Work Text:
Obi-Wan repeats the “mission” back to him slower and he’s sure he still mishears.
“It’s simple, Anakin. Something about a treaty and needing a consort, and I thought you and the Senator have worked together so well before that…” Obi-Wan waves a hand dismissively. “The council has already given approval.”
Anakin tries his best to keep the plastered-on smile off his face. “Master, I—”
“You are going,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s one evening.”
Anakin concedes, shakes his head, and doesn’t tell his Master that he has no idea what he’s signed off on.
The summit is on Chandrila and that means the finest formalwear Padmé owns was boxed for transport. It also means standing beside her husband while he stares back in clothing so unlike his Jedi attire it almost makes her giggle. She knows his getting ready will take longer despite the entire team that’s required to put her gown and layers on.
He tugs at the well-tailored leg of his dark pants while she tries to adjust the belt at his waist. “I don’t know how people wear this.”
“You look great,” she says and smooths her hands over the front of his matching robes as she’s done countless times before he has to leave for the temple again. The fineness of silk beneath her palms reminds her how different this occasion is.
Anakin pulls a face anyway and that does make her laugh.
“Just trust me. It’s all going to be fine.”
Anakin settles into step with Padmé easier than expected when they make it to the ballroom. It’s natural to be affectionate with his wife but something still nags at him being out in the open. He still sees the hint of a blush on Padmé’s cheek when he winks at her. Their affection has only been on display in the private of Varykino, yet tonight it's required. By the time they reach the fourth stuffy Senator, he’s kissed her cheek, held her at the waist, and whispered two jokes about the attitudes surrounding them making Master Windu seem lax.
It couldn’t be going better.
The problem occurs during the third course between sips of wine and small bites of fresh fruits.
There’s a delegate from Corellia who is leaning into Padmé’s space with genuine warmth and open questions. She sets her wine glass aside again and smiles. “And how did you two meet? You must have quite the story at your age.”
Padmé has an answer ready. She’s had it ready since they boarded the transport. She started working on it the second Anakin’s giddy tone informed her what Obi-Wan had volunteered the both of them for. It’s vague, pleasant, and very, very unremarkable.
Before she quite opens her mouth, Anakin jumps in. “She was the Queen of Naboo and I was just a kid. Only nine.”
Padmé nearly chokes.
“I fell in love on the spot,” Anakin continues despite the silence that falls over the table, all confidence and zero media training. “I even told my mother we’d get married one day.”
The delegate maintains poise with an awkward laugh that stops Anakin and gives Padmé just enough time.
“It’s really a love story for the ages,” she says, convincing and not open to follow-up. “We reconnected much later. Through work. And the rest is history. Now—” She turns toward the head of the table to face the trade minister who couldn’t look less like the pleasant woman to her left. “Should we discuss the Outer Rim clauses before dessert?”
The minister blinks at her but graciously nods. Padmé lets out a quick breath. Under the table, Anakin nudges her foot with his. She doesn’t acknowledge him until his hand creeps over to rest at her knee. She slips hers beneath the table to squeeze it.
The treaty is signed after too many painstaking hours, but not so many that they need to call a second day for their summit—to Padmé’s relief. Instead, she can sit in the quiet of their transport, head resting on her husband’s chest, rolling her eyes at his retelling of their evening.
“We were so convincing,” he murmurs into her hair with a kiss.
She glances up at him. “You could’ve caused a diplomatic disaster with your childhood crush story.”
“And yet…” He gestures to her bag with her copies of the treaty and its amendments.
She thinks about arguing but then Anakin smiles and the fight in it all melts away. It feels good to love Anakin out loud. It reminds her of what it could be like one day. What she hopes it will feel like in time when the war is behind them both.
“Next time, we’re rehearsing on the way.” She pauses. “Or I’m going to tell Obi-Wan no thank you when he suggests I pretend to be married to you.”
Anakin huffs out a laugh. “No you won’t.”
“No, I probably won’t,” she agrees.
The lights of the planet beneath them fade from her view and Anakin lowers the lights in their cabin. His other arm comes to wrap around her as they settle in for the long ride home.