It's been a while, but I really had to focus on school and now that that's all over, I can write a lot more. I just graduated high school Wednesday, and now I move on to college. I'll be attending American University in the fall!

Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you guys enjoy :)

~Alyssa

PARIS MODEL, PAIR OF RINGS?

Adrien Agreste doesn't have just one ring on his finger…he has two!

The Parisian model, socialite, and recently turned fiancé of one Marinette Du Pain-Cheng, 26, is true-to-form turning heads his way when he stepped out on the town Friday morning, and not because of his dashing good looks! No, it's because of the whopper of a ring he was sporting on his left hand!

Now, Agreste is no stranger to jewelry—he's worn a platinum signet ring for so long that it's become his signature—but even that ring doesn't come close to this one. The estimated 25,000 Euro masterpiece nearly puts the rock on his fiancée's finger to shame!

But the point isn't to ogle—as gorgeous as it might be—it's to wonder what prompted such an expensive buy. Is it a product placement? Seems unlikely, considering the finger. The inlaid ruby and onyx pattern reminds us a little of our very own Ladybug, and Agreste has proved himself to be quite the fan. Then again, ruby is Marinette's birthstone, having been born in July. Could it be a promise ring of sorts? Who knows?

All that's sure is we love a man willing to break boundaries!

xxxx

Adrien stood in front of the mirror in the atrium outside of the banquet hall, fiddling with his tie for the eighth time.

One would think that after countless near-identical black-tie occasions that he would feel at ease, but somehow he still could not escape the same choking nerves that always overtook him in the presence of company. Tonight, though, it was even worse than normal.

Tonight, for the first time in years, he would dine among Paris' fashion elite at an Agreste function. For the first time in years, he would break bread with his father.

It had been close to a decade since Gabriel had warned Adrien away from the money-hungry, influence-desperate slip of a girl that he believed Marinette to be when they had graduated from university. She was too plain in his eyes, too determined. She wasn't the sort of girl that was willing or able to be molded into a tool for his collection, and as such, had taken every opportunity to express his disapproval.

Those were the days that he still booked all of Adrien's jobs, still collected and managed all of the revenue. As they lived under the same roof, he controlled virtually every aspect of Adrien's life. Adrien couldn't go out without a flippant comment. He couldn't return home without some scathing remark. Any purchase from his card was scrutinized. His pictures on social media became a topic of discussion over dinner. Though he wouldn't find out until later, even his phone logs were monitored.

In an effort to distance the pair, Gabriel had exercised all of his influence to ensure that Marinette wouldn't succeed in the fashion world. He wrote to all the designers he knew about the low-class, poor-taste wardrobe she paraded in. He lied about the way she had sunk her claws into his son. She slowly became a wreck as the stress ate at her, and Adrien could do nothing but watch as the girl he loved deteriorated into nothing. He didn't know how to help her. He started to think that he was no good for her.

But then a tabloid got ahold of one of his father's letters.

Mon Dieu magazine was a horrible piece of trash on the best of days, but it couldn't be said that their writers lacked integrity. Rather than going right to print with the sensitive document, they emailed Adrien with a copy of the letter and a promise not to reveal the truth…should he provide them with something better.

The next morning, he'd cashed his savings, packed his bags, and scheduled an exclusive interview with Marinette. A week later and they had found a squat apartment where his head brushed the ceiling. A few days after that, the exclusive lead to his dear lady getting her first real job at Jolie.

The rest was history.

And he hadn't seen his father since.

They spoke on the phone a few times, but it was always the same nonsense: return home. You'll see who was right eventually, Adrien. Admit your mistakes, and you will be welcomed back with open arms.

But Adrien had been given a taste of what freedom was like, of what happiness and family and love were supposed to be. Marinette and her parents were everything he could have asked for. Now that he knew, he would never return, and he told his father as much.

A few months ago, his father had finally cracked. He'd seen that Adrien didn't need his support to succeed, that he was happy without him and would easily continue to be for the rest of his days.

One day, when Marinette was at work, he showed up at his door.

The vision of Gabriel Agreste, glowing, immaculate, scathing, standing in the dingy hallway of his flat was absurd enough to make him burst out laughing. And to both of their surprise, he did.

"Does something amuse you?" Gabriel asked, voice flat as always. He was uncomfortable personified, hands folded stiffly behind his back and foot steadily tapping. The vision would have been enough to have Adrien quailing a few months ago. But not anymore.

His hand came up to rest against the doorframe, half to prevent him from seeing the contents of his apartment and half to support his suddenly unsteady legs. "I would have never expected you to come here, is all."

"That makes the pair of us," was his curt response. With an incline of his head towards the home behind him, he raised a brow. "Now, are you going to invite me inside, or shall we continue this nonsense in the hall?"

Adrien's body acted immediately to obey, but he stopped himself at once, gripping hard on the frame. "I don't know if that's the best idea."

Gabriel's face didn't waver. "Son."

"Don't call me son."

"That is who you are. Who you will continue to be—"

"Not after what you did to Marinette—"

"That girl had trouble written all over her!"

"I'm going to ask that girl to marry me, and I won't let you hurt her the way you hurt me!"

Adrien's eyes went wide as he uttered the words that he hadn't yet admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. And across from him, for the first time, a crack had formed in Gabriel's immaculate visage.

Hurt was in his eyes.

Good, a twisted part of his head thought as he watched his father grapple with the truth. Let him hurt like he hurt you.

But Adrien couldn't stomach the thought of being like him.

"Father," he said, a plea. "This isn't what I want. But…I love Marinette. I don't want to choose, but if you had me pick between her and you, I'll pick her every time. She's my entire life. You can either choose to be a part of it and make your peace with her, or stay away."

The hard silence that followed was perhaps the tensest of his life.

But finally, Gabriel swallowed. "Are you going to bring your wife home to this hovel? That won't do at all. I can have you back to the quality of which you are accustomed."

"We don't want your money."

"Then tell me what you—what she needs. Her magazine shows promise. I—could highlight some of her designs, and you'll pay for the home yourself."

Adrien had never seen anything but ice in his father's eyes. Now, though, he saw something strange: an incredibly potent mixture of desperation and…apology. Hope.

His father would never apologize in so many words. He was too proud for that. But Adrien knew an olive branch when he saw one, and wouldn't torture the poor many anymore than he already had.

He lifted his hand from the doorframe, coughing once to disguise the lump that had formed in his throat. "Why don't you come inside?"

It was a tentative forgiveness at best, but it was something.

He thought he felt as though this was a new beginning…but if that were truly the case, why was he so nervous? He tugged at his tie again, trying not to sweat.

Nimble fingers covered his, pulling them away from the immaculate bowtie at his neck, and he started. He glanced down, his gaze meeting hers.

"Quit it," she demanded, though her eyes asked, "Are you okay?"

"Sorry," he replied. "Yeah."

She leaned in to brush a kiss against cheek, mindful of the sinful red that stained her lips. She was absolutely gorgeous, as she always was, and he reveled once again in the realization that she was his.

And wearing her own design, too. The talent of this woman.

"They're seating," she said as she pulled away. "Are you ready to go in?"

He nodded, reaching up for the last time to fiddle with his tie, but she caught his hand again, her eyes becoming disapproving.

"We don't have to do this," she reminded him. "We can turn around and leave right now."

Everyone who was anyone in the Parisian fashion scene was in that room. Countless people there were expecting them; they all had things they wanted to discuss about jobs or articles or products with him or her or both. The connections were crucial. These people could not be offended.

And yet, in that moment, Adrien knew that she meant exactly what she said. If he wasn't ready to face his father, none of the other things mattered. They would leave, repercussions be damned. It was yet another reminder of the unwavering devotion that she gave him, and it was enough to firm his resolve.

"I want to," he said, sucking in a breath. "Besides, the amount of revenue this deal is going to pull in will be enough to get us that place in Belize, if you want."

She frowned. "I don't care about Belize. I care about you."

He smiled. "I know. But I'm fine."

"All right." Marinette didn't look entirely convinced, but she let go of his hand. They merged into the steady mass of people flowing into the banquet hall, picking up their place settings as they went.

His phone buzzed in his pocket at the same time hers did.

In tandem, they reached for them, sighing heavily as they read what was across both of their screens: Akuma attack on the west side.

"We have to go," Adrien hissed, ready to turn, but Marinette grabbed him on the shoulder.

"We just got here!"

"Tell that to Hawkmoth."

Her brow ruffled, casting a sideways glance to the people around the room. "We can probably be back for dessert if we hurry."

"We can't come back after! We've already been seen. There's nothing to do."

Suddenly, Marinette's eyes sparkled. "I have an idea."

She stood up on her toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.

Heat rose to his cheeks as he noticed the eyes on the pair of them. "Mar, what are you d—"

"Shh," she hushed him, kissing up his cheek to murmur into his ear. "I'm getting us out of here."

Understanding washed over him, and he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to steady his frayed nerves. "You're incredible."

Taking his hand, she led them over to their table, where she put her clutch at her place, smiling her best smile.

"You'll excuse us," she drawled to the people already sitting in a voice so un-Marinette that Adrien nearly burst out laughing, ruining the whole charade. Somehow sensing this, her grip on his arm became tighter.

"Be back before dinner," said one of his father's colleagues, a knowing glint in his eye. God, if only he knew.

"No promises," muttered Adrien, kissing the top of Marinette's head as he wrapped his arm around her waist, escorting her back through the hall where they came.

He winced as he saw the cameras feverishly flashing their way, shutting them in a room at random.

An office. There was a window, and that was good enough.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said as he turned the lock, pulling a chair in front of the door for good measure. "We're going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow. You're going to have to deal with all the rumors!"

Marinette rolled her eyes as she pried open the glass. "Well, you're going to have to deal with your father."

Adrien wasn't sure what was worse.

Well, at least it got him out of dinner.