for a long time. And you have impressed me, young lady."

Marinette stopped herself from nodding a third time. "I'm incredibly happy to hear that, monsieur," she said.

He beamed at her. "So! Here is what I will do," he said, and removed a business card from his suit pocket. "You take some time, yes? Because other vultures will come after you now, and ultimately it is your choice to make. But you put together your absolute best—portfolio and cover letter. Send it to this email address." He pressed the card into Marinette's hand. "My secretary will forward it to me, and I will see about finding you a place in Milan." Then he clasped her hand in his again. "You are a remarkable young woman, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. But I can make you a goddess."

Marinette stared at the business card. Then she looked into Monsieur Leuzzi's happy face and realized what he was offering her and she had to restrain herself from hugging him and maybe screaming and crying like a lunatic. "Thank you so very much," she said. "I'll send you my finest work! Ah, but it might take a few days—my mother and father are abroad right now and if I'm going to leave Paris I'd really like to discuss it with them first."

"You are a family-minded girl! I like that. Yes, by all means, take your time. But do not keep me waiting forever," Monsieur Leuzzi said.

"I won't." Marinette took a step away from. "Thank you again. Thank you so much, Monsieur Leuzzi. It's an honor to meet you."

He turned back towards the VIP table. "Likewise, my dear!"

Marinette managed to stumble a few steps towards the dancing crowd before it dawned on her that she had no idea where she was going or who she was looking for or who she even was. She looked down at the business card to make sure it wasn't a figment of her imagination, and then she stamped her feet on the floor in pure joy.

Gianmarco Leuzzi wanted to work with her.

She needed to find Alya.

x.x.x

Adrien pushed and pardoned his way through a wall of dancers and nearly tripped over Alya Cesaire, who stood close to the edge of the stage. She squawked in surprise when she saw him, then cried out again when he grabbed her by the shoulders without warning. "Have you seen Marinette?" he shouted over the music.

Alya scowled. "That depends. What do you need her for?"

"I have to talk to her," Adrien said. He looked around the area as if speaking about Marinette would make her magically appear. "It's important!"

"Oh, it sure as hell better be," Alya yelled. "What were you thinking, running off on her like that? Do you have any idea how terrified she was to tell you she was Ladybug?"

"Did literally everyone know about this except me?" Adrien shouted.

Alya glared at him a moment longer, then sighed. "She went to talk to your father. You'd better find her quick, though. She's planning to go home after that."

Adrien's heart dropped into his stomach. "Thanks," he said, then he pushed and pardoned his way through the crowd again. If only he hadn't dropped his phone. One email and he could tell her to meet him somewhere. One email and he could apologize for scaring her. One email could accomplish so much and his screen had been reduced to an unresponsive spider web of cracks.

He could find Nathalie, borrow her tablet and sign into his inbox and message Marinette that way.

But first he would check with his father. She couldn't have gone that far.

x.x.x

Marinette saw Alya standing near the edge of the stage and ducked around several dancers to reach her. "Alya!" she cried.

Alya turned around, eyes wide. "Hey!" She pointed off in another direction. "Did you—?"

Marinette grabbed her by the shoulders. "You will not believe what just happened to me!"

"Why's everybody manhandling me tonight?" Alya cried.

"Gianmarco Leuzzi offered me an internship," Marinette shouted before Alya could get another word in. Her best friend's jaw dropped.

"He did?" she screamed, and then they both hugged each other and laughed and jumped in circles. "Girl, what did I tell you? Marinette Dupain-Cheng is off to conquer the freaking fashion world!" Alya said. She abruptly stopped jumping and disentangled herself from the embrace. "You'll have to tell me all about later, though. Adrien's looking for you."

The smile slipped off Marinette's face. "What?"

"He was here like two minutes ago. I sent him towards the VIP lounge because I thought that's where you were!"

Marinette looked back in the direction she'd come from. All she saw were dancers and darkness. She'd thought her heart couldn't beat any faster, but it quickly proved her wrong. Adrien was looking for her. Adrien was looking for her. "Oh," she said. "Oh geez. Alya, what do I do?"

"What do you mean, what do you do? Go after him!"

Right. Go after him. That was the logical thing to do. Go after Adrien. He wanted to see her. "Okay," she said. "Okay. I'll text you when I find him."

"Hurry!" Alya yelled as Marinette began to fight her way through the crowd again.

x.x.x

Adrien burst into the VIP lounge, startling Gabriel and his designer friends. "Has anyone seen Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" he asked.

Cristine hid a smile behind her hand. Madame Gusteau shook her head and chuckled into her champagne. But it was Gianmarco Leuzzi who actually bothered to speak. "I saw her off ten minutes ago," he said.

Adrien's face fell. "Did she go home?"

Gabriel stood from the table and set his champagne glass down. "What is the meaning of this, Adrien?"

"I need to talk to Marinette about something." Adrien looked over his shoulder towards the stage. The stage. With DJ Bubbler performing, he could go up and get a better view of the entire club. He turned back to his father. "Listen, I may step out for a while, and my phone is broken, so…"

Gabriel stared at him the way that he used to before turning down one of his requests. Adrien pleaded with his eyes. He'd sink to his knees and beg in front of all those designers if he had to. His dignity was a small sacrifice to make.

Gabriel's expression softened. "Be back before midnight," he said finally.

Adrien grinned. "Thanks Dad!" he cried, and he took off towards the crowded again.

How to get a message to Marinette without his phone? Too many people blocked the most direct route to the stage, so Adrien stuck to the perimeter until he reached the stairs, all the while keeping an eye out for Marinette. No black and gold jumpsuit anywhere in sight. He couldn't find Nathalie, either. Desperate, he climbed onto the stage, hiding just out of sight while he scanned the crowd.

He needed something, anything that would get Marinette's attention. Preferably without making a spectacle of himself in front of his father, his father's friends, the competition's sponsors, and all the other important people in the club that night.

An idea struck him.

Up ahead, Nino stood at the sound booth, engrossed in the music. When Adrien tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped almost three feet in the air. "Dude! What—?"

"I need you to do me favor," Adrien said.

x.x.x

Marinette got as close to the VIP lounge as she could without drawing attention to herself. She'd made a good impression on the A-list designers and she would not mess that up by letting them see her and think she was a stalker. But a quick headcount of the people inside revealed no Adrien among them, and she faced the crowd, wondering where he could have gone.

Her eyes darted upwards. The nightclub had a balcony; shadowy figures moved with the beat of the music overhead. Had Adrien gone up there to get a better view of the room? Marinette excused her way towards the nearest staircase. She didn't like the idea of climbing up a flight of stairs in three-inch heels, but what choice did she have? The music faded as she crossed the room, the brief pause in dancing giving her a reprieve from dodging people's limbs.

But the moment she put her hand on the staircase rail, a new song began to play. One that made her freeze in her tracks, not just because the slow, jazzy beat was completely different from Nino's set, but because Marinette recognized the song. She'd had it stuck in her head for days a couple of weeks ago.

"I got a gal who's always late, anytime we have a date, but I love her… yes I love her..."

A chill ran down her spine despite the heat of the crowded room.

"I'm gonna walk right up to her gate, and see if I can get it straight, 'cuz I want her… I'm gonna ask her…"

She felt Chat Noir in every note of the song.

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby? The way you're actin' lately makes me doubt. Yooouse is still my baby, baby. Seems my flame in your heart's done gone out."

Marinette took her foot off the stairs and turned around. Some of the dancers had abandoned the floor to get drinks, but most had stayed, and now Marinette faced a sea of couples, holding each other and swaying to the music. She walked towards them. If the song was Adrien's doing, he couldn't have been too far away.

"A woman is a creature that has always been strange… just when you're sure of one, you find she's gone and made a change… Is you is or is you ain't my baby? Maybe baby's found somebody new… or is my baby still my baby true?"

Marinette's eyes scanned every face in the crowd as she moved. He wasn't on stage. He wasn't where she'd left Alya. He wasn't in the VIP lounge or on the balcony. She stopped walking. Turned her head to the left.

And there stood Adrien at the edge of the crowd, staring straight at her.

The same thrill of panic and excitement that she'd experienced earlier that evening surged through her body with renewed strength. Adrien's eyes held hers captive. She couldn't look away. She didn't want to look away.

Because for the first time since they met, he was truly seeing her.

He took a step forward.

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby? Maybe baby's found somebody new… or is my baby still my baby true?"

Marinette held her ground. She fidgeted with her purse and shifted her weight to her other foot, but she didn't take her eyes off Adrien, and he didn't take his eyes off her. He stepped around the swaying couples until he stood before her and she had to tilt her head up to maintain the eye contact. And in the brief silence between the end of the song and the beginning of the next, he spoke one word.

"Ladybug."

Warmth bloomed in Marinette's chest. If her heart could have floated right out of her body and into his hands, it would have.

"Hello, Chat Noir," she replied.

She had imagined how he might smile when she first said that to him. Her imagination paled in comparison to the real thing. It was like watching the sun rise on a cold winter morning: his shoulders fell, his mouth stretched wide, his eyes practically glittered. And then he laughed. Helplessly. Adorably. He doubled over with the force of it, and Marinette couldn't help but join in. She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling and silently thanking the darkness for hiding her blush because she couldn't have gone redder if she tried.

Eventually, Adrien managed to contain himself, but his eyes still shone with mirth when he looked at her. Marinette tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"This is a great party," she said over the music, which had started up again at full volume.

"Thanks," Adrien said. "I planned it."

They grinned at each other. Marinette waved her hand in the direction of the door. "I mean, it's a great party, but I have to go. The bakery reopens tomorrow and I have to be up at five…"

"Oh!" Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. I almost forgot about that."

Marinette tapped her heel against the dance floor. "But," she said, "I don't feel very comfortable walking all the way across town by myself. It's pretty late, and I'm pretty tired…"

"And there are a bunch of weirdos out there," Adrien added.

"Yes. Exactly. And you Agrestes have been so gracious and accommodating this week. I don't suppose you could spare someone to escort me home?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and put on an expression of deep thought. "I believe all of our usual people are busy right now," he said. "But if you don't mind my company, I would be more than happy to see you safely back to the bakery."

"If it isn't too much trouble," Marinette said, making sure to sound extra concerned over the possibility of inconveniencing him.

"It's no trouble at all," Adrien replied. He motioned for her to walk on in front of him. "Lead the way."

She led the way.

She tried not to be hyperaware of Adrien's presence behind her and failed spectacularly. There might as well have been no one else in the club. All those bodies pressed around her and the only one she could sense was Adrien's, just out of her reach.

The crowd thinned as they approached the door, and once they stepped out into the summer night Marinette slowed down so that Adrien could walk along beside her. For one whole block, neither of them said anything. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She snuck a glance at him, but he looked forward, his expression neutral. She looked ahead as well.

It wasn't until they reached a crosswalk that Adrien spoke. "I'm sorry about the competition."

Marinette kept her eyes on the traffic signal. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"If I hadn't invited you into my house…"

"What, I would have won?" She threw a playful smile at him. "Noemie had the better designs. Not everything has to be your fault, chaton," she said. Then the signal changed, and she stepped out into the street, leaving behind a surprised Adrien. He followed a moment later.

"I'm not trying to say that everything is my fault—"

"Oh really?"

"—just that this particular thing may have been my fault." He caught up to her again. "I was the one who told my father that I… that we were…" He trailed off and waved his hand in a circular motion.

"Friends?" Marinette guessed.

He dropped his hand. "Friends. Right."

She knew that wasn't what he meant, but she felt an impish desire to make him sweat a little. He had run away from her, after all. She stretched her arms over her head. "Well," she said, "the competition wasn't a complete bust. Gianmarco Leuzzi made me an offer I couldn't dream of refusing."

Adrien stepped in front of her. She stopped walking. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She studied her fingernails. "I mean he wants me to go work for him." She hesitated. "In Milan."

She looked up in time to see Adrien's face go slack as the reality of her words dawned on him. "Milan," he whispered. Then he put on a determined frown. "You're going, right?"

"I don't know," Marinette said. "I have to talk to my parents about it. The bakery is more popular than ever, and even though I'm sure they'd be able to handle it just fine without me, it's still a major change, and there will be moving expenses and they'll probably want to go with me to help me get adjusted…" She bounced up and down on her toes. "But if Monsieur Leuzzi likes my work, I'm not going to say no to him."

"Of course you aren't!" Adrien cried, and before Marinette could react he'd thrown his arms around her and lifted her right off the ground. She dropped her purse in surprise.

"Adrien!" she squeaked.

"I'm so happy for you!" he said without a shred of remorse. He set her back down gently, an enormous smile on his face. "You've earned it. You know that, right?"

Marinette, still giddy from the hug, did not let go of him. She didn't feel like letting go of him. Instead, she leaned closer, held onto the open ends of his blazer and hid her face in his chest. "But we just found each other," she whined. "It's not fair."

Adrien remained perfectly motionless. And then one of his hands slid up her back to rest at the nape of her neck, and his thumb caressed her bare skin, and she shivered at the light touch. "I know," he said.

Marinette lifted her head and found herself almost nose to nose with him. Her grip on his blazer tightened. He leaned in towards her. She tilted her head ever so slightly…

…and a wolf whistle pierced the night, causing them both to jump away from each other. She'd forgotten that they were on a public sidewalk. And public sidewalks were full of nosy pedestrians.

Adrien glared at the whistler across the street, then cleared his throat. He picked up Marinette's purse and handed it to her. "You dropped this."

"I sure did," Marinette said. But when he met her gaze again, the playfulness took hold of her and she winked at him before turning on her heel and starting down the street. He caught up to her in a few bounds.

"So, Milan," he drawled. "That means you'll have to learn Italian."

"Oh yeah. I can't be wandering around a foreign country without knowing the language," Marinette said. "Have you ever been to Italy?"

"A few times. It's a nice place."

"I bet you know more Italian than I do."

Adrien hummed thoughtfully. "I can say a few phrases. Things like 'where is the restroom' and 'sorry I don't speak Italian.' Ah, and thanks to one of my old photographers, I know more than my fair share of Italian profanity."

"Let me guess: Is it the guy with the weird spaghetti obsession?" Marinette asked.

"The very same."

She laughed as she imagined a younger Adrien trying to follow the photographer's instructions, picking up some swear words along the way. Then it occurred to her that she didn't know much about Adrien's childhood, and her curiosity took over. "So you did a lot of teen modeling, then?"

"I did. It's one of the prerequisites for supermodel, you know."

"There are prerequisites for supermodel?"

Adrien nodded, his expression as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Height and weight are the most obvious. If you don't meet those standards, you can't even apply for the program."

"I see."

"From there you need eighteen credit hours of juvenile modeling. The rest of your credits are made up of model conduct lessons. For example, how to be better than everyone around you, how to look good from every angle, how not to get glitter on everything, nightclub dance theory…"

Marinette whacked him with her purse. "You are so full of crap!"

Adrien laughed. "I told you you'd be impressed by my bullshitting abilities."

"I am so not impressed," she said.

"You're impressed, buginette. It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

Heat rushed to Marinette's face at the term of endearment. "P-Please. Who'd be impressed by you, stupid cat?"

"You, apparently." Adrien smirked at her.

"Oh yes, because there's so much to be impressed with." She lifted the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically. "Ooh, I'm Chat Noir! I banged my elbow against the door and now I'm dying! I've been waking up at six in the morning every day for five years and I still have the nerve to complain about it! Hashtag boohoo, hashtag first world problems."

Adrien made a noise of indignation. "Oh, is that how it's going to be?" He brought both hands up over his heart. "I'm Ladybug! I'm an extremely talented baker and an amazing fashion designer! Gianmarco Leuzzi and Jagged Stone and Paris's sweetheart Adrien Agreste adore me, but I still don't think I'm special!"

"Those aren't insults," Marinette pointed out.

"Probably because insulting you wasn't on my list of things to do when we met," Adrien said, then pursed his lips together and looked away.

Marinette nudged him with her elbow. "You had a list?" she asked, and had the pleasure of seeing his face screw up with embarrassment.

"Maybe," he said. "But most of it went out the window when I realized you were you."

They came up on another traffic signal and stopped to wait for it. Marinette moved in front of him. "Come on, you shouldn't let my identity get in the way of whatever it is you wanted to do."

"Fine." He held his hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Ladybug. I'm Adrien Agreste."

Marinette shook it. "It's nice to meet you too, Chat Noir. I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

The traffic signal changed. Adrien let go of her hand, but offered her his arm, and Marinette happily accepted it. They crossed the street together. Notre Dame stood two blocks ahead, and the bakery waited just beyond the river.

"What else was on your list?" she asked after a peaceful silence.

"Congratulating you on making the top ten in the competition, which I've already done," Adrien said. "Then I was supposed to tell you how much fun I've had emailing you this past year, and how you've been this huge, positive force in my life, and that some days your emails were the only thing I had to look forward to. Thankfully, that isn't the case anymore, but you got me through a lot of bad days."

Marinette leaned her head against his shoulder. "The feeling is mutual, chaton. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Oh. Shit. That reminds me." Adrien's hand went into his blazer pocket. A moment later, he withdrew his cell phone and pressed the home button, illuminating a cracked and fuzzy screen that didn't respond to his touch. "I dropped it during the show earlier," he said. "Otherwise I would have emailed you the moment I got my head together." He gave Marinette a look of genuine regret. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

Marinette tapped the unresponsive screen. "So you're the culprit, then," she said to it. She pulled her own phone out of her purse, remembered it was off, and switched it on. Within seconds her social media, email, and text message apps were flooded with notifications. "I forgot I promised Alya I'd tell her when I found you."

Sure enough, she had two texts from Alya, the first one normal, the second one not so much:

Alya Cesaire: Did you find him yet?

Alya Cesaire: I'm going to take your silence as a yes. GET IT GIRL

Marinette closed the message and prayed that Adrien hadn't seen it, but one look at his innocent little smile told her that he had.

He motioned for the phone. "May I?"

Marinette handed it over and watched as he opened her email inbox and typed Chat Noir into the search bar. A row of email threads appeared, from "Summer"all the way back to "Meeting Time", the very first.

"You didn't delete any of them," he said.

Marinette shrugged. "Why would I?"

Adrien gave the phone back to her. "I don't know. Why would you keep emails from a random stranger?"

"Because they're important to me." She slipped her phone into her purse and laid her head on his shoulder again. "You're important to me," she added, much quieter. "I just never really thought about how important until you told me you had a crush on some random girl and I got all huffy and mad."

"That random girl was you, by the way," Adrien said.

Marinette whacked his arm. "I know that now!"

They had reached Notre Dame, and Adrien swept his arm towards the cathedral. "So you ran all the way out here to stop me from asking you on a date. And you succeeded! And ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped all over it in the process."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I dumped you for you."

"God, I hate that guy."

Marinette snorted. "Shut up!" she cried.

"Sorry buginette, but if you thought I was bad over email, I'm even worse in purr-son."

She let go of his arm. "That's it. I draw the line at puns," she said, and started walking faster to get away from him.

Adrien matched her pace. "Oh come on, you love my puns."

"Your puns are terrible."

"But you still love them," he said. "They are one of the many quirks that you find endearing about me. I'm even willing to bet that they're your favorite thing about me."

Marinette turned her head to the side to hide her smile. She hated that he was right. "Cat puns," she said. "Who even takes that much time to come up with so many cat puns?"

"Bored supermodels with secret identities," Adrien replied. "But if it annoys you, I'll stop."

Marinette gave him a dirty look. If she told him not to stop, then she admitted she liked his puns, but if she didn't tell him not to stop, he might go through with it. Thankfully, he seemed to interpret her glare just fine.

"I won't stop," he said.

"And I'll learn to live with it," she said.

And then they were at her door. She stared at the dark bakery, took a deep breath, and turned to face Adrien. "Would you like to come in for a few minutes?" she asked, relieved that her voice didn't waver. "You were kind enough to walk me all this way. The least I can do is offer you a drink."

He smiled. "Sure. It's not like I have anywhere important to be."

Marinette rolled her eyes and reached into her purse for her keys. She would have argued that the party he'd spent a month planning was an important place to be, but knowing her Chat Noir, he'd come up with a ridiculous counterargument and stick to it until she let him win. She unlocked the bakery door and stepped inside, then switched on the lights.

And gasped.

A banner hung across the back wall reading We love you Marinette! in bright pink paint. On the counter were several flower bouquets, cards, and boxes of candy. She walked over and picked up one of the cards. It was from Olivier, and declared Gabriel Agreste a tasteless good-for-nothing who wouldn't be able to tell a brilliant design if it kicked him in the crotch. The other cards were full of similar abuse and encouragement from all her employees. She reminded herself to tell them the good news first thing in the morning.

"Somebody's popular," Adrien said.

Marinette stuck one of the flower bouquets into the crook of her arm. "I have very enthusiastic employees," she said. Three bouquets remained. Even without the stitches in her left hand, she wouldn't have been able to carry everything. She looked at Adrien. "Can you help me take these upstairs? I can come back for the banner later."

A silly grin spread across his face. "Anything for my Lady," he said.

She told herself to calm down as she passed him two of the bouquets and one of the candy boxes. The rest she managed to fit into her arms, and she walked towards the back kitchen with Adrien on her heels, switching on lights as she went. A list sat on the prep table: all the pastries they would need for the next day, marked off with Sophie's small and tidy checkmarks.

Marinette couldn't even begin to think about the following morning. She climbed the stairs to her front door, hearing nothing but Adrien's footsteps behind her and her own pulse pounding away. She flipped through her keyring for the house key and jammed it into the doorknob. "Just as a warning," she said, "I haven't had time to clean this week."

"I wouldn't dream of judging you," Adrien said in a tone that suggested otherwise.

Marinette chose to ignore the comment, twisted the knob and pushed the door open with her shoulder. She walked straight to the kitchen and put down the flowers and candies before switching on the lights.

In terms of cleanliness, the house was passable: no dirty dishes in the sink, no clothes on the floor, and no garbage that should have been taken out days ago. But she had let the dust accumulate again, which her mother would never have forgiven, and there were at least four pairs of shoes in the entryway that she could have taken upstairs. Several of her belongings—sketchbook, magazines, tablet, yo-yo, television series box set—were stacked on the coffee table and leaning precariously to one side.

Adrien hadn't moved from the entrance hall. The Chat Noir cheekiness from moments ago had been replaced by the trepidation of a boy entering a girl's house for the first time, and Marinette couldn't help smiling at how cute and innocent it made him look. "You can put those down anywhere," she said. "I'll take them to the garden later."

She played it casual as Adrien walked past her and into the living area, busying herself with the flowers and pretending she wasn't the least bit interested in his reactions to the house. "You have a garden?" he asked. He stood between the sofa and the occupied coffee table and examined the leaning tower of Marinette's things.

"I have a balcony," she replied. "We keep flowers up there."

Adrien put the bouquets he carried on the shorter segment of the sectional sofa, then reached for something on the coffee table: Marinette's yo-yo. He held it up for her to see. "Yo-yo champion?" he asked.

"Former yo-yo champion," Marinette corrected him. She removed her heels one foot at a time. "Now I'm just a has-been."

"Washed up at the tender age of, what was it, fourteen? Fifteen?" He clucked his tongue. "Sad."

Marinette stuck her feet into her house slippers, walked into the living area and snatched the yo-yo right out of his hand. "Well, thanks to a certain tomcat I've been practicing again," she said. "But if you want a demonstration you'll have to come back during business hours."

His eyebrows went up. "When are business hours?"

"Not today." She set the yo-yo back on the table and turned to face him.

"So if I come back every day," Adrien said, "chances are one of those days will be business hours, right?"

Marinette smiled. "Something like that." She motioned to the sofa behind him. "Have a seat. If I've been on my feet most of the night, then you must have been, too."

He sat down. She occupied herself by straightening the magazines and sketchbooks on the table, if only to keep her hands busy. She had him. Chat Noir was in her house, right where she wanted him, and she couldn't decide what to do with him.

"Tell me about that guy who isn't me."

She looked at Adrien. The wicked gleam in his eye, which she had begun to recognize as her beloved kitty cat, made her heart climb into her throat. But two could play at that game. She clasped her hands behind her back. "What's there to say?"

His smile widened. "I don't know, Ladybug. You told me he's impossibly handsome and out of your league. Can't blame a guy for being curious."

"No, I don't suppose I can." Marinette took a step towards him. "For starters," she said, "he's a supermodel."

Adrien scoffed. "Supermodels are overrated."

"He's blond…"

"A blond supermodel? Must be an airhead."

Marinette stood in front of him. "He has these green eyes I could get lost in for hours…"

"Damn it," Adrien hissed. "There are literally no downsides to having green eyes."

"And—you have to promise you won't judge me for this, but… he likes cat puns."

Adrien narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you sure this guy isn't me?"

Marinette put a hand on his shoulder, brought one knee up on either side of him, and sat directly on his thighs. "What if he is?" she whispered. The stunned look on his face would have made her crack up laughing if she hadn't been so nervous.

He took her hand from his shoulder and kissed her fingers. "Then he must be the luckiest guy in the world."

Marinette sighed. She almost joked that she'd known it would be a bad idea to meet Chat Noir in person, but instead she draped her arms over his shoulders, leaned in and kissed his cheek, giggling when his skin visibly reddened. So good at hiding his emotions, yet still so remarkably transparent. She skipped over his mouth and kissed his other cheek, then drew back to admire her handiwork: one flustered Adrien Agreste, glaring at her as if she was the cruelest person he'd ever met. She snorted. "What?" she asked.

"You know exactly what," he said.

She slid her hand through his hair and his eyes fell shut. "Leave me alone. I'm having fun."

"At my expense," he murmured, making no attempt to hide how completely at her mercy he was. She could get used to that.

Marinette kissed the corner of his mouth. "Sorry, chaton."

His hands came up to rest on her hips. "You're not sorry at all," he said before she pressed her lips against his.

It was a gentle kiss, lasting just a few seconds before she broke contact. Adrien's grip on her hips tightened and she smiled before kissing him again, a bit harder than before. When she pulled away, he lowered his head to her shoulder and sighed, his breath tickling her bare skin.

"Your freckles," he said.

"What about them?" Marinette asked.

His lips brushed her shoulder. "They're cute." He kissed his way towards her neck, scattering her thoughts in the process. "And you have so many of them…"

Tingles ran through her body. She turned her head to expose more skin for him. "Ladybug spots," she whispered as his mouth traveled along her jaw. She felt him smile.

"I should have known," he said. He kissed her freckled cheeks. "Of course it was you." His hands slid up her back and she felt the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of her jumpsuit. "How could my Lady be anyone else?"

Marinette threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him into another kiss. A deeper kiss. And he wasted no time responding, arching into her touch like the cat he was. She tilted her head and wished her left hand was in the proper condition to get at the rest of him, but she settled for lightly dragging her fingers down his neck and was rewarded with a throaty hum that sent fire through her blood. When she drew back, he cupped her face in his hands and showered it with kisses.

She laughed. "Adrien."

"Adrien's busy," he grumbled.

"Chat Noir, then."

"Chat Noir is even busier."

Marinette stopped him with a finger over his lips. "I have something important to say."

He stared into her eyes for a moment. "Hold that thought," he said, then half-stood, twisted around, and unceremoniously dropped her on the sofa. Marinette yelped in surprise. She went silent a second later when he crouched over her, one hand on either side of her head. "I seem to recall," he said, "that a little over a month ago, Ladybug—that's you—forced me to watch the stupidest movie of all time."

Her eyes widened. "Oh no."

"And last week, that same Ladybug—still you—forced me to watch that stupid movie all over again," Adrien continued. "Altogether that's four hours of my life that I'm never getting back. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Marinette knew there was only one thing to say. "The Horrificator is a cinematic masterpiece."

Adrien attacked her sides with his fingers. She squealed and writhed and flailed her arm out to try and stop him, but he avoided her reach easily, and she ended up clawing at thin air.

"I did you a favor!" she cried between laughter and attempts to squirm away from him. "You should be thanking me—haha—for enriching your life!"

Adrien stopped and turned her head to face him. "You've got some kind of nerve," he said.

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

He kissed the bridge of her nose. "Many things," he said. "One of which is bound to work."

She pushed his face away. "You're a flirt."

"And you're a tease. We make a nice pair, don't you think?"

She kissed his neck, rendering him temporarily speechless. "We do," she said. And while he was distracted, she grabbed him by the front of the shirt, hooked her leg over his hip and flipped him under her.

He gaped at her in unabashed amazement. "How are you so strong?" he cried, his voice an octave higher than before.

"What, you think those huge sacks of flour in the bakery haul themselves?" Marinette rubbed her cheek against his with a happy hum. "Your skin is softer than mine," she said. "It kind of pisses me off."

"I'll share my secrets with you if you let me play with your hair," Adrien murmured in her ear.

She didn't need to be asked twice. She reached up and patted the updo that had given her unnecessary trouble that afternoon, then frowned. "Hold on, there's like a million hairpins in here." She pulled off the gold hairpiece and dug through the rest of her hair for the bobby pins she'd used to keep it together. Little by little, the updo came undone, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves.

"That was only four hairpins," Adrien pointed out when she'd finished.

"Do you want to play with my hair or not?" she asked. "Because I could change my mind."

He lifted his arm and combed his fingers through her hair before she could revoke access, and Marinette forgot just about everything that wasn't him. The look of pure adoration on his face made her stomach tie itself into knots. "Hey," she said.

"Hmm?" His fingertips brushed her scalp and she closed her eyes.

"Nice weather we're having lately."

He pulled her towards him. "It's alright."

"By the way, I'm in love with you."

Adrien froze.

Marinette cautiously opened her eyes. The man underneath her showed no signs of life. She waved a hand in front of his face and, after a few seconds, he blinked at her. Then a bright red blush made its way up his neck and spread all the way to his ears. "I-Is that so?" he croaked.

Marinette laid on his chest and rested her head against his shoulder. "Yes, you dumb cat."

Slowly, Adrien's body thawed and his hand resumed stroking her hair. "Sorry," he said. "It's just that no one's ever told me that before, and it seems too good to be true." He laughed. "All of this seems too good to be true."

She smiled. "I thought the same thing when I found out who you were."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Despite the Ladybug nickname, I've never been a lucky person," she said. "So how could the pun-dropping menace I'd accidentally fallen for turn out to be the infuriatingly pretty supermodel that I had a huge crush on?"

"You did have a crush on me," Adrien said.

Marinette nestled closer to him. "I did. Every time you walked into the bakery, I didn't know what to do with myself. My brain stopped working. You were so handsome and so nice and you liked our pastries and you spoke fluent Chinese to my mom and then you showed up after closing one day and I had a complete meltdown…"

"You got drunk on a Tuesday."

"I got drunk on a Tuesday," she confirmed.

Adrien let out another quiet laugh. "All of that because of me?" he said. "All that time I spent pining for my Lady, wondering who she was, and the whole time she stood right in front of me, too tongue-tied to say hello?"

"That's the gist of it."

"I love you too," he said, and his words washed over Marinette's body like a spring breeze. "I love you, Marinette. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life."

She pushed herself up so she could look at him. "Good," she said. "I want you to be happy. And if you aren't happy, I want you to tell me. No hiding things. No pretending you're fine. We'll fix whatever it is together, okay?"

Adrien swept a lock of hair behind her ear. "The same goes for you, buginette. I'm not just a stranger on the internet anymore. If you need me, I'll come running."

The familiarity of those words gave Marinette pause. He'd made that same promise the day he found her in front of Notre Dame, and true to his word, he had been there ever since. He encouraged her when she was chosen as a finalist. He snuck over to the bakery to make sure she was all right after her hand got injured.

And even as Chat Noir, he had been there for her all year, sending her cat pictures and memes and stupid jokes when she was sad, keeping her company when she couldn't sleep, listening to her when she felt like complaining, constantly reminding her that he loved her.

She gazed down at the man she'd never thought she would have, who stared back at her like he couldn't quite believe that she was his, and felt a rush of affection for him. Her pen pal. Her best friend. Her kitty cat. Better than anything she could have hoped or dreamed of.

"I love you, Adrien," she whispered.

Adrien caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Come closer," he said. "Please."

She didn't have the heart to deny him. She kissed him with every ounce of feeling that she had for him, and he matched her kiss for kiss, leaving her dizzy and breathless and indescribably happy. She nipped at his bottom lip and felt a tremor run through his body. When she followed that up with her tongue, he pulled her tighter against him. But he took his time with her, exploring her mouth in a languid and patient manner, and she ignored the urgency itching under her skin because there would be plenty of time for urgency in the future.

What she needed now was to kiss him for every email, for every word, for every laugh, for every wonderful day that he'd spent making her fall in love with him. She wanted to take all the happiness he'd given her and pour it back into him until they both overflowed.

Her phone rang.

Marinette and Adrien cast annoyed looks in the direction of the kitchen, where she'd left her purse when she walked in. "It's not important," she decided, and crushed her lips against Adrien's again. The phone fell silent.

And immediately began to ring.

Adrien broke the kiss with a groan. "It might be important, buginette."

Marinette, determined to ignore it, trailed kisses down his neck. "How much do you want to bet it's not?" she said.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and rolled her back under him, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss. The phone stopped ringing as his hand slid down her leg and behind her knee, and her quiet moan got lost in the sound of the damn phone ringing again.

"Oh for the love of—"

Adrien removed his hand from her thigh and kissed her forehead. "Answer it. I'm not going anywhere," he said.

Marinette reluctantly slid out from underneath him. She walked to the kitchen on rubbery legs and dug her phone out of her purse. The display read Nino Lahiffe. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Put Adrien on," Chloe Bourgeois snapped on the other line. "And don't even think about hanging up because I will keep calling."

Marinette pulled the phone away from her ear, made a face at it, then brought it back. "Sure. Give me just a second." She marched into the living room, where Adrien sat upright on the sofa trying, with mixed results, to smooth his hair into place. "It's for you," she said.

Adrien frowned. "Really?" He took the phone. "Hello?"

Marinette picked up her yo-yo and paced the floor to distract herself from the thoroughly kissed model on her sofa who she wouldn't mind thoroughly kissing some more. Walk the Dog. Forward Pass at an imaginary Chloe's face. Around the World. Under Mount. Braintwister.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Marinette's doing things with her yo-yo—that is not a euphemism, Chlo." Adrien wiped a hand over his face. "Why do you even have Nino's phone? What—he said before midnight." A pause. "It is?" He checked Marinette's phone screen. "Shit, it is." He sighed. "Fine. See you soon."

Marinette removed the yo-yo string from her finger. "Bad news?"

"I guess I am going somewhere after all," Adrien said. "Promised my father I'd be back at the party before midnight."

"Or what, you'll turn into a pumpkin?"

"Worse: a cat." He winked at her, then stood from the sofa. "Besides, my Lady needs her beauty rest for the grand reopening of Tom and Sabine's tomorrow."

Marinette walked over and threw her arms around his neck. "What if I don't want you to leave?" she asked.

Adrien's expression turned mischievous. "Those are pretty dangerous words."

"They're pretty true words."

He laughed and swooped in for a quick kiss. "I appreciate your honesty. I mean, I really appreciate your honesty. But don't worry, I'll be here bright and early."

Marinette wondered what it would be like seeing Adrien walk into the bakery the next day. No more hiding in the kitchen. No more stammering and clumsy mishaps. No more worrying that people would find out he liked to visit after hours. Just the blissful knowledge that he was hers and she was his and she could jump over the counter and kiss him in front of everybody if she damn well pleased. She grabbed her keys and followed him to the front door. "Are we still on for our date tomorrow?" she asked.

Adrien sucked in a breath. "Listen, Ladybug, there's kind of another woman in my life—"

"I'll take that as a yes." She opened the door for him. He motioned for her to go first. She put her good hand on his stomach and pushed him out, then closed the door behind them. They walked down the stairs together.

"Did you have anywhere in mind for the date?" Adrien asked.

Marinette crossed her arms. "Well, we could always meet here under the pretense that we'll decide in the spur of the moment, then choose not to go anywhere."

He gasped. "Marinette, please! Think of my virtue!"

"Oh, I'm thinking about it, all right."

The moment they reached the landing he gently pushed her against the wall and kissed her senseless. "Behave," he said, and she smiled as he kissed her again. And again. And again. "First, I need to take you on a real date. Maybe buy you some non-plastic flowers if you aren't tired of them. Then, a proper introduction to my father over Sunday brunch… and I'll have to email you the dress code for that."

Marinette straightened his tie. "You'll email it to me?"

"You didn't think I was going to stop, did you?"

She had entertained the thought of their email correspondence dying off now that they knew each other's identities. But she hated the idea of not seeing Chat Noir's name in her inbox anymore. His emails had always been the highlight of her day. "You'd better get your phone fixed soon, then," she said.

"If I know my father, he's already called someone to get it taken care of." Adrien laced his fingers with hers and they walked through the bakery kitchen, into the seating area where the banner still waited to be taken down.

Marinette, exhausted though she was, did not want the night to end. In the morning, everything would be moving forward again. The bakery would keep her busy and tired and stressed until her parents came home. All the correspondence she'd received would take days to catch up with. And then she had a portfolio to think about, one that would inevitably separate her from Adrien, if only in the physical sense.

Suddenly, his escapes to a closed bakery for a moment's peace made perfect sense.

At the door, Adrien kissed her hand before letting it go. "Get some rest," he said.

"I will," Marinette promised. With the competition behind her and her heart safe in his care, she could probably sleep through the entire month of September without noticing. But she wouldn't. Not when her real life was just beginning. "Good night, Chat Noir."

He pulled the door open, paused, then turned and gave her one last, lingering kiss. "Good night, Ladybug," he said.

A car waited on the curb for him. Marinette could make out the enormous shape of Adrien's bodyguard behind the wheel, and through the window she caught a glimpse of Chloe in the backseat, no doubt waiting to hear all about Adrien's evening.

Adrien opened the car door, but to Marinette's surprise, he turned back. "Oh, and by the way," he said, and an absolutely devilish grin spread across his face. "I told you you wouldn't be able to keep your paws off me."

Marinette cupped her hands around her mouth. "Boo! Go home already, you filthy tomcat!"

Adrien winked at her before ducking into the car and closing the door. She waited until the car crossed the river and disappeared into the distance, then she went inside.

Marinette closed and locked the door and faced the empty room with its stacked chairs, drawn curtains, and empty display cases. In eight hours, the place would be alive again, packed with people curious to see if the young woman they'd heard so much about was as talented as others claimed.

And she would be ready to prove them right.

To Be Continued

A/N: What is my LIFE anymore I don't even know. This chapter was so long. I'm crying. You're crying. We're all crying. But here it is at last, the true end of the destruction of the children.

Now for the answers I promised last chapter. Yes, Marinette did not win the design competition. When I started writing this story, the only plan I had for it was a ten-chapter fluff fest. But somewhere along the line I realized I was writing a story about life. More specifically, a story about what it's like to be in your mid-to-late twenties and panicking because your life isn't going the way you thought it would. A funny thing I have learned recently is that sometimes you get what you want in ways you never imagined. Marinette lost the competition but as it so happened, the competition itself was the networking opportunity she needed to make her way into the fashion world. Her being chosen as a finalist was the real victory—one that would let her smooch Adrien as much as she wanted without hurting their reputations. I mean, people meet people at parties all the time, right?

Anyway, we still have one chapter left, so join me next time for the exciting conclusion of Lucky Us! Please deposit any and all tears into the review box. I turned 27 yesterday and I'm getting paranoid about losing my youthful glow.