Chapter Text
The shell-lined path was narrower and the grass sparse where it struggled in the sandy soil. The cottage’s blue shutters had faded to grey, and the clapboard was in need of fresh paint.
Ben’s heart sank.
There were so many beautiful places in the galaxy, places Rey had never seen, places beyond her wildest imagining. And he’d brought her here. Why hadn’t he at least taken her to Varykino, with its majestic domes and magnificent view and sun-fired terraces? She’d love it.
“Ben.” Rey squeezed his fingers between hers. “Don’t.”
Then she pushed her perspective into his mind: The little cottage snuggled into the breast of the sea? Charming. Of all the grand places he could have taken her—and what doors would not open for him, former Supreme Leader of the First Order and now Secretary of the Galactic Defense Forces? He could have taken her anywhere, but he’d brought her here, where it was homey and welcoming and private, where he could share his heart and his memories. Where she needn’t worry about etiquette. Where she would have a reprieve from the eyes of the galaxy analyzing her every word and move. She could simply be herself. Just Rey. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
“Thank you.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear. His first instinct was correct. Overthinking it would have landed him in trouble. Again.
They reached the front door, he palmed the lockpad, and it swooshed open. Before Rey could step through, he swept her up into a princess carry.
“Ben!” She exclaimed and looped her arms around his neck. “What’s this?”
“Tradition,” he said and eased them through the door, careful not to clunk her head on the jamb. “For a husband to carry his new bride over the threshold.”
She giggled. “Why?”
“Let’s just leave it at ‘tradition.’” He set her down in the slate-tiled entry. “There’s a spate of reasons, none of which are very flattering.”
“You can’t say something like that and not tell me.”
He gazed down into her bright eyes, sparkling above sun-dusted cheeks.
Her mouth pursed in anticipation. “You know I’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”
Could he deny her anything? “It was thought to be a sign of protection from evil spirits or even to prevent the bride from tripping, which would be a bad omen. Or a sign of her innocence and reticence, that she’s not too eager”—he made a suggestive sound with his throat—“and her husband must carry her to bed.” His cheeks warmed a little at the thought.
Hers pinked too.
“Or because he kidnapped his bride and had to force her into his house.” He shook his head. “See? Not exactly admirable.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She smoothed a hand down his coat lapel and peered up at him through her lashes. Fine glitter still sparkled at her temples. “I was kidnapped by my husband once, you might recall, and I like the feeling of being protected by you, and I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you carried me to bed.”
“Rey.” He groaned. Between their morning wedding, lunch reception and the flight to Chandrila, it’d been a long day. And an even longer year before that, with their fruitless search for a route to the Unknown Regions, despite all the good they’d accomplished. But the galaxy could wait; these weeks away were their gift to each other.
Rey’s smile broadened, forming dimples in her cheeks, and she stepped forward to press her body against his. Even through the double layers of their winter coats, she was strong and soft in all the right places. His knees were going to give out. He was going to give in. So much for his plans to take his time so that she wouldn’t feel rushed or pressured, to show her around the beach house and feed her dinner and stroll the shore at sunset.
Ben, she spoke into his mind, I just want you.
Desire blazed through him and ignited the ever-present tension that simmered between them. His skin pebbled and every nerve fired. But first— he had a promise to keep. He drew a slow, steady breath and mustered all the self-control he’d cultivated in his three decades.
“Let me help you with your wrap,” he said.
She shrugged from the faux-fur trimmed outerwear, exposing her shoulders. He bent to trail kisses along their graceful lines and nuzzle her nape. He couldn’t help himself.
“Ben Solo!” She exclaimed with a giggle and wriggled out of reach. Her ticklishness had been an amusing discovery. “I’m sorry we’ll miss the Stormtrooper Gala this Christmas.”
“Don’t be.” He turned to hang her wrap in the closet and his overcoat alongside. “Armie’s thrilled to host this year and, honestly, his objection to playing elf again is all for show.” Hux’s transformation wasn’t complete, but he’d made significant strides. His natural competitiveness ensured he excelled with the GDF’s new vision, even if he was sometimes insensitive in the execution.
Ben drew an envelope from the inner breast pocket of his tuxedo and thrust it between them.
“What’s this?” She ran her fingers across the elegant calligraphy: Mrs. Rey Solo. “This isn’t in your hand.”
It was no surprise she knew his lettering, considering he’d written her so many love notes since last Christmas. “No. It’s from Leia. Her wedding gift. She wanted you to open it as soon as we arrived.”
Rey did.
Ben’s heart gave a little lurch to see his mother’s graceful loops and swirls swooping across the thick paper, to remember her head bent beside his as a boy, while she taught him how to hold the pen. To recall her lemon and lavender scent. Or maybe her faint fragrance emanated from the stationary. He’d come so close to losing her.
“But we didn’t lose her,” Rey answered his thoughts.
No, they hadn’t, since her EV syndrome was treated in time aboard the Steadfast. Leia was a formidable presence in their lives. She continued to be a galactic leader and advisor, yes, but first a mother, determined to do it right, now that she was afforded a second chance and two children, as she was fond of reminding them.
Rey smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth before bending her head to the letter. Ben scooted around to read over her shoulder.
My Dearest Rey,
Words cannot adequately convey my joy in your marriage or that I may now—officially—claim you as my daughter. Someday all I have will be yours. But on the occasion of your wedding, the Chandrila beach house is my gift to you and Ben. Make it your home. Fill it with love and laughter. Raise your family. The Solos’ happiest memories echo within these humble walls. May it ever be the same for you—
All My Love,
Leia
Ben’s spirit lifted like the gulls on the shoreline. She knew how much this house meant to him—and now it was his. Theirs. He swallowed hard and pressed his cheek to Rey’s crown. It wasn’t fair that his mother should reduce him to tears on his honeymoon, even if they were tears of joy.
“This is ours?” Rey turned from beneath him, her eyes sweeping over the small entry.
He followed the swish of her wedding dress into the great room and stopped on the nubby rag rug that covered the worn wood floors.
“And she even decorated,” Rey said in a hush. She paused to examine a tiny village asleep under its blanket of snow on a side table.
Ben wandered around the room. Garlands framed the bay windows overlooking the Silver Sea, where the surf caressed the beach. A battalion of nutcrackers stood at attention atop the bookcase. Holiday pillows and throws piled on the sofas and a large poinsettia graced one corner. He trailed his fingers over his mom’s treasured quilt, passed down through generations of Organas, the bold, bright star glowing gold from its center. He could hardly believe she’d left it for him. For them.
Wood was laid in the fireplace and candles waited to be lit. Twin monogrammed stockings hung from the mantel. Labeled boxes were stacked on the hearth. He picked up a note resting on top.
Ben, Here’s all you need to trim the tree, except for the star. Han hid it years ago. Unless you find it, you’ll probably need to buy another. Love, Mom
Everything as it was when he was a boy. Only the tree was missing, but even its absence conveyed his mother’s intention. She must have visited herself; she couldn’t have arranged for anyone else to place each item with such care. His heart contracted in bittersweet nostalgia. He completed his circuit and drew to a halt beside Rey.
She beamed up at him, glowing and beautiful, her features open. “Did you know?”
“I didn’t. She surprised me too. Do you like it?”
“Like it?” Rey threw her arms around his neck and muffled her voice in his chest. “Ben. It’s perfect. It’s like a dream come true.”
He couldn’t have said it better. Their spirits hummed in unison across the bond. He wove his fingers into the sheer white fabric gathered at the small of her back, held her in the shelter of his arms, and murmured low into her ear. “May I show you around our new home?”
Would he ever cease to thrill at those words? Our home.
“Yes, please,” she said and raised her shining eyes to his. There was nothing coquettish in her regard. Only a purity of admiration and soul-deep longing that rebounded between them, artless and unashamed. “Show me our bedroom first?”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
***
Dawn stretched long, golden fingers through the window and tickled Ben awake. Of all the mornings to sleep in, this should be one of them, while he was held in Rey’s arms, the novelty of her flesh flush and warm against his length. She molded herself to his back, one arm draped over his side. He pressed her fingers tighter against his chest with a soft metallic clink. The rings that marked her as his. And him as hers. Almost superfluous in the context of their dyad yet no less meaningful.
If he’d been thinking, he would have lowered the rouladens over the windows last night, but then he’d been a little preoccupied. Lost to the wonder of loving his wife, the way her wedding gown pooled on the floor at her feet and left him as breathless as her first kiss. Lost to the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips and the marvel of their bodies moving together like satin and steel. To the arch of her back, the curve of her throat, the music of her mouth. And deeper still to the merging of their souls, in soaring ecstasy as in quiet rest, at home in each other’s hearts.
Even now her breath rose and fell at his back, her pulse thrumming as one with his. The sun continued to rise and paint the bedroom in its amber hues.
His stomach rumbled. Loudly. When had they last eaten? Not dinner. They hadn’t left the bedroom since their arrival yesterday afternoon. So it must have been at the lunch reception and even that had been limited to the bites they could squeeze between receiving endless congratulations. If he was hungry, Rey must be famished.
He grinned and rolled to face her. She pulled the duvet tighter under her chin and tucked her arms against her chest. He kissed her forehead and her eyelids fluttered up.
“Good morning, wife,” he said, just to hear the endearment.
She gifted him with a drowsy smile and a contented hum—and her eyes drifted closed again. He brushed against her muzzy mind as she sank back into a well of serenity. Not this morning then, though he could hardly blame her, considering how little they’d slept.
“Rest well,” he murmured, kissed her again and slid from under the coziness of the comforter. He intended to bring her breakfast in bed and make a thorough search for the star, but first he’d take a bracing dip in the sea. That would cool him off. As long as he didn’t dwell too long on the thought that his wife was still in his bed.
Ben snagged his trunks and a towel from the ‘fresher and stepped through the sliding glass door onto the deck. Cold air nipped his bare skin and he shivered. The beach was an empty canvas, too early and the wrong season for bathers. He sucked a lungful of salt air.
He’d reveled in this view, smelled these scents, listened to the song of this surf a thousand times and yet it filled his senses fresh as the first snowfall. Love gave him new ears and new eyes. He’d felt this way before—a year ago—when joy sent him dashing through the Steadfast’s corridors after the night that changed his life. He could never have imagined then what his life would be now.
***
“Where are we going?” Rey said and held tendrils of hair back from her face as they sped toward the foothills.
“You’ll see.” Ben grinned and felt her nudge at his mind. “Hey, stop that. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
Her mouth puckered into a mock frown.
He couldn’t resist looking at her every few seconds and marveling that she rode beside him, that they were married, finally, and undertaking this utterly domestic errand together. Not that they hadn’t spent the intervening year in each other’s pockets. It was a standing joke among their friends and colleagues as well as the various political and military bodies with which they interacted that Ben and Rey were inseparable. If you got one, you got them both. And there was always the bond that united them closer than any two beings alive. But marriage was something more. The Force made them one in their dyad—by its will. Their vows made them one in love—by their choice.
He glanced at Rey again.
“What?” She said over the rush of wind. Her smile dimpled and roses gathered in her cheeks. “Why do you keep looking at me?”
“I just—” He reached for her hand and wove their fingers together. “I can’t believe we’re married. I have to keep reminding myself this is real.”
“Oh?” She sidled closer on the bench seat of the old speeder. “I’d be glad to help you remember.”
“Rey!” He laughed and turned from the road into a tree-lined lane.
“What is this place?” Rey stared at the uniform rows in amazement.
“A tree farm,” Ben said. He parked the speeder in front of the office. “We’re going to find our tree, chop it down, and take it home. It’s a Christmas tradition.”
“Chop one down? You can’t be serious. All these gorgeous trees?” Horror bled across their bond. She popped out of the speeder before he could come around to help her. He offered his arm anyway.
Of course she was horrified, coming from a desert planet where vegetation was scarce. This must seem the height of profligacy. “It’s a farm. The trees are raised for this purpose and they’ll plant new ones. But if it really bothers you, we can purchase an artificial tree instead.”
She scrunched her nose and squeezed his bicep as if to fortify her courage. “No, Ben Solo. Lead on. Show me how it’s done.”
And he did. It took her forever, wandering among the rows and rows of evergreens, gliding her fingers over their needles, inhaling their spicy sweet aroma, to select the perfect tree. Not the tallest or the fullest or the most symmetrical, but one that sang to her in the Force—just as it did to him, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. There was something about the wide-spaced branches and blue-tipped limbs that made it their tree. One fierce swing of her lightsaber severed the trunk and soon they were zipping home, the tree strapped into the speeder’s back seat.
They picked up dinner en route, and Ben levitated the tree into place before the central bay window. They trimmed the branches as the sea folded the blushing sun within its embrace.
Ben recounted stories with each ornament hung: a Santa-hatted tauntaun. A pod-racer. An Alderaanian starflower. A snowflake composed from X-wings touching wingtip to wingtip. There were souvenirs from Han’s travels, gifts Leia received as a senator, mementos from family outings, Ben’s childhood crafts. He didn’t know who found it more healing—Rey, who had never known a family Christmas, or him, for whom each story pieced his broken past together like the pattern on his mother’s quilt.
When they were finished, they switched off all but the fairy lights. Reflections doubled in the dark glass and dotted the beamed ceiling. They stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Lovely.” Rey sighed and moved to tidy their mess. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to find the star.”
“Who knows what my dad did with it.” He shrugged away his disappointment. “We can go shopping tomorrow.”
She shoved packing paper in a box. “Tell me about it? The star.”
“It’s about this big”—he shaped his fingers to indicate he could balance it in the palm of one hand—“gold and twelve-pointed.”
She snapped the last lid closed and brushed off her hands. “Twelve points?”
“One for each noble house of Alderaan. Here. It looks like this.” Ben spread the quilt on the couch to display the dodecahedron pieced in shades of gold. “It’s called the royal star. On state occasions, the monarch would hold it like an orb, as a symbol of authority. The top point is for the ruling house.” Memory of his mother’s grief echoed a minor key in the Force, and his brow furrowed.
Rey fingered the pattern in the fabric. “It’s not the actual royal star you’ve been putting on top of your Christmas tree, is it?”
“Well, I—” Honestly, he didn’t know. It’d been thrust into his hands as soon as he was old enough to hold it and topping the tree had always been the capstone event in their family decorating. “I can’t imagine it was.”
She touched the topmost point, a lighter gold than the others. “Which was the ruling house?”
“House Organa.”
“Your family?”
“Breha and Bail didn’t have any children and adopted my mom.”
“Princess Leia. Which is how you have the quilt and the star.” Her gaze turned thoughtful and the Force sang, as it often did, with purposeful harmony between them. “Does that make you a prince?”
“Of a planet that no longer exists. But, yes, technically.” Even without touching her mind, he could almost see the wheels in her brain turning. “Rey, don’t make me into something I’m not. I’m just Ben.”
“My Ben.” She cupped his jaw and stood on her toes to press her lips to his, slow and sweet. “My husband.”
Her husband. No other role could give him greater delight or satisfaction.
Ben drew Rey down before the hearth. Firelight danced in her eyes and flickered on her golden skin. He traced the shifting patterns with his lips and loved her, gently and tenderly, to the crackle of the logs and twinkle of the lights and beat of their hearts.