Chapter Text
“Marinette! Bridgette! Come look!”
Marinette looked up from her sketchbook, and met her sister’s questioning gaze with a shrug.
Bridgette echoed her shrug. “Coming, maman,” she called, setting aside her book and climbing down from the loft.
Marinette sighed and followed her sister down the stairs, then paused in confusion when she didn’t see her mother in the kitchen. “Maman?”
“In here, girls,” Sabine Cheng called from the next room. “Look at this!”
Marinette crossed the kitchen after Bridgette and stopped next to her mother, whose excited gaze was riveted to the screen.
“—absence of any announcement has given rise to a great deal of speculation,” Clara Contard was saying, speaking to the camera from in front of an impressively ornate gate, and gesturing to the bustling activity going on behind it, “but it seems clear that someone is finally moving back into the Agreste Manor here in the heart of Paris. Whether it is the notoriously reclusive designer himself, or perhaps his equally reclusive son, is anyone’s guess. Either way, the sudden activity here has caused a ripple through the social elite in Paris and everyone in the city is excited to see who will be taking up residence.”
The screen split, and the on-site feed was joined by a nodding Nadja Chamack in the studio. “Thank you Clara. This is exciting news, and of course, we will continue to cover the story as it develops.”
Clara nodded, smiling widely. “Absolutely, Nadja! Make sure to stay tuned for the latest updates on Paris’ favorite celebrities!”
The screen shifted again, leaving only Nadja in the studio, and Sabine muted the volume as she passed things over to their resident meteorologist. “Isn’t this exciting?” Sabine asked, turning to her daughters. “I know you probably don’t remember, but Emilie Agreste used to be one of our very best customers! If it hadn’t been for her regular orders back when your father and I were just starting out—“
“—And her referrals to other wealthy clients—” Bridgette interjected, grinning.
“You might not have gotten the boulangerie off the ground,” Marinette finished for them in fond exasperation.
Sabine nodded, chuckling at the girls’ perfect recitation of her oft-spoken praise. “And we might not have added the pastries to our menu if she hadn’t been so insistent that we expand!”
“We know, Maman,” Bridgette said, rolling her eyes good naturedly. “Do you really think that she’s back?”
“I don’t know, but I hope so! She’s a lovely woman, and I’d be thrilled to get reacquainted with her.”
“I hope they are back,” Marinette said. “Gabriel Agreste is the undisputed king of high fashion, and I would kill for an opportunity to meet him.”
Bridgette shuddered. “The ice king, maybe. Isn’t he supposed to be brutally cold?”
“Misunderstood genius, Bri. Could he really be that awful if his wife is as sweet as Maman says?”
The girls looked to their mother, who shrugged. “I’ve never met him. Even back then, he was terribly reserved.”
“Hmm. Well, you’re welcome to him, Nettie. I’d much rather meet their son.” Bridgette nodded to the photo currently displayed on the muted television, waggling her eyebrows. “I love that tousled, just out of bed look.”
“Bridgette!” Sabine gasped in mock outrage. “What do you know of men just out of bed?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” she quipped, grinning at her mother.
Marinette laughed. “Felix Agreste is the taller one, with the smirk. Bed-head guy is Adrien Bourgeois.”
Bridgette blinked. “The mayor’s son?”
“The very one,” Marinette said, eyeing the next photo appreciatively. “Honestly, I’d be thrilled to meet any of them, but my interest in those two has little to do with fashion.”
“What do you think, Fe? How does it feel to be back in Paris?”
“Stifling,” Felix said flatly, gazing around Adrien’s chosen room with distaste. Years ago, his father had filled this room with a veritable arcade in a failed effort to fill the void left by his absence in his son’s life. Felix hated every bit of it.
Adrien gripped the handle of the foosball rod to stop its spinning, and looked over at his friend, his brows knit. “Are you sure you don’t mind me taking your old room?”
Felix scoffed, frowning. “Not in the least. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here at all, and I certainly wouldn’t have taken this room. You’re welcome to it.”
Adrien straightened, looking around the room himself. He frowned. “You didn’t have to come, you know. And you didn’t have to open the house. We could have taken rooms at the Grand Paris.”
Felix’s expression softened. “I know. I came because I wanted to, and I opened the house because I’d much rather live here than subject either of us to the scrutiny of living in a public hotel. Besides, New York had grown stale, and I know you enjoy your father’s company as little as I do, mine.”
Adrien snorted at that; both men knew the truth of that statement, and it needed no further discussion. Instead, he rolled from the bed and crossed to the large open windows to peer out at the people below. “How long do you think it will take for that circus to clear out?”
“The movers will be done by this evening.” Felix joined Adrien at the window, and gestured to the media personalities gathered just outside the gate with his chin. “The vultures will continue to circle until after we’ve shown ourselves, and some other society news comes along to distract them from us.”
“This is no better than New York was,” Adrien muttered, dismayed.
Felix grunted his agreement. “Honestly, it will probably be worse. We’re novel here. They’re going to dog us until the novelty wears off.”
“I guess it was unreasonable to think that I could just slip quietly back into town and go to university like everyone else.”
Felix arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I told you that it would have been better to let your father make an announcement.”
“No, no announcements! Then everyone will definitely know where to find me. This way, I at least have a chance at anonymity.”
“If you say so.” The smirk deepened, and amusement colored his tone.
“Killjoy.”
“Realist.”
“Come on, Fe. Let’s test it out.” Adrien turned to face him, his face lit with excitement. Felix raised his brow in question, and Adrien continued. “There’s a mixer at the university tonight, and we both need some fresh air.”
Felix shook his head. “We’ll never make it out the door without being mauled by that pack of rabid dogs.”
“Of course we will.” Adrien grinned, and Felix felt a prickle of unease at the expression. That smile always meant mischief. “I have a plan.”
“Marinette, Bridgette, there you are! I was starting to think that you’d bailed on us.”
“Of course not!” Marinette grinned, winking. “We just wanted to make an entrance, that’s all.”
“Entrance-schmentrance. Nettie had a wardrobe crisis that took forty-five minutes to resolve, and that was after she lost track of time and started getting ready late.”
“You’re dead to me, Bridgette.” Marinette deadpanned.
“You both need watches, but we all know you’d just lose them,” Alya interjected, smiling to take any sting out of the words. “But you both look amazing, so whatever it was that took so long, it was worth it.”
Marinette looked down at her red and black cropped halter top with a proud smile, then cocked her hip out to the side in an exaggerated pose. She’d paired the delicately crocheted halter with a pair of black, high-waisted skinny jeans that showed her petite figure to great advantage. She grinned and struck another pose.
“Looking good, Nettie!”
“Nino, hi! Thanks. I just finished the top this afternoon.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Bridgette pouted, looking down at her own Marinette original. As the more demure of the two, she wore a shirred off the shoulder blouse and coordinating harem-style linen pants. “Marinette assured me that I hadn’t sacrificed style for comfort but now I’m thinking she must have deceived me.”
Nino laughed, and slipped his arm around Alya’s waist. “Hi, Bri. You’re lovely, too, and you know it.”
Bridgette abandoned the pout, and grinned instead. “I do, don’t I?”
Marinette looked Nino and Alya up and down, and nodded in satisfaction. “We all look good. We need to get gussied up more often.”
“Right? And we’ll have plenty of opportunity to do so. There are a ton of events coming up over the next few weeks!”
Marinette and Bridgette nodded excitedly, but Nino groaned. “And you girls are going to drag me to all of them, aren’t you?”
Alya snorted. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, babe.”
“Seriously.” Marinette gestured drily to the dancefloor, where women out numbered the men two- or three-to-one. “This is a veritable sea of nubile young women. How are you complaining?”
“Oh, that part is fine.” He smiled wolfishly, his gaze taking in all three of them. “Especially since I get three of the hottest women in here all to myself.”
Alya pinched him on the ass, and he jumped. “Down boy.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “This would be awesome if you guys didn’t make me get all dressed up. How am I supposed to be comfortable in this stiff, button-up nonsense?”
“Stop being melodramatic. I’ve slept in that shirt, remember? And I know you know how much I like it when you wear your sleeves rolled like this.”
His gaze darkened at that, and the sisters shared a knowing look.
“None of that, you two. You can go snog later.”
Bridgette nodded, and began dragging Nino to join the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor. “Right now, we want to dance!”
Marinette and Alya whooped their agreement and ushered him from behind.
He shrugged, allowing himself to be led. “Who am I to deny a trio of beautiful…” He trailed off, looking around as a ripple of murmurs swept through the room.
“Holy shit,” Marinette breathed, staring back the way they’d come. “It’s them.”
“What?” Nino asked, at the same time that Bridgette said, “Who?”
“Felix Agreste, and the Bourgeois heirs.”
Alya’s eyes bugged out, and her jaw dropped. “Fuck me, it is them! I didn’t recognize the guys at first, but that’s definitely Sabrina and Chloe.”
Marinette nodded. “I guess we know now who’s moving in to the Agreste mansion, Bri. But what are they doing here?”
Bridgette peered through the crowd, frowning. “Are you sure? They don’t look much like the pictures we saw earlier.”
“It’s them. I think they’re trying to lay low. I’ve never seen either of them so…” She trailed off, her head tilted to the side in consideration.
“Common?” Alya supplied, her brows raised. Then she giggled. “Here we are, all dressed to impress, and they come in here slumming it and still manage to look gorgeous.”
“I’m still here,” Nino cut in.
“Of course you are, babe.” She dragged her eyes away from the group still standing awkwardly near the front, and squeezed her boyfriend’s hand. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten who I’m going home with tonight.”
“Fuck, he’s even hotter in person.”
“Bridgette Dupain-Cheng, don’t let our mother hear you talking like that!” Marinette jibed automatically, but her own eyes were drawn to Felix—and she couldn’t help agreeing with her sister.
“I think she’d forgive me just this once. I mean, look at that smile! He looks like such a sweet cinnamon roll and—oh shit, he’s looking this way!” Bridgette darted a glance at her sister. “Are you seeing this?”
Marinette nodded, watching as the new comers moved farther into the room. Around them, people went back to dancing and drinking and talking, though it was clear that many of them still had their eyes on the infamous socialite sisters and the young men trailing them.
With an effort, Marinette turned her back on them and started dancing. She’d come to have a good time with her friends, and by all appearances, so had Felix and Adrien. No matter how badly she wanted to introduce herself to Felix Agreste—both as the son of her fashion idol, and as an interesting and attractive person in his own right—she wasn’t going risk exposing him by drawing more attention his way. Besides, she couldn’t imagine that he would welcome any such interruption.
“I don’t think many people have recognized them,” she murmured to her friends later, when they’d left the dance floor for drinks and a bit of air. “And I think that those who have are afraid to approach them.”
“I don’t blame them.” Nino shuddered theatrically. “If they have any sense, they’re steering clear of the Bourgeois Brats and hoping they’ll terrorize someone else.”
Alya snickered. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Actually, I’m surprised that you haven’t gone over there, Nettie,” Bridgette said. You’ve never been intimidated by the Bourgeois girls before.”
“No, but I’ve also never gone out of my way to pick a fight with them, either.” She shrugged, and tried not to watch Chloe Bourgeois clinging familiarly to Felix’s arm. “They’re just…hanging out. It would be rude to butt in when they’ve gone out of their way to be circumspect.”
“That’s true,” Bridgette allowed. “But when will you get another chance to—“
Nino’s eyes widened comically and Marinette grinned mischievously. Don’t look now, Bri, but you’re going to get your wish. They’re headed this way, and Mr. Bed-Head seems to have his eye on you.”
“Nettie!” Bridgette froze, and Alya giggled. “Please tell me you’re joking!”
Marinette’s smile widened, and she shifted her focus to a point just past her sister’s shoulder. “Hi!” she offered, and was rewarded with a shy smile from none other than Adrien Bourgeois himself.
“Um, hi. I’m, um—“ He broke off with wide eyes, suddenly realizing that if he identified himself, that his anonymity would be lost.
“Welcome to join us for a drink,” Nino finished for him with a wink, making a space for Adrien between himself and Bridgette. Felix, who’d followed Adrien over, lingered just outside the group.
Alya leaned in conspiratorially, and Adrien did the same. “We recognized you when you came in,” she whispered, smiling reassuringly at his panicked expression.
Marinette leaned in as well. “Don’t worry, we haven’t outed you.” She nodded to his rough ensemble with a grin. “Love your disguise, by the way. You look like you just came from work.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled back. “That was the idea!” he chirped happily.
Behind him, Felix scowled. “We smell like we just came from work, too.”
Bridgette giggled behind her hand, and Adrien turned to her with a blush. “I don’t smell that bad, do I?”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head “No! Not at all.”
He smiled charmingly. “So, if I asked you to dance with me, you might say yes?”
“You want to dance with me?” she squeaked, blushing hotly.
Marinette gave her a nudge. “That means yes,” she told Adrien, rolling her eyes. “It’s…Ren, right?”
“Ren? Oh! Yes! Ren!” Nino snickered, and Felix scoffed in apparent disgust. Adrien jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “The grump back there is Fe.”
“Well, Ren, I’m Marinette, and this is my big sister Bridgette.” She nudged her sister again, and then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We all call her Bri.”
“I cannot believe you dragged me here, with your sisters no less!” Felix hissed at Adrien when he finally left Bridgette with her friends and returned to his own. Felix clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth furiously. “And then you abandon me to them so you can go off and dance with the only attractive woman in the whole room!
Adrien ducked his head sheepishly. “I didn’t know any other way to escape notice,” he said apologetically. “At least we did manage to evade the press.”
“Thank god for that,” Felix muttered darkly. “Though I feel compelled to point out that we could have done so without their help or attentions if we’d simply stayed put.”
“Come on, Fe! Where’s the fun in that?”
“Where’s the fun in drinking cheap liquor with sleazy people at a lame party while trying to avoid your grasping harpy of a sister?”
Adrien blinked at him, his expression disbelieving. “We are at a college party, in Paris, without body guards or paparazzi, surrounded by beautiful women in various stages of intoxication, and that ‘grasping harpy’ is the one who got you out here. Are you really complaining right now?”
Felix merely pursed his lips and glared out at the party as if it had personally offended him.
“Look, there’s Marinette, right there. She’s every bit as beautiful as Bri, and a damn good dancer to boot. Go, ask her to dance, have some fun, cut loose a little bit. I can’t stand to see you over here looking like a miserable thunder cloud.”
Felix glanced briefly at Marinette, then shook his head. “You’ve already staked a claim on the only good looking woman here, and I am in no mood to waste my time dancing with a girl who can’t find her own partners.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl stiffen and he fought the urge to wince guiltily. Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that, much less for her to hear it. Why did feeling awkward always make him surly and mean?
Adrien seemed to agree with his unspoken thought, because he was now frowning at him in disapproval. “Sometimes, Fe, I swear that you go out of your way to find things to be pissy about.”
“And sometimes I think you go out of your way to see only sunshine and rainbows,” Felix shot back, “no matter how foul the weather.” Adrien drew back, stung, and this time Felix did wince. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass. You go dance.”
“You know, Fe, you might actually make some new friends, if you gave people a chance.” Adrien clapped him on the arm, and then made his way back over to Bridgette’s group.
“I don’t blame you at all for not wanting to dance,” Chloe said, appearing at his elbow. “Especially not with her. Bridgette isn’t bad, but Marinette is just a bitch.”
Felix looked at her in surprise, wondering just how long she’d been standing there, and then her words actually sank in. “Wait, you know them?”
She nodded, her lip curled in distaste. “Her parents run the best boulangerie-patisserie in Paris, and it is the place to go for coffee. Both girls work in the café there.” Chloe sniffed disdainfully at the idea of working in a café, then continued. “Bridgette knows her place. Marinette does not.”
Felix felt his brows raise. In other words, Bridgette let Chloe run roughshod wherever she pleased, but Marinette did not. Felix acknowledged a grudging respect for the young woman. He glanced to where she’d been sitting a moment ago, but she was gone.