Paris in winter is beautiful.

Tufts of snowflakes float down to the earth, touched up with just a hint of moonlight. A tweak of guitar strings from somewhere far. Sweaters and scarves. People talk, they smile, they ask after each other. Rosy cheeks. The temperature has dropped really suddenly, didn't it?

But Marinette, for one, is in no mood to apprehend the beauty of the city.

Feeling smothered under her companion's heavy gaze, she squirms in her seat instead. A sharp inhale and she steals a quick glance through the tainted glass window. Once, twice, and then once again. His proposition was attractive and it would definitely solve her problem. But the payment. . . wasn't something she was sure of.

Was having her own show really worth that much?

"Look, if you want the money, you're going to have to do it." The man speaks harshly, breaking through her train of thoughts. He is irritated. "I don't have time for all this nonsense."

Marinette is almost glad that he did. She certainly couldn't live with herself if she admitted the answer.

Her expression turns pleading, and the man sighs, waving his hand impatiently as to rush her. "Isn't there. . . uh, something else I could do? I mean, there's got to be something else, isn't there?"

"Well, there isn't," his expression grows frigid again, "Take it or leave it, sweetcheeeks."

It took all her might not to shudder at the name. "I. . . just have never. . . never done-"

"Marinette?"

The bluenette curses her luck. Everywhere she goes, there is either Chat Noir or Adrien calling after her. The only two guys she wants to do nothing with. How do they show up exactly when she doesn't want them to?

She forces a smile on her face, and he quickly jogs over. "Hey Adrien. What are you doing here?"

"I was just getting a drink here- wait, Francois?!"

The man seems to jump out of his skin when he hears the angry voice roar behind him. He turns around and his rude expression melts into an apologetic one. "I-I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't know she knew you."

At this chain reaction, Marinette glances curiously between the two of them. "You two know each other?"

"Get out of here!" Adrien slams his hand on the table angrily and the latter stands up immediately, his rough rogue persona dissipating like the air.

"Yes, yes. Of course, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

He runs away almost comically, and Adrien settles down across her. His face softens. "Hey, you okay? Did he try something on you?"

Marinette feels bewildered. "No! No, he didn't. He was just helping me."

An amused grin spreads across his lips. "Oh, yeah?"

Something was amiss here, she could tell. Was she not getting something?

"Why are you smiling like that?" Marinette feels a little embarrassed at his chiding gaze.

"We'll talk about it later." Adrien stands up, and his smile is replaced by a more serious expression. "On the other hand. . . we do have to eat. And you're too dressed up to stay home tonight." He settles a hand on her shoulder, pressed gently. "Let's get out of here."

His car is parked in the front drive. It was so typical of Adrien to drive a Maybach. It's a car for rich people who don't like to flaunt it, which is why you don't see many Maybachs in Paris. For about a few thousand euros, you get an exterior so understated that parking lot attendants rarely put it in the front along with the BMWs or Lexuses.

He helps her into the low-slung car and reaches in to buckle her seat belt. Marinette relaxes into the seat, breathing in the smell of polished leather and staring at a front dash that resembles the interior of a small aircraft. The Maybach purred as they pulled away from the bar.

Driving with one hand, Adrien picks something up from the center console. He holds up a cell phone and gives her a brief glance. "All right if I make a quick call?"

"Of course."

They drive past the L'Arc De Triomphe. Marinette looks at the mansions they passed, the bright yellow rectangles of windows, the sight of a couple walking a dog along the quiet street. Just an ordinary night for some people. . . whereas for others, unimaginable things were happening.

Adrien speed-dials a number, and someone picks up the line. He spoke into the phone without even saying hello. "Why do I even pay you if you don't do your duties properly? You had one job: keep her safe at all cost, and what were you doing when she went into Madeira's alone, huh?"

A reply from the other side.

"Yeah," Adrien says, "I got that. You informed me ten minutes later. So many things could have happened in those ten minutes. I'm warning you— from now on, if this happens one more time, you're fired." He clicks the cell phone shut with a snap. "Old geezer," he mutters.

Marinette gives him an incredulous glance. "Wait, did you hire someone to follow me?”

"Well," Adrien is unrepentant, "You did go to a third-class bar and hung out with Francois Deli, so. . . I'm taking no chances."

Before she could process this bit of information, they are at the restaurant. A uniformed valet helps her out of the car while another receives the keys from the blonde. "We can go anywhere," Adrien says, taking her elbow. "If you don't like the look of this place, just tell me."

"I'm sure it will be wonderful." She feels giddy, all earlier thoughts disappearings.

It is a contemporary restaurant with light-colored walls and tables covered in white linen, and piano music. After Adrien explains to the hostess that the Agreste party had gone from nine to two, she leads them to one of the small tables in the corner, which is partially concealed by a curtainlike panel to allow for privacy.

While Adrien looks through a wine list the size of a phone book, a solicitous waiter fills their water glasses and drapes a napkin across her lap.

To her amused laughter, he orders artichoke soup sprinkled with shreds of caramelized Maine lobster, plates of California abalone, skillet-roasted sole from Dover accompanied by a hot salad of New Zealand eggplant and peppers.

"My dinner is going to be more well traveled than I am," Marinette smiles.

The corners of his emerald eyes crinkle. "If you could go to any place, where would you?"

The question makes her animated. Marinette has always fantasized about traveling to places she had seen only in magazines or movies. Business trips were a whole different deal. "Oh, I don't know. . . to start with, India, maybe. Or Korea, or Russia. When I successfully start up my business, I'm going to save enough to take one of those bus tours through Asia..."

"You don't want to see Asia through a bus window." Adrien says.

"I don't?"

"No. You want to go with someone who knows the right places." He pulls out his cell phone and unlocks it. "Which one?"

She smiles and shakes her head in confusion. "What do you mean, which one?"

"India or Korea? I can have the plane ready in two hours."

Marinette decides to play along. "Are we taking the Gulfstream or the Citation?"

"For Asia, definitely the Gulfstream."

It was then that the bluenette realizes he was serious. "I don't even own a suitcase." She says, stunned.

"I'll buy whatever you need when we get there."

"You always say that you were tired of traveling."

"I meant business traveling with my dad. Besides, I'd like to see Asia with someone who's never been there before." His voice gentles. "It would be like seeing it for the first time again."

"You have a girlfriend!" At his hurt expression, Marinette lowers her voice, "And I don't think that she'd appreciate you doing that. . . I mean, travelling with me."

"Hmm." Adrien watches her as she sips on her wine. "What about Dave what's-his-name's dinner? You didn't go? He seemed into you."

He's reestablishing. . . what? The boundary line? That he's taken and she should be with someone else? Except that she can't. Even if that someone else was Chat Noir.

"Uh, I didn't go. I had a previous engagement." Marinette hates that she sounds so unconvincing.

"And yeah, about that," his eyes narrow into slits, "Don't meet with people like him. Don't you have any common sense? Everyone knows that Francois Deli is. Bad. News. Do you know what could have happened? There were so many horrible people there- pickpockets, gangs, pedophiles, hooligans- all waiting for a nice little pigeon like you to pluck."

"He told me-"

Adrien cuts her off. "He told you that he'd give you some money, right? In return, you'd have to have a drink with him in Hotel Montagne."

When she asks him how he knew it, the blonde rolls his eyes.

"It's his common trick. He uses it to-" A look of hesitation passes on his face and he quickly smooths over the topic. "The point is that he's not nice. . . Anyways, you want to hear my plan?"

"I'm listening."

"Right now, the fans are itching for a Kitty Section reunion. So, we give them exactly what they want, the tickets sell like hot cakes... And you get enough money to host your own gala. As simple as that." He leans back into his chair, a smug expression on his face.

Her eyebrows shoots up. "So, let me get this straight. What you're saying, is that we rob our friends blind?"

"No, no." Adrien cracks a smile, "I talked to them. They're more than happy to help you."

"They are?" Marinette's surprised. She cuts the meat in her plate into small pieces.

"Of course! So, I've scheduled a meeting with them-"

Adrien's phone rings and when he sees the caller ID, he gives her an apologetic smile.

A moment of silence as she quietly concentrates on cleaning up her plate.

"Ohmygod, are you okay?"

At the sound of the hostess' alarm from behind them, Marinette quickly looks up.

Adrien has collapsed to the ground. The two of them rush to his side. He's still holding the phone to his ear, but he's not listening anymore. They talk over each other. "What happened? Are you okay, Sir? What is it?"

He won't answer them. He won't look up.

Something is really wrong. Adrien looks up, surprised to find them holding on to him. His face is white.

"My dad."

"What happened?" Marinette asks.

"He's dying."

*

Hey good people who've decided to read this so far, how was the sudden twist? 😂

Vote and comment before you go read the next chapters? I'd really love it.