A/N: I am going to hit the fast forward button on this story…um…it's three months later, and Anakin is still gone.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. I'm sorry- excuse me- runs in the bathroom to cry.
And, of course, the dress won't zip. Sabe is pulling and yanking and whalebone-corseting me, but I know it's not going to help. And I have this stupid Senate dinner party in five minutes. Palpatine will get drunk and split off into multiple personalities and attempt to feel up at least one of the women, resulting in major injury, and the entire Senate attempting not to fall over laughing. If he comes within ten feet of me I swear I'll stab him with a salad fork.
"I'm sorry, milady, but the zipper must be broken," says Sabe. That or I'm pregnant, which I am and will never say out loud.
"That's fine, I'll just get a different dress," I say, thankful Sabe was the one who came in here when I called for someone to help me zip the dress, and not Dorme. She, I know, suspects Anakin and I had- a relationship- but Sabe is unfailingly loyal. Any thought like that, she pushes immediately from her mind. I hurry to the closet and grab the biggest dress I own. It's plain dark blue, but I'll just put a robe on over it, which I do hurriedly. I run a comb through my rebellious curls- and break it. Of course. I fall over attempting to yank the broken piece out of my hair and stub my toe on the vanity. Hopping, I grab shoes from the closet and yank those on, having finally succeeded at getting the comb out of my hair. Standing before the mirror, I put a hand on my stomach, feeling the slight swell of it, invisible beneath the robes. A tiny flutter touches my hand, it's early for that, but then again, fourteen is early for a queen and this baby does have half my genes. A secret smile lights my face, and then the doorbell rings. I go out to greet the guests.
Let the fun begin.
Two hours later, the party is in full swing. How lovely for me. Senator Lexi Dio, aka Senator Spiteful, asked me if I was gaining weight three times, which got so annoying I told her the truth, but in a supremely sarcastic tone, as in, "No, Lexi. I'm pregnant." That caused her to glare at me and tell me I wasn't funny, and it caused Bail Organa to fall over in convulsions of laughter. But I think he was drunk. Now, he is still laughing, she is still glaring, and Palpatine is hitting on Mon Mothma, who just whacked him over the head with a bowl, which I happen to find extremely hilarious. I go into my bedroom and wish Anakin was here. Then, I hear a noise in my closet, and I open the door. Dorme is standing there, obviously hiding. I glance around the room and find my desk drawers open.
"Dorme!" I say. "Are you snooping?" She looks very, very guilty.
"I heard what you said to Senator Dio," she says, face flushing. "And, well , I was kind of wondering-"
"If it was true?" I say in my most incredulous, I-cannot-believe-you-just-said-that-I-thought-you-were-my-friend voice. The most important Senatorial skill: being an Oscar-worthy actress.
"Well," she says in a small voice, "yes."
I act angry, disbelieving, offended.
"You thought I was pregnant." She nods. " You thought I was pregnant?"
"Yes," she squeaks. I sink down into the chair, pretending to be overcome. (It's a trick I've used before, like in order to get to the blasters hidden in the throne room in the Naboo war).
"By who?" I say, as though I am exhausted by the mere thought of what she will say next.
"Well," she says. "Anakin?" I force my jaw to drop, make myself stare at her as though I cannot believe what I am seeing- or hearing.
"Anakin!" I say, as if in horror, when in my mind I am whispering his name like a poem, a plea, a caress. Then, I make myself laugh.
"Anakin. Anakin. The Anakin I met when he was nine? The Anakin who 'protected' me three years ago and nearly got us both killed?" I say. She nods, meekly.
"If I had a brother, and if I were pregnant, it'd be like saying he was the father," I saw. I am convincing her, she thinks it all sounds ridiculous now. God, I want to laugh.
"Ani's my baby brother, Dorme, nothing more." I think of how angry he'd be to hear me say that, how he'd pick me up and toss me, squealing, on the bed to prove how much he was not 'little'. Only he wouldn't, now, because I am not just me anymore. The baby is there, too, and I think I know how he would treat me; like a porcelain doll, too fragile to move. I think I'm going to puke, I've spent years fighting that perception. I sigh, and Dorme looks at me.
"I guess I was wrong," she says. "It really sounds stupid now."
"Yeah," I say. "Because it is."