Bail Organa
Breha had needed only one look at them, standing together in the Great Hall of the Royal Palace on one of Padmé's rare trips to Aldera, and she knew instantly.
I say knew because it was definite assurance and not just aroused suspicion that had twinkled in her eyes at me across our chambers later that evening.
"I'm so happy for Padmé," she had said.
"Happy?" I remember asking.
Perhaps thinking I was playing coy for the sake of protecting my colleague, Breha smirked at me. Then again, she often grinned like that when she undoubtedly knew something I didn't yet.
"They're a thing, Bail," she stated confidently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy.
Still, my own befuddled gaze gave her slight pause. Nonplussed, she clicked her tongue and folded her arms, tilting her head to appraise my apparent ignorance.
"You mean to tell me you work with Padmé almost every day and you haven't noticed?"
In all honesty, I hadn't.
Though she wore her heart on her professional sleeve and wielded her intelligence with considerable clout, she kept her personal life quite close to her chest. Learning this private detail jarred me, especially given what little forewarning I had gleaned on my own. Little did I know that as shocking as this revelation was now, it would make the discovery of Padmé's subsequent pregnancy less galaxy-shattering.
"Bee, I really don't think…"
I trailed off at the knowing expression on my wife's face.
"Care to make a wager?"
After seven years of marriage, I had learned the answer to that question was always no. I was hopelessly behind Breha's emotional intellect - womanly intuition was what she called it - and was guaranteed to lose not only any bet we made, but a little bit of my pride as well.
It was not the first time Breha had opened my eyes for me.
Once I knew there was something to look for, I realized they weren't very good at hiding well, quite frankly, anything.
They orbited each other like a planet orbits its reigning star. The constancy of it was what made it so difficult to see. Years after the Empire's rise, Mon muttered something about purported PR strategy.
Padmé was very savvy and not to be underestimated. Yet, in my estimation, she couldn't hide it any more than Skywalker failed. A mere mention of him during a debrief and her attention lit up with zealous interest. The subtle smiles they exchanged that screamed volumes. The absurd number of times their missions "serendipitously" crossed.
The most telling of all happened during the Lanteeb crisis.
When she set herself to a problem, it wasn't unusual to see Padmé burn it hard at both ends. Her dedication, innovation, compassion, and morality were characteristics rarely found in politics at all, never mind the rare combination of all four in one being. But for all the times I saw her unwavering work ethic, never can I recall seeing the ferocity with which she worked to bring them home when the Jedi refused to intervene. She pumped herself so full of caf, I don't think she slept for days.
It was the only time I ever heard her swear.
It was the only time I ever saw her cry.
The moment we got confirmation that they were safely off that Separatist stronghold, her relief almost bowled me over in its wake. Despite her exhaustion, she had collected herself, gathered her belongings, and excused herself to focus on tasks she had been regrettably neglecting.
I let her go, suspecting she needed the sanctuary of her private offices to fully unwind from the stress of the prior days.
It was sheer logistics that put me in contact with Anakin first. As leader of the Republic Intelligence Committee, I was regularly informed of Jedi movements, so I knew almost immediately when Anakin and Obi-Wan were due back on Coruscant. It was crucial information I suspected even Padmé was not yet aware of.
For a while, I mulled over whether it would be kind to let Padmé know I suspected her secret, a secret I was willing to safeguard until the end of my days. Remembering Breha's knowing smile finally spurred me into action, though Padmé almost thwarted me by trying to politely decline one last detour past my office.
"That sick of me?" I had teased when she slumped tiredly into my receiving chair. Politely, she smiled, a smile that flattened warily as I continued my torment. "I think you'll find your delay for the night might be worth the wait."
His timing couldn't have been more perfect. Minala barely commed with the abrupt warning of "He's here" when Anakin barreled into my office, his forward momentum stalling like a sloop that had lost its solar winds.
They stared at each other, and I swear I've seen power couplings with less electricity than what passed between them. I hated to interrupt their reunion, but I had to know in case there was even the slightest chance my wife was wrong.
"Or did I summon the wrong Jedi?"
I only wish Breha had been able to see Padmé's answering smile.