AN:

Guest 1 – Love this. I like your insight into Padme's psyche. As for the direction of the story, all I can say it's going to be a journey :D

Angie – Thank you so much, that's quite a compliment! I love that it feels like a movie for you! I'm a huge movie buff. And yeah I wanted that to "rhyme" with AOTC – you gotta pay homage to the films, sometimes in obvious ways, other times I'm more subtle :D As for how they end, I never give endings away but I will say as happy as I am with my original ending, I do have an alternate ending that I'm still a bit attached to so I kinda have a half a mind to post both. We'll see how it goes :D

Guest 2 – Love your observations. You're right. The desire for more than you actually need is what leads you down a dark path. And these insecurities and pressures have an impact on their marriage.

Guest 3 – Yes it's the japor snippet :D Yeahh he's made Padme very happy. I think they give each other a strength.

Caribbean Blue

So the world goes round and round

With all you ever knew

They say the sky high above

Is Caribbean blue

Anakin and Padme waited outside for the door to open. He could feel her trepidation. They had jumbled their loving impulses and are now about to deliver them to the aftermath, the lion's den, serving them on a rocky platter.

"Relax. It's gonna be okay." Anakin comforted, staving off his own agitation. "I'll win them over. I'll be like 'Mr Amidala'–"

"It's Naberrie." Padme corrected, her voice monotone to shake off a sense of foreboding, and she was met with mild confusion by the look of Anakin's flinty stare and hard jawline sharpened by the appearance of his angular cheekbones. "He's a well respected lawyer and I didn't want to be in his shadow... So I took my mother's maiden name when I got into the field."

They remained quiet, stiff, waiting, trying not to see this gathering as drudgery. It should be a celebration, ceremonious, a season of growth and renewal.

And then the door opened, and their alertness was brought to the forefront, hit by a thunderclap.

Anakin and Padme stood before her parents and her sister. They looked like they were all friendly and welcoming on a good day. But today, the father had concerned eyes that let Anakin know he had reached the crest of the iceberg, the sister had skeptical eyes, and Anakin presumed the mother would be his way in – she was the only one who seemed to approach this with a glass-half-full mentality. And she looked like she could liquefy the ice, even with that faint, crescent moon smile.

They can hear Padme's nieces' upstairs, their high pitches ascending even higher as they played – away from the seriousness. Even this timeless, humble abode in a mountain village, close to the cyan blue waters with climbing plants that encase it, wasn't serene enough to divest them of the emanated tension in the living room.

The newlyweds feel sundered by her father approaching them. Padme can practically hear the stares of her family members, they chime in her head with alarm bells. But she is prepared to knit a truce into this house, tying all loose ends together. She quickly warns her father, whispering in his ear to "Be nice." when he suggests a talk alone with Anakin.

Padme's mother is already in the kitchen, waiting for her daughters to join her. She supplies them with coffee, cookies, and a charcuterie board; she knows how to host, how to mediate. She is a symbol of deep guidance, knowing how to tame the combativeness in others. She is discerning, wise – and clearly where Padme gets her compassion from.

Sola, on the other hand, was far more striking in nature, resilient, impenetrable, and vivid – like a big sister who has done a lot of the raising of the younger sibling. She is not one to play it safe in conversation. She gets to the point. She looks at her sister with a critical eye, a dubiety, a cynicism that would wilt the gardenias outside the window.

"So let me get this straight. You married a guy you've known for a month. But, when Clovis suggests marriage–"

Padme was incensed at the sound of Clovis' name and at the abrasiveness of her sister for bringing him up. "–Who told you?"

"Sabe."

Padme scoffed as her fingers break a cookie in half. Looking at it for longer than necessary, like focusing on it lined her emotions up neatly. She pictured for a moment the life she would have if she had married Clovis. She knew already with a booming certainty what it would look like. Clovis would be what he always is, indirect, secretive, lukewarm on some days, chilly on the others. Their marriage would be a laborious rhythm – or they'd watch it descend into what their relationship was already like, monotonous – prosaic in intent, performative, and monochrome in colour. It would be synthetic, formulaic. She knew this marriage and marriages like it – far from romantic, alive, vibrant and imaginative.

It was the curse of our generation. So used to being stagnant, making everything dull, a bore, repetitive, accessible, clinical – especially love, or at least how we treat love now. We are a generation that doesn't know how to make love. We have turned ourselves into robots, our relationships, as well as our sex, is mechanical, technical, a transaction – more about ticking off a checklist than ever allowing someone to see us bare. We label every little thing in a jar and rest it on the shelf, choosing which jar will serve us our personality this week, because we no longer have the bravery to discover all of who we are – that would require too much vulnerability, too many setbacks. No, just keep up with the image, say the right things, play the part at office parties, meet the agreed-upon indicators of success – the nice house, nice car, frigid couple photo on a Christmas card, and fall into degeneracy behind closed doors, instead of finding something real, a meaningful, fulfilling life.

It's what makes Anakin so compelling. He is different. He doesn't shy away from what exposes his blood. He understands that in order to feel the euphoria of life, to make eruptive love, you have to be vulnerable, you have to put all those feelings in it: your desire to be desired, your need to be chosen, your fear of being abandoned, your jealousy, your flaws, your shame, your shyness, your confidence, your strengths, your pride, your fluctuating self-esteem. If you can't feel it all, if you're not willing to bear your soul, you'll never be more than what you are. You will push yourself to the worst of your physical limits while trying to deny that the spiritual, the emotional, the blending of the soulful mind, heart, and body is needed to create ecstasy – with someone special who demands it from you, and you, them, to make each other better.

With Anakin, she had no idea what their lives will look like, but she knew it would be an experience they'd embark on together as a team, as partners. Fun, unpredictable, with an all-consuming chemistry. Unlike the people she knew, Anakin is bold, exciting, hot, cold, and every temperature in between. Their marriage is operatic, a syncopated rhythm which grows, is accented, with variety and flavour, making it a journey, an adventure – amplified by the security of their love.

Anakin observed Padme's father strutting around with a busy mind. He seemed to be structuring his words, like a lawyer, crafting them. He didn't speak too much or too soon. He first demanded justification from himself. There's a lot to admire about a man who doesn't engage in the frivolousness of small talk. He speaks when he knows he has something important to say. He gets to the point like his oldest daughter.

"Here in Naboo, marrying a man's daughter without his blessing is a sign of disrespect."

Anakin scratched his nose with a slight, hurried anxiousness. He then quickly straightened his shoulders, representing himself well. "That wasn't my intent, sir."

"Intent is irrelevant. Did you not want my blessing?"

"It all happened so fast I didn't have time to consider it."

"That doesn't make you sound any better."

At least I'm being honest. Anakin huffed out the extra stiffness in his shoulders, temporarily separating himself from his belligerent tendencies and egocentricity. The intermission gave him time to be sympathetic, to see it from Padme's father's side. If he was a father some day, he'd probably be just as protective — if not worse.

"...I know this isn't ideal, and I know I'm not what you were expecting for your daughter. I know how the world works. I might not be able to give her all this–" He pointed to their house, the garden. "But I love your daughter. And I'm gonna take care of her. And I think she doesn't need, or want, any more security than that."

It was ridiculous to assume that the size of his wallet determined who he was as a man. As if that has any bearing on his integrity, his loyalty, his discipline, self-respect, what kind of husband he'd be, what kind of father... As if it lets you know whether or not he's a man of his word – does he do what he says he's going to do? Does he stand by the principles he expects of others? Chasing material does not, and will never, substitute a life of purpose.

Anakin tried to gauge the look on his father-in-law's face. The orb round eyes squinted under bristly eyebrows . Ruwee Naberrie eventually seemed to meet him half way.

"I don't judge you for any of that. All I'll base my judgments on is how you treat my daughter."

The gesture fermented an understanding. Anakin did often have a chip on his shoulder when it came to the subject of money. He's wary of rich people; they're wary of him. But he had never seen anyone with money not boast their power, not exert their imperiousness. But Ruwee earned everything he had, he worked hard, and still lived in a way that honoured his struggles and raised a humble family. Perhaps out of fear of being judged, Anakin himself ended up judging.

"I appreciate that." Anakin ducked his head respectably.

"Now I'm not happy with any of this." Ruwee did not plan to leave without being truthful. It wasn't in his nature to lie. He prided himself on his integrity – and he always acknowledged integrity in others when he saw it. "But. . .it takes a man to come down here and face the consequences. That alone tells me that you do love her."

"Thank you, sir."

"I know you think I'm crazy." Padme could finally relax as her and mother cozy-up on the sofa, parallel to each other. The lights are dim, soothing – the disagreeable nature of this day with her father, Anakin, and her sister was all behind closed doors now that her and her mother, Jobal, had sectioned themselves off in the living room. Now it was just them and their sustainable patience.

"But I love him, mom!" Padme's hands lifted in prayer, and she should've probably tucked them under her thighs to quell the onrush of giddiness. "He's fun and spontaneous and passionate and when I'm with him I just feel so... " Her sentences ran on and on with no more adjectives in mind but plenty in the heart. She finally placed her hands on her chest, entangled by the novelty of her feelings, experiences.

"Padme." Jobal chuckled but her tone requested her daughter rein it in. "You've always been a good girl. You've never skipped a class or cheated on a test. You're a dedicated lawyer, like your father, and like him, you always strive to do the right thing – keeping your emotions at bay when necessary. But today. . .today you are a romantic... So maybe you did get something from your mother after all."

If all you told was turned to gold

If all you dreamed was new

Imagine sky high above

In Caribbean blue

"How much?"

Anakin turned around the find the glare of Sola gnawing at him with almost reviling eyes.

Sola eyed the young man, the two pools of flashing blue eyes, the dark blonde hair coiffed in an unrefined way, the vigor of youth evident in his tall, straight posture, in how his shoulders filled out his white T-shirt. He looked like a mistake her sister never would've made a year ago.

He blinked. "What?"

Sola's arms folded, unraveling the artifice behind her cunning words. "How much are you hoping to get out of my sister?"

Anakin blew a quick breath. He was not surprised that Sola came to this conclusion. But he felt flooded with overexertion, and he knew that that his response hinges on his ability to not let this test his patience.

"Sola–"

"–I'll double it." She interjected. "If you leave now before she gets hurt. I'll double it."

Anakin moved towards her with a leopard tread, a cat-like intimidation, unencumbered, untempered by the insult. But a darkness swiped over his eyes – she couldn't tell whether she should be wary or furious.

"I can't be bought." Now he was close to her, he saw through her tough exterior, identifying her intentions. It was less about him, and more about her concern for Padme. And he will bear the brunt with confidence. "But. . .It's good she has someone who worries about her as much as you. But you should know, I'll protect her now."

Sola's lips tightened as he walked off. Reassurance? Or a threat?

If every man says all he can

If every man is true

Do I believe the sky above

Is Caribbean blue

Padme felt relief as she went back to life in Tatooine after moderating unstable ground back home – by the time they left, there was some alleviation. But she was happy to be sitting in her office chair, away from everyone's two cents.

"This is so. . .honest." Padme closed her laptop to face her client, Scintel, and her curious face. "You present your faults, your wants as is. You don't apologize but you don't expect praise. You come across very self-aware... And I think that's what readers will appreciate. You don't hide anything, you don't embellish anything."

"Thanks." Scintel said with a small shrug. "I just say what we're all thinking. I write what we can't say. We are all slaves to our worst habits, our darkest traits. What we lust after, what our insecurities are – it all has control over us. And it's not easy to overcome what enslaves us. But they tell your story. So there's no point in denying them. The only price you really pay is being somewhat. . .unlikable. And I'm okay with that. Being a good artist and likable rarely go hand in hand anyway."

"I was impressed by how frank you were." Padme assured. She was expecting to read a narcissistic tale of the woman who married for money and cried about it but instead she got a woman who owned up to her flaws, and maybe even relished in having such flaws. A woman who was unapologetically herself, for better or worse. Her values were very different from Padme's and it wasn't like they were going to find much common ground but Padme always respected someone's ability to be honest — even when she didn't agree with what they had to say.

"Also, good call on changing the names of real-life people – especially given that your late husband was a public figure. This allows people to come into this with no preconceived notions."

Scintel sent Padme a nod of gratitude. "I knew you'd be the right person for the job, Miss Amidala."

"It's Amidala-Skywalker now." A girlish grin unfurled.

"Skywalker?" Scintel repeated.

"I got married!"

Padme rolled her lips inwards. Her shyness was endearing and her happiness was contagious. Scintel found it quite amusing.

"Didn't you move here like a month ago?"

"Six weeks ago, yeah." A chuckle slipped out from Padme's sheepish smile.

"That him?" Scintel dragged her focus and pointed to the picture on Padme's desk of their wedding day. Anakin was carrying Padme out of the courthouse, both lost in a frisson of their controlled chaos. Padme nodded.

"Hm." Scintel's eyes skimmed over the picture she now held up and back at Padme with a spark of decadent indulgence. "I think. . .if you find someone that makes you feel alive, keeps you feeling young, sexy, and makes the bitter pills easier to swallow. . .never let them go."