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“What do you mean, she’s gone ?” Marinette screeched. She tried not to yell at her employees, she really did, but this was not news that she could take calmly.
“She just said she had somewhere else to be and left,” her assistant said, too upset herself to be cowed by Marinette’s tone.
Marinette wrung her hands to keep from pulling her carefully styled hair. “She’s the finale piece! It’s the lynchpin of the entire show, I can’t pull it! We—we have to put one of the other models in it, pull a different look—”
“There’s no time! Even if we tried, none of the other models is tall enough!”
“How could she just leave ?” Marinette moaned. “This can’t be happening. It—it has to be sabotage, or something, a showcase model doesn’t just leave —”
“I’ll do it.”
Marinette jumped and whirled at the voice behind her, and then looked up into Luka’s serious face. “W-what?” she stammered.
“I’ll do it.” He took a step back from her and pulled his shirt over his head. “I live with Juleka, I know the drill. I’ve helped coach her for years. I’ll wear it. You don’t have anybody else, right?” Luka grinned at her. “Time to make it work.”
Marinette stared at him as he dropped the shirt and began unfastening his jeans. Mercifully he stopped there, waiting for her answer.
“B-but your publicist—” she began, trying not to stare at the bright pink boxers peeking out from his open fly. He wasn’t even part of the show, he was only back here because he was her friend, and what would his agent think about his rising rock star wearing a ballgown in a highly publicized fashion show?
“They can deal. That's their job, after all.” Luka raised his eyebrows and sat down on a nearby chair to pull off his combat boots. “Well? Clock’s ticking.” He said it kindly, but Marinette knew he was right. She glanced at the clock and panic resurged.
Marinette looked at him, and at the dress, and back, mind racing. It could work, she realized. The laced corset bodice meant there wouldn't be any problem with a zipper. The dress was sleeveless so Luka’s arms, which though lean sported far more muscle than Annie’s, wouldn't be a problem, nor his broader shoulders. Obviously Luka didn't have anything to fill the top out, but really, neither did Annie, so it shouldn't be a big deal.
And really, what choice did she have?
“Let's do it,” she decided, motioning frantically to her dressers. They brought the dress over, and Marinette quickly turned to her assistant as Luka shimmied out of his jeans. “Get me a makeup kit and send Gerrold over here now . Threaten him, bribe him, I don’t care. Luka!” she called over her shoulder. “Can you walk in heels?” The hem was going to be too short for him no matter what they did, there was no way around that except to own it.
“Better than you,” came Luka’s teasing reply, and Marinette rolled her eyes, still keeping her back to him. “Tell Yvette your shoe size. Yvette, get him the highest heels you can find that can match the dress. You know what, get a backup pair of flats too, I don’t want to deal with his agent if he breaks an ankle. Make sure he can walk in the high ones and if he looks unsteady, put him in the flats.”
“How’s it look, boss?” called one of her dressers, and Marinette turned around. The full skirt of the princess style ballgown poofed out dramatically, just as it was mean to, and the corset molded to Luka’s torso as Devine laced it up in the back. Luka’s broad shoulders actually emphasized the narrow waist, making the silhouette even more dramatic, and he had enough muscle in his chest that the front didn’t gape.
He looked…really good, actually. The deep red of the dress looked fantastic against his darkly tanned skin. Gerrod had arrived and was busy applying product, gelling Luka’s hair into an artistic mess that would mesh well with her other models, while giving him an androgynous look.
“Makeup,” her assistant said at her elbow, and Marinette took the kit from her, reaching over the wide skirt to hand the kit to Luka.
“I know you can do it faster than me,” she told him. “Just don’t get any on the dress.” The dressers were already frantically draping him in scrap fabric to keep Gerrold’s products from dripping. Luka went to work on his face, and Marinette turned away for a moment to make sure everything else was ready. Her other models were already lining up according to the directions of the stage crew, right behind—Lila. She was waiting for her cue but Marinette thought she caught a malicious smirk before Lila disappeared through the curtains.
Marinette pressed her lips together. She was willing to bet every garment in the show that Lila had paid off Annie to leave early, or something similar.
Underestimating Marinette, as always.
She was so lucky to have people she could depend on. Marinette checked the other models, made a few last minute adjustments, whispered a few words of encouragement where they seemed to be needed, and then turned back to check on Luka.
He was walking towards her, carefully holding out the full skirt, navigating the high black pumps Yvette had found for him with an ease that justified his confidence. His hair was side-swept and tousled perfectly, giving him a touch of androgyny that he had leaned into with his makeup work. Even so, he was every inch a man, and not really what she had intended for this look, but…
But it looked good. He looked good. His painted lips parted in a smirk as he saw her approving look. “Told you,” he teased. “Your clothes look good on anyone.”
“I think it might just be that anything looks good on you,” Marinette said, hands reaching out to adjust the fall of the fabric across his chest, and smooth imaginary flaws from the skirt. “Thanks so much for doing this, Luka.”
Luka’s hands caught hers. “Hey. Anything for you, you know that.” He smiled as she met his eyes. “It’ll be okay, Marinette. I promise.”
She couldn’t help believing him when he looked at her like that. Marinette raised his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Luka took his place in line and Marinette ran to obey the stage hands directions, barely keeping her grip on the microphone he handed her before shoving her out on stage.
Somehow, Marinette managed to announce her line—for once her insistence on over-rehearsing was justified. The crowd applauded, and Marinette fled back behind the curtain as the music started. She had to force herself to watch the monitor instead of the line of models behind her.
Marinette’s heart leapt into her throat as Luka stomped onto the runway as confidently as any model she’d ever seen. The crowd went totally silent for several full seconds before cheers and applause erupted. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall , Marinette chanted in her head as Luka made his way down the runway. She held her breath as he did his pose-and-turn, staring into the camera with eyes so intense the dress almost seemed redundant. Marinette’s heart skipped a beat and she watched Luka’s mostly-bare back ripple under the lights as he walked back.
Then he was backstage again, and extending a hand to her. Marinette barely had the presence of mind to take it (God he towered over her in those heels) and join the models on their final walk.
“Smile,” Luka whispered urgently, just as they stepped out together on the runway. They followed the line of models, still hand in hand, Marinette belatedly remembering to wave to the audience and cameras—
And then it was over. They were all backstage again in a confused mass as the stage hands tried to herd them out of the way for the next line of models.
Marinette kept an iron grip on Luka’s hand until they were back in their own dressing area. The dressers swept in and began undressing the models and calling instructions. Marinette found herself and Luka left alone in a little eddy of calm for a moment.
“Are you all right?” Luka asked her, cupping her cheek with his free hand. “You look like you might pass out.”
“I might,” Marinette said faintly, and then she threw herself at Luka, bursting into tears.
“Woah,” he caught her, stumbling for the first time in his heels. She felt him shrink as he stepped out of them, and wrapped his arms around her. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, you made it. Don’t drip makeup all over this dress. Someone very important to me worked really hard on it,” he teased gently. He reached around her to grab a tissue from a vanity and dabbed at her face.
The tears went as quickly as they came and Marinette caught his hand. “Luka you were amazing,” she told him. “Thank you so much, you have no idea—well, yes you do, but I—oh, Luka!” Reaching up, she grabbed his face and pulled him down to slam her mouth against his, heedless that she was crushing the skirt of his gown. Her mouth slid on the slickness of his lipstick, but he quickly adjusted to meet her. His arms slid down and under her butt to lift her up against him. Marinette wrapped her legs against his waist and buried her hands in his hair before she remembered his back and shoulders were uncovered, and her hands slid down to trace the muscles gone hard with the effort of holding her up.
It was the first time the tabloids would be right about her making out with one of her models after the show. The incongruous thought made her break away from Luka to giggle.
“It’s a shame you can’t model for me again,” she said breathlessly. “You’re really, really good at it.”
“I might be persuaded,” Luka rasped, and cleared his throat.
“Nope,” Marinette shook her head. “Not possible. I don’t date my employees.”
She barely had time to see his grin before he was kissing her again.