#right wrong number

Unknown number: Wow. That looks incredible. I really wish this wasn't a wrong number. Your family is incredibly lucky.

M: I'm so sorry! I must have mistyped. I'm so clumsy!

Unknown number: Better a mistype than something happening to your cake. I live in Paris, and I've never seen a prettier Yule Log.

M: OMG. you can't say stuff like that! thank you. I'm in Paris too! but you don't even know! I've been trying to get it just right for years and theres always something not quite right, but this is my year. I can feel it.

Unknown number: I for one, believe in you. Have a happy Christmas, mystery baker.

M: You too! I hope you have access to the second best Bûche de Noël in Paris, since you won't be here to enjoy the best.

Unknown number: Sadly, its a lowkey Christmas for me this year. No cake. I have my guitar though.

M: What?! No cake? Not no Bûche de Noël… like no cake at all?

Unknown number: I'm useless in the kitchen and its just not worth the effort when its just me this year.

M:… You're going to be cakeless and alone on Christmas?

Unknown number: Yeah, but don't worry about me. I have very exciting new years plans with my family.

M: Hey, if you aren't a serial killer, you could come over and join us tomorrow? My Papa is HUGE, so even if you are an ax murderer, I'm pretty sure we'll be safe.

Unknown number: …

M: I'm serious. we have so much food. and Papa sings like an Italian tenor. So bring your guitar and share some cake and Christmas with us.

Luka stared at his phone, glanced out the window of his hotel room, where the misty rain glittered under streetlights and Christmas lights alike. The final leg of his tour had been canceled due to heavy snow in Norway. Jules was spending Christmas with Rose on a sunny island beach, and Ma had been in Scotland for the last month. He hadn't intended to be alone and bored for Christmas, and while he was making the best of it with a little self-pity and resignation… a home-cooked meal instead of sitting alone in a hotel dining room would be a huge step up.

L: How do I know you're not a serial killer? you could be a faerie luring lonely Parisians into your trap with baked goods

Unknown number: … I guess you have to decide if the cake is worth the risk.

L: Upon further examination of the photo, I have decided that your cake would be worth dying for. If you do decide to put me out of my cakeless misery, will you promise that I can have a slice first?

Unknown number: … yeah. I can do that. Everyone deserves a last meal. Even cakeless serial killers.

Luka chuckled at the exchange. Even if the cake was prettier than it was delicious, the baker on the other side of it was fun and easy to talk to. Christmas was suddenly looking up. He made a beeline for the ridiculous gift basket the hotel had given him upon his arrival. Hopefully, there was something left he could take as a gift for his host. Too bad he'd already started snacking on some of it; otherwise, he could have brought the whole thing.

Luka rummaged through the basket, cataloging his options. He set aside a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates, and a tin of duck foie gras. He balanced the little jar of fig jam and the sleeve of biscuits for a second, unsure how large the mystery baker's party would be. All he knew was that they expected their Papa and whoever they had meant to message.

He added them to the pile, then rearranged the basket to include the things he wanted to take, leaving the rest (most of which he'd already opened) on the little table. He'd love to do more, but even if the shops were open on Christmas Eve, icy rain was a strong motivator for staying indoors.

Instead of focusing on things he couldn't change, Luka grabbed his guitar and brushed up on carols that were popular at sing-alongs. Music was always an acceptable gift in his mind. Between the basket and his guitar, he wouldn't be arriving at Christmas dinner empty-handed.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The next morning, Luka woke to a bright, sunny Christmas. The rain was gone, but had left a sparkling, icy cityscape in its wake. He took his time getting ready for the day, choosing his clothes with a little more intention than his previous plans of moping had warranted. Eventually, once the cool winter sun had reached over the taller buildings in the area to brighten the roads and soften icy streets into slick, wet roads, he received a much awaited follow up text from his mystery baker.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

He grabbed his phone and opened his messages in one swift movement. The mystery baker had promised to send their address when it was closer to dinner time (and presumably once they weren't alone).

Mystery Baker: Papa is on his way with gougères and who knows what else. Come hungry! There will be oysters to get us started, and the goose is in the oven! I'm in the 18th at…

Luka dropped the address into his map app, grabbed the basket and his guitar, and headed for the metro. His dull, lonely, cakeless Christmas had become an adventure, and he couldn't wait to meet the person he'd been texting.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Marinette checked the finishing touches on her apartment; the greenery was hanging nicely, the candles were lit, and the goose was roasting in the oven — which was on and set at the correct temperature. The oysters were on ice, and the lemons were sliced and ready. All she needed were her guests. It was her first time hosting Christmas at her own place; the last several almost perfect Bûche de Noëls had been taken to her parents' place to share with everyone. But with both Gina and Roland gone, they didn't need nearly as much space these days.

Maman had messaged to say they would be a few minutes later than expected because Tom had forgotten the third baguette and insisted on going back for it, so there was a chance her new cakeless friend would arrive first.

When the intercom at her door buzzed, she answered it with a sense of nervous anticipation. "Joyeux Noël!"

"Joyeux Noël. This is your cakeless stranger. May I come up?"

Marinette's heart thudded as a deep, rich voice came through the speaker, "Ummm—"

"I can wait until the rest of your guests arrive, if you like. I made better time than I thought I would."

With a deep breath, Marinette pressed the buzzer to unlock the door. She wasn't going to let a joke force her into an unnecessary spiral of pointless panic. "It's fine, come on up!"

"Thanks."

It only took a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door. Marinette rushed to let her guest in, hoping that he would be as easy to talk to as he had been to text. She pulled it open with a welcoming smile and froze, shock overwriting her anticipation.

Luke Stone was on her doorstep. Jagged Stone's son (who was a rising star himself) was holding his guitar and standing on her doorstep. For cake. With her.

"Holy Christ—" beyond Luke, she saw her parents step out of the elevator and quickly amended her curse, "—mas night."

He smiled. And oh, if it wasn't so much better in person than in interviews and performance videos. And then, like she was living in some kind of daydream, he rather pointedly checked her out. She flushed as he smoothly introduced himself. "Hey. I'm Luka."

"Mmmhmm," She tried to banish the whine from her voice. "I'm Ma-Marinette. Please come in."

"Thanks for having me." He stepped past her and set his guitar down before getting out of the way of the door.

Maman and Papa burst in behind him, and other than a flurry of quick hugs, made straight for the kitchen with their baskets and bags. Marinette barely registered their arrival. She was simply too shocked for words, her wrong number had seemingly tipped the world off it's axis.

"You're Luke Stone."

He nodded and ducked his head. He was adorable, and her heart was pounding like the drums at one of his concerts. "Luka, please."

Nothing made sense anymore. Luka wasn't a household name; he wasn't as well known as his father… but he was hardly unknown. "How were you cakeless and alone?"

He blushed, probably because she was gawking, or maybe because she kept reminding him that he hadn't had Christmas plans. "A series of unfortunate events?"

"Okay." She sucked in a breath. Oxygen was good.

He frowned. "Are you all right? Sorry. If it's too much, I can go."

All of Marinette's synapses were firing in the wrong order, and her mouth ended up as disconnected from her brain as it had been back in lycée. "I'm in love with you."

Luka grinned, all traces of his unease vanishing. He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Yeah? Since when?"

"Since I found you on YouTube a couple of weeks before your first tour—" Her brain kicked into high gear. "I mean—I don't even know you! Sorry that was—"

Luka captured her hand and interrupted her with a kiss to her fingertips. "Enchanting."

Marinette pulled her hand away with a blush while she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Was not, you're ridiculous."

He turned pleading eyes on her. "Yes. Also cakeless. Please tell me I can stay."

She took a step back. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did what?"

"Said silly stuff to make me relax."

"First, you are enchanting. Secondly, did it work?"

Huh. It had. She smoothed her burgundy sweater dress as nonchalantly as she could. "Yes. And you can stay."

"Thank you."

Seconds later, her parents rejoined them, kissing her on the cheeks before turning to eye her visitor. "Now, who is your guest, Marinette?" Maman asked in her usual soft way.

She had to take a quick breath to slow her heart. "This is Luka, he didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with... or any cake. Luka, these are my parents, Tom and Sabine."

Papa's face crumpled at the mere thought; like her, he could think of no greater sorrow than to be cakeless. "Well, you've come to the right place! My Marinette is an excellent baker! She takes after me." He said proudly before turning to her, "Now, let me see your masterpiece."

With a gleeful squeal, Marinette grabbed Papa by the hand and dragged him to the table where dessert rested in the center of her set and decorated table. "Voilà! Success at long last."

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Luka watched as Tom gushed over Marinette's Yule log, quite possibly more excited than she was. And Marinette was exuberant. Joy seemed to emanate from her smile, and as for the rest of her… well, she wasn't what he had been expecting. He had not anticipated the unrestrained giddiness and silly snark he'd experienced via text to be contained in such a beautiful woman. He hadn't even been entirely sure she was a woman before he heard her voice on the intercom. Pulling his attention away from Marinette, Luka caught Sabine watching him. He blushed and shifted his attention to the cake, just as Tom grabbed his attention.

"Have you ever seen a better cake, son?"

Luka shook his head. "Never. I am convinced that today we will be the luckiest four people in the world to share in the best Yule Log cake ever created."

"Good man! It's a shame we have to wait—"

"Papa! We are not eating dessert first. I'm going to do this right."

Sabine caught his attention while Marinette dragged her father towards the appetizers. "Tom always wants dessert first."

Luka laughed lightly. Tom was easy to read, but Sabine had a depth not easily discerned. "Can you blame him?"

Her laugh matched his, light and superficial; she was studying him too. "No. Not usually. How long have you known my daughter, Luka?"

Straight to the point. "Only a couple of minutes and a few texts longer than I've known you."

"Hmm." The look she gave him made him wonder if she could read people as easily as he could hear their music.

The question fell from his lips without thought. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Her eyebrows shot up for just a second, and Luka resisted the urge to squirm or claw back the question. She threw it back at him. "Do you?"

He paused just long enough to order his thoughts. "I didn't think so, but I do today. And I know it's a very different situation, but can you honestly tell me you didn't love her the moment you first met her?"

He was met with a calm silence, a lifted brow, and a knowing smile. They might have stared for a while, trying to figure each other out, if Tom and Marinette hadn't spoken from the kitchen, insisting they join them. Luka grabbed the basket and joined the party, gesturing Sabine ahead of him.

He offered Marinette the basket. She took it curiously. "What's this?"

He shrugged. "Wine and foie gras." It was pretty standard fare for the holidays.

Tom clapped him on the back. "I like this one, Marinette. Save the wine for the goose, but we can have the duck along with the oysters."

Marinette's hands found her hips in quick order as she scolded her father. "It's my house, Papa! You can't just take over."

Tom sassed her right back, but there was a smile in his words that seemed to be a permanent part of him. "Do you disagree with my assessment?"

"No…." Marinette relented, "Just in your delivery."

When Tom laughed, Luka couldn't help but smile. It wasn't often he found himself in the midst of strangers and quite so at ease. He liked this family.

Tom ruffled his daughter's hair good-naturedly, "Alright! Alright! It's your house, your goose, your cake! You can be in charge this year."

Sabine laughed, set the wine bottle aside, and kissed Tom on the cheek, earning a bright smile from her husband and a giggle from Marinette.

Marinette offered up the oysters, and they ate together, offering festive salutations over the first round. "Merry Christmas!"

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

By the time dinner was served and they were seated at the table, the Dupain-Cheng family felt like old friends. From the first bite, Luka could tell that the entire family knew their way around the kitchen. The goose and all the extras were so incredible that Luka was thankful that goose wasn't a Couffaine family staple; he might have been disappointed to realize his family's traditional meal didn't measure up to his current rather decadent celebration.

Luka tried to keep his ego in check when Marinette blushed or stammered around him for a second when his gaze lingered a little too long. His sister, Juleka, was always telling him he was too intense and that it made him off-putting, but he found that he liked the way Marinette reacted to his subtle flirting; it meant that there was hope.

It didn't take Luka long to realize that the very idea of Marinette being a killer was laughable. She had an adorable streak of clumsiness that only seemed to flare when she got nervous or self-conscious. She was too exuberant to be stealthy, and too easy to read to be misleading.

Not that she wasn't mischievous. She just wasn't a killer.

Or so he'd thought. Right up until a moment of expressiveness caused her to swipe her hand through her food, leaving her to either leave the table to wash her hands… or lick and suck the food from her finger in what should have been a perfectly innocent gesture.

Except Luka had been falling for her from the moment she asked him to dinner, had been all but lost since he'd laid eyes on her. And that simple action had him thinking all sorts of thoughts he really shouldn't while in her home, in front of her parents, on Christmas. Luka's only coherent thought was that Marinette didn't have to be a serial killer to be the death of him.

It was a jarring jolt back to reality when Sabine, with her all-knowing smile, interrupted his inappropriate fantasy. "So, Luka. What got you into music?"

He blinked, once, twice, trying to rein in his thoughts.

Marinette watched as Luka's eyes darted between Maman and herself for one frantic moment before he managed to answer the question. He cleared his throat nervously before speaking. "Sometimes I think I was born to it. Ma is a musician, and I grew up with a guitar in my hand like most kids grow up with blocks or playdough. I've always heard music. There are songs in the city, and in the seasons, and in people, just waiting to get out, to be heard. I just set it free, best as I'm able."

Marinette nearly melted on the spot. It was a completely innocuous statement, but the idea of a little Luka, with a little guitar, did weird things to her ovaries. The man who had shown up for dinner had been distracting her all afternoon.

After her initial freak-out about Luke Stone showing up at her home, something had shifted. He had become real. No longer just a hot musician, he was Luka, still hot, yes, but funny and chill. He was polite and kind to her parents, swapping jokes with her Papa and speaking with an open frankness to her Maman that made him feel as if he belonged. As if he was meant to be there. Marinette found herself wishing it were true, wishing she could keep him for more than just Christmas dinner.

After the meal was finished, Luka insisted that her parents rest while he helped her prepare coffee. Marinette was tempted to insist they wait a bit before dessert, but Tom had been eyeing her perfect creation, and she didn't want to actually torture him on Christmas… not to mention she was more than a little curious to see Luka's reaction to her masterpiece.

While she prepared and pressed the coffee, Luka arranged the mugs, cream, and sugar on a tray to her specifications. "Thanks for your help, Luka. I can never keep my parents out of the kitchen, sometimes I think they never rest."

"You're welcome, it's the least I can do — I can't believe how lucky I've been to be here."

Marinette shrugged, having him over was hardly difficult; in fact, it was kind of amazing. "It's just a meal."

"And the greatest Yule Log cake ever created."

"Well, yes. There is that." She smiled at the way he humored her baker's vanity.

"It's more than that, though. I can't thank you enough for including me. For letting me share your parents and your home… I thought I was going to be fine alone, but the idea of missing out on this now that I've met you — I honestly shudder to think of being cakeless and alone instead of here with you and your family."

Marinette's face felt hot, but she mustered a casual grin. "Then I'm glad I texted the right wrong number."

Luka didn't have to say anything for Marinette to understand that he felt the same way.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

With coffee served and everyone more than ready for dessert, they reconvened at the table. The first slice of the Yule Log went to Tom. Marinette set it in front of him with an expectant smile, hesitating with the next plate in her hand. As Tom took the first bite, she set the plate in front of Sabine with a shaking hand and readied one for Luka.

The look that fell over Tom's face as his mouth closed around his first bite was pure bliss. He savored it before swallowing and grinning wildly. "This is the best Yule Cake the world has ever known. Mon Chou! You have done it! It tastes like Christmas magic."

Sabine took a bite, and Marinette finally handed Luka his plate, but he waited for her to serve herself before partaking.

Sabine was calmer in demeanor, but no less impressed. "It's better than yours, Tom."

Marinette's jaw dropped. "Truly?!"

Tom nodded, but there wasn't even a hint of jealousy. "Taste that lightness? That delicate flavor? That's your influence, Sabine. She has surpassed us both because she is ours. The perfect balance." He turned to his daughter. "I am so proud of you. There is no better gift in this life than my daughter and her creations."

Marinette was too overwhelmed by her father's accolades to eat, but since she at least had a plate in front of her, Luka took a bite. It was easy to see why Tom had been so enthused. Luka might not be an expert in the culinary arts, but the balance between rich chocolate and light vanilla with a hint of something he couldn't find a name for, alongside the sweetness of the meringue, wasn't lost on him. In fact, it was overwhelming in its perfection. He moaned. It was that good.

"Marry me."

Three pairs of eyes hit him at once. Tom seemed unsurprised, throwing him a wink before nodding knowingly as he took another bite. Sabine only shook her head, as if it had been unavoidable, but Marinette looked shocked. Eyes wide and staring. "Wha—?"

There was a part of him that wanted to backpedal, to take the foolish question back, but he took another bite instead. He'd heard of "better than sex" recipes before, but he'd never believed the idea plausible. Until now. Now, he actually wanted to marry the woman who had introduced his tongue to perfection.

Marinette looked away from him to glance at the cake in front of her with a furrowed brow, as if it could explain everything. She finally took a bite.

Luka watched intently as she tasted the cake and reacted to her own skill. He had a sudden urge to find a way to make her feel that good, to make her groan in satisfaction, except he wanted to be in response to something other than cake.

"Mmm—Oh. My. God. It is that good."

After a second, everyone laughed at the expression on her face. And for a strange moment, Luka thought that the chance for an answer to his proposal, unintentional as it had been, had passed him by, but Marinette wasn't finished. She caught his eye, and he found himself helpless to look away while thoughts raced through her mind behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. She took a deep breath before grinning. "You know what? I will marry you. I've been half in love with you for years."

Tom laughed again, but Sabine eyed both of them carefully before settling her gaze on Luka. "You will at least take her on a date first, I hope?"

Luka grinned as Marinette blushed. "I'd love to. Please say you're free tomorrow? And join my family for New Year's?" He turned to Tom and Sabine to extend the invitation to them. "You would all be welcome."

"It's a date." Luka's cheeks warmed at the combination of Marinette's words and the searching smile she gave him. He found himself lodged somewhere between a joke engagement and something real and precious and would have given just about anything — including the cake — to have a minute alone with Marinette, to ask how she really felt. To find out if marrying her was actually on the table.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Once dessert had been reduced to an exquisite memory and a sinkful of dishes that Marinette would have to wash later, Luka offered to play for them. Firelight from the candles and fireplace reflected off the polished face of Luka's acoustic guitar while he adjusted the tuning, and Marinette couldn't take her eyes off the way his fingers gently caressed the instrument.

She could feel Maman's eyes on her and knew that they would be having a conversation about her proposal in the very near future, but she kept her eyes on Luka. Who might or might not be her fiancé. The very idea was unbelievable. As unbelievable as Luke Stone coming over for Christmas dinner.

And yet he was playing his guitar in her apartment. She was both terrified and looking forward to getting him alone to talk about their exchange over dessert. Their relationship had started out as an accident, and then it had become something of a joke, and now — now she was seriously considering marrying him if he were sincere. Even if the thought of marrying a man she had just met was beyond ludicrous. At least they had a date… two if she counted the invitation to share New Year's with him and his family.

Luka playing Christmas carols on an acoustic guitar versus Luka Stone owning a stage while he rocked his electric, was as different as night and day. On stage and in his videos, he mashed indie and rock in a fusion that suited his intensity. But here, in her living room, that same intensity danced over the strings of old carols and simple tunes in a way that brought them to life, as if the songs were living, breathing moments in her apartment.

He started with Petit Papa Noël, a fun childish tune, before moving into the more sacred tunes of Il est né, le divin Enfant and Minuit Chrétien. Papa sang with a smile on his face, while Maman seemed to relax into the music, letting it wash over her. Un Flambeau, Jeannette, and Isabelle and Vive le Vent finished their little sing-along before Luka transitioned into something Marinette had never heard before. It was soft but bright, as if the song itself wanted her to be happy.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

As Luka worked his way through the familiar carols, he was delighted to learn that Marinette hadn't been exaggerating Tom's vocal skill, and her and Sabine's voices were as nice to listen to, if not so well-trained.

When he ran out of carols, and no one else suggested anything to keep him going, Luka let his fingers loose to explore a feeling that had been itching under his skin since he'd arrived. It was a new melody, something special that he hoped to get to know in earnest once this near-perfect day drew to a close.

Tom stood with a wistful sigh. "That's a pretty tune, son."

Luka glanced at Marinette. She looked relaxed, a hand over her heart as she took in the soft notes of his improvised melody. "I think so."

Tom's lips twitched in a knowing smile before he made his announcement. "I hate to say it, but we have an early morning and need to be off."

Marinette shook her head. "You should take tomorrow off, Papa. Paris will survive one more day without bread."

Tom clutched his heart in either very real or well-feigned shock. "One day without bread is already too much. Even if the rest of Paris can stand it, I cannot. At dawn, I bake!"

Easy laughter rang around the room, Tom's booming laugh drowning out the rest after only a second.

Sabine pulled her coat on, shaking her head at her husband's theatrics, before giving Marinette a hug. "Good night, Marinette. Thank you for hosting… it was nice to have a rest."

Luka set his guitar aside to bid a happy Christmas and farewell to Tom and Sabine before making Marinette an offer he hoped she would accept. "Can I help with the dishes before I go? You've done more than your fair share to make this a perfect Christmas."

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Marinette had to bite her tongue to keep from squealing as Luka offered to help with the dishes and told her how she'd made their Christmas absolutely perfect. "I'd love to stay and help, but I understand if you want me to go. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable." He gestured at the door that had just closed behind her parents.

She didn't hesitate to allow it. It might have been foolish, but she trusted Luka. She felt safe with him in her home, even without her parents as a buffer. "I won't turn down help with the chores… but I have one condition."

Luka smiled triumphantly. "What's that?"

Marinette mustered her sternest voice, using humor and bluster to hide a sudden case of nerves. "I get to take a photo. And even if Luka Couffaine doesn't show for our date and doesn't marry me, I'll have proof of the time Luke Stone washed my dishes."

He chuckled lightly and rolled up his sleeves to get to work. "Take all the photos you want, but I have no intention of missing a date with you."

Marinette made good on her threat and snapped a few photos of Luka with his hands full of dishes and his forearms covered in soap suds before putting her phone away. They were relatively quiet for a while, though Luka hummed an unknown tune low in his chest while they worked. He washed up, and Marinette dried and put everything away. They moved around each other easily, but it wasn't lost on Marinette that Luka seemed inclined to lean towards her, their arms or shoulders brushing more often than not. A more serious conversation than they'd had so far seemed to linger in the air while they worked, and Marinette felt her heartbeat pick up the closer they got to finishing up.

When the last dish was put away, Marinette turned to find Luka leaning against the counter, watching her. His gray sleeves were still rolled up, displaying his lean forearms and making Marinette's mouth go dry. The sink and counters were empty and clean, the dishcloth hanging to dry.

"Thank you for your help." It was barely a whisper, the loudest she could muster with her heart beating wildly.

Luka shook his head at her. "It was the least I could do. Thank you for everything. For taking pity on me, for letting me join your family, for the best food I've ever eaten... For the chance to meet you."

"I'm really glad you came," Marinette admitted softly.

Luka reached for her hands, and she twined her fingers in his, wondering abstractly if his guitar felt as special as she did when he held it.

He traced a pattern across her knuckles before he spoke. "Listen, I know we weren't being entirely serious earlier, but I'd really like to… to get to know you."

She caught the catch in his words and called him out. If they were going to do this—whatever this was—she wanted to be as open as possible. "You almost said something else."

He nodded.

She caught his thumb, holding him still. "What were you thinking of saying?"

When he swallowed, Marinette followed the movement of his throat. "I'd like more than just a date. I'd love to kiss you goodnight, but I really, really don't want to scare you off."

She bit her lip, blushing through a smile, but that need to tease him rose back up. "Are you that bad of a kisser?"

Luka laughed, shaking his head. "I hope not."

She had a feeling he would be rather good at it. "Then I guess you should audition for the part of my fiancé."

Luka's laughter died on his lips as his attention focused on hers. Marinette was equal parts thrilled and confounded that he seemed as caught up in her as she was in him. She tipped her face up, giving silent permission for him to close and obliterate the last of the distance between them.

To Luka, falling in love had always sounded gravity-heavy, a little dangerous, but being with Marinette was less like falling and more like flying. He moved in slowly, weighing her reactions to the way he held her, and how she seemed to melt into his arms the moment his lips touched hers. Kissing Marinette was so much more than the softness of her lips and the way his pulse pounded through his veins when she sighed against his mouth. It was more than mere physicality. It was euphoric, like so many champagne bubbles shimmering and delighting as they danced with perfect effervescence.

He kept his hands light, cradling her face, brushing her neck before letting her go. She stared at him with stars in her eyes, stars that he had put there. He felt weightless and giddy, and yet something about the way she trusted him so fully grounded him. He wanted to be worthy of her sweet and trusting heart.

She held him tight, staying close, not that he wanted any distance between them. "Luka?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you aren't a serial killer."

Their shared laugh was more of a shaky exhaled huff of breath than anything else, an acknowledgment of where they had come from. "Me too."

When she pulled him in for another kiss, Luka didn't hold back. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her close, while he lost himself in her sweet softness.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Luka's hotel room had never felt so cold. Leaving Marinette after sharing an absolutely mind-altering kiss to return to his empty, impersonal rented room the night before had felt like leaving behind an arm. He was glad he only had to wait a few hours to see her again. Like him, she was in between projects. Over the course of the evening, he'd learned that she was a fashion designer, and while she was gearing up to jump into a big project after the start of the new year, she had finished a large commission just before Christmas and planned to "relax" until mid-January. Her parents had laughed when she said that, though.

"She doesn't know how to relax!" Tom insisted when she'd huffed at her parents' reaction. Sabine had only scolded both of them for not knowing how to set work aside.

"I swear it! I won't pick up a needle until the 15th!" Marinette had exclaimed.

Sabine looked at her knowingly. "And your pencils?"

"Well, I have to draw! I'm going to relax, not stop living."

"And will you be drawing for the project?" Sabine prompted gently.

"Just because it's for a project, doesn't mean I'm not having fun!"

Luka had jumped in, defending her position. "I know what you mean. Music comes to me no matter what else is going on, and it's when I'm most comfortable — or admittedly sometimes at my worst — that the best songs come along."

"See!" Marinette shouted, throwing him a wide grin, "Art comes from life."

Luka's heart had swooped in his chest from the smile Marinette had bestowed on him.

He ran an errand in the morning, a dream and wish clutched together with the strings from his recently restrung guitar. It might have been foolish, but at least he was following his heart.

They met just after lunch. Luka took her to La Défense for the outdoor ice skating and a slow perusal through the market. It was less crowded after Christmas, drawing mostly locals, most of whom seemed to be parents of young children who needed to give their youngsters a place to run after the festivities of the day before. They walked and talked (with a stop for some Parisian sipping chocolate to warm them up) until dinner time, so Luka invited her to join him for the meal instead of going their separate ways.

"So how did you end up alone on Christmas?" Marinette asked over a plate of pasta from a delightful family-style Italian restaurant.

"I was supposed to be with the band, but there was too much snow for even Norway to handle. Ma is — or was — in Scotland. She'll be back for New Year's Eve. My sister took her fiancée — or Rose took my sister, I forget which — to a warm sunny beach where cakeless brothers were not invited or allowed. They'll be back for the New Year's shindig on the Liberty too — but I forgot my key to their place and ended up at a hotel. I thought I was dealing with it." He shrugged, "Things happen."

"Then I texted you."

"Then you taunted me with a homebaked dessert."

With an involuntary giggle, she admitted it was true, however accidental, and he acknowledged that her invitation (and subsequent meal) had more than made up for it.

When he kissed her goodnight, he asked her for another date the next day… and the next. The weather stayed clear and cold throughout the week, as if the sun itself wanted to give them a chance to explore the city through each other's eyes.

The more time they spent together, the more Luka heard in Marinette's melody. It wove its way through his being until he wasn't sure who he'd be without her song tangling with his anymore. He craved her company when they weren't together and remembered how to breathe when they were.

Their goodnight kisses got longer and more heated with each passing day, and Luka memorized the way Marinette felt pressed close to him, and savored the memories when they were apart.

He spent a day in her parents' bakery with her, elbows deep in bread dough while Tom laughed about his obvious lack of skill, even while encouraging him, "All you need is practice and a good teacher!"

Sabine smiled at him that day, a real smile without the censure he had come to expect from Marinette's loving but protective mother. As if spending time in their world had had shown her something in him worth approving of. Something tense but hopeful snapped, leaving him confident and jubilant in the trust the family he'd fallen into had given him.

On December 30th, just five days after they'd met, right in the middle of a movie marathon, Marinette changed his world (again!) while they were curled up in a nest of blankets. Her sketchbook had been set aside so she could cuddle that much closer, and Luka had given up following the plotline of anything onscreen in favor of planting little kisses and endearments in her hair. His lips had lingered at the edge of her temple while he basked in her nearness when she tipped her face up to look at him.

"I love you, Luka." There was weight to the softly spoken words because of their worth, but it was balanced and buoyed by the lightness of the truth that rang through them. For a moment, he'd been speechless with wonder, and her cheeks had reddened under his gaze. "For real. I know we just met, but—"

"I love you too." His voice came out low and breathy, but there was nothing hesitant about his confession.

He held her then, tugging her closer, centimeter by centimeter, until she was in his lap. Then he kissed her, slowly at first, then more hurriedly when she whimpered his name against his lips, pleading for all he had to offer. The kiss deepened and stretched, drifted and held while they learned each other in new ways until he ended up in her bed, mind like static and nerves alive with a new kind of music.

Sometime later, he held her, tracing patterns across her skin where she lay draped across his chest. As they both drifted toward sleep, Luka imagined a life where he never had to give her up. "I want to date you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that… for as long as we both shall live."

Her breath tickled his neck as she answered in a drowsy whisper. "I like the sound of that."

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

They were on their way to the party on the Liberty after a slow and leisurely morning split between Marinette's apartment and his hotel. It had been like so much magic waking up to Marinette in his arms in the morning after loving her completely. Once they had breakfasted and Marinette was ready, he had dragged her to his hotel to change and gather his things. With Ma and the houseboat back on the Seine, he preferred his childhood home to the cold detachment of a hotel room.

Marinette was equal parts nervous and excited to meet his family, and he was eager to bring her into the fold. There were only a few blissful moments where he would have her all to himself before sharing her with the chaos that was his family. He stopped her under his favorite bridge, a place with magic and music of its own, not too far from where the Liberty was moored.

He stole a kiss and gathered his courage.

"I had to change my strings after Christmas. The old acoustic doesn't get as much of a workout as the electric, but it happens occasionally." He pulled one of the old strings out of his pocket, no longer any good for making music; he'd had it fashioned into a ring (along with the other five, each in a slightly different size, with the hope that one would fit). He held it out to her, his heart pounding a rhythm that would either lead him to great things or certain despair.

"Listen, I know it's insane, but I've never felt so sure about anything in my life. I know we only met a week ago, but I can't imagine—"

Marinette's hand closed around the ring. "Yes."

"Really?" Luka asked in surprise. He'd pulled the ring out with far more hope than confidence.

"Really." She insisted, her smile glowing as it spread across her face. "As silly as it started, none of this, none of our time together has ever felt like a joke. I know I should be freaking out, but being with you just feels right, and I trust my instincts."

Luka slid the ring onto Marinette's finger with a shaking hand. It fit.

"See? Meant to be." Marinette grinned.

"Yeah. I certainly think so."

They got caught up celebrating with kisses and whispered plans for their future, managing to be the last to arrive at the party, despite having been so close. Tom and Sabine had been welcomed by his family, and while Luka knew he should have felt a little guilty for not being there for introductions, he couldn't regret why they had been late. Being engaged, really engaged, to Marinette was worth the initial good-natured teasing.

The Couffaines were no strangers to chaos or the pursuit of whimsy. They knew to expect the unexpected, and as a general rule, they all knew how to roll with the punches. So when Luka introduced Marinette to his family as his fiancée, there was a certain degree of satisfaction in the combination of shock and pride that crossed Anarka's face.

"Well, ye never did do anything by halves. I don't suppose yer plannin' a long engagement, sensible like?"

Tom guffawed. "Not those two! The boy was ready to marry my daughter the moment they met!"

Rose giggled before sighing dreamily. "You should get married under a new year sky, with fireworks bursting above you to symbolize the fast pace of your courtship."

Juleka pulled her fiancée in for a quick kiss before laughing at her brother. "I don't think he can survive a year."

Marinette grabbed his hand. "Well, I'm game, if you are… assuming the Captain has the maritime right to—"

"Tonight?!" Luka asked, incredulous.

Red wrote itself across her cheeks like the sun low over the Seine, but she was grinning, wide and excited. "If you want, yes."

He kissed her, long and deep, heedless of the family and friends surrounding them. Juleka gagged somewhere on the edge of his awareness. "I think that's a yes," she said with a groan.

Luka pulled reluctantly away from Marinette to respond to Juleka. "That's a hell yes."

Rose squealed like the manic-pixie she was while Anarka cackled. Tom had a much different reaction, but not because his daughter was getting married without notice.

"But I didn't make a wedding cake!"

Marinette laughed (she wasn't the only one) before nudging her distraught father with a dramatic gasp. "You don't mean we're cakeless?!"

Tom sputtered indignantly. "Of course not! I brought a cake, it's just not a wedding cake!"

Sabine patted his arm. "I think it might have to be."

There was a frantic scramble to decorate (which was needless but not unappreciated) the deck with more fairy lights and a sense of order rarely seen on board his Ma's chaotic housebarge. But they didn't rush to the wedding itself.

Sabine sat them both down and asked several leading questions about how their lives would blend, and how and when and by whom sacrifices would be made. It was sobering, but appreciated. Marinette admitted she had always wanted kids and possibly pets. Luka had thought about that for a moment before admitting that while he wasn't quite ready for kids — he was still touring — he would like them someday. Marinette informed him that while a lot of her job could be done from anywhere, she traveled for in-person consultations and large events surrounding fashion week. It was useful to know that she would have very little time during certain parts of the year. By the end of a very intense half hour, Luka felt like they were prepared to jump into a marriage instead of simply stumbling into an impromptu wedding.

"Your mom is pretty impressive, very wise, you know?"

"Yeah, she is."

Luka studied her carefully, "You sure you want to do this? We can wait."

She took a deep breath, but it was a steady thing, relaxed. "I am. I know we haven't known each other long, but I feel almost like we have lost time to make up for. I found my forever in you, and I'm ready to start it."

A deep melody seemed to spring into life with her words, a tune with a slow ebb and flow that threatened to carry him away. "Wow. That—that could be a song. Can I write that down?" he scrambled for a pen while Marinette nodded through a laugh.

"Is this going to be my life now?"

He jotted down a few notes to keep the melody straight in his head, along with Marinette's words. "I hope so. Be my muse, Marinette, inspire all my songs."

They waited, celebrating New Year's Eve as intended until the clock crawled closer to midnight. Closer to a new day, a new year, a new life.

Marinette sparkled in a gold sweater, where she stood next to Luka, reciting simple vows dictated by his Ma. Juleka and Rose watched hand in hand while Tom sobbed through a wide smile with Sabine's hand tucked into his.

There was a beat in the weave of the city, a cadence not unlike a held breath as the world counted down to midnight just outside of the bubble of romance onboard the Liberty. It couldn't be heard in their isolated spot, but it was felt. When Anarka gave him leave to kiss his bride, Luka met Marinette's lips under countless fireworks as the world exploded around — and through — them.

They broke apart as Tom whooped and Marinette giggled. "We're married!"

"We are." It felt good. And when his wife threw her arms around him for another kiss, it felt even better.

Most New Year's parties tended to break up and disperse after the chime of the clock, drop of the ball, or perfect kiss, but not the one aboard the Liberty. The marriage that started there was just getting started.

Luka kept his arm slung around Marinette's waist or shoulder, holding her close to him anytime she wasn't pulled in another direction. She was his wife, and he couldn't believe how incredibly lucky he felt each and every time he thought about it.

When Tom cut into the cake — three (absolutely unnecessary) tiers of gold, silver, and midnight blue adorned with rich, crimson roses — perfect for New Year's and somehow, perfect for their union as well, Luka was excited to try it. His wife had told him that her Papa had taught her everything she knew and he was curious to find out if she had truly surpassed him, or if Tom had been flattering her.

If he hadn't had Marinette's perfect Yule cake already, he might have thought Tom's was the best in the world. As it was —

"Hey, Tom! This is a pretty good cake!"

His father-in-law beamed at him. "Thanks, son! Always use vanilla bean, none of that extract stuff, and—"