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“Alright, what’s our plan?”
“For the party?” Cinta said, as she adjusted Vel’s necktie.
“Mon and Kleya, crisis management.”
Cinta raised an eyebrow, and Vel raised one right back.
“Tag team,” Cinta said, examining her handiwork. “You take Mon and Kleya.”
“And you take…?”
“Everyone trying to cause problems.”
Vel gave her a slow, sly smile, returned with a twinkle in Cinta’s eye.
“What exactly are you expecting will cause a problem?” Cinta asked, reaching for her hairpins on the fresher cabinet.
“I’m not sure,” said Vel, leaning against the doorframe. “They’re about to confirm an open secret, people will have something to say. Especially on Chandrila.”
“We go out without much issue.”
“Yeah, but it’s Mon,” Vel reminded her.
Cinta carefully worked pins into her hair, pulling it up into a complicated style that Vel could never fathom, but simply admire.
“I think that if they expected trouble then they wouldn’t be doing it.”
“Honestly, I think they’re the ones most likely to cause trouble,” Vel snorted.
She watched as Cinta finished her hair, tucking loose strands away, then turned to face Vel.
Whilst Vel was in a sleek tuxedo, Cinta was wearing a dress from her homeworld. It was an ornate, layered garment, made with care and full of life.
She had on a deceptively simple underdress, deep purple and falling in shimmering folds near her ankles. Layered over it was the most beautiful tunic Vel had ever seen, with jewel-toned embroidery spreading out from the centre in such intricate designs she could barely believe they’d been made by hand. Cinta told her once each area of her world had slightly different patterns, and you could tell where someone was from just by the embroidery on their clothes. She wore it proudly and beautifully for occasions like these, and it always stopped Vel in her tracks.
“You look incredible,” Vel said, eyes running over her in awe.
Cinta smiled bashfully, hands twirling together so the bangles on her wrists jingled.
“I cannot believe you look this good.”
“Stop.”
“No, really,” Vel said, stepping forward and placing her hands on Cinta’s hips. “Was this a distraction ploy to keep the attention off Mon and Kleya? ‘Cause it’ll work, everyone’s going to be staring at you.”
Cinta shook her head, laughing, and Vel beamed.
“We’ve still got some time,” Vel said, leaning her forehead against Cinta’s.
“I’ve just done my hair,” Cinta replied, in an adorably half-hearted protest.
Vel smiled slowly, almost brushing their lips together.
“I can work with that.”
*
They arrived just early enough, largely thanks to Cinta’s nippy driving, and found a good place to lurk in the entrance hall. It was predictably flashy, some sort of Chandrilan museum Vel didn’t care about, which meant they could wait pretty unnoticed by a pillar with a perfect view of the plaza outside.
“Look, they’ve got a press line.”
Vel peered round, and sure enough, there was a gaggle of photographers hovering behind a blue vibrocordon.
“Want to guess what the headline will be?” Vel challenged.
“Hmm. Chancellor shocks Chandrila with clandestine… concubine.”
“Mon’s secret love… but did Perrin know?”
Cinta snorted, a brilliant trait Vel was glad to have passed on.
The guests grew, spreading out into the bar and the main hall. Vel had to almost crane her neck to see the landing strip, but in the end she needn’t have worried about missing Mon and Kleya’s arrival. The explosion of photographers was a tip off.
“Bloody hell.”
“Think we should…?” Cinta nodded in the direction of the entrance.
“Yeah.”
They pushed their way through the crowds and out the double doors, to where Mon and Kleya were emerging from their car onto the long carpet. Of course there was a carpet.
It wouldn’t have got much more attention than the rest of the famous guests, if it wasn’t for the fact that Mon had wrapped an arm around Kleya’s waist and was whispering something in her ear. Kleya looked up at her with a coy smile, and cocked an eyebrow.
Well. That was one way to announce this.
“Chancellor, who’s your date?”
“Chancellor, are you together?”
“Let’s get a smile, ladies!”
“Does your ex-husband know you’re with a woman?”
Vel saw Mon’s breath catch in her chest, almost imperceptibly. Kleya did too, and her hand pressed tightly against Mon’s lower back.
“Ms. Marki, how did you snag the Chancellor?”
The couple wound their arms together, then began to walk up the carpet, Mon with practiced grace, and Kleya with the kind of intimidating nonchalance only she could manage. The photographers were shouting a litany of invasive questions, lights flashing in their faces, and Vel found her heart was in her stomach.
“All these sniper skills and for what?” Cinta murmured.
Vel shot her a smirk.
The couple reached the doorway and, to Vel’s surprise, turned round to face the press crowd outside. Mon raised her left hand in an elegant wave; for just a second, it twisted in the direction of the cameras, but it was enough. Her wedding ring flashed in the light, and the press exploded.
“Come on,” Vel said, as Mon and Kleya finally made their way inside. The guests inside the doorway were buzzing, some staring unashamedly, others less-than-subtly sharing their thoughts in each others’ ears. A few actually looked genuinely happy, which was a nice surprise.
Mon caught Vel’s eye and visibly sighed in relief.
“You know, I think you could probably do another lap and catch the photographers you missed,” Vel said in greeting.
“We needed to make a statement, and I wasn’t going to give a speech,” Mon said sniffily.
She leaned into Kleya, who was subtly taking stock of the energy in the crowd.
“The ring was a nice touch,” Vel said.
Mon smiled a little slyly, and Kleya smirked too.
“Well, I’m going to enjoy wearing it in public.”
Vel’s heart warmed unexpectedly sentimentally. It was still a surprise sometimes when Mon’s life resonated with her so much, in a way that had always been mutually incomprehensible. Up until it hadn’t, and the world turned upside down for a bit, but now it was just… nice.
“Shall we get a drink to celebrate?” Vel suggested.
“Yes,” Kleya responded sharply.
Her eyes had located the bar through an archway, and she nudged Mon with her hip.
“Let’s go.”
“I thought you wanted to have your wits about you?” Mon said, in a teasing voice which suggested this had already been a discussion.
“I can still fatally wound someone after four drinks.”
“I’m sure you can, darling,” Mon replied dotingly, letting Kleya lead her away with a protective hand on her back.
“Where do you think she’s stashed her knife?” Cinta asked, moving to Vel’s side.
“Thigh?”
“Not in that dress.”
Cinta wound their fingers together.
“Let’s set one of the senators on Mon, then we’ll find out,” Vel said dryly.
Cinta laughed wickedly, then they wandered off in the direction of the bar.
*
“So, how does it feel to have wifed up the most famous woman in the galaxy?”
Kleya gave her an unimpressed look.
“We’ve been married for two years, Vel.”
“Right, but that was just between us girls. Now you’re about to be the second most famous woman in the galaxy.”
“If you’re going to be hyperbolic, can you at least be accurate?” Kleya said. “Second most famous woman up until the Mandalore system. Nobody in the Outer Rim cares about the Chancellor’s marriage.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I saw a journalist from Nevarro.”
“Nevarro don’t have journalists.”
They were hovering around the edge of the main hall. Not hiding, exactly, but strategically placing themselves out of view. Or at least Kleya was. Vel was keeping her company, and monitoring her alcohol intake.
“When was the last time you came to one of these?” Vel asked, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing droid.
“I’ve been to a few,” Kleya said noncommittedly.
“Illuminating.”
Kleya gave her a sardonic look.
“Yes Vel, I’ve attended ostentatious Core World parties as a guest and not a spy, if that’s what you mean.”
The prickly tone surprised her. Kleya had veered from dry deflection to genuinely aggravated, despite the fact that no one had so far visibly pissed her off.
“Does it make a difference?” Vel said, as flippantly as she could manage, and tipped back some champagne.
Kleya tapped her clipped nails against her glass.
“There’s not much difference in the pretence.”
“Mm, I’ll say.”
Kleya was quiet for a moment, surveying the crowd, then she turned to Vel.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
Vel shrugged. “Moral support.”
“Are you serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Kleya heaved an aggravated sigh, then faced the crowd again with a frown.
“It had to happen sooner or later.”
“I imagine you would have preferred later.”
Kleya’s lips twitched with a wry smile.
“Perhaps. But I would rather control the story than have it leak.” She paused, fingers still tapping. “And… I don’t want her to think she’s something to hide. That this is something to hide.”
Vel’s heart twanged with bittersweet understanding.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I get that.”
When Kleya glanced over at her, she suddenly looked a lot more vulnerable. Of all the things Vel thought would bring that out in her, she’d never imagined this. But the galaxy was full of surprises that way.
“I’m gonna go find Cinta for a dance,” Vel said. “You should find Mon.”
She downed her drink, gave Kleya what she hoped was a warm smile, then headed off in search of her own wife.
Cinta it turned out was patrolling the main hall across the other side, attempting to remain inconspicuous, which was obviously impossible considering how eye-catching she looked. Ridiculous woman.
“Fancy a dance?”
Cinta turned, face lighting up when she saw Vel, sending her stomach in a familiar flip.
“With you?” she teased, holding out her hand.
“Why, do you have any other offers?”
“None that I’d ever notice.”
Vel grinned, pulling her into an easy twirl.
“Any trouble?” she asked, when they jigged along with the music, hands joined together.
“A lot of gossip, but nothing sinister.”
“What are they saying?”
Cinta gave her an astute look. “Do you really want to know?”
Vel shrugged. Her eyes caught on a parting in the crowds ten or so feet away, where Kleya apparently had decided to find Mon, and was now swaying on the floor with her arms around her shoulders. Vel couldn’t see Mon’s face, but she could see her posture - strong, confident, determinedly open, as if there weren’t people staring to their left and right.
“I don’t know if it’s because they’re women, or because she’s chancellor, or just because she’s Mon.”
“What do you mean by that?” Cinta asked, in her open, patient way.
“She was like the poster girl for miserable, aristocratic marriage. ‘Respectable’,” Vel said huffily.
“I think we’re perfectly respectable. And if we aren’t, it’s not down to being married.”
“What is it then?”
Cinta gave her a fondly exasperated look.
“The rebellion, Vel.”
“Oh.”
Cinta laughed softly, light from the chandeliers glimmering in her dress.
“I don’t think people find it sordid, they find it like a holofilm.”
“Really?” Vel said curiously.
“The rebel senator who fights off the Empire with her beautiful younger lover,” Cinta smirked.
Vel made a face of horror. “Please don’t talk about my cousin like that.”
“Did I tell you Kleya sent me a coupon the other day for a place that does really fancy straps?”
Vel was staring daggers at her. “I know where you live!”
Cinta laughed incorrigibly.
“How fancy?” Vel added.
There was no response, because Cinta’s head had snapped to the side; a second later a Twi’lek man lunged through the crowd, camera snapping furiously at Mon and Kleya.
The pair of them moved without speaking, slicing through the few couples in their way until they reached where Mon and Kleya were looking down at the Twi’lek who now lay immobilized on the ground. Kleya was slightly out of breath, standing protectively in front of Mon with an arm across her front. Her other hand was poised at her thigh. So she did put the knife there, then.
“What’s going on?” Vel demanded.
Mon was shaking her head in shock. “Where did he come from? The guest list was supposed to be vetted.”
Kleya exchanged a split-second look with Cinta, who nodded.
“I’ll get it checked.”
She squeezed Vel’s hand. “Stay with them. I’ll find you when I’ve got more information, but comm me if there’s any problems.”
Vel wished her pulse wouldn’t still spike with anxiety when Cinta disappeared into a crowd. Maybe one day.
“Are you okay?” she asked Mon, who was still looking shaken.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. “He was just trying to get some photographs but he… did surprise me.”
Her fingertips were resting against Kleya’s hip as she spoke to security, as if the pair were tethered together.
“It’s unbelievable,” Vel said darkly. “As if they’ll do that just to get a photo.”
“It would have been quite a valuable one, I imagine.”
“Did somebody grab–?”
“It’s sorted,” Kleya said shortly.
Her conversation with security finished, she moved back into Mon’s space, an arm slipping protectively around her waist whilst her other hand tenderly brushed her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she said quietly.
Mon gave her a faint, slightly delirious smile, eyes locked on hers in some silent conversation. Kleya pressed her lips together in sympathy, her gaze soft and open.
“Do you want to go?”
“No, I’m being silly,” Mon said. A single strand of hair had escaped Kleya’s half-up bun, and Mon tucked it tenderly behind her ears. “It’s just that I thought for a moment…”
“I know.”
Vel thought for one sweet but awful second that they might kiss in front of her, and searched for any possible exit, but then Mon thankfully seemed to remember she was there.
“Another drink, perhaps?” she said to both of them.
*
An hour later and the four of them were sat together on the terrace, where Mon was holding court from guests who approached her in a constant rotation to say how awful that photographer was, they hoped it hadn’t ruined their night, how happy they seemed together, how long exactly had they been married?
A combination of Mon’s polite deflection and Kleya’s terrifying smile had each interruption ending quickly, and Vel and Cinta kept up a constant stream of conversation in between.
“What if we discretely assassinate the top level leadership from all the media companies,” Vel suggested.
“I suppose they might crumble,” Cinta replied seriously. “But then how will Mon tell everyone about all the successes of the New Republic?”
“Good point.”
That earned a smirk from Kleya, and a glare from Mon, who was already bracing herself for another approaching senator.
“We should start our own network,” Kleya said, leaning forward on her elbows. She took a heavy gulp of wine.
“Axis Media?” Vel said dryly.
“Shut up.”
The three of them laughed, loudly, apparently enough to scare away the senator about to interrogate Mon.
“Here, let’s swap seats,” Vel suggested. “Put yourself at the back so they can’t reach you.”
“They’ll still come over to the table.”
“And talk to Kleya?”
Mon seemed torn between amusement and exasperation, settled for a fond look at her wife, then aimably switched seats with Vel. Cinta quickly moved their drinks around, and when Vel flicked her eyes down to the distance now between them, pouting slightly, she shuffled her chair around too.
“I mean, look,” Vel began, addressing the table. “I’d say it’s going well so far. In comparison to what Chandrilan parties used to be like.”
“Meaning?” Mon said, entertained.
“No family judging, no comments about when I’m getting married, no old men trying to grope me. Get to dance with my wife. And free booze.”
“The alcohol was always free for you,” Mon said bemusedly. “I was the one paying.”
Vel raised her glass to her.
“But on the other counts, yes, I do agree.”
She turned her eyes to Kleya, giving her a soft smile.
“What do you say, shall we give dancing another go?”
Vel was sure Kleya would rather do anything other than say yes, or probably be anywhere other than here. But something in this thing they had just worked, because the smile Kleya responded with was genuine.
“We shall,” she said, taking Mon’s hand.
Vel looked round at Cinta.
“Marry me?” she asked her wife.
“Always.”
“Good. It seems like it’s turning out pretty well for us all.”