Padraig locked himself in his room until dinner was served and, when he joined Anneke at the table, he couldn't look at her. He had made a fool of himself, and he didn't want to see the derision—or worse: pity—that would surely be in her eyes. An awkward silence reigned over the table.

Padraig was relieved when dessert was finally brought out. This interminable meal was nearly over. He reached for a piece of fruit, and it skidded across his plate, evading him. He stared at it, blinked, then raised his eyes from his plate. Anneke had changed into much more practical loose light brown robes. Her gaze was demurely on her own plate, seeming oblivious to his stare, and her fruit was inert, as fruit should be.

Padraig opened his mouth, to say something, thought better of it, and dropped his gaze. He reached for the fruit again, and again it slid away from him. He wasn't imagining it. He snapped his head up, trying to catch her in the act, but she was still fixated on her own plate. "Why are you doing that?" he demanded.

She looked up, her eyes wide, and just a shade too innocent. "What?"

He narrowed his eyes, and grabbed at the fruit. It jumped completely off his plate to hover in the air between them. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed.

The fruit did a barrel-roll in midair, then swooped toward Anneke. She lifted a hand and caught it easily. "If Master Obi-Wan caught me doing this, he wouldn't be pleased."

Padraig set his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. "Why is that?"

She picked up her tableknife, cut a slice off the fruit, and sent it soaring back toward him. "This is a 'frivolous' use of the Force."

He plucked the slice from the air. "Aren't you allowed to have fun?"

She cut another slice for herself. "That depends on your definition of 'fun.' Personally, I find fun in diplomatic missions that descend into aggressive negotiations."

He raised an eyebrow, swallowing a bite of fruit. "'Aggressive negotiations'?"

She grinned slyly, looking up at him through her lashes. "Negotiations… with a lightsaber."

He laughed. "There are times I wish I had that option."

"You could always call me in to assist," she suggested, an impish twinkle in her eye.

"Now, there's an idea." He grinned at the mental image. Most of his political opponents would turn into blubbering heaps if facing down a lightsaber. Of course, it wasn't anywhere close to ethical, but it sure would be fun.

After dinner, Anneke followed Padraig into the sitting room where a fire flickered behind a grate, warming the large, open space. It cooled quickly here at night, and she was surprised to find that the warmth was welcome against the damp chill.

She was delighted that her ploy to bring Padraig out of his funk had worked. While he was sulking in his room, she had explored the house and grounds to get the lay of the land, but she had been jumpy and distracted, remembering his touch. Now that he was speaking to her again, the relief was incredible.

Being near him was intoxicating. For five years, she had tried to forget him, tried to tell herself that the feelings she had were a silly crush and no more. But he was in her heart, in her soul. What was she supposed to do?

Padraig sat on a stool near the fireplace, and stared into the flames. His profile, framed by firelight, drew her attention—his shadowed eyes, the strong line of his jaw, his expressive mouth. Her gaze lingered on his lips, and he looked up as if he sensed it. Heat rushed to her face, and she turned away to hide it. She hadn't felt this flustered since she stood before the Jedi Council trying to convince them to allow her to be a Jedi. And even then, she had felt more confident than she did now.

Padraig's hand on her shoulder startled her; she turned and looked into his intense brown eyes, and her breath caught. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, nearly as warm as the fire. His gaze probed hers, searching for something.

He bent his head toward her, and she froze. She should pull away—but she couldn't, didn't want to. His lips brushed gently over hers, and a thrill surged up her spine. He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, and somehow her hands were tangled next to each other in the soft fabric of his shirt over his heart—she didn't remember how that had happened.

He lifted his head, and stared in wonder at her. "Gods, Anni," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He shook his head helplessly.

Her childhood nickname on his lips sent another shiver through her. The room spun around her, and only her grip on his shirt and his hands on her shoulders anchored her.

He took a shaky breath. "Tell me to let you go and I will. It may tear me apart, but I will do anything you ask."

She shook her head. "You're asking me to be rational… but I can't."

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Then you do feel something!"

She met his eyes and shook her head, laughing a little. "I thought politicians were better at reading people than that, Padraig."

His eyes wide in disbelief, he stared at her. "You could be expelled from the Order."

"I don't care."

He took a step back, dropping his hands from her shoulders, and took hold of her hands as if to extricate her fingers from where they were knotted in his shirt. "I can't let you give up your dreams—your future—for me."

His hands were so warm where they covered hers. She stepped forward, closing the distance he had created between them. "It's my future, Padraig. It's my choice."

He groaned and closed his eyes. "What can we do?" His eyes flickered open, a sudden hope flaring to life within their depths. "Palpatine! He will help us!"

She frowned. "The Chancellor? Why would he do that?"

Padraig's hands tightened on hers, his face aglow. "We've been friends for years, and he told me he would do whatever he could to see me happy." He bent his head, smiling into her eyes. "Nothing could make me happier than to be with you."