Four hours into this twelve-hour flight, Marinette and M. Agreste hadn't made eye contact or exchanged any words since their initial greeting. Which suited Marinette just perfectly –– she could pretend he wasn't there and enjoy her much-needed relaxation time. But unfortunately, she couldn't fall asleep, too aware of the man next to her, afraid of doing something embarrassing in her sleep and giving him just another reason to fire her.
So she kept her eyes open and focused on the film she was watching on the in-flight display. She picked out "The Grand Budapest Hotel" only to burn time, but it turned out to be quite good. This Wes Anderson guy really had a way with colours and costumes that sold the narrative. Inspired, Marinette pulled out her sketch pad and started drawing a gender-bent version of M. Gustave in a pique bib tuxedo shirt with an evening tailcoat and midi knife-pleated skirt. Thinking about whether to add a black or white bow to the shirt, she glanced over at M. Agreste's display, which was paused on a very tilted black-and-white Ferris wheel scene. "The Third Man (1949)" it read. God, that must be ridiculously boring, Marinette thought.
Not caring less about her big boss, she turned her attention back to her drawing, now distracted by the urge to take a sip of her water. She had taken the plastic cup of water from the flight attendants about two hours ago but still hadn't taken a drink –– which she knew was a bad call, especially on a long-haul flight, but she didn't want to have to talk and scoot by M. Buffoon Agreste in order to go to the bathroom. But now she was abandoning that unrealistic resolve, the thirst just getting way too distracting.
So she lifted the cup to her mouth when, suddenly, a small shake of turbulence sent maybe a third of the cup's contents onto M. Agreste's dress pants. Marinette's heart sank. Oh great!
He cursed under his breath, attempting to wipe the small puddle of water on his thigh off onto the ground, his expression a mix of annoyance and frustration.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" Marinette quickly apologised, setting down her water cup and digging through her bag for some napkins. Seriously, Marinette? How did you even manage to do that? She couldn't help but fret over whether this incident would lead to her being fired. Hopefully, this wouldn't break the camel's back, right?
Marinette found the napkins and handed them to M. Agreste. "I am so, so sorry! Here, use these, or..." she thought quickly, trying to salvage the situation. "When we land, I'll get those dry-cleaned," she offered, hoping to make some kind of amends.
M. Agreste didn't respond, his expression still irritated.
"Or I'll buy you a new pair?" she suggested, feeling frantic to make it better. Surely, there was nothing more he could ask of her, right?
M. Agreste turned to face her, his expression colder than ever. "Miss Dupain-Cheng, if you knew anything about fashion––which your qualifications suggest you do––then you would know someone like you could not afford to buy something like these," he remarked, sharp and cutting.
Marinette gulped, feeling a knot form in her stomach. But there was no time to be offended, especially when she noticed the silver Gabriel Agreste name stamp on the left side seam of the pants. The only pieces the Gabriel Brand printed like that were...
The clothes he gave his son. Adrien Agreste. Huh, and now that she thought about it, behind those glasses M. Agreste did kind of look like––
Sugar. honey. iced. tea. He was Adrien Agreste!
THE Adrien Agreste whose face was plastered all over billboards across Paris throughout her teenage years.
THE Adrien Agreste whom she had a fangirl Tumblr phase over (yikes).
THE Adrien Agreste who is somehow close with Nino? How did that happen?
Anywho, he is THE Adrien Agreste, whose father is Garbeil Agreste–– the owner of the number one fashion house in the industry.
The same industry she was so desperately trying the break into!
Blood and ashes! What had she done? Now, not only is she probably going to get fired from this short-term gig, but she'd also now probably get blacklisted from the entire fashion industry!
Her life was over!
Turning to the large man sitting beside him––whom Marinette now realised must have been his bodyguard––Adrien took the silk-looking handkerchief the man held out for him. "Call Nathalie and tell her to put me in first class return no matter what. This is unbearable and my father would agree," he demanded.
The man nodded, pulling out his phone and began typing before standing up to swap seats with Adrien, putting a wall between them. Marinette's heart raced as she processed the realisation that she had just accidentally spilled water on none other than Adrien Agreste.
Ouch, there was no way she was going to be able to sweet-talk her way out of this predicament now. But he hadn't fired her on the spot, right? That must be a good sign? Perhaps he would be more understanding than she initially thought? Marinette hoped so, but the sinking feeling in her stomach told her it wouldn't be that easy to smooth things over with Adrien Agreste.
After all, now she knew he was Adrien Agreste only cemented the fact––in her mind––that he was a privileged, underqualified director with zero pleasant personality traits and probably just playing with his dad's money. Marinette couldn't help but resent him.
He had earned no respect from her, and Marinette had the self-respect to no longer overthink this. Okay, so he could probably blacklist her from the industry and send her right back to Paris, so what? She'd take it in stride and take over her parents' bakery. It couldn't be that bad, right? And then she could reopen her Etsy shop under a secret identity to sell clothes. Or better yet, figure out a way to monetise being Ladybug! Maybe she could help catch petty thefts and misdemeanours? Would the city pay her for that? Or what about retroactive payment for all the unpaid labour she did as a superhero teenager to keep the city safe? Even if it was only 100 euros a week, surely she could manage off that, right?
Trying not to crawl up into a little ball under her seat or sneak into first class to confide in Luka, Marinette placed her headphones back on and resumed watching "The Grand Budapest Hotel". A few minutes later, she glanced over to see Adrien had loaded up "The Third Man" again on his new screen.
Everything would be fine. After all, she was going to Shanghai. With Luka, too, who she'd be going on a date with.
Everything would be just fine. She repeated like a mantra.
YOU ARE READING
Set to Love
أدب الهواةFresh out of university and miserably unemployed, Marinette Dupain-Cheng gladly accepts a position in the Art Department of Nino's mysterious "loaded best bud's" film production. Little did she know that dealing with the disrespectful, arrogant, and...
