Speak Softly, Love

Chapter 6: Before the Storm

April 21, 1939

     The trip to Paris grew begrudgingly closer to him and despite his eagerness to see his cousin once more, the prospect of the party was not as favorable. His father and Lila however, became crazed— almost obsessed with it— and he couldn't help but hate the idea of the place, full of everything he hated about his family. Yet the way Marinette had spoken about Paris had subsided it all for him, she made it sound so spectacular and beautiful. Nonetheless, he was still obliged to go, with his father's tightening surveillance. One afternoon, Nathalie gave him a paper, issued by Gabriel, on the things he is allowed to say, the appropriate manners, everything so refined and manufactured that he retreated to the bakery, neglecting responsibility. Felix would make a finer business man than he would and surely would enjoy it much more. The competition for money became so vital that Lila called for Marinette again, despite their tensions, to tailor her and Chloe's party dresses. He worried for another ordeal with them but he was convinced that Lila was too wrapped up in looking presentable, her mind already at the Graham de Vanily's. He offered Marinette to take a walk with him around the estate before meeting with Lila and much to his joy, she accepted.

     He waited eagerly by a half-blossomed orange tree, the petals falling graciously to his polished boots. Scrubbing his heel against the dampened soil, he came across a scrap piece of newspaper, covered in grains of dirt. The printed bold letters ALLEMAGNE peeked through the earth and just as he moved his foot to brush it away, Marinette appeared from the iron pleated gates. His attention gravitated towards her in obvious fashion and they began their walk around the vastness of estate. The nature and greenery suited her as she walked beside him and it refused to let his eyes stray away for a second. Her face basked in the tiny rays of light that poked through the veranda of leaves and branches. The glistening lake was also within his sight and he reveled in it, wishing he had a camera to take a single shot. Though, the more he looked, the realization came to him at a gradual pace. She tried to hide it, but her expression was tense and focused on some troubling matter. 

     "Did you hear from the schools?"

     A sad smile slipped unto her face. "You always seem to know."

     After letting out a sigh, she looked towards him embarrassingly.

     "They declined."

     He ceased his steps and jerked towards her. "Why? It surely wasn't because you lack the skill!"

     "It's Paris, Adrien. I'm a nobody in the middle of France who can barely keep a tailor's shop open. I can see why they would reject me."

     "What's the real reason?" He said, catching the defeated look casted on her face. "That can't be it."

     She sighed and they stopped under the shade of a tree, inches away from the lake's cerulean surface. The indignant frown on her face had unsettled him, feeling heated that the school could not recognize how amazing Marinette was. In the short time that he's known her, he was  enchanted by her unrelenting passion for her work— the way her hands moved so skillfully from stitch to stitch, all in instinctive, natural movements. Knowing of these reserved scenes, replaying in his mind, it simply fueled his anger further. 

     "If they are blind to see what you can do then they don't deserve your enrollment! They'd be sorry—"

     She placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

     "It's not that. Let's just say I underestimated the cost of everything." She paused, her eyes searching frantically towards the greenery of the forest. "I—I don't think I can afford an entire semester. And where could I stay? And what about the bakery— Maman, Papa? Adrien, I don't think I can do this— I was a fool to think I could."

     Her face was full of scrutiny, scrunched with pent-up frustration and he could not stand to see her wilt away like that, letting go of everything she dreamed of like it was nothing. The image of her by the sewing machine, immersed in her own world, shrouded in fabric, the collection, the atlas— it was all a part of her and it was hard to imagine anything else. The last few weeks she was filled with joy and this particular determination that he adored immensely. Seeing her falter then, in a sea of doubtfulness; it became unbearable.

     He held her shoulders with firm reassurance, looking straight into those despairing eyes.

     "This is your dream, Marinette. You showed me the collection, remember? You said it was for your boutique in Paris. You can't throw it away like that. I know you can do it, just give it some time. Your parents would want that for you as well. Everything will work out for you in the end."

     Marinette's lips parted in awe, her head tilted upwards delicately to meet his gaze and her arms wrapped around his torso, engulfing him into a tight embrace. It made his day, just seeing her happy again, and he rubbed her back fondly— whisked away by this warmth and it seemed inconceivable that the estate stood just a kilometer from them. It's sullenness was unable to seep into this hidden refuge and the diamond-cut lake and the girl in his arms. A dizzying feeling that had caught his breath, but it was all comforting: hushing the background noise and his father's demands into a lulled sound in the back of his brain.

     "Thank you." She mumbled, into his chest. "You always know what to say."

     The breeze split them apart and he was warmed to see her smile again, "Update me on any of the applications. We can get through this together." He contemplated his next words. 

     "If they really insist, I don't mind lending some money to you. Think of it as payment for the book."

     She was immediately displeasured and shook her head. "I'll accept your words of encouragement, and that's all. I appreciate that you would even think of offering me money, but I don't want to take that from you. Talking to me like this— that's enough."

     Her mouth broke into a charming grin. "And the atlas was a gift, Monsieur."

     He was still uncertain, but nodded his head, playing along with her wittiness. "Alright, Mademoiselle."

     A strange air had followed them, proceeding their sentimental talk. It was some sort of tense atmosphere as they made their way back to the house. That concerned him minimally— he was busy recounting the memory of their embrace and smiled unconsciously at the thought of it. He was so dazed by it that her next question startled him.

     "Does your father know you're friends with me?"

     His face twisted at the mention of him. "No, why?"

     She hummed absently. "Just curious. I don't think he would be very fond of you hanging around the baker's daughter."

     Before he could give a reply in her defense, Lila appeared from the front door and bore a displeased expression, clearly not entertained by him being in Marinette's presence. She had on this new dress (he couldn't recall her ever wearing it) and it was made of some sort of silk or cotton, but either way, it reeked of money.

     "We need Marinette to fit Chloe's dress. It's a bit baggy on the waist."

     The two friends exchanged a quick look before staring back at Lila once more. He wished they could have a bit more time to talk, but the way Lila stared at Marinette was brimming with contempt. It was the type of look you rarely received, one of pure hatred, but it was glazed over by a faked expression of civility. The girl besides him shifted from foot to foot.

     "I'll be there in a moment. Adrien and I—"

     Lila gave a pleasant smile. "Chloe has an appointment shortly. We need to finish this soon."

     "Oh, I see..." She turned to him awkwardly. "I'll see you again, Monsieur."

     They both disappeared through the doors and he contemplated the whole encounter, frozen, by the orange blossom, in a quiet solemnity. She called him Monsieur again and it became the last word she spoke to him before he drove to Paris; the city full of ultimate paradox and sensation. It was Paris that linked the two women together, in a strange, twisted fate, as a place fit towards their greatest satisfactions, far past his own ambitions.