A/N: This story is my twisted attempt to explain the lack of chemistry in the Anakin/Padmé kiss on the lake retreat scene in the Attack of the Clones. For obvious reasons Padmé has to be 18 in the flashbacks.

Which is the greater sin? To tell a lie, and take advantage of a man's vulnerability in order to convince him to do something he otherwise would not? Or to tell yourself a lie, and close your eyes, pretending the boy who is in love with you is the man you cannot have?

Padmé's winces at the unwelcome question as it surfaces in her mind, trying with increasing desperation lose herself in the kiss. But Anakin's lips are too soft and hesitant and the knowledge of who she is kissing makes her skin crawl. A flash of memories compound her disbelief: Strong hands lifting her onto the balustrade, the roughness of stone on her thighs, the scratch of stubble on her cheek, the mouth that fits so perfectly to hers; unknown and yet familiar, intimidating and yet safe...

Nothing like this. There is no part of her imagination that can convince her these lips belong to someone else. Not anyone else. One person in particular. But gods, what is she doing? This is terribly wrong…

"No. I shouldn't have done that." She pulls away abruptly, the flood of images and sensations stealing her breath. She wants them to stop but they continue to come, relentlessly, and with increasing clarity: The grass, cool and damp under her back. The sweet, blinding sensations of his caresses; bold yet gentle, as if he understands her body better than she does herself. His smile against her lips as she climaxes quickly after the only the briefest of touches…

"I'm sorry." Back in the present Anakin mumbles his apology.

She vaguely senses that he is looking at her but Padmé gazes out over the water and does not reply, caught up in the ten-year-old memories that have become more vivid than reality, and are now rushing towards their unwelcome end: Her muffled cry of pain. His weight suddenly heavy on her, the taste of blood on her lip where her teeth penetrated the skin at the same time as his body had penetrated hers. The look of horror on his face when he realises what is happening. Her own voice pleading for him to continue, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his back. Moments later the groan and the shudder of his release. The guilt and mistrust with which he looks at her afterwards…

Anakin has gone. Inside the villa, presumably. She did not notice him leave. Satisfied she is alone, Padmé hastily crosses the veranda and takes the steep gravelled path, sinking down weakily on the lawn under the Kampor tree where it happened.

Padmé was young then, and, of course, naive. Aged beyond her years by education and rank, the life of the Queen of Naboo was nevertheless a public one, and left no time or space for the youthful flirtations her contemporaries could enjoy. Consequently Padmé had found herself surrounded by people but lonely, left behind in innocence whilst everyone her age muddled through the drama of teenage relationships she could only fantasize about, or watch from afar on the brief occasions she could convince Sabé to switch places to allow her to venture out of the palace compound for pleasure rather than diplomacy. So, after the battle of Naboo, when the Jedi Council had accepted Senator Palpatine's offer of a stay on his private retreat for their newly knighted hero, Padmé had been eager to accompany the man who had recently become the focus of her first serious infatuation.

"Jedi are not allowed to form attachments." Obi-Wan had said quietly, removing her hand from his as they stood in the very spot where ten years later she would let Anakin kiss her. Obi-Wan's voice had wavered with the raw emotion of his recent bereavement, making a mockery of his words at the same time as he spoke them. It was then that Padmé resolved to give herself to him. Later, with the increased wisdom of age and hindsight she had forced herself to admit it had been nothing but a romantic fantasy. Although, at the time, she had convinced herself that this strong, noble and powerful Jedi somehow needed her feeble body to comfort him, the reality was that she thought she was in love, and the events of that night were the result of a young girl's foolish desire for this man to liberate her of her virginity. And her desperation had been sufficient to deceive him into doing it.

"I do not want you to form an attachment to me. I just want to help you." She had lied, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips, boldly slipping a hand inside his robe, hoping the action implied an experience she did not possess. "Please, let me help you."

What had she really thought would happen? Did she think he would fall in love with her and leave the Jedi Order to be with her? She had certainly never intended to cause him even more pain. But that was exactly what she had done.

"I didn't know… I thought…" he had stuttered afterwards, backing away from her with wide eyes, pulling on clothing quickly and carelessly. "I shouldn't... I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," she'd replied with a relaxed smile, not really understanding his alarm, wondering why he seemed to place more significance on this act than she did herself.

But with that selfish smile she had betrayed her intention to deceive him, to trick him into doing this. No words were necessary. Obi-Wan was an honourable man, and this was clearly not something he took lightly. The expression of contempt on his face broke her heart.

And then she realised she had lost not only a love that never really existed, but a friendship that could have been far more valuable than a few fleeting moments of physical intimacy.

When they met again, ten years later, her stomach had fluttered with nerves as he smiled and shook her hand. For a few moments she felt a surge of optimism. Everything she felt for him was still there, still real. But then his eyes told her that for him too nothing had changed. He had not forgiven her. And he never would.

And now, here she sits, alone on the damp grass, running a hand over the place where they had lain, a tear on her cheek, every emotion as raw as the day it had happened. He had barely spoken to her afterwards, leaving early in the morning, only a curt message of formal apology left to mark his departure. The afternoon air is warm and humid, but Padmé shudders. It had been comforting to dismiss her feelings as a teenage crush. But now, to realise, as a woman, that no man would ever better him? It is unbearable.

Later, that night, when Anakin makes love to her, his hands trembling with uncertainty and eagerness to please, his caresses rough and alien, Padmé turns her head to the side, looking blankly into the fire, faking a bored orgasm to synchronise with his, trying to block out his frantic whisper as he tells her she is his angel, that she always has been, and that she always will be.

Anakin wants her, and his desperation and insistence are difficult to refuse. And Anakin needs her, in a way that Obi-Wan never will. She would like to think this is her destiny, or a penance that she will accept selflessly, without complaint. After all, she has made her choices with free will, and she alone is responsible for her actions. This is obviously what she deserves.

Anakin's love requires nothing positive from her, just compliance. It is so easy to comply. And the reality of the matter is that she would do this a thousand times over just to see a spark of jealousy in Obi-Wan's eyes.

No, Padmé is no angel. Padmé is a sinner, and she knows she will not be saved.