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Fox is sweating. Profusely, so. Once he had ordered the ring, he had booked a reservation at the finest restaurant in the city—the one on the top floor of a swanky hotel that rotates. He had thought it was stupid, but one of the women he works with said it was by far one of thee most romantic dates she has ever gone on. And Fox, who doesn’t have a single romantic bone in his body, had taken it at face value. He had booked the reservation six months out and the ring came in about two months ago.
It has been burning a hole in his pocket, but he has persevered. Riyo deserves the best and by God he’s going to give it to her.
At least, he would if she would get off the damn phone.
“No,” she says sternly as she paces across the floor. She is mostly ready, her make-up is complete, but she isn’t dressed. Some dickhead senator had called her, saying they’re trying to vote on a bill without her and half the staff present. “You need to stall…I don’t care what you do. I’ll be there in fifteen.” She hangs up and turns remorsefully to Fox. “Love, I’m so sorry. I have to go into the office. They’re trying to veto my immigration legislation.”
He tries not to grind his teeth. “I understand.”
She strides over to him, her satin robe flowing more elegantly than any dress she could have put on tonight, and presses to her tiptoes to kiss his jawline. “I knew you would. I shouldn’t be more than an hour. Could we still make our reservation?”
“It’s at seven.”
They both look at the digital clock under their television. It is currently six-fifteen.
She turns back to him. “I’ll be quick. I can always meet you there—”
He kisses her, feels her melt under his touch. “Go,” he says when he pulls away. “I’ll wait for you here.”
She offers him a sad smile and darts into their bedroom. “I love you!” she calls over her shoulder.
“I love you, too,” he smiles and sighs.
~
In the end, he calls Ahsoka.
“Fox?” she says when she picks up the phone and, not for the first time, he wonders why everyone is so surprised when he calls. A preference for texting is not the end of the world.
“I need help,” he says, skipping over small talk.
“What? Are you okay? I’m on my way—”
“Not an emergency,” he says quickly. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I just—I’m not…”
“You’re not what?”
“I’m sure Rex has told you, but I want to propose to Riyo.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
He rolls his eyes. One of these days they’re going to realize that they’re in love with each other—but quite frankly he isn’t in the mood to deal with them always covering for each other. “I made a reservation at that one place? The rotating room place?”
“Oh… Fox that is…” she whistles. “Really expensive.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t make our reservation because my employer is a fuckhead.”
“Oh…” Ahsoka says. “She’s arguing her bill, isn’t she?”
“Of course she is. So, since we can’t make the reservation I—I don’t know what to do. They were booking so far out and I don’t want to wait.”
“You can still propose to her tonight.”
“What?”
“Fox,” she says softly with that patient voice she uses when she talks to Wolffe. He doesn’t know how to feel about being lumped into that category. “She would have enjoyed a nice dinner, but I promise she will enjoy a night with you way more.”
He chews his lip. “I don’t know about that.”
She huffs. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that she loves you for you?”
“I—”
“You respect her, which more than most men in our dating pool do; you don’t mind that she works crazy hours because you do the same; and you can chest press her—yes she told me about that.”
He feels a blush crawling up his neck. “Oh.”
“So, what I’m saying is love her . Don’t try to impress her, she already thinks the world of you.”
He nods, remembers Ahsoka can’t see that and chokes out, “Thanks.”
Ahsoka hums. “One more thing.”
He grunts.
“She’s gonna say yes, you just have to find the balls to ask.”
He snorts. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime. Are we done? Your brother made me enchiladas and they’re calling my name.”
He rolls his eyes again. “Rub that blond head for me, I’m going to need some luck.”
~
When the front door to their apartment opens, it is well past ten. Fox had been watching the live report on their television and, when the bill finally made its way through the senate, he waited ten minutes and ordered take out. He has just finished dressing the coffee table with all of Riyo’s favorites and scrambles to meet her at the door.
“Congratulations,” he says as he pulls her coat from her shoulders. She looks exhausted and he doesn’t blame her at all. He hangs up her coat, takes her bag from her and ushers her to their living room.
“Thanks. Oh!” she says at seeing the spread and the single candle he found. Riyo, despite being probably the most feminine woman he has ever met, hates candles. They give her migraines. This one, though, is scentless, a small miracle he had found at the corner store—he may or may not have peeled off the image of Padme Amidala-Skywalker portrayed as a saint and scrubbed off the persistent sticky residue before using it as their ambiance. “This looks lovely! Is… is that pita?” she asks and slides down the front of the couch and to the floor while toeing off her heels.
“It is.”
“And curry?”
“Yep.”
“And cinnamon buns? You’ve ordered all my favorites.” From all her different restaurants goes unsaid.
“Yep,” he says again, though his throat has gone mostly dry.
She eyes him. “Is this because you thought I would lose?”
“No,” he says. “It’s because I knew you would win. Red or white?”
“Actually,” she says. “There should be coconut rum on the shelf by the eggs. Can you pour me that with a bit of cranberry juice?”
“Sure thing.” He mixes her drink—takes a shot of the foul coconut rum to calm his nerves—and grabs a beer for himself.
“This is really so amazing, Fox. Thank you.” She looks up at him. “I’m sorry I ruined our date.”
“It’s fine,” he says and joins her on the floor—pointedly annoying how his knees pop. “I didn’t really want to eat my dinner on a spinning disk in the sky anyway.”
She laughs. “I can just imagine you trying to keep your eye on the door.” She makes a show of craning her neck every which way.
He shakes his head, feels a smile twist his lips. “I don’t think I’d be able to take my eyes off you.”
Her giggle dries up and she looks at him. He’s ashamed to say that compliments are rare from him, but she has never minded. She would rather go for a walk together on their shared lunch break than listen to him spout endless praise for every aspect of her. Empty flattery is common in her profession. His honesty and his time means more to her and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to express how grateful he is for that.
“You… are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”
She grins, but he can see the nerves in her eyes. “I know.”
He isn’t sweating this time, in fact, he feels calm—like right before he does something dangerous. And maybe this is dangerous. Loving someone is showing them your most fragile pieces and hoping they don’t shatter what has already been painstakingly put back together. But at the same time, he has never been so confident that this is right .
He pulls out the ring from his front pocket. “I’d be honored to have you as my wife, if you’d let me.”
She squeals and throws herself at him. They topple over in a heap and she kisses his cheek, his eyebrows, his nose, his jaw, his lips. He brings his arms around her and holds her closer until she pulls away. “Yes,” she whispers. “Having you as my husband would make me the happiest woman alive.”
Elation bubbles up in his chest and a laugh escapes his lips. If anyone had asked him if he would be the first Fett brother to get married, he would have laughed in their faces. But here he is, with the most beautiful woman in the world—his future wife —and an apartment that is theirs and a life so full of love.
He kisses her again and knows for certain this is what happiness feels like.