Chapter Text
If you were to ask her friends to describe Marinette Dupain-Cheng in three short sentences, they would most likely say that she:
- Is a hopeless romantic;
- Is so clumsy, it should be classified as a disability;
- Cares for and is fiercely loyal to her friends.
And it was exactly a combination of these three traits that had got her into this situation in the first place.
It was around 10:00am in July. And at her parent’s bakery, it was that fairly quiet time after the hectic morning of orders and collections, but just before the lunchtime rush.
Marinette had taken advantage of the light footfall to sweep the store floors and straighten the small collection of tables and chairs outside.
She didn’t mind helping out at the bakery; she had done so almost her entire life.
She had just hoped that, after graduating from fashion school almost two years ago now, that she would be doing something…more with her life by now.
“Marinette, why don’t you take a break?” Sabine, her mother, poked her head out of the store front. “I can handle any customers that come in for the next hour or so.”
Sabine motioned for the broom in her hands insistently, implying that she was more worried about her clumsy daughter injuring herself (or someone else) with it more so than her zealous work ethic.
Nevertheless, Marinette was thankful.
“Sure. Thanks, maman .”
Deciding that it was too nice a day to head back up to her room, Marinette decided to take a short walk to nowhere in particular. Perhaps to the newsagents to pick up this month's copy of French Vogue or to the park, or to the Jardins to see if one of the sun loungers were free.
She hardly made it down the street and one left turn when she spotted Mylène on the opposite side of a pedestrian crossing.
It wasn’t hard to pick her colourful, braided hair out from a crowd, nor was it difficult to ignore the despondent look on her usually cheerful face.
“Hey, Mylène!” Marinette called as she crossed. The girl hadn’t even realised that the traffic had stopped, unresponsive to the jolsting mix of locals and tourists going about their day.
When she reached her, Marinette took her by the forearm and tugged her away from the crowd.
“Is everything ok?”
Her friend blinked at her and then at her surroundings, as if she wasn’t sure where she was or how she got there.
“Marinette? Oh, hi…” she sniffed, and that was when Mariette noticed the puffiness around her eyes. “Gosh, I don’t even know how I got here. I must have been on auto-pilot or something...”
Marinette pulled an arm around her shoulders and sat them both down on the low wall that lined the pavement.
“What’s the matter?”
Mylène released a breath past her trembling lips, both hands fisting on the top of her lap.
“It’s Ivan.”
“Ivan?” Marinette’s first reaction was panic. “Is he ok?”
I mean, she could only assume that something must have happened to him, considering that she met Mylène’s new boyfriend just the other week and she had never seen a man more besotted.
“Yes—I mean, it’s nothing like that…'' Mylène was almost on the verge of tears again. “He—he just…broke up with me this morning….”
“...WHAT?!”
Marinette yelled, loud and abruptly enough to startle a group of bystanders waiting at a nearby bus station.
“Why would he do that?” she continued to splutter, frantic hand gestures and all. “He absolutely adores you! And you were both so—!”
“—He’s getting married, Marinette!” her friend was now openly weeping into her hands. “ Today ! The coward only thought to tell me on the morning of his wedding. I couldn’t believe it, he’s been engaged this entire time!”
Of all the obscure reasons Marinette had constructed in her head in the last fifteen seconds for why in the world this had happened, that bombshell hadn’t even made the shortlist.
Instantly, her concern turned into rage.
“Are you kidding me right now?! What a scumbag! Screw him! He’s a liar and a cheat and you’re better off—!”
“—I did and I’m pregnant, Marinette!” Mylène wailed over her friend, sending the two of them into hysterics and the bus bystanders confused and wondering whether they were in the midst of a soap opera filming.
Marinette fumed, rising onto her feet. “Where is he?”
Mylène gazed up at her and despite the current situation, was alarmed at her friends flaring nostrils and gaze filled with murderous intent.
“Um…at the wedding venue, I guess?”
“Do you know where it is?” Marinette demanded.
“I think it’s at that hotel on Avenue Montaigne . Although I’m not a hundred percent sure—”
“—Stay here,” Marinette cut her off at the sight of a vacant taxi, flagging it down before Mylène could protest.
It took about twenty minutes to get to the hotel, and she would have got there sooner if there hadn’t been road closures that meant she had to get out and run the last half mile.
Panting, she made for the fancy, revolving doors at the hotel's entrance, only to be accosted by an absolute behemoth of a security guard and hotel’s doorman looking down through his nose at her.
“ Excuse me, Miss. The hotel is closed for an event today.”
Momentarily blindsided, Marinette blinked and made a mental note to ask Mylène what exactly in the world did Ivan or his family do to have exclusive use of one of Paris’ most luxurious hotels.
“Oh, well I’m—uh, a guest…for this event?” she offered finally, although she nor the doorman seemed in the least bit convinced.
Even so, he humoured her by flicking through the papers on his clipboard.
“Your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes,” the doorman dealt her a tight smile. “For the guest list.”
“Right, yes. It’s…”
Just as Marinette was about to produce the most obscure name her mind could conjure up at that moment, a woman with a red streak through her hair and a tablet in her hands emerged from the hotel lobby and seemed to give her a double take.
“Oh! That was quick.” She approached, speaking as if Marinette had any idea what she was talking about. “I only just got off the phone with your manager.”
The lady glanced back down at her tablet once again, and Marinette could see her scrolling through several open tabs through the reflection of the screen in her glasses.
“Francois, please let this young lady through,” she spoke, distractedly. “She is from the bakery that made the wedding cake.”
It was only then that Marinette looked down at herself and realised that she was still wearing her flour-dusted apron.
“Yes, that’s me!” she jerked a thumb at her collarbone. “Boulangerie Patisserie’s finest, ready for duty!”
The doorman raised a brow at her and the lady with the tablet paused, probably sensing something was off but with an urgent message coming in from her bluetooth earpiece, decided that there were far more pressing things going on to ponder over the odd behaviour of the (slightly sweaty) baker.
“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” she explained as she led Marinette through security, unchecked. “One of the bride’s nephews decided to put his whole face in the second tier icing, so the whole thing just looks a mess…”
Marinette followed her through the hotel’s high-ceilinged corridors, sneakers squeaking on the polished marble floors.
She had lived in this city her entire life but had no reason, nor the financial capital, to ever pay a visit to the famous Le Grand Paris . It was where celebrities stayed when on vacation, where the city’s own Mayor and family resided in the 6,000 square ft penthouse suite.
So she couldn’t help but stare in awe at her surroundings, at the extravagance of it all and the people that it catered for. She even stopped in her tracks when they passed a bustling function room, recognising immediately a distinct head of black and purple streaked hair.
No way .
Was that Jagged Stone getting set up to perform at the reception?!
“The dining hall is this way,” Tablet Lady called her attention back to the task at hand. “We need to hurry, as the ceremony is already underway.”
Panic settled back in and sprung Marinette back into action. She needed to get away from this woman somehow, and fast.
“Is it ok if I, um, use the bathroom?” she thought up quickly. “Gotta…you know, wash my hands and stuff before fixing the cake…!”
She would have been pleased with her excuse—one of her better ones to say the least—-if not for the fact that it drew attention to her hands, vacant of any ingredients or cake-fixing utensils.
Thankfully, another message came through her earpiece, calling the lady’s attention elsewhere.
“Of course,” she nodded, before turning back to Marinette. “The dining hall is at the end of this corridor to the left. I’ll meet you there.”
Marinette smiled and waited until her back was turned before she scurried in the direction of where she had spotted some guests earlier, filing into the hotel’s chapel.
To her surprise, the entrance was unattended, probably because staff and security were elsewhere and occupied with preparations for the reception.
It was quite easy to slip through the large, floor to ceiling doors and behind one of the pews undetected, crouched and listening out for that specific line to speak up and out Ivan’s cheating ass in the most dramatic way possible.
Thankfully, she did not have to wait too long before she heard the priest say “...And should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your—”
— CRASH!
Leaping up from her hiding place faster than her body could register, Marinette missed the slight step up onto the aisle and tripped spectacularly, arms flailing and managing to take down a large flower arrangement with her too.
There was a chorus of gasps, camera flashes and a stampede of what she could only guess were more bodyguards, bursting through the chapel doors.
As Marinette was used to falling flat on her face on a daily basis, she recovered quickly.
“I object!” she yelled, at the top of her lungs. “This marriage is a farce! The groom is a lying, cheating bastard who got one of my best friends pregnant even though he was engaged— hey , that hurts!”
The next thing she knew, her arms were being pinned to her lower back and she was surrounded by several security personnel, rendering her unable to see much behind the identical, standard issued black shoes and pants that they all wore.
Guests were now chattering amongst themselves, outraged, angry and accusatory voices indistinguishable in such a large crowd, until suddenly, they were silenced by a righteous hand connecting painfully with someone’s else's cheek.
The shock of what they had just seen rippled through the room and was enough for the grip on her back to lax, granting Marinette enough movement to crane her neck up, just in time to see the bride storming past her and out of the door.
“Kagami!” called the groom, and her circle of captors parted seamlessly to make way for him.
Marinette looked up at him too and he paused as he passed her, features anguished and confused, before breaking into a sprint after his runaway bride.
It was silly, but despite the ridiculous situation she had put them both in, Marinette could feel her cheeks warm pleasantly in the split second when their had eyes met.
He was light-haired, tall, with a face like it was built for a billboard.
In fact…
He looked familiar.
Really familiar.
Then, it hit her.
Wait a second.
If that was the groom…then where was Ivan?
Marinette scrambled upright and she started after him, a sickness stirring in her stomach when she finally noticed a placard mounted by the door and unable to believe that she had missed it on her way in.
Agreste-Tsuguri Nuptials
Oh, merde .
She crashed the wrong wedding.
