Chapter 1

Now:

They were relentless.

For the past two weeks, dozens of vultures carrying cameras and voice recorders-some even had go-pros attached to their hats like a greedy swarm of cyclops-crowded her front lawn. A dozen movies and constant residual paychecks later, Rey hadn't been tempted into purchasing a mansion. Anything larger than her small, two story house felt wasteful. Empty. Even her home on the outskirts of Hollywood was still extravagant compared to her upbringing.

But this week she resented her previously private, comfortable home. Maybe she should have bought that mansion when her agent had pointed it out. Maybe twenty-foot wrought iron gates at the base of a lawn the size of a golf course would have kept away the side effect of fame.

Yes, she thought, peeking through the window at the paparazzi, maybe it's time for an upgrade.

"Rey?"

She jumped. "Sorry, Phasma. What is it?"

"He's here."

"Right," said Rey, pulling her hood over her head. At least it wasn't large enough for the paparazzi to claim it was his.

Ben waited patiently by the door, hands behind his back. Today his hair was loose, the ends brushing past his shoulders now. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? Maybe five months. As always, he wore a black suit, a handsome grim reaper should anyone dare to approach Rey without permission.

Before he could open his mouth, Rey shoved sunglasses onto her face and slapped a hand against the front door. "Tell me you're a hitman on the side. Come on, Solo, how much a head?"

His mouth twitched. "Refer to me by my proper title and the first two kills are free."

"If you say daddy, I'm going to fire you."

A beat of silence passed between them. Interrupted by Phasma, who practically shoved them out the door if they were going to make it back in time.

For the first time in two weeks, Rey announced herself to the stream of people desperate to see the effects of her misery. A bit too late, she wondered if she looked as unwashed and haggard as she felt.

"Come on," muttered Ben, slicing through the crowd that had surrounded her car.

He was absurdly tall and broad as an athlete. Of all the bodyguards she had had over the years, Ben made her feel the safest. Tucked closely behind him, he maneuvered her into the passenger's side and shut the door roughly. Sometimes she had let him hold her hand as they cut through crowds, something that had angered him more times than she could remember.

Are you fucking him? he would scream, throwing his phone at her lap. On it another article speculating a romance between Rey and an "unknown sexy bodyguard". Stop requesting him, Rey, I fucking swear to god. I will fucking kill him.

"The Starbucks on West and Wilshire?"

Rey jumped. She hadn't even noticed the car was moving. "Sorry. I've been in my head so much lately. Yeah West is fine."

If he knew anything about the circumstances of her misery, he didn't say anything. Ben Solo was many things, but a gossip was not one of them.

"I missed you," said Rey suddenly. Her cheeks grew red. "I mean, I haven't seen you in a long time and we were friends. Hope you've been good."

He nodded. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

Then:

The twenty-sixth annual Resistance awards were in a couple of weeks and Rey wanted nothing more than to skip them. Impossible, given the requirements of her upcoming movie.

It was a gloomy afternoon that she sat, hair wet, on her couch, pretending she was anywhere but there. Given recent changes, her entire awards look had to change.

Her stylist and publicist argued for hours about it.

Should she wear black and bold make-up? No, people will think no wonder her fiancee left her, she's so cold. What a shrew. Natural make-up and light, open colors? She's a Bond girl, for christ's sake, she can't be overly demure. She has to show the world she's more than just the manic pixie dream from a one hit indie flick. Red? RED? Are you actually fucking with me? Might as well dress her up in the First Order emblem and paint her ass the-WHITE? Way to make her look the part of a forgotten, abandoned bride, why don't you?

And on and on.

Since her casting for Bond, Rey had become accustomed to them speaking about her like she wasn't in the room. Fame had treated her with privileges and riches, now that she was public property. But it had taken away her sense of self.

"I'll wear this one," she said quietly, touching the skirt of a gown she's seen last month at a fashion show.

"The Ellie Saab?" asked Phasma, hand to her chest.

Bazine gaped. "Oh, that could work."

It took the three of them to fit her into the gown and position it prettily around her frame.

Black, transparent fabric layered on top of each other, flecked with silver stars. When she walked, she was a breathing galaxy far, far away. A dark sky full of dreams.

"I want this one," she said, feeling quite exposed without a nude slip underneath, but satisfied nonetheless. Phasma stood behind Rey, examining her from head to toe in the mirror. "This dress will have that boy eating his heart out. Good for you, Rey."

And like that, Rey took off the dress and sat on her couch, crying, while Bazine and Phasma discussed what make up she would wear.

Now:

The Starbucks was devoid of cameras, at least. There was a long line but no one paid much attention to them. Looks, if any, were thrown at Ben, the absurdly handsome giant.

There was one woman in particular who kept throwing furtive glances at him. As Rey and Ben waited for their coffee, the woman lingered, touching her hair and playing with the lid on her cup. It wasn't until Ben picked up their cups that the woman swooped in, taking his coffee and writing her number across the surface.

"Just in case you're free Friday night," she said, flashing him a smile.

"Oh," he said, eyebrows furrowed. He looked down at her phone number like he'd never seen one before. "I'm married."

"What?" snapped Rey, straightening up.

The woman looked between them, shocked, and left in an embarrassed fluster. After ensuring she was gone, Ben leaned down and winked. "Married. To my work, that is."

Rey laughed. It sounded fake to her own ears. "I thought maybe that's why you disappeared for a few months. Honeymoon and whatnot."

She tried picturing him with a woman, any woman. The image made her chest tighten. Before the incident, she saw Ben nearly every day. On most dates with him, Ben would stay in the background, always preventing the onslaught of frenzied fans and paparazzi. He would monitor the parameters of her home on nights when she called the police, frantic because there was a trespasser or intruder. He was, simply, always there.

"Ben," she said, trying to find the right words, "about last time, when it happened, I just wanted to say I'm sorry and I called your company to see if-"

The words died on her tongue as two girls walked past them, staring and giggling his name. "Could you imagine? Right in front of everyone, he was fucking her. I can't believe Armie Hux-"

Ben had taken her hand and pulled her out of the Starbucks, shuffling them both into the car without another word. One of the few people she trusted with her car, he handled her esteemed millenium falcon with ease. Rey watched the passing streets through the passenger window, feeling the tears track down her face but refusing to acknowledge them. It felt like she cried every day now and she was sick of it.

"Rey," he said. She looked at the hand he placed on her knee. "You were always too good for him."

"Thank you." She drank her coffee so fast it burnt her tongue and as she cleared her throat, pretending she wasn't half dying, she snuck a look at Ben. Studied how long his hair was now. The facial hair he'd grown. She wondered how differently her life would have gone had she indulged her impulses when she'd first met him, if she had kissed him all those years ago.