Ed notes: Just a reminder that this is Lukanette endgame. There is mild Adrien and Alya salt (depending on how you define such things) if that is not to your taste. This is the last chapter of For the Lady's Favour, which I'm posting here for the lovely people who sent nice comments about it indicating that they were following this story, and for the sake of completeness. Going forward, you can follow my future fics elsewhere, if you're interested. I hope you enjoy For the Lady's Favour.
For the Lady's Favour
A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction
By Mintaka14
Chapter Five – When a Plan Comes Together
"I take back everything I said. The Fashion Gala was a stroke of genius. There's no way she can resist that one. I just wish I could be there to see her face when she finds out her mystery guy is Adrien."
Alya's smug words were still ringing in Luka's ears when he finally got home and dropped face first onto the couch with a groan.
From the armchair, Juleka said, "If you're going to have a crisis, do it quietly. I'm trying to concentrate here."
"I am such an idiot," he mumbled into the couch cushions.
"No argument here," his sister said deadpan, but he heard the click as she set the bottle of nail polish on the table, and she nudged him with one foot. "So is this just your usual generalised idiocy, or have you done something particularly stupid?"
She poked him with her foot again, until he gave in and sat up. Under her persistent glare, Luka reluctantly spilled the whole story, leaving out the details of Marinette's confidences. When he was done she stared at him for a long moment, her mouth hanging open a little.
Luka drove his hands through his hair, clutching at it as he groaned again. "I can't believe I was so stupid. She practically has to show herself, whether she wants to or not, if she goes to the Gala, and I know how badly she wants to go. There's no way Adrien's not going to figure out who she is, and I've put her in the position of either having to turn down the Gala, or go along with a reveal she's not sure she wants yet."
"And did you miss the part where you all but pushed the girl you like into the arms of the guy she used to crush on?" Juleka asked incredulously, but Luka shrugged that off.
"That's Marinette's choice to make."
"Yeah, and it's her choice whether to turn up to the Gala or not, too." Juleka picked up the nailpolish again. "Whose stupid idea was this whole mystery dating mess, anyway?"
"Alya's, mostly."
"Yeah, that figures."
Alya was practically standing guard over the noticeboard, and the second that Marinette walked into the café, she ripped the envelope off the wall and shoved it at her.
"Read it!" she demanded.
When Marinette opened the envelope and pulled out the card, another card fluttered to the floor. She found herself staring down at a stiff, embossed slip witih discreet hints of gilt and elegantly understated print inviting her to the Grand Paris Hotel for the event of the year.
"… rinette!" Alya was hissing at her. There was laughter, and something that sounded like a hint of triumph in her voice. "Marinette, girl, wake up!"
Marinette jerked back to herself, and bent to scoop up the invitation before it could blow away, or vanish in a puff of smoke, or something. In spite of all her expectations, it felt real in her hand, and it still looked like an invitation to the Fashion Week Gala.
"Aren't you going to read your note?" Alya was insisting.
Marinette glanced down at the note in her other hand, with the green pawprint stamped on one corner. All it said was, M'lady, do me the honour of joining me at the Fashion Week Gala. Come in red, and you'll know me by the cat print on my lapel.
"This is going to be perfect!" Alya was still talking. "Now aren't you glad you didn't back out?"
Marinette's eyes slid back to the invitation, the words Fashion Week Gala blurring as she stared at them. Her mind was buzzing with a growing suspicion, and her stomach churned in response.
"… I can't," she whispered. How many teenage boys would have been able to get their hands on an invitation like this? Alya grabbed her arms and shook her gently.
"You have to," she insisted firmly. "Your mystery guy's gone to all this trouble to get you into the Fashion Week Gala, the least you can do is meet him."
When Marinette whimpered, Alya changed tack. "Are you really going to pass up a chance to see all the biggest designers? This is a fantastic networking opportunity for you, girl, and when they see the amazing red dress that you're going to make, they're all going to want you to work for them."
Marinette felt her eyes widen as a fresh new horror swamped her.
This was the Fashion Week Gala, and every designer she'd ever idolised would be there!
"Marinette?" Alya snapped her fingers in front of her face, and Marinette blinked.
"I can't go. I don't have anything to wear!"
"You can just make something. You're going to come up with something amazing, and everyone will love it. He will love it."
"It's less than two weeks, Alya! I can't make a dress for the Fashion Gala in less that two weeks!"
"Of course you can." Alya was starting to sound a little impatient now. "Don't doubt yourself now."
Did Alya really have no idea of how much work it would take? The physical work alone, never mind the concept… What could she possibly come up with in that time that wouldn't embarrass her in front of the biggest names in fashion? Marinette didn't even have the faintest idea of where to start. But even as she thought that, the visions began to spin in her mind, and she could see a scarlet cloud, spiralling ladybugs…
"… I have to get to the fabric shop …" she said vaguely.
Alya laughed, and engulfed her in a quick hug. "That's my girl. I can't wait to see what you come up with."
Alya whirled out the door in a bustle of energy, and Marinette was left staring into space in the middle of the café.
"Are you going to go?" Luka asked quietly from the café counter, and Marinette jolted at the sound of his voice.
"I can't pass up on something like this. It's the Gala," she said, and was a little surprised to see him flinch at that. She handed Luka the card and the invitation. His expression was oddly unreadable as he stared at them, as if he was weighing up his next words, while he ran his thumb over the edge of the card.
Finally, he said, "You don't have to wear anything red."
Marinette had almost forgotten about that part of it.
"That… doesn't seem very fair, somehow."
"Neither is forcing you to show yourself if you're not ready."
"He's not forcing me," Marinette said hesitantly. "But I can't make anything in just two weeks, and it'll be a complete mess, and everyone there will laugh, and no one will ever want to hire me because I'll be that girl who thought she could sew and turned up to the Gala in that stupid red homemade dress, and then I'll have to leave the country and change my name because I can't make a couture gown in two weeks!"
At that, Luka gave a tiny laugh that sounded a little pained. "That's what you're worried about? Marinette, whatever you wear, whether it's something you've made or not, you'll knock all our socks off. Your mystery guy won't know what hit him."
Marinette hadn't even been thinking about the mystery guy. The reminder that Luka would be there cut through the rising panic, and she gave a tiny gasp of relief.
"That's right, you'll be working at the Gala." She pressed a hand to her heart, and felt it slow down again.
"I'll even wear socks specially for the occasion," he offered, and she giggled at the lame joke.
"You'd do that for me?"
"Of course, Marinette. Anything."
"How can I resist that?" She let out a breath. "Now I have to go to the Gala."
Luka nodded, but it looked more like bowing his head in defeat. When he looked up, though, his face was as calm as ever, and the smile he gave her was sincere.
"Then I'll see you at the ball, Cinderella."
Luka would be working at the Gala, and knowing he would be there made the idea of facing it all a lot easier to deal with. And if she was more focused on what Luka's reaction to her outfit would be than what the mystery guy might think of it while she was sewing tiny little ladybugs all over her skirts, then that was something else that she didn't mention to Alya when her friend came to check up on her.
"Marinette, you've outdone yourself," Alya told her, and Marinette shook out the metres of gauzy fabric, holding it up to frown at it thoughtfully.
"You don't think it's too much?"
"I think it's just enough much. He's going to swallow his tongue when he sees you. If this doesn't work, then –" Alya threw her hands up. "Then there's no help for him, and I give up."
"No help for him?" Marinette asked, her frown growing deeper, but Alya had turned away to rummage in Marinette's closet.
"Which shoes are you wearing with this?" Alya's voice was muffled, and Marinette had the feeling that she was trying to avoid the question.
"Alya, what did you mean?"
"Are you going with those gold sandals?"
Marinette sighed, and gave it up. No one could out-stubborn Alya. "Look in the grey shoebox on the right."
Alya backed out of the closet with the box in her hands, and lifted a scarlet satin shoe by the thin little ankle strap.
"Ooh, perfect." She raised an eyebrow at Marinette. "You're not going to break your ankle trying to walk in these, are you?"
Marinette sighed, and went back to sewing another tiny red beaded ladybug on the scarlet chiffon.
Breaking an ankle was the least of her worries.
It was hard to stay focused on his job, and the bowtie was driving him crazy. The temptation to rip it off was strong, but instead, Luka offered his tray and a polite smile to another group of people who didn't even glance in his direction as they took the champagne glasses from him.
Through the shifting crowd of celebrities and bored notables, Luka caught a glimpse of Adrien. The model was arguing with the businesslike woman at his side, his expression uncharacteristically muleish and the black perfection of his suit broken only by the green pawprint badge he was wearing on his lapel. Judging by the way the woman was glaring at it, she wasn't impressed by the break from Agreste brand style.
Luka, his tray empty now, returned to the catering tables just as a new wave of arrivals swept through the doors. Behind them, he could make out the flash of lights and cameras, and the uproar of noise that briefly overwhelmed the softer murmur of gossip and business inside the hotel's grand ballroom before the doors swung shut again.
As the dazzle of the outside lights faded, Luka could see a familiar figure showing her gilt-edged invitation to someone with a tablet and a headset. They waved her through, and Marinette stepped uncertainly into the ballroom. Even at that distance, Luka could make out the way her hands clasped together too tightly.
"Hey, watch it," one of the other waiters hissed as Luka accidentally bumped into his shoulder, rattling the glasses he was carrying. Luka held up his hands, still holding the empty tray, and gave the guy an apologetic smile, but kept going.
Marinette was hovering at the edge of the room, her gaze flickering across the crowd of adults, but her face lit up in a smile the moment she caught sight of him moving towards her.
She was wearing red, as her mystery date had asked, and she stood out like a flame against the bland background of the ballroom, her dark hair caught up in ribbons as vivid as her dress. Her soft crimson skirts drifted around her, and Marinette seemed to be standing at the heart of a swirling storm of ladybugs and blossoms. Luka was dumbstruck at the thought of how much time she must have spent on the beadwork alone.
"Wow," he said under his breath, but she heard him and her gorgeous smile became dazzling.
Marinette looked like magic itself, and there was no way Adrien could miss her now.
"Luka!" the head waiter growled, and Luka looked around to find his boss glaring at the empty tray in his hands. Luka sighed.
Marinette wrinkled her nose sympathetically at him. Then her gaze shifted behind him, and she sucked in a deep, unsteady lungful of air. Luka glanced back, but he already knew what he would see, and sure enough, Adrien was making his way towards Marinette. She let her breath go in a soft rush.
Adrien's gaze was flicking from Marinette to scan over the crowd and back again, as if he was looking for anyone else to show up. Luka hoped, for Marinette's sake, that it was because Adrien couldn't believe his luck that his lady was Marinette, and not because he was an oblivious idiot who still couldn't see Marinette for the incredible girl she was when she was standing right in front of him, head to toe in scarlet and covered in ladybugs.
Luka was still within earshot when Adrien reached Marinette.
"Marinette," Adrien was saying, his eyes a little wide. "It's you. I never guessed it would be you."
He gave a little laugh, and the sound fell into the soft murmur of voices around them.
"Who did you expect it would be?" Marinette asked, her voice small and clear, and Luka's heart ached for her.
"M'lady –"
Surely it had to go better, once Adrien got over his initial befuddlement. Surely even Adrien had to see her now.
Another hiss from his boss pulled him back to his work, and Luke took the tray that was shoved at him, but it could not be said that his mind was really on what he was doing. Luka focused on serving drinks, and managed to not let his attention stray too often to the girl in red. It didn't make it easier that Marinette stood out wherever she was.
Luka's duties kept him circulating with tray after tray of champagne and sparkling water, and the closest he came to Marinette was when someone beckoned him over, just in time for him to hear Adrien tell Marinette, "You look pretty tonight."
Pretty? That was the best Adrien could do when Marinette was looking like that? He couldn't help rolling his eyes at that, and accidentally caught Marinette's gaze over Adrien's shoulder. The sudden choke she gave turned into a fit of coughing, and Adrien patted her back in concern.
Luka moved away, and he didn't see more than a glimpse of her sitting at Adrien's side when the lights dimmed for the runway show. As far as he could tell in the strobing light, she was looking happier now, her blue eyes shining and fixed on the models that strode down the catwalk. Luka saw her turn her head to say something to Adrien, actually talking to him. She was in her element now.
It was all going to work out for her, just like Alya had planned.
The moment that the head waiter sent Luka on his break, he made his way through the quiet foyer and up through the drapes that hid the door to a tiny little balcony. He tugged the tie free, loosening his collar, and leaned his forearms against the railing.
Across the wide black band of the busy road below, bordered by the hard orange glow of the street lamps and the sharp flash of car headlights, Luka could make out the softer shadows of the river beyond. Even at that distance, he could see the shifting boat lights reflected back in the water like dancing stars.
Over the noise of the traffic, he could still hear the sound of people coming and going from the main doors of the Grand Paris Hotel around the corner, and the chatter of the onlookers who were still lurking in hopes of spotting a celebrity or two. Their voices echoed up to him every time someone swept out of the hotel and into one of the waiting limos or sports cars.
Some time later, he heard the door open and close behind him. He wasn't entirely surprised, when he glanced over his shoulder, to find Marinette there.
"Luka!" A stray breeze set the beaded blossoms along her hem dancing as she came towards him. "What are you doing out here? Not that you can't be out here if you want, and you don't have to tell me…" she caught herself mid-babble and drew a breath. "I was just looking for you before my taxi turns up, and I couldn't find you in the ballroom."
"How did you know about this place?" he asked, and Marinette pulled a face.
"I've done work experience here before, and when Chloe Bourgeois is calling the shots, you find all the exits and hiding places pretty quickly," she told him.
"How are you enjoying the Gala?"
Marinette clasped her hands, those blue eyes of hers turning starry. "Oh, it's been amazing!" she sighed happily. "Clara Nightingale even told me she liked my dress. Clara Nightingale!"
"I don't blame her. I'm guessing that stunner is one of your creations?"
She twirled, and the skirts wafted around her as she flashed him a brilliant smile. "You like it?"
" 'Like' doesn't do it anywhere near enough justice. Or the amazing girl wearing it. I hope Adrien realises just how lucky he is."
Marinette let out a huff of a laugh at that, and came to lean on the balcony railing beside him.
"I sort of had a feeling that it might be Adrien," she admitted. "Alya had that look she gets when there's an Adrien Scheme in the works, and who else would have been able to get their hands on Gala tickets?"
"He's not taking you home?" Luka asked as casually as he could manage. Beside him, Marinette gave an awkward little shrug.
"He asked, but my parents gave me money for a taxi." There was a long moment of silence, then Marinette said, "He asked me to the Style Queen season launch."
Luka's eyes were fixed on the street below as he asked, "Are you going?"
"I said no."
"You didn't want to go? I would have thought that you'd be excited about that."
Marinette shook her head. "It wouldn't feel right, not when he wants it to be a date. Besides," her chin tilted up and she shot him a look full of hauteur and mischief, "one of these days I'll get my own invitation."
"You'll be the headline artist," he countered, his mouth curving up in a lopsided smile.
"I can wait until then."
"Didn't you want it to be a date?"
"It's funny, I spent so long chasing Adrien, and wishing he'd look my way, and when he finally did, I just didn't care."
She was drawing patterns on the rail, and her eyes were still fixed on the street lights below them as he turned his head to look at her.
"Alya was right about one thing, I did get to know Adrien a bit more without constantly making an idiot of myself, and it was kind of fun," Marinette said. "But it turns out I didn't know him any more than he really knew me. It was never because he's famous, or a model or anything. I fell for him because I thought he was sweet, and it turns out he's funny, and into gaming, and he can be kind of a dork when he's not trying to make his father happy. But he can also be a bit..." Marinette trailed off, and her face clouded over. "He didn't like it when I said no. I was sure I'd told him that I couldn't come to his picnic."
Luka thought about Adrien's muleish expression in the café when the subject had been under discussion, and his lips compressed.
"You did."
"He never apologised to Nino for not letting him know," Marinette said. "And then, when I said something, he seemed to think that I should be apologising to him."
Marinette was frowning as she stared down into the shadows and streetlights.
"I feel awful about it, but I don't want to always be feeling like he's just putting up with me klutzing out because he's fallen for this whole Ladybug thing. I'll always be wondering when he's going to figure out that I'm not that perfect girl he's imagined. And I… would have been wishing he was someone else, and that's not fair to him at all."
She rested her hands on the railing beside him, looking down into the lights and the street below. A lock of hair had escaped from her ribbons, and Luka resisted the temptation to reach out and tuck it back into place.
"This was all you, wasn't it?" Marinette said. "I'm pretty sure that Adrien never would have thought of this for himself. The Gala was your idea."
"You don't think it was Alya's?" he asked with an attempt at lightness, but Marinette was shaking her head.
"You were the only one listening whenever I talked about it, and you're the only one who ever pays that much attention. Did you really want me to be with Adrien that much?" she asked in a small voice.
He took a deep breath to stop himself from the instinctive and emphatic No! that hovered on his tongue. That was the last thing he wanted, but it wasn't about him when it came to Marinette.
"I want you to be happy."
"And you thought that would be with Adrien?"
He tilted his head to meet her eyes. "I thought the only person who could decide that was you. Not me, and not Alya."
"What if I would be happy with you?"
He had to lean in to catch those last words, and when her words finally hit him they stole his breath away.
Her voice was little more than a whisper as she said, "Would you… like to get coffee with me sometime?"
"Not hot chocolate?" Luka couldn't resist asking, and was rewarded with Marinette's giggle.
"Was that a yes?"
No plots, no schemes, no notes. Just Marinette, asking him out. It really wasn't that complicated, no matter what Alya said.
"Yes. Hell, yes," he told her fervently. "Any time, anywhere, anything you want."
She reached up to smooth her fingers over the ends of his unravelled tie. The way she was biting her lip was absolutely wrecking him, and then she glanced up through dark lashes at him with those gorgeous blue eyes of her.
"What if I want you to kiss me?"
Luka forgot to breathe.
And then Marinette pushed herself up on her toes, and kissed him.
As long as he lived, he would never forget the feel of her lips on his, or the soft sound she made as, somehow, he managed to get his arms around her and pull her closer.
He had no idea how long they'd been out there, caught up in each other, until Marinette's phone buzzed in her handbag, startling them both. She sighed and pulled back a little, her hands still on the ends of his tie.
"That'll be my ride," she said reluctantly.
He held her hand as they headed slowly down the broad staircase into the foyer together, and Luka felt as if he was floating. When he handed her into the waiting taxi, leaning down to drop one last lingering kiss on her forehead, she blushed up at him again.
"Tomorrow," he promised, and the radiant smile that she gave him left him dazed and grinning long after her taxi had pulled away from the curb and vanished into the traffic of Paris.
Marinette woke up when she heard the inevitable sounds of Alya's arrival. She groaned and pulled the quilt over her head as Alya climbed through the trapdoor with entirely too much energy and verve for that time of the morning. The quilt was yanked away from her, and Marinette scowled at her friend. Alya was unimpressed.
"Well?" Alya asked impatiently. "How did it go?"
Marinette fell backwards into her pillows, the scowl melting into a dopey smile at the memory. She touched her mouth with her fingertips.
"It was… good." The smile grew wider, threatening to take over her face. "It was really good."
Alya let out a screech, and Marinette could hear her doing a little dance of joy.
"I knew it! I knew you and Adrien –"
"What?" Marinette sat up again. "Oh. Adrien. Yeah, no."
"No? What do you mean, no?"
Marinette's mother's voice called up through the open trapdoor. "Marinette? Are you awake?"
"I'm up!" Marinette swung her legs over the side of her bed. Alya followed her to her wardrobe, a frown gathering.
"But your mystery guy is –"
"There's someone here to see you," Sabine called out, and the arch note in her voice brought a blush to Marinette's cheeks, even before her mother said, "A boy named Luka."
"Luka?!" Alya shrieked, and Marinette spun around to clap a hand over her friend's mouth.
"Will you keep it down?" she hissed.
"You hooked up with Luka?" Alya repeated, a little more quietly.
"I didn't…" Her hand went to her lips again, and that smile was back. She could still feel the tingle of that kiss, and the warmth of his arms around her. "Yeah, I guess I did."
Alya was staring at her blankly. Her mouth had fallen open. Deep down, Marinette had to admit that it felt good to leave Alya without a word to say for once. She braced herself for the moment when Alya would recover her powers of speech.
"But… you… Adrien…" Alya finally stuttered, her volume rising again. "Why didn't you tell me you were into Coffee Shop Luka?!"
"I tried!
"But we were going to double date, and it was going to be perfect." If it had been anyone else, Marinette would have said Alya was whining.
"You don't want me to be with someone just so we can all go on dates together, do you?"
"No," Alya sighed. "Not if Luka makes you happy."
"I know Nino likes Luka, and you'll like him too, once you've had a chance to get to know him. We can still double date," Marinette coaxed. She could feel that dopey grin spread across her face again. "Luka's so sweet, and oh my god, Alya, the way he kisses!"
"Yeah, yeah," Alya said, still a little grumpily.
Alya kept muttering darkly the whole time Marinette was digging through her wardrobe, but Marinette tuned her out. She was a little more preoccupied with what Luka would think about that pink skirt she'd made a few months ago, or the blue blouse that was almost the same colour as his eyes, or…
"What is taking you so long?" Alya grumbled. "Do you really think a guy who wears those jeans and that hoodie is going to care if your outfit is perfectly coordinated?"
"I care," Marinette insisted, but she scrambled into the embroidered tunic top and leggings she was holding, hurried along by the thought that the longer she took, the more likely it was that Luka was being subjected to her parents.
Alya followed her down the stairs, muttering, "You're a fashion designer, Mari, and I bet he's never even worn a pair of pants without holes in his life. Not like -"
Marinette's elbow cut her off as they came down the last steps into the bakery, and Luka straightened from where he'd been leaning against the counter, talking to Marinette's mother. Sabine gave her daughter a raised eyebrow, and a knowing smile, and whisked discreetly into the back room.
Alya stopped in front of Luka, her hands on her hips.
"You've got a lot of explaining to do, buddy," she ordered. Out of Alya's line of sight, Marinette rolled her eyes, and gave Luka a flicker of a smile. The corners of his own mouth quirked up in response. "I still think you sabotaged everything."
"Did I?" Luka asked Marinette, and she giggled.
"If you did, I can live with it."
"All that planning, wasted," Alya muttered, but she seemed resigned now.
"It was a good scheme," Luka said sympathetically. "I never would have met Marinette without it."
For the second time that day, Marinette saw Alya rendered speechless. Her mouth moved and then froze a couple of times, as if she was about to say something and then thought better of it. Finally, she spun on her heel and stomped out. As the bakery door swung shut, they could hear Alya's muffled scream over the tinkle of the shop bell.
"I don't think she likes me much," Luka said, as Marinette stepped into his arms, and tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
"She'll come round, once she gets used to the idea. She's just a bit miffed that her plans didn't work out the way she wanted them to."
Luka snorted at that. "Did you hear half of her plans? The shenanigans I've had to suffer through for this… They almost sent you to AnimePalooza for one of the challenges. Adrien was pretty keen on that one." His arms tightened around her, and he grinned. "Although now I think about it, I'm sure you would have come up with a great costume for that, so maybe I shouldn't have talked them out of it."
Marinette pouted up at him.
"The question is, are you upset that the whole mystery romance thing didn't go according to plan?" Luka asked her.
"Are you kidding? I've been wishing you were my mystery guy since you first showed up with that hot chocolate," she told him.
"Well, it's no mystery, but I am yours."
"I do have a challenge for you, though," she suggested, glancing up at him through her lashes. Luka was watching her with that look in his eyes that always brought a blush to her cheeks, and when he raised an eyebrow, she added a little nervously and a whole lot hopefully, "I think you should kiss me again. I've heard you can tell a lot about someone by the way they kiss."
"Your schemes are so much better than Alya's," he said on a breathless laugh, and he took her face in his hands. "One thing you might learn about me is that I really like kissing you."
"I hope so," she said, and tugged him down to put her plan into action.