"While all eyes are on Senator Organa, it seems endorsements are slow to trickle in. Perhaps the party's biggest players are waiting for another candidate…" Dormé read from the iPad in her hands, strolling down the hall of Padmé's apartment. "Did you read the article I sent you?"

"Now why would I read it when I knew you'd come and read it for me?" Padmé said, leaning her head out of the bathroom door while she tried to fix her earring. "Did you read the line below it, though? Think there's something in there about inexperience and lack of relatability. And the one below it was about a certain someone's office being run completely by women. Which is the most thinly veiled—"

"And if you check the opinion columns, or Twitter, you would see that polling data is consistently showing 'unknown' or 'another candidate' as people's decision if the election were being held tomorrow." Dormé slid into the bathroom behind her, quickly checking her lipstick and teeth. "Also it's rich of these millionaire assholes to be concerned about someone else's relatability. At least you still know the cost of groceries. And go get your own."

"First. Twitter is a cesspool. I stand by that whether they're on 'my side' or not. And second… I get my own only because you know I have to—"

"Pick out your own produce. I know. Point still stands. And…" Dormé tapped a few more times on the screen before putting the tablet inches from Padmé's face when she leaned forward to finish with her eyeliner. "Look at this!"

Padmé stood back, taking the tablet and blinking at the bright screen. "Senator Amidala's plans for the social safety net putting her at the front of a race she isn't even… Dormé, stop." She pushed the screen back toward her friend, focusing again on her makeup.

"What? They love you. It's not my fault you're trending."

As if she hadn't thought about herself enough for one day, she didn't want to read about it too. Press appearance after press appearance to throw herself back into the game, so to speak. She was beyond grateful that the floor session had gone over as well as it did, with only expected talking points from the other side about the waste of taxpayer dollars which might as well be a cliche at that point. It was merely a scapegoat for every suggestion to boost the safety net programs. To feed, cloth, house, help constituents. Systems and programs so deeply engrained in American culture and discourse they were an entitlement rather than privileges. Yet here she was debating it over a hundred years later. The thing that made Padmé roll her eyes most was how wildly popular most welfare programs were, even to voters that elected her fiercest opponents on the matter.

But that was enough for one week. Especially because her friend was right, and thinking about how she was 'trending' was enough to make her not want to go out tonight. Or any other one. All she had to do now was focus on President Valorum's gala, and getting back to her own state over the weekend. Back home to Anakin, a notion that still gave her what could only be described as butterflies despite how juvenile that seemed.

"I just—" She turned around, motioning to her face. "Good?"

"Great. Subtle, classy. But emphasizing your eyes, different from Meet the Press, and your taping, was a good call."

Padmé gave her a thumbs up, turning back to quickly paint her lips a pale pink before she cleaned up the products scattered across her vanity and flipped the light switch. "I don't want to think about anything trending, not yet at least. I just want to make it through this dinner and, if prompted, discuss the specifics of the bill. And hope to the Gods I'm not prompted and everyone is just there to look pretty and talk shit."

Dormé followed her down the hallway, clicking her tongue in disgust. "You know you are what they care about, right? I mean yes, we all care about protections for our senior citizens' livelihood, but the conversation at large is about your boosts to domestic policy initiatives. Sudden boost, at that. And your appearance at the senior center! You are the specific of the bill everyone is focused on."

"It's a security measure for programs people depend on. I don't know why this is breaking news," Padmé said with a sigh, searching through the file folders in her bag for her notes for that night. Not that anyone should have anything to ask, but it never hurt to be prepared. "And that wasn't supposed to be a press op. I thought we were covered when I decided we could drop by."

Dormé sighed, stilling Padmé's hand with her own. "Is this your first day in this town? What security measures? Did you see the list of names ready to put the program on the chopping block? And here you are, championing social policy yet again."

Championing people, she thought to herself, not policy. Or at least she hoped to be.

Padmé pulled her hand away, rushing off down the hall again. "What do you think the odds are I'm going to run into my least favorite people tonight?"

"High. If I had to guess. Anyone not at this gala is getting the universal 'fuck off' from the rest of the insiders. That's why we show up like this," Dormé said, motioning to both of their floor length satin gowns, though Padmé's was a touch more conservative, lacking the thigh-high split Dormé's had. "And mind our own business with champagne flutes in hand."

"Are there enough champagne flutes in the world for some of those insufferable idiots?" Padmé rushed over, heels in hand. "Not putting these on until I have to, but I'm ready if you are."

"We'll be testing that theory tonight. Lead the way Madam President…"

Padmé rolled her eyes. "You're the worst," she said, descending the steps to the car waiting for them on the street.

"I thought you said we were going to do this! Your name continues to be in speculation, your bill looks promising over lowering costs of medical equipment and prescription drugs, and Saché said even the co-sponsored privacy bill might go either way. The polls are good, the elites are mum, so…"

She spun around, putting a hand out to stop Dormé before they both got in the car. "One month. It's all I'm asking for. We pass the spending bill, I get through a couple fundraisers, I have some time to talk to these people I need support from. We can hold them off for a few more weeks, I'm sure."

Dormé pushed her hand away, reaching behind her to grab the door handle. "You live for making my life hell, don't you?"

"Yes. Every day, I theorize how I can annoy you a little more. So glad you're catching on after all these years."

"You're masterful at it," she said, sliding across the seat with her clutch in hand to make room for Padmé. "Did you ever hear if Sabé is making it to Arya's next weekend?"

"I haven't, but…" She shrugged. "Have to make it through this weekend first."

Dormé raised an eyebrow. "Ooh, that's right. The big date. How are we feeling about that, exactly?"

Padmé couldn't help but feel the heat rising to her cheeks at the innocent question, laced with less innocent intent. And the sly grin on Dormé's face at her delayed response was not helping.

"Oh, get that look off your face."

"What look?"

"The look you have right now, like you know something I don't."

"Oh, the look that's begging you to admit there's something serious between you and Anakin?"

The fact she hadn't used one of the twelve-hundred horrible nicknames she'd thought up made Padmé want to come clean on the spot. To tell her best friend that she was afraid things were being ignited that she hadn't actually planned on. That she was having feelings she truly didn't account for and wasn't sure what to do with. The anticipation of their date was weighing on her more heavily than anything else and all for irrational reasons because it wasn't… actually a date. He hadn't given her any sign they'd be doing anything more than sitting around with her family. Even if they were sitting around alone, though she could assume that wasn't the wisest choice given how she was feeling already, he'd given her nothing to go on. And all she'd given him was a time and a day. It wasn't exactly the fairytale waiting to happen.

"No idea what you're talking about. Anakin and I have a lot to get through before serious becomes a reality. But yes. That look."

"And now you're the worst," she grumbled, nudging Padmé with her shoulder while the car came to a halt in front of the convention center.

Padmé grinned while hundreds of cameras flashed beyond the windows of the car. The sidewalks were overrun with press, various newscasters being filmed with large lighting displays behind them, going over the activities and expected appearances, she was sure.

She quickly slipped her shoes on, adjusting the top of her gown. "Did you see your boyfriend anywhere? Or is he on the inside tonight?"

Dormé hung her head and scoffed. "Well, if Anakin isn't your boyfriend, then Javin definitely isn't mine. And I wouldn't know where he is because he never responded…"

Padmé laughed, grabbing her small clutch as the door swung open on both sides of the car, giving her and Dormé a chance to step out together. "But you text him, and that's the important part," she mumbled as her friend joined her side. Padmé stopped to wave, smiling from ear to ear as Dormé dipped and dodged the flashing lights until she was walking through security.

She found the interest in politicians' lives strange. The idolization of some of her colleagues as low-level celebrities felt like a total disconnect to the purpose of politics. The press junkets, the discussion over wardrobe choices, designers, the intermingling with actual celebrities and those moving from pop culture to politics or vice versa felt so distracting to the larger issues at hand. For example, the problems of the nation and potential solutions. And through the near-blinding camera flashes she tried desperately to control her face to keep any of those thoughts from interrupting her smiling persona until she was back by Dormé's side, looping their arms together and finding the nearest server with a tray of champagne.

"I hate when you leave me out there to fend for myself, you know," she said, quickly waving to Senator Binks from across the room.

"Last thing any of us needs is my face all over the papers. That's what your gorgeous face is for," Dormé said. "Holy shit, look at this place…"

Dormé was right—to be there, or rather to not be there, was a political shun. Lobbyists, journalists, what had to be the entirety of Congress, high-level staffers, cabinet members, and countless others, continued pouring in through the doors. The open room was covered nearly wall-to-wall with round tables, covered in black tablecloths, with large, extravagant white rose centerpieces. They arranged a large dance floor in front of the stage, underneath the array of blue and pale pink lights, and there were more security agents than she'd possibly ever seen aside from Inauguration Day.

President Valorum had certainly outdone himself tonight, trying to cling to his last hopes of a positive legacy rather than being overrun by the whispers of corruption in his White House. And to be remembered, at least by colleagues, as the man responsible for some of the largest and most elegant balls and events in recent memory wasn't really such a bad way to go.

"Fuck, fuck… 2 o'clock." Dormé elbowed her side, ducking her face behind her shoulder. "Javin is here."

Padmé snickered, twisting herself around to walk in the opposite direction with her friend. "And this is the part where we get trapped in this room and he miraculously doesn't come and find you?"

"This is the part where I regret all of my life choices that led me here, and locate the nearest bottle of merlot to steal for me, myself, and I."

"All the bottles of Dom in this place and you're going to hunt down a merlot?" She took Dormé by the hand, walking alongside the edge of the room toward the familiar faces waving her over. "I think we can do better."

Whether by someone's crafty seating chart skills or pure luck, it seemed the Organas, Senators Kryze, Mothma, Binks, Farr, and she had been placed in a row of corner tables. The only one missing was… The person who would probably be dying to leave even more than Dormé, as she continued scoping out the area like she, too, was a member of security.

"I'm afraid it's inappropriate to drink Dom straight from the bottle in a place like this," Dormé said, switching sides as they moved to have a better view of the space.

"I think people would frown on it for the merlot as well. Please stop looking so suspicious?"

"I'm trying—" She stopped, pulling Padmé to a halt with her. "Shit. Look at me, fast…"

Padmé looked over her shoulder before being hissed at, turning back just a moment too late.

"Senator Amidala!" called one of her least favorite people in the universe. "Or, I should probably say Padmé. So good to see you here, dear."

Her eyes widened momentarily as she looked Dormé in her face before fixing her smile and spinning back around. "Sheev! It is so funny running into you this early in the evening!" And that was definitely a lie… She could've gone all night and the rest of her life never seeing him again and it would still be too soon if she did, and it would never be funny. "How are you tonight? It's certainly gorgeous in here."

"Yes, quite funny indeed. I'm… Well, you know how these things are. Happy to be here to support President Valorum, though. A lovely night to let bygones be bygones." He looked around his shoulder, smiling at Dormé, still firmly planted behind her. She hoped she was back there on her best behavior. "Anyway, I won't keep you. I can see you have colleagues waiting for you. Perhaps you'll stop by our table before the night is over? I'd love to introduce you to a few people…"

Padmé wondered if the man actually intended to always sound so patronizing, or if it just came naturally. She also wondered how he'd manage crowds on the trail if it wasn't something he could turn off. And she could presume who she should 'perhaps' be introduced to. A certain someone that made her stomach drop after seeing him fixing his cufflinks from his place at the bar, glancing to his right just enough for her to notice his face.

"Perhaps if there's time later this evening, I will do just that. And I wouldn't want to keep you from your table any longer, either."

Palpatine only hummed his response, shaking Padmé's hand and giving a side-eyed glance to her friends as they leaned into one another, probably talking about that very interaction. By the time she looked back in his direction he was walking away, with his own chief of staff Tarkin, and Senator Dooku catching up to him halfway across the room.

"Those guys give me the creeps. And the chills… I'm bringing a blanket to all our future debates with them." Dormé whispered behind her, making Padmé laugh.

"Let's get going before anyone else speaks to me against my will."

After multiple rounds of greetings with her closest friends, and others as their tables filled in throughout the night, Padmé was grateful for the laughs and occasional sly comments about others in the room over their four-course dinner and throughout most of the President's speech, full of self-deprecating humor that was sure to replace her as the trending topic. In the back of her mind, she may have been taking notes on all she'd seen him do in the past 7 years, both in terms of his successes, and his gradual decline to become the version of the man that took the stage moments before. However, that was secondary in her thoughts compared to the sharp focus she had looking around the tables near her.

From Bail and Breha, who hadn't stopped sharing inside jokes with one another all night, to Mon and her husband, who was actually staying put by her side, which was nearly unheard of. She couldn't help but be… jealous? Even Satine had come tonight with her arm wrapped around that of one handsome Colonel Ben Kenobi, and he hadn't taken his eyes off of her the entire evening. At some point, probably around glass two of her chardonnay, Dormé actually offered Javin a seat to join them, showing a completely different side of herself. And now, she wasn't sure she'd ever felt lonelier, or at least not in a long time.

Senator Binks remained seated next to her most of the evening, whispering occasionally about something he'd overheard on his way to the bar, or the restroom, though she doubted some of it, since Jar wasn't always the most reliable narrator. As nice, or as amusing, as he'd made the night she just wanted… Anakin. By her side. His hand on her thigh, or arm wrapped around her shoulders like her friends.

If she sat in her thoughts long enough, it was almost possible to imagine what he might say about the stuffed suits, ready and willing to hear and dish dirt in a way she never indulged in. But with him, it would be their secret. She could tell him about which of the lobbyists were trying to turn votes, and he would undoubtedly get roped into some interesting conversation while he waited near the restrooms. Instead of doing any of that, she downed another glass of champagne, fiddling with her earring while Bail spun Breha in the center of the dance floor, Dormé practically sat in Javin's lap, and Satine walked about the room with a hand clasped in Ben's.

"Something the matter, Padmé?"

She glanced over her shoulder as a chair moved to her side, Mon Mothma taking a seat. Mon smoothed her hands over the lap of her stunning beige chiffon dress, carefully sipping from a glass of red wine in her hand.

Padmé shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm fine. Just been a while since I've been at an event like this."

"Well," she started, resting a hand on Padmé's shoulder. "I didn't know if it had anything to do with…" She set the glass down in front of her to wave her opposite hand around the room.

Padmé sat up in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "Not at all! I'm overjoyed for everyone. Including—"

"You don't have to do that," she said with a laugh, pointing an elbow toward the back of the room. "He's off, long since forgetting about me since dinner ended. Which is fine. I only hoped he would stick around for part of the night."

"I didn't mean to, you know…"

"Oh, I do. Trust me. It's all right. It doesn't bother me like it used to."

"Men," Padmé said with a soft snort.

"Yes, well… I've seen quite a few of them looking this way, you know."

"Looking at you, maybe."

She laughed, taking another sip of her wine. "I'm afraid not. Though thank you for saying that."

"Any time," Padmé said, reaching a hand up as yet another man in a tuxedo walked by with a tray of glass flutes. This would be her last one, she swore it.

"No… wandering eyes in return? There are quite a few eligible ones walking around here tonight. And quite a few ineligible ones, but we won't go there."

Padmé chuckled nervously, turning her head to take a sip. "Are you trying to set me up? Or just dropping a very large hint that I look that pathetic sitting here?"

"Never. Not at all. I just thought, you… Well, what do I know? My husband would rather discuss a golf tournament than dance with me."

Little did her friend know her… boyfriend… if he could be called that, would rather be in Boston, where he was, than in a suit and tie in that room, either. Though at the mention of dancing, Padmé couldn't help but remember there wouldn't be a moment of hesitation on Anakin's part there.

Her mind flashed back to Sola and Darred's wedding. The memory of Anakin in his navy blue suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, showing the slightest glimpse of his skin. He'd ridiculously insisted they not see each other before the wedding, claiming it would be some sort of practice in self-control for the 'real thing,' back when the real thing felt like a possibility. She could still feel the firmness of his chest pressed against her cheek, the grip of his hands at her waist, swaying to every slow song requested all night. The smell of cardamom and rosewood in his cologne so real it's as if she could reach out and touch the memory. Oh, why did he have to be in stupid Boston?

Mon Mothma cleared her throat, breaking Padmé's daydream apart as her gaze lifted to an outstretched hand.

"Care to have a dance?"

Following the length of the white sleeve to the collar, her eyes locked with Rush Clovis's for the first time in years. He tilted his head to the left, the corner of his mouth lifting as her jaw nearly dropped.

"Well, I was just leaving. I should probably find Perrin before he finds his way home without me thinking I've forgotten about him," Mon said, standing and picking up her wineglass. Padmé wanted to grab hold of her wrist and beg her to stay, but every word caught in her throat as her ex-boyfriend flicked his eyes between his hand and hers. "We'll catch up later, Padmé. Enjoy the rest of the night!"

By the time she found it in herself to say 'don't go', her friend was long gone, leaving only a potential rejection for Rush that didn't seem to fit the mood of the room.

"What would you want with a dance?"

Rush laughed, dropping his hand to his side again. "Forgive me for being polite."

Rush? Polite? There was a world in which she believed that, but it was no longer the one she lived in. "You're forgiven."

"You haven't changed. Though I'm not sure why you would have."

"You seem to be the same slick-talker you've always been, so I guess we're even all the way around." She tilted the glass flute toward him before taking another drink.

"Is that a no, to the dance?"

She considered it. Considered what a horrible idea it was. Considered how that single action may make her feel worse than any hangover she would endure during the constituent calls she had planned for the morning. And she still shrugged her shoulder. "What the hell. One song. No dipping, no hand sliding, and I will step on your foot if you do something idiotic. Don't make me cause a scene, Rush."

"I'm hurt you think so little of me," he said with a quick gasp.

"Yeah, well…" She took his hand when he offered it again. "Lead the way before I change my mind."

True to her initial instincts, it was the worst five minutes of the evening, making Jar's earlier story to the table, that he forgot the point of five times in his rendition seem as lovely as a midnight walk on the beach. It didn't help, either, that Rush used the opportunity to corner her over her political ambitions. When that didn't work and she made good on her promise to misstep conveniently over his toes, he pretended to care about how she'd been doing. And worst of all, to cart her off in the last thirty seconds to his table, forcing her into another conversation with the entire 'We hate Senator Amidala' club.

By the time she broke away, she was ready to go home. She was ready to get out of those high heels, her dress, to get in a bubble bath. She was also feeling her executive decision to drink those six glasses of champagne, and how each of them fueled her desires to call Anakin immediately.

She tracked down Dormé, her arms hooked around Javin's waist while he spoke with his colleagues, each of whom took notice of Padmé on her approach. If this is how Anakin and I look when we're together, I hope someone tells me to knock it off…

"Dormé…" she mumbled, tugging her arm while giving a tightlipped smile to the men surrounding her.

She looked back at Padmé before snapping to attention, kissing Javin's cheek when she turned to leave. "Fuck, sorry. May have gotten carried away and good thing this is a photo-free zone…"

Padmé didn't feel like breaking it to her friend that wasn't true, but harping on it would only remind her of the off-chance someone snapped a shot of her with Rush.

"No, I'm happy for you and your not-boyfriend that you're comfortable enough with to leave me all damn night."

She rolled her eyes. "Did I see you with Rush earlier? What was that?"

"A poor decision… And speaking of those, I think I drank an entire bottle of champagne. At least half of one, and I think I'm going to—"

"Absolutely, go. I'll find my way home, believe me."

"Oh, I believe you're finding your way to a home," Padmé said, laughing. "Text me wherever you crash, so at least I know how late to expect you to be in the morning."

"One of us should have some fun with our not-boyfriends, and since it's not you…"

"Goodnight, Dormé. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Padmé pulled her friend in for a quick hug before Dormé cackled.

"That ship sailed like fifteen years ago, but maybe I'll try that advice tonight. I'm sure the vanilla stuff is just as good!"

"And on that note…" Padmé waved goodbye to her, stealing a series of hugs and polite handshakes on her way to the door to flag down one of the waiting drivers to take her home.

It was as if she melted into the seat, her shoulders slouching with a long sigh when she kicked off her shoes and fished her phone out of the small bag in her lap. Please be up, Anakin.

"Padmé?"

"Ani! My love!" she said, the words rolling right off her tongue. "I mean—"

Before she could correct herself, his hearty laughter had her leaning her head against the cool glass in the backseat of the town car, closing her eyes and breathing it in.

"Hi, angel."

She hummed quietly. "You're the angel."

"Really? You must've had a good night."

"What if I told you that everyone was still dancing, and I left anyway?"

"I'd question who I was talking to right now. What's wrong? Why did you leave early?"

"Nothing's wrong 'cept you weren't there with me. I was all alone."

He laughed at her again and if it weren't the most calming sound, she'd make him knock it off. At the moment, though, she was lost, wrapped up in him like a warm blanket, wishing it were a reality instead of a dream.

"What did I need to be there for?"

"Had to sit there and watch everyone dance and hold hands with other people, and you are all the way in Boston instead of with me and I hate it. I miss you. I miss your face. You have such a nice face."

"Thank you. I like your face too, and miss you more. Did you drink tonight?"

She scoffed, adjusting herself in her seat and pushing her shoulders back. "No," she said. "Okay, maybe a little."

"A little? How much is a little?"

"What are we doing this weekend, Ani?" she asked, toying with a curl that had fallen from the up-do she'd worn all night.

"Guess we're breezing by that other question," he said. "What do you want to do this weekend?"

"Anything you want," she breathed. "Whatever you want to do with me." Okay, Padmé, that's enough, the logical part of her thought. She had definitely drank too much and proven it too… Anakin coughed hard on his end of the phone, tearing her away from another daydream of just what she imagined 'anything' could mean in this case. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

He coughed again before squeaking out something that sounded like a yes. Anakin cleared his throat so many times it made Padmé erupt in a fit of giggling when she stepped out of the car onto the curb in front of her townhouse. "Jesus. Trying to kill me now."

"It wasn't supposed to be funny…"

"I was not laughing. What about if I cook?"

"You?" she asked, kicking the front door shut behind her and tossing her shoes on the floor. "You're going to cook? I thought you liked me."

"Are you trying to say I can't cook?"

Yes, she definitely was. She'd never even seen him cook anything except breakfast for himself in all the years of knowing him. "I'm just saying I've never experienced it. How do I know I won't get salmonella?"

"Are you challenging me, Ms. Naberrie?"

"Are you going to make me eat my words, Skywalker?"

"You definitely had too much to drink tonight," he murmured. "Did you make it home yet?"

"Mhm," she mumbled, rushing through her nightly routine so she could throw herself into the bedcovers sooner than later. "Didn't answer my question, though."

"Yeah? What question was that?" His voice was suddenly low in her ear, as if he'd been holding it in until he knew she was home. "I'll answer every question you have for me, angel."

She bit her lip, leaving his words hanging in the air while she let her dress pool at her feet and threw a nightgown over her head in its place. After a few moments of silence, Anakin whistled the Jeopardy tune, shattering her composure.

"Stop making me laugh! I asked if you were going to make me eat my words."

"I'm going to make the best damn food you've ever tasted. Prepare to be blown away by my abilities."

It was probably just the alcohol talking, but she was fully ready to be blown away. And almost confident he could actually make said food. If it ended up being the best thing she'd ever tasted, chances were it was because he made it just for her, not because it was a culinary delight. The food eaten earlier in the night was truly up there on the list of the best dishes she'd been served, and it still wouldn't compare. That much she was certain of.

"I'm so ready for you to blow me away," she said, slipping into her covers and curling herself around a pillow. "Anakin?"

"Padmé."

"This… might be silly…"

"Never. What is it?"

"Do—Would—you ever want to go to these stuffy galas and stuff with me? If you were ever in DC."

"If you wanted me there. Think I need a new suit, though, since I can't wear my uniform anymore."

"You always looked… dashing in a suit."

"Dashing? I forgot how adorable you are when you're drunk. You want to tell me more about tonight? I'm sure you were beautiful."

Could she remember enough about the evening to retell? Did she want to admit that she spent that many hours of her life daydreaming about him being beside her instead of hours and hours away? Yes, she did. Maybe she'd omit a few notes about her blushing face, her giddy smile brought on by reminiscing, and one hellish agreement to dance with a man who wasn't him… But the rest of it?

"You have no idea how I looked. How long do you have to listen?"

"But I know you're always beautiful. And every minute I stay on this call is one less I spend without you. I'm here until you tell me to get lost."

"Ani?"

"Angel?"

"Hope you know I don't want you to get lost."

"Hope you know I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you did. Now tell me what's on your mind."

"Well, first… Are you aware I'm apparently 'trending'?"

"Really? Tell me more," he said, his voice more exaggerated than usual.

Two. Days. Less than that… Less than 48 hours and she'd never be happier to see Boston, or the wrought-iron gate at the entrance of their neighborhood, again. And maybe at the next event she'd be spinning around the floor and swaying slowly with him, instead.