Hollywoodland - Vedavan - Star Wars Sequel Trilogy [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

February 20th, 1949

“Andthe nominees for best actress are…"

Seated in the darkened RKO Pantages Theater, Rey listens with an expression of cool detachment on her face she doesn’t entirely feel as the short list of names are read. Sure enough, when her own name is reeled off among the nominees, her pulse begins to quicken. Up until now the possibility that she might actually win hadn’t seriously crossed her mind; it took her so long to accept the fact that she had even been nominated for an Academy Award in the first place. Her heart skips a beat and for a few breathless moments she allows herself to remember– remember where she came from and how she ended up right here, right in this very seat. It feels simultaneously like forever ago and like no time has passed at all…

Shelbyville, Iowa

1947

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man.”

Rey pauses in her monologue and runs the dish towel in her hands over a chipped ceramic platter, drying it thoroughly and adding it to the stack next to the sink, already piled high with clean dishes that threaten to topple over. “O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd”– here she smiles wistfully– “retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee...” she pauses again and this time tosses the dish towel on the floor, lost in the words she knows so well. Pressing her hands to her chest, she sighs, “Take all myself.”

“Brava!”

Rey nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of enthusiastic clapping behind her.

Maz. Of course.

“I didn’t realize I had an audience," Rey laughs, shaking her head as she stoops to retrieve the towel, only mildly embarrassed. This isn’t the first time someone's caught her reciting a monologue. Or poetry. Or even her favorite lines from “Gone With the Wind” that she'd memorized after three showings at the old rundown Shelbyville Theater.

But Maz is the only one who doesn’t tease her and instead, pushes her to do more.

Read more. Study more. Become more.

Rey's so-called family, distant relatives that took her in after her parents died when she was just a little girl, never fail to remind her that she’s wasting her time. Learn to cook, be a good housekeeper, so you’ll make a halfway decent wife to a man someday. That’s the only life advice she’s been given. So it’s no wonder that when she’s not working at Maz's Cafe or sleeping, she spends her free time in the barn, reading or performing for the hens and kittens and a swayback nag named Dolly. At least they don’t judge her.

“Have a seat, dear,” Maz says, pulling a chair out from under the small wooden table in the cafe’s cozy kitchen, and beckons for her to do the same. Rey tosses the damp dish towel aside and pulls out the chair across from Maz, curious as to what the old woman is up to now. She has a reputation in town for being a bit nutty, but Rey knows she's much wiser than she lets on.

Maz reaches into her apron and pulls out a thick cream-colored envelope, slightly crumpled. Rey cants her head, trying to read the return address, but isn't quite able make it out. But the rainbow of colorful stamps and markings indicate it's traveled quite a distance to end up on this worn butcher block table, and her stomach flutters.

“I’ve written to a friend of mine in California about you, and he would like to meet you,” Maz begins, never one to beat around the bush.

Rey blinks at her, feeling a hot blush crawl up her neck. If Maz thinks she’s going to agree to become some strange man's mail-order bride, for cripe’s sake–

“He's in showbusiness. I’ve told him about your gift for acting, the way you move. Your voice. And yes, your looks. My dear, you were born for the silver screen.”

Rey twists her fingers under the table and tries not to visibly cringe at the compliment. She’s always thought of herself as rather tall and plain. Her figure is slender with slight curves and her hair is an ordinary brown, though it does take a nice curl when she tends to it. Her skin is lightly tanned from working long summers in the vegetable garden behind the café, and her eyes are hazel and wide, framed by thick, dark lashes. More than once her face has been called pretty, so perhaps it is; oval-shaped and defined by high cheekbones and an admittedly generous mouth– she suddenly remembers one Sunday a few months ago walking home from church with Snap Wexely, he pulled her behind Levin’s General Store and cupped his big calloused hands around her face and kissed her, saying that sitting next to her, watching her pretty lips recite verses and sing hymns all morning had driven him absolutely crazy–

“He wants you to come out there as soon as possible.” Maz’s gravelly voice interrupts her train of thought.

Rey blinks at her in disbelief. “Maz, you know I don’t have the money to travel to California–” she breaks off. What is she even saying? Why would she go all the way to California in the first place? To meet someone, some man, for him to do what– put her in movies? She's read about things like this, about small-town girls being discovered and turned into glamorous Hollywood stars, but hearing Maz actually talk about it now, as if it could actually happen to her? It all sounds absurd. Her head swims.

“I know you don’t, child, that’s why he’s sent you the train ticket himself. And I have a little money saved up so you don’t have to scavenge from trash cans for food.” Maz grins. “Not that you wouldn’t if you had to. You’re a survivor, like me,” she says with a satisfied nod.

Rey stares at the envelope while her brain scrambles to catch up, parsing out the basics. Maz knows someone in California who can help her break into movies. And he wants to meet her. As soon as possible.

She looks up, studying Maz with fresh eyes. Suddenly Maz is no longer the town crazy lady, she’s an old woman with experience– a woman with a past. With secrets.

“How do you even know this man–” Rey starts, but Maz interrupts her, shaking her head.

“That’s a good question for another time.” The older woman slides the envelope that still lies between them towards her and reaches for her hands, clutching them in her own. “The train ticket is in this envelope. You’ll pack up tonight and tomorrow I’ll drive you to the station in Des Moines. The train leaves at oh six hundred and will take you straight to Los Angeles.”

It's starting to sound less like an offer and more like a command. For a brief moment Rey considers arguing against it, until a little voice inside reminds her she's twenty years old already. She can stay here and maybe marry Snap and have a bunch of babies... or she can take this train to Hollywood and see what happens.

This might be her only chance, so she'd better choose wisely.

Rey meets Maz's eyes across the table and nods.

Maz sits back and exhales a sigh of relief, as if maybe she did expect her to put up a fight, after all. But what for? The thought of leaving town sounds more and more appealing by the minute. Her relatives won’t even notice she’s gone. Maybe the old nag will. She should probably drop Dolly a line when she gets there.

“Thank you, Maz.” Rey swallows thickly, her heart swelling with gratitude. She picks up the envelope from the table and stands, stooping to peck the old woman on the cheek.

Maz tuts and shoos her away, not one much for physical displays of affection, but can't hide the softness in her wise, steely eyes. “Get home now and start packing your suitcase. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Once Rey is back home and in her small bedroom, the room she’s occupied for sixteen years, she waits to feel something; maybe something like heartache or regret. But deep down she knows this place has never been her home, not really, so the feeling doesn’t come.

Sitting on the edge of her twin bed, the ancient springs groaning in protest, she takes a slow look around, as if seeing the room for the first time.

On the walls are pages torn from fan magazines she’s pasted on top of the faded wallpaper over the years– glamorous photos of her favorite Hollywood stars. Katharine Hepburn, Vivien Leigh, William Powell. The regal silent movie actress Leia Organa. And the smolderingly handsome Kylo Ren, nicknamed "The King of Hollywood" by his legion of devout fans.

Some of the pages are so old the edges are curled and crumbling, like petals on a dried rose, and her heart sinks. How can Maz associate her with one of these cinematic icons? There’s nothing special about her. She's just Rey Johnson: a nobody from nowhere.

She pulls the wrinkled envelope from her pocket and examines the handwriting. Scrawling yet somehow refined. Luke Skywalker. The name doesn’t ring a bell.

She takes out the train ticket and sees that it’s first class... and also that it’s one-way.

A one-way ticket to Hollywood.

Rey takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she lies back on the bed. Despite her lack of confidence, a fire begins to burn deep down inside, a desire to succeed greater than anything she's ever felt before.

Equal parts anticipation and nerves begin twisting in her stomach.

She'd better not screw this up.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California

1947

The day Rey arrives in Los Angeles, it’s a balmy seventy-five degrees. She’s just spent almost two days on the train from Des Moines, and even though the accommodations were five star– crisp white linens, excellent food, attentive porters– she’s relieved to be outside in the fresh air. She recalls Maz saying goodbye at the train depot, and her heart squeezes.

(Maz, never one for sentiment, surprised her by pulling her down and wrapping her skinny arms around her shoulders, squeezing with all her strength– Rey was afraid the tiny woman was going to break something. She blinked back tears, thinking Maz was about to say something poignant, or maybe quote a line from one of her favorite poems. Rey should have known better.

"Give ‘em hell, kid,” were the last words Maz said to her before she boarded the train.)

And now here she is, in sunny California, as they say.

She can tell right away there's something different here; something in the air that gives the place an energy, like an unseen force vibrating in the atmosphere. The sun is a fiery yellow ball against a clear blue sky and throngs of people are hustling and bustling all around her, hurrying to get to their next destination.

Rey smooths down the skirt of her best navy tweed suit and runs a hand over her chestnut waves. Since she only brought one suitcase, there’s no need to wait for the porter to bring her luggage, so she makes her way into the station, hoping to spot Mr. Luke Skywalker.

Maz had described him as being middle-aged, about medium height with sandy blond hair and with eyes “bluer than a summer day”. So far no one quite fits that description.

“Miss Johnson?”

Rey spins around to find a man standing behind her in a deep gray suit, holding a hat between his hands. The lines creasing his face indicate he’s probably in his mid-fifties, and a copious amount of gray streaks through his dark blond hair. But his eyes are his most outstanding feature– the brightest, bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

Her pulse quickens. This has to be Mr. Skywalker.

She extends her hand and smiles warmly. “Yes, I’m Miss Johnson. You must be Mr. Skywalker. Pleasure to meet you.”

He takes her hand and squeezes firmly, his grip warm and dry. For some reason, she's instantly at ease. “Please, call me Luke. And since we’ll be spending quite some time together in the near future, would it be alright for me to call you Reylene?”

She gapes at him, not immediately recognizing her own name. No one has called her Reylene– well, ever.

Luke tilts his head slightly, waiting for an answer, and Rey feels like an idiot. “Oh. It's... R-Rey, actually. Everyone just calls me Rey,” she stammers, cursing the heat creeping up on to her cheeks. Maz must have been uncharacteristically formal in her letter to Luke.

“Rey,” Luke nods, trying it out. “I like that.” He takes her suitcase from her hand and begins leading her toward the parking area. “Why don’t we get out of here and start getting to know each other better. It’s about a twenty-minute drive to where you’ll be staying.”

Up until now she hadn't given much thought to where she’d be staying when she arrived; in her hazy teenage daydreams she had imagined perhaps someday checking into a Barbizon Hotel for women, like the one in New York City. She’d read in a fan magazine once that’s where all the society women of good breeding stayed.

But I'm no debutante, she chastises herself silently, she’s just a nobody who’s stepped out of the cornfields into a veritable fairyland, so she lowers her expectations accordingly.

They reach Luke’s car, a newer Ford convertible painted a jaunty green shade, and he stows her suitcase in the backseat. He comes around to open the door for her and, after climbing into the driver’s seat himself, pulls smoothly into the Los Angeles traffic.

“So how do you feel so far, Rey? You’re a long way from home." His eyes are focused on the road ahead while the salty air whips his longish hair across his face, and just beyond that Rey has a perfect view of the Pacific Ocean.

The words she was about to say die in her throat. Her first time ever seeing the ocean.

She stares, marveling. It's as wide and endless as the sky and just being near it is exhilarating.

At this moment, Rey suddenly believes anything is possible, as though something wonderful is within her grasp, just around the corner. Being this close to something so vast feels like hope, like dreams coming true, and she’s never felt more alive.

“I’ve never seen the ocean before. It’s incredible,” she breathes, unable to hide her awe.

When she's finally had her fill she looks away, studying her hands folded in her lap. As far as home goes, Rey can't honestly say she misses it or her relatives, and can already feel them becoming faded, distant memories with each passing mile. Even though Shelbyville was pretty much nowhere, and her relatives showed her about as much love and affection as they did the livestock, they did take her in and keep a roof over her head for the last sixteen years. The realization she feels nothing for them makes her stomach queasy with shame.

Luke seems to pick up on some of these unspoken thoughts, because he glances over with a small smile of understanding. “I’m from a small town, too. Been in Los Angeles for over thirty years. Never looked back.”

“So how do you and Maz know each other?” she asks quickly, not only to change the subject but because she’s dying to know the answer.

Luke chuckles and shakes his head. “That's another story for another time. Let’s just say we go way back. But I will tell you that I trust her opinion one hundred percent. So when she wrote to me and said she knew a girl who was a cinch for the big screen, I knew I had to meet her. You.”

He takes his eyes off the road for a second to give her an appraising glance, and smiles warmly. “I can see why she wrote to me.” He pauses for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “You have that star quality, that it factor that makes a star a star.”

Now it's her turn to chuckle, and she rolls her eyes. “You know that already? We’ve only just met."

Luke turns serious. “Rey, I’ve been in the movie business for over thirty years. I’ve seen more people than you can count come to this town to take their shot at the brass ring– and nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand will miss. You know why? Because they don’t have it. And it’s not because they’re not talented– hell, some of these folks can out-act Bogie. But they don’t have that thing, that quality– and I wish I could tell you what it is, but I can’t. People like Maz and me, we can only see when someone’s got it. There are people who pay me a lot of money because I’ve been able to tell who’s got it and who doesn’t. And believe me when I tell you, Rey,” he glances over again and looks her straight in the eyes.

“You’ve got it.”

Luke keeps up a friendly chatter for the rest of the ride. “We’ll have to change your name. I like Rey, but Johnson has no zing.” He pauses for a moment, considering. "We could put up a contest in one of the fan magazines to vote for a name, but we’re going to need to come up with something quicker than that. Besides,” he says with a sly grin, “Joan Crawford still hasn’t forgiven the fan who came up with her name. She says it sounds like Crawfish,” he laughs. “I told her at least it's better than her real name LaSueur, which sounds like Sewer.”

Rey is surprised. As much as she loves fan magazines, she didn’t know they had held an actual contest to come up with the name for one of the greatest actresses of all time.

She asks why the studio would agree to go along with such a stunt, and Luke replies matter-of-factly, “The studio came up with the idea. They need the fans to care about their stars. By letting them name one, it gives them a sense of ownership. They feel like they own Joan Crawford. And Joan lives a very luxurious life because of it. You’ll find that no one appreciates their fans more than Joan Crawford. She always signs her own photographs, replies personally to every single fan letter, and would never go out in public unless she’s dressed to the nines. She’d never disappoint a fan by letting them see her look less than every inch the movie star.”

Rey chews on her bottom lip as she considers all this.

She’s not so sure she likes the idea of being owned, by fans or a studio or anyone. She just wants to perform. Speak those beautiful words out loud and feel those emotions, even if it’s just pretend. And for once, to have someone, a real flesh and blood someone, respond with beautiful words back to her.

She sometimes fantasizes what it might be like to have someone like Clark Gable or Kylo Ren play the lead role opposite to hers. To have them look deep into her eyes and say the words that were written for Romeo, or Benedick, or even Rhett Butler. To make her feel not so alone.

As Luke pulls into the parking lot of an apartment complex, Rey has a sudden flash of insight.

She'll never be homesick for Iowa or her relatives, because it was never her home to begin with. Now that she's finally here, about to embark upon her future, it hits her like a bolt of lightning the thing that's been bothering her most of her life. What’s always made her feel so different, so out of place. Why she was so quick to agree to come to California.

She’s lonely.

But she doesn’t want to be owned.

She just wants to belong.

Luke retrieves her suitcase from the back of his convertible while Rey gets out and stretches her legs.

The painted brown trim is peeling a bit on the sprawling two-story building done in the Spanish colonial style she knows is popular here on the west coast, but the green lawn is neatly clipped. Palm trees line the terrace of a relatively quiet street and she takes it all in, wide-eyed as she follows Luke along a terracotta brick path.

The path opens into a stately courtyard, artfully landscaped with desert plants surrounding a tiled fountain at its center. The sound of trickling water helps to calm her nerves as she recalls part of their conversation on the way over.

("So Maz probably didn’t tell you exactly who I am or what I do,” Luke began tentatively. Rey had felt a slight twinge of panic. Maz had just said Luke was in the movie business. Sitting there in his car she felt rather naïve for not getting more information up front. Luke smiled as he noticed her reaction.“No, nothing to be suspicious of. I’m sure she just didn’t want you to lose your nerve. I work for First Order Studios. I’m–” he hesitated and co*cked his head sideways, as if not quite sure how to describe exactly what it was that he did. “I guess in a way I do a little of everything. I’m what they call a talent manager, but I do more than that… sometimes I’m an uncredited producer on a film, or an acting coach to a newcomer.” He paused. “Starlets have been known to come crying to me when their co-star tells them they can’t act their way out of a wet paper bag,” he huffed a laugh, but Rey could tell he wasn't entirely kidding.

“But mostly I answer directly to Mr. Palpatine.”)

She had tried to hide her shock. Everyone in America, possibly even the world knows the name Palpatine.

Harry Palpatine heads First Order Studios, the biggest movie studio in the country. World-renowned for releasing some of the best and highest quality films ever made, they also keep all the biggest Hollywood names under contract, boasting at having “more stars than there are in heaven".

When Maz said she had a friend in the movie business, Rey never expected it to be Harry Palpatine’s right hand man.

Swallowing nervously, she watches Luke unlock the main door to the complex. In gold letters the words Casa Laguna curve over the archway in elegant script.

She follows him inside and down a long, narrow hallway to a unit on the first floor. He knocks twice, calling through the door, “Rose, it’s Luke. I’m here with your new roommate.” He turns and gives her a reassuring wink.

Rey hears someone scrambling on the other side of the door before it bursts open.

A petite Asian woman about her age with long, straight black hair and creamy skin stands before them, looking slightly flushed. She blows a few loose strands of hair from her face and steps back, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hi, Luke!” the woman exclaims, standing on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek before turning her attention to Rey. “Welcome to La La Land! I’m Rose.”

Instead of shaking hands, the tiny spitfire pulls her in for an effusive hug and Rey is momentarily stunned, not accustomed to physical contact. But she has to admit that Rose’s bubbliness is charming, and takes an instant liking to her.

“Nice to meet you Rose. I’m Rey." She smiles gently as she loosens herself from Rose's bear-like grip and notices Luke smothering a grin behind his hand, disguising it with a cough. Rose must manhandle everybody.

Luke sets down her suitcase and retreats towards the door. “Now, Rey, I don’t want you to worry about a thing. Rose is going to help you get settled. I’ll be back tomorrow morning at seven to take you to the studio– we've got a big day ahead of us.”

He turns back to Rose and gives her a stern look, shaking a finger dramatically toward her face. “And don’t you go spilling all your Hollywood horror stories and make her regret coming here, got it?”

Rey looks on in bemusem*nt as Rose just rolls her eyes, resting a hand on one shapely hip. “No promises,” she retorts, but there’s no real bite to it, and Luke shakes his head. He dons his hat once again and mutters something that sounds like women as he pulls the door closed behind him.

As soon as they're alone, Rose turns to her eagerly. “You want the grand tour?” Rey nods, a flutter of excitement tickling her chest.

For the first time since she entered the apartment, Rey takes a good look around.

The main room is not very big, but it has a high ceiling with huge windows, and the dark hardwood floors are gleaming in the bright daylight. There's not much furniture, either; just a sofa and loveseat and an easy chair next to the window. A low wooden table sits next to the chair with an ashtray that’s overflowing. A radio and a phonograph are set up on the floor in one corner with a stack of records heaped haphazardly next to it– a few of them have fallen over and have slithered across the polished surface.

Overall, it's a spartan space, lacking in personal touches, and Rey can't hide her slight dismay.

“Yeah, I know it’s not much, but I don’t really spend that much time here, you know?” Rose absently twirls a lock of hair around one perfectly manicured finger. “Most of us are at the studio all day– rehearsing, taking dance classes or singing lessons, the whole bit. Sometimes we don’t come home for a week, depending on the part. I’m not a star yet so I don’t get the big build up or the big dressing room, but I do get this apartment.”

Rose picks up Rey's suitcase in one hand and tugs her towards a narrow hallway with the other. “At least it’s a two bedroom. You’ll be staying in this one." She bumps open a door on her right with her hip and flicks on a light switch.

A lone bulb in the ceiling illuminates another sparsely furnished room, containing only a full-size bed, a chair, and a bureau. The curtains are drawn, but there’s a huge window in this room as well, and Rey is pleased. The bed is neatly made with clean-looking linens and white pillows.

Yes, she thinks happily, this will do just fine. She picks up her suitcase that Rose has set down in the doorway and places it on the bed.

“My room is just across from yours,” Rose continues, and motions for her to follow her back out into the hallway. On the left across from her new room the door is ajar. Rose pushes it open all the way and Rey gasps.

Rose’s room is an explosion of color and fabric. Every surface– the bed, the vanity, the bureau– is draped in one form of clothing or another. At least a half dozen free-standing racks are bursting with garments and accessories as well, stuffed far beyond capacity. Exquisite evening gowns, day dresses, suits, handbags, gloves… Rey's eyes widen at the assortment of bras and stockings and garters dripping from the light fixture above, like some sort of bizarre lingerie chandelier. Fur coats and stoles of all varieties are heaped carelessly in a corner.

Rey gapes at the decadence. She had no idea starlets could afford to live like this.

Rose seems to read her thoughts. “No, none of it’s mine. Everything is on loan from the studio. We can thank Daddy Palpatine for that.” She smiles brightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “The studio wants their stars and starlets to always look their best at all times. It’s important to keep up the image, so it’s a win-win.”

Rey frowns in confusion. “You call him Daddy?”

Rose chuckles. “Yeah, it sounds a little creepy, right? But Mr. Palpatine insists he wants to be a father figure to all of his little stars…” She shrugs. “In a way he is. He encourages us to come to him with all our problems, big or small. He’ll fix whatever issue we might have. If a girl gets herself into trouble–” Rose looks at her to make sure Rey catches her meaning–“he gets her the operation. If we’re too tired from dance rehearsals, he gets the studio doc to give us some uppers. If we’re too hyped from the uppers, he gets us pills so we can go to sleep. He's always looking out for us.”

Rose says this last bit adamantly, and Rey’s not sure which one of them she’s trying to convince.

“And besides, it’s more than most of us were ever given back home,” she adds somewhat bitterly, and Rey suddenly feels like she's found a kindred spirit. Rose is alone, too.

Maybe they all are. Despite the obvious allure of fame and fortune, maybe deep down that’s why so many of them have migrated to this place. Thousands of them leaving their so-called homes in search of some kind of belonging here, underneath the bold white letters of the famous Hollywoodland sign.

Rose’s sour mood quickly brightens. She twirls around and gives Rey a dazzling smile, gesturing to the array of garments behind her and waggles her eyebrows.

“So, you wanna play dress up?”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

“Rey, would you stop fussing. You look gorgeous,” Rose chides her as she tugs on the neckline of her borrowed dress for the fifth time.

They’re in the backseat of a cab on their way to Ciro’s, a popular Hollywood nightspot. Along the way, Rose keeps up a steady stream of chatter, assuring Rey the nightclub will likely be filled to the brim with all the A-list celebrities. But more importantly, with the newspapermen and their flashing cameras. Rose tells her that more important than seeing is to be seen. And having your picture in the papers can do wonders for a girl’s career.

Rey turns her face towards the soft moonlight beaming through the window and steals another peek in her mirrored compact. Uneasiness swoops through her stomach; she’s never worn this much makeup before in her life. Rose had just laughed and rolled her eyes when Rey swatted away the mascara wand going in for a second coat.

(“Wait until the make-up men get their hands on you,” she had warned. “This is nothing.”)

But she does have to admit, as she examines her face in the small mirror, Rose is an artist with her makeup kit.

She's lined Rey’s wide hazel eyes with an ebony liquid, adding a little flick at each end to give them a slight cat eye appearance, and a coat of mascara exaggerates her already long, dark lashes. Her nose has been patted with a light dusting of Coty Air-Spun powder, and a tiny bit of pink rouge rubbed into the apples of her cheeks. And as a final touch, Rose outlined and filled in her lips with an almost crimson shade of lipstick, and her already generous mouth now verges on downright pouty.

Pressing a fingertip lightly against her lower lip, Rey wonders idly what Snap might think of it. Of all of it. She doubts he would even recognize her right now.

(Back at their apartment, Rose had tried to get her into a slinky black number, but Rey vetoed it immediately. She had pawed through the racks herself until she discovered a rich emerald mid-length velvet gown, cut on the bias and with puff sleeves. The cinched bodice countered by the full sleeves made own her waist look incredibly tiny, and had the added benefit of pushing her modest cleavage up into the deep V-neckline. She slipped on a brand new ivory silk garter belt and stockings, and when she'd run her hands up her silky smooth legs and thighs, Rey had never felt quite so luxurious. She remembers how Rose had laughed when she asked if they had to give the underwear and stockings back to "Daddy".

“That’s the one thing we get to keep. Though he probably wouldn’t mind getting his hands on it,” she said with a wink.

A pair of tan leather peep-toe pumps rummaged from the bottom of the closet had completed the look. When Rey turned to the full length mirror she could scarcely believe they were her own eyes looking back at her. Rose had also carefully set her hair in a few loose pin-curls, and when released, her chestnut hair tumbled down around her shoulders in soft shiny waves, the ends just brushing the tops of her bare collarbones.

Rose snuck up from behind and met her eyes in the mirror. "You're stunning, Rey. The press is going to eat you up.”)

Rey snaps the compact shut and slips it back into her small beaded clutch, glancing over at her new roommate as she does so.

Rose, for her part, looks every inch the glamorous starlet. Her thick ebony hair is twisted into an elegant updo, and her makeup application is flawless. However, the novelty of getting dressed up like a goddess must have worn off a long time ago, because Rose yawns as she absently toys with one of her long, dangly earrings.

A full-length satin sheath the color of champagne hugs the starlet's voluptuous curves, with tiny rhinestones glittering along the straps. The neckline is cut in a dangerously low V, and each time she moves Rey is worried for her that something is going to pop out. But Rose doesn’t seem to mind.

“Would make for one hell of a photo,” she laughs gustily.

The cab pulls to a stop along the curb, and Rey's pulse spikes when she looks up. The famous nightclub sign is even bigger in person, a glowing neon beacon just above them.

She follows Rose through the double doors and gasps.

It’s red.

Blood red, as far as the eye can see.

Red pleated satin covering the ceiling and walls. Red fabric couches lining the walls behind a low banquette of tables. Even the bar is glowing red, its glossy lacquered surface capturing and reflecting all the red surrounding it. Everything is awash in red, red, red.

Rey isn’t certain if she’s entered a nightclub or Satan’s boudoir.

She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the sea of crimson and the soft ambient lighting. Meanwhile, Rose is already chatting candidly with a handsome young man holding a notepad, a camera slung around his neck.

Through the hazy cigarette smoke, Rey can see the club is about half full– there are people seated along the walls in the banquette, laughing loudly and sipping co*cktails and champagne. A capable-sounding orchestra is playing some familiar standards, and a handful of couples are out on the dance floor, swaying to the music.

She doesn't catch sight of any celebrities though, and is only mildly disappointed. Maybe it's early yet.

Rose is still chatting with the reporter, so she wanders over to the bar area.

It’s surprisingly empty, except for a very large man with a dark head of hair leaning against it, his back towards her. Rey knows she’ll never be spotted by the bartender standing behind this guy, so she redirects her path to the opposite side.

And almost has a heart attack.

Standing across from her at the bar, nursing a highball glass of amber liquid, is none other than "The King of Hollywood" himself.

Kylo Ren.

The first thing she notices is that the fan magazines have reported his measurements wrong. Like, really wrong. She distinctly remembers reading in Photoplay a few months ago that Kylo Ren is six feet, one and a half inches tall. And weighs one hundred eighty pounds.

This man before her is at least six four and must weigh at least two hundred pounds– all of it pure, solid muscle, if the wide set of his shoulders and broad chest are any indication. It’s a little hard to tell for certain, because right now he’s leaning heavily against the bar, his attention drawn to his drink.

She watches in fascination as he signals the bartender for another round with one hand and drains the liquid into his mouth with the other. He sets down the empty glass and tugs at the collar of his white tuxedo shirt. As the bartender places another full glass down in front of him, Kylo Ren looks over at her and makes eye contact.

Oh God, she's been caught staring.

As Rey quickly looks away and tries to figure out how to spontaneously disappear into the wall behind her, she notices movement out of the corner of her eye.

Wait, is Kylo Ren… walking towards her?

She glances over just in time to see him rounding the end of the bar, but his toe must catch on something because he stumbles a bit. However, he manages to right himself and his drink before falling headfirst into a sea of red carpet.

Her brow furrows. Is Kylo Ren… drunk?

They are at a nightclub in the middle of Hollywood, so she shouldn’t be too surprised. But she can’t help the tiny flicker of disappointment at possibly meeting one of her idols while he’s tipsy.

“Hellooo.”

He draws out the last syllable and Rey can’t help herself, she smiles. It's such a silly-sounding word coming from a voice and body she knows is capable of captivating audiences by the thousands. A voice that reverberates through movie houses across the country and is as deep and rich as molasses. A body that can fill an entire screen and shouldn’t scientifically be able to move as quickly and gracefully as it does.

She looks up to find him leaning against the bar once again, only this time he’s just a mere foot or two away from her. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but too close for strangers.

Her pulse quickens and her stomach does a somersault at his nearness. Is this really happening?

It must be, because Kylo Ren is staring at her with those infamous eyes, dark and fathomless as a midnight sea.

Rey isn’t used to being the object of such scrutiny, especially not one of a famous movie star, and it's making her more than a tad uneasy; she twirls a lock of hair anxiously around her finger. After a few beats of silence it finally dawns on her that he’s waiting for her to say something.

She licks her lips and he traces the movement with his eyes. “Um, hi.”

Brilliant, Rey, she groans internally, giving herself a mental kick.

But to her surprise, a lazy smile stretches across his full mouth and he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze flickering across her face. His pupils flood his honeyed irises, and she isn't sure if it’s just an effect of the low lighting, or something else. There's also a strange tension, an electricity stirring in the air– it sparks in the space between them, and her breath quickens while the tiny hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise, and she can't tell if it's an attraction or a warning.

Maybe it’s both.

His obsidian eyes search hers. “What are you doing here?”

Not what’s your name, or my name is Kylo Ren, the world famous actor, have you heard of me? It’s sort of an odd question, and later she’ll blame the enormity of everything that’s happened to her over the last forty-eight hours for what she says next.

“Well, I-I’m Rey, actually Reylene is my full name, but no one ever calls me Reylene it’s just Rey, but anyway I just arrived here today from Iowa and I’m staying with Rose, I don’t know her last name but I think she’s still over there trying to get her picture taken by that reporter, she says it’s important for all the starlets to go out and be seen, so I don’t know maybe you know her, she has a contract with First Order Studios too, though you probably don’t work together much, I mean you’re Kylo Ren, the Kylo Ren, the King of Hollywood, you work with all the biggest stars like when you did Blood and Sand with Zorii Bliss and Rita Hayworth, I mean, wow, I must have gone to see that movie six times, finally Snap, he’s a friend from Iowa, you don’t know him, anyway Snap said to me Rey, I refuse to go and sit for two hours and watch you drool over that man. I’ve already wasted enough time watching you get all googly-eyed over that sissy swashbuckler in tight pants. What’s the big deal anyway? It’s not like you haven’t seen his greased-up muscles before."

She stops to come up for air and clamps her mouth firmly shut.

Sweet Jiminy Christmas.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut and wishes in vain for the ground to open and swallow her whole before daring to look up.

Amazingly, Kylo Ren hasn’t backed away, or gone to call the sanitarium to come pick up their missing patient. In fact, he’s watching her as though he’s completely fascinated, with a goofy grin on his uniquely handsome face.

His roles are usually serious ones that don’t call for much smiling, so she’s surprised that not only does he have dimples lining his cheeks, but a couple of his teeth are charmingly crooked, untouched by dental procedures. She wonders how he was able to get that bit of imperfection past the studio brass all these years.

“And do you have a contract with First Order Studios too, Reylene?” He's still grinning as he takes another sip of his drink.

She flinches internally at the sound of her given name. Cripes, why did she have to tell him that?

“No, not yet." Some of the tension in the air has unwound after her gaffe, and she begins to relax a little. "But I’m meeting with Mr. Skywalker at the studio tomorrow. He’s the one that brought me out here. He thinks I’ve got it, whatever that means.” She rolls her eyes and signals the bartender for a drink. Might as well join the party.

The energy change is intense and immediate; the temperature around them feels like it's dropped ten degrees, and not only do the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, a chilly trail of goosebumps runs along her arms.

If Rey was a bit uneasy under Kylo Ren's gaze before, now she's downright uncomfortable. His eyes are still black, the pupils blown wide, but there’s something else in them too: a piercing hostility that wasn’t there a minute ago. He’s looking at her as if she’s committed some kind of betrayal, and she can’t even begin to understand why.

It’s all so unexpected and so extreme that her knee-jerk reaction is to apologize, but then she remembers– she’s a complete stranger to him. What could she have possibly said or done to make him look at her like this?

He doesn’t stay long enough for her to find out.

A beautiful, slim woman in a tight beaded dress comes up and grabs him by the elbow. “We have to go,” she hisses in his ear, slanting Rey a disparaging glance as she starts pulling Kylo away.

He tosses back the remainder of his drink before slamming the empty glass down on the bar, and Rey jumps.

Turning to the woman, he drawls lazily, “Whatever you say, Baz," and slings one huge arm loosely around her shoulders as she escorts him away from the bar. At least this time he manages to keep his balance.

He doesn’t look back.

Rey exhales a long, shaky breath, her mind reeling. The bartender swoops over and asks what she’ll have just as Rose appears at her side.

“Well, that was a bust. He didn’t even take my picture! I think he just wanted to get my phone number.” Rose sighs and orders a vodka martini, extra dry with olives. Rey holds up two fingers and she and Rose each pull up a chair.

“You were over here for a while. See anyone famous? Anyone that made all your wildest Hollywood fantasies come true?” Rose raises an eyebrow and looks at her expectantly.

Rey thinks of that inscrutable tension in the air, and how her hackles had risen at the rapid shift of his mood. But she also remembers his crooked smile and his dimples, and the captivated way he had looked at her before... before whatever happened happened.

Of all her Hollywood fantasies about Kylo Ren, this strange encounter was certainly one that had never, ever crossed her mind.

The bartender comes back and places their drinks in front of them. Rey picks hers up and takes a generous sip.

“No, I don’t believe they did,” she replies softly.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California

1947

I’m making believe that you’re in my arms

Though I know you’re so far away

Making believe I’m talking to you

Wish you could hear what I say

The smooth, muffled tones of Ella Fitzgerald float through her closed bedroom door, rousing Rey from her deep sleep. Rose must be an early riser. She rubs her eyes, stretching and yawning as she rolls lazily towards the alarm clock on her nightstand.

6:42

Dammit! Rey flies out of bed, tossing the covers aside. She swears she set the alarm for six-fifteen, and Luke said he’d be picking her up at seven. She’ll barely have time to throw on some clothes and run a comb through her hair. And here she’d wanted to look her best today, her first day at the studio.

She pauses in her frenzied search for her navy shirtwaist dress with the floral print. Her first day at the studio.

It still seems like someone’s idea of a mean, terrible prank that she’s being brought in for a screen test with First Order Studios. By the man that reports to the studio head himself, Harry Palpatine.

A nervous knot begins forming in her stomach.

Rey tries to shake the feeling. No time for that now. She’s got to get herself halfway presentable in the next– she glances at the clock again– sixteen minutes.

She wriggles into the dress and slips on some flat shoes before running to the bathroom to brush her teeth and do something with her hair and face. As she hurries across the room, a green velvet heap on the floor catches her eye, and that strange encounter with Kylo Ren last night pops into her mind.

(And do you have a contract with First Order Studios too, Reylene?)

She didn’t think much of it at the time, but now the memory of his deep, rich voice saying her name brings a flush to her cheeks, and her heart starts hammering in her chest.

Cripes, get a grip, she chastises herself as she races to the bathroom. She hopes Luke isn’t the type to show up early for things.

And prays that it’s a long time before she crosses paths with Kylo Ren again.

Luckily for her, Luke doesn’t show up early. It's already six minutes past seven when there are three sharp raps at the door.

“You look great for such an ungodly hour,” he says easily, escorting her out to his Ford convertible.

This time the top is up, and Rey is grateful because the air is chilly and nips at her skin. The sun hasn’t fully broken over the horizon yet, and the chalk blue sky is streaked with hues of orange and pink.

The pre-dawn traffic is light, and they arrive in less than twenty minutes. Rey gapes at the giant three foot letters proudly heralding First Order Studios on the sign mounted high above the sprawling compound. Luke slows down as he pulls his convertible through a set of wrought-iron gates.

“Good morning, Mr. Skywalker,” a security guard greets him, nodding and tipping his cap as they roll by.

Luke leads her across a huge paved lot to a set of heavy-looking metal doors. Everything– the doors, the window frames, the buildings– are painted a crisp fresh white that’s practically glowing in the early morning daylight.

Rey has a hard time believing all the dazzle and opulence that is Hollywood is contained within this plain and unassuming exterior. From here the studio looks about as nondescript as a manufacturing plant.

“The first thing on the agenda today are some head and glamour shots,” Luke informs her as they make their way down a wide, long hallway.

There doesn't appear to be much activity at this hour; a harried-looking assistant is rushing toward them with a stack of papers clutched to his chest, heading in the opposite direction. He nods respectfully at Luke and slows his pace to give Rey an appreciative once-over as he passes by.

What are you looking at, buster? She slants him her iciest glare. She doesn’t like being ogled, and especially not at seven-thirty in the morning.

Luke notices and chuckles, looping his arm through hers as they continue on. “You’re gonna have to get used to that, cookie. This is only the beginning.”

They arrive at another set of white double doors with the words HAIR & MAKEUP DEPARTMENT painted on them in bold black letters.

Luke leads her over to a long mirrored wall studded with glass bulbs, each one illuminated by a soft white light. A man with his back to them is hunched over the counter below the mirror, intent on organizing the vast assortment of cosmetics arranged precariously along its edge.

“Rey, I’d like you to meet Finn Storm. He’s our head makeup man. Finn, this is Rey Johnson. The studio’s going to be testing her today.”

At the sound of Luke's voice, the man turns and greets them with a bright smile.

Wow, he's the one who should be in movies, Rey thinks as she extends her right hand. He’s tall, with dark brown skin and deep brown eyes set in a conventionally-handsome face. He radiates warmth and friendliness, and Rey is instantly at ease.

“Good morning, Miss Johnson! Welcome to the studio. You can call me Finn,” he says as he grasps her hand within both of his own.

“Nice to meet you, Finn. Please, call me Rey,” she replies, taking an immediate liking to him.

“Now, Finn, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job,” Luke begins, and Finn crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, waiting with exaggerated patience for him to continue. Rey has the impression this isn’t the first time they’ve been down this road, and she hides a small smile behind her hand. “I’ve already talked to Mr. Palpatine on this. We’re going full-on glamour puss. Think sensual. Think screen goddess. Think siren."

The older man pauses with a faraway look in his eyes and Rey and Finn exchange a look of bemusem*nt. "Think bedroom eyes and pillowy lips and a face so beautiful it would make Helen of Troy weak with envy. Think–”

“Ok, ok, Lord Byron, I get it,” Finn interrupts with a chuckle. “You don’t need to paint me a picture. Besides, that’s my job,” he says as he turns to Rey and reaches a hand toward her face. “May I?” he asks. She nods.

He takes her chin between his thumb and forefingers and gently tilts her head up, down, side to side, studying her face from each angle with an almost clinical interest.

“You know, she’s got amazing bone structure. Perfectly symmetrical features too. The camera’s gonna love her,” he muses.

He turns back to Luke.

“One screen goddess, coming up.”

Almost four hours later, Luke escorts Rey to a small dressing room.

Small by Hollywood standards, anyway, she thinks, compared to the lavish layouts she's seen in magazines.

It’s a cozy space, furnished in pristine white. The rug, sofa, chaise, and even the small round table has two cream-colored chairs tucked neatly underneath it. There’s a tiny kitchenette with a sink and a hot plate and a percolator, and a sizable window with blinds that are shuttered closed, the louvres glowing ivory against the hot midday sun. A three-paneled dressing screen stands in one corner with a white bathrobe looped over it, and there’s a door at the back of the room that must lead to a private bathroom.

“You were marvelous, cookie,” Luke says, closing the door behind him.

Rey smiles faintly. She's still wearing the gown they dressed her in for the photo shoot: a sleeveless pale pink satin sheath, with tiny pleats gathered at the waist and a dangerously high slit cut up the center from the floor-length hem, almost to mid-thigh. Silver beaded high-heeled sandals adorn her feet, secured to her ankles by thin wisps of leather. Her hair has been carefully set by the studio hairdresser to wave softly around her face, sprinkled with gold dust (to catch the studio lights, so she'd been told when she had asked) and lastly, Finn’s expert makeup application to enhance, shade, and highlight her features.

Rey had thought she’d looked pretty enough when she looked in the mirror before the shoot, but nothing to write home about. Certainly nothing to her that screamed screen goddess. But she supposed it would all depend upon how the photos turned out.

(“Get these down to photography at once. Mr. Palpatine wants them developed as soon as possible,” Luke had commanded the photographer immediately after the camera’s final click. The photographer had nodded and rushed off. Thankfully, her mentor had been present for almost the entire shoot, with the exception of a brief, she presumed, coffee break. His presence from behind the hot set lights had been a soothing balm for Rey, who had taken a bit to warm up to the process. The photographer had her posed awkwardly, half laying, half sitting, on a wine-colored velvet chaise lounge. Head up toward the light. Now look down. Now look into the camera. And on and on and on.)

“I’m going to give you a scene from a script and a couple hours to prepare for the screen test,” Luke says now, reaching into his brown leather briefcase, and Rey's heart plummets. It’s already been a draining morning, and now she’s going to be expected to perform? On film?

He must be able to see her panic because Luke sets his briefcase down to rub her bare arms reassuringly. “Rey, if I didn’t think you had it in you, I wouldn’t have brought you this far,” he says gently. “The camera is going to love you, I can already tell. But we need to record your voice, hear your tone, and see how you move and photograph on film. Don’t worry if it’s not perfect."

He gets that faraway look in his eyes again, and stares off at some unseen point behind her head. "Right now you’re like raw clay that’s about to be molded into something wonderful, someone that’s going to have the world laying at her feet. But you still need to be shaped.”

He looks back at her intently. “This is the first step on your way to becoming who it is you’re meant to be.”

Despite Luke’s assurance that this screen test doesn’t need to be perfect, Rey can’t quash the butterflies flitting in her stomach. The first step on my way to becoming who I’m meant to be sounds pretty damn significant, she thinks.

She takes the pages from him as he explains a little about the script. “It’s your typical swashbuckler story, but the female lead isn’t your average damsel in distress. She’s got to be beautiful of course, but she must also be able to hold her own against her leading man,” he tells her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “We’ve tested several of the big name actresses, as well as a few unknowns, but no one has that fire, that spirit the role requires.”

Something in her chest tightens as Luke gives her a satisfied look and nods. “And Rey, I think you just might be the one.”

He picks up his briefcase and gives her arm a final squeeze before heading toward the door. “Don’t worry about the other part written for the male lead– those lines will be fed to you off camera. This is just about you today,” he says as he reaches for the doorknob. “Now try and relax and I’ll be back at–" he glances at his watch–“two-thirty. There’s some nuts and crackers in those cupboards over there if you start getting hungry.”

He gives her another reassuring smile before pulling the door closed behind him.

She’s alone.

Her mind is awhirl as she recalls Luke’s words. The one.

Sitting gingerly on the couch, she unlatches the tiny, delicate straps from around her ankles, removing the gorgeous torture devices from her feet. She wiggles her toes to get the blood pumping again and sighs. So much better.

Behind the dressing screen is the navy floral shirtwaist she arrived in, along with her flat shoes placed neatly on the floor beneath it. Not wanting to remain in the beautiful evening gown, but not really wanting to get back into her street clothes either, Rey fingers the fluffy white bathrobe temptingly.

Making her choice, she quickly unzips the gown and drapes it carefully over the screen. Clad in only her panties, she slips the robe over her shoulders and ties the belt securely around her waist.

Perfect, she hums as her body begins to loosen. Being physically less constrained is already doing wonders for her mental state, and she moves back over to the couch. Picking up the script that Luke left, she begins to read.

Rey is still absorbed in the script when there’s a knock at the door, and she glances over at the clock. One-thirty. As she pads barefoot across the room, she figures maybe Luke forgot something, or maybe they sent over a costume for the screen test. She swings open the door.

It’s definitely not Luke.

Her heart starts pounding.

It’s Kylo Ren.

She freezes there on the threshold, stunned.

His amber eyes are dark as they gaze down at her, but she catches the twinkle of amusem*nt in them– suddenly Rey realizes she’s standing there gaping at him with her mouth open, like a fish. She quickly snaps it shut as her mind races for something to say, but he beats her to it.

“Can I come in?” he asks, a slow smile pulling across his lips, his voice silky and low. It makes every cell in her body stand at attention, and it annoys her at how she seems to be biologically hard-wired to respond to him in such a way. But if he’s surprised or confused by her reaction, he doesn’t show it.

He's probably used to rendering women speechless all the time, she thinks sullenly.

“S-sure,” she stammers. She blinks and moves aside as he takes a few steps into the room.

Her mind is spinning. What on earth is Kylo Ren doing here?

But before she can ask, he turns to her, where she’s still hovering near the doorway. “It's Reylene, right?”

Dammit. He remembers. She’s not sure if she should be flattered or mortified. “It’s just Rey,” she corrects him.

“Rey,” he says thoughtfully, and the sound of his rich voice saying her name sets off an electrical charge somewhere low in her abdomen.

Hell’s bells, what is wrong with her today?

Kylo's eyes sweep over the dressing room, unimpressed, and Rey can only imagine what kind of room a star of his status rates. Something grand and palatial, no doubt. With fountains and marble statues and cherubs flying around playing golden harps, probably.

“What are you doing here?” she blurts out when she’s finally gathered her wits, and it reminds her of their encounter at Ciro's. He had asked her the very same question last night.

His eyes land on the script resting on the low table near the sofa. He bends down and picks it up, flicking through it disinterestedly. “This is where Skywalker brings all the new properties,” he says with a shrug, and sets the script aside.

His eyes return to where she’s still standing near the doorway, his gaze roving from her face to her chest and down, and up again. It’s not lewd, not exactly, but her body temperature soars under his scrutiny regardless. It’s then that she remembers she’s only wearing a bathrobe, and she tries to hide her chagrin as she subtly pulls the lapels together, making sure she’s not unintentionally giving him a show.

“Properties?” she echoes, moving towards him slowly.

He appears to be waiting for her to do something; finally her good sense and manners kick in, and she’s propelled to take a seat on the sofa. He sits down in the chair next to her and reaches a large hand into his pocket. A gleaming gold cigarette case momentarily catches the low afternoon light on its polished surface; he lights one and takes a deep inhale before extending the case toward her. She shakes her head and repeats the question, an edge of insistence creeping into her voice.

“Properties?”

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he studies her for a few moments, and she takes the opportunity to do the same.

God, but he’s a big man. The chair underneath him practically looks like doll furniture. The sight would be comical except for the fact that there’s that tension unfurling in the air again, that something Rey still can’t quite put her finger on.

At first glance Kylo Ren looks as handsome in person as he does on screen, but now as she inspects him more closely, Rey notices there are shadows under his eyes, pale purple bruises that indicate he probably hasn’t slept yet. Or maybe hasn’t slept for a long time, she thinks. A hint of five o'clock shadow darkens his angular jaw and chin, and the beauty marks peppering his skin are a striking contrast to the ivory fairness of his complexion. He’s dressed impeccably– his loose wheat-colored slacks are tailored to perfection, the creases sharply pressed, and a brown leather belt neatly cinches his tapered waist. His sage green sweater looks expensive, the lightweight fabric straining slightly against his broad chest and muscled arms.

Custom made, Rey thinks, not only because he’s a wealthy movie star but because of his massive size. She doubts I.Magnin sells a forty inch inseam off the rack.

“Well, that’s what you become when you sign a contract with First Order Studios,” he finally answers matter-of-factly, his thick fingers deftly flicking ash into the tray at his side. “Or didn’t Skywalker tell you that yet.”

She blanches slightly. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Let me guess,” he continues, stretching his arms over his head as he looks her over intently. “You’re virgin clay, ready to be molded into something truly special.”

She balks, not only because they are almost exactly Luke’s words verbatim, but also at his use of the word virgin. She’s not, hasn't been since her curiosity got the best of her resulting in one very brief, very unremarkable, very literal roll in the hay about a year ago, but her cheeks start heating up anyway.

Kylo must take her silence for the affirmative; he smiles triumphantly, however without revealing those slightly crooked teeth she had found so endearing the night before.

“Guy needs some new lines,” he mutters, looking away to flick ash into the tray again.

Suddenly Rey is angry, and feels protective of Luke Skywalker. Luke has done nothing but show her kindness since she’s arrived, mentoring her and telling her that she has the potential to do something, achieve something, become something great. Where in the hell does Kylo Ren get off, anyway?

A wave of hot fury washes over her. “Did you just come here to slag on Luke Skywalker? Because if so, I think you can leave now." Her eyes narrow. “He brought me out here because he believes in me. I seriously can’t believe a star of your stature would come all the way here to try and intimidate a newcomer just because he feels threatened,” she snaps, before she can even try to stop the words from leaving her mouth.

Her heart thumps wildly as her outburst is met with stunned silence.

Wonderful, Rey. She hasn't even been offered a contract yet, and here she’s probably gone and pissed off the biggest star of the studio. Someone who more than likely could use his considerable influence to sway the powers that be on whether or not she's offered one to begin with. Her anger retreats as regret sets in, and not for the first time in her life, she curses her short temper.

But Kylo doesn’t look angry. Instead, he’s looking at her with something close to wonder, and maybe… hurt?

Rey doesn't know what to make of this confusing giant of a man. A dull throb starts pressing behind her eyes, and she hopes there’s a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet.

“Is that what you think?" His left undereye twitches. "That I came here– to intimidate you?”

“Well then, what did you come here for?” Her voice is like broken glass, brittle and sharp. The confusion, the tension, basically everything about this man and this conversation is wearing on her patience. Not to mention she still needs to prepare for her screen test, and she's starting to think he's just wasting her precious time. She rubs wearily at her temple.

Kylo stares at her for a moment before getting to his feet and running a hand through his thick wavy hair, black and glossy as a raven’s wing.

He paces back and forth, as if trying to make up his mind about something, and Rey can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. She slumps further into the sofa cushions, wondering if he’ll just leave without answering her.

Finally, he seems to come to some internal decision and sighs, plunking back down into the chair.

“I’m not sure why I came here,” he says, his voice still low but without the co*cky arrogance of before. His amber eyes search hers before they drift to her mouth and back up again. “I guess maybe I just wanted to warn you. Of what you might be getting yourself into. If perhaps you don’t want to rethink this before it’s too late.”

“Rethink what?” she asks, surprised. The opportunity of a lifetime? To do something she loves, something she’s passionate about? To become self-sufficient and successful, and perhaps find that belonging she’s been seeking her entire life? Rey finds it incredibly hypocritical that the most famous and successful film star in the world is trying to cast doubt on the idea of becoming a professional actress, and she regards him skeptically.

It’s as though Kylo can read her thoughts because he leans forward in earnest, grasping both of her hands between his own. In this close proximity she can smell a trace of whiskey on him, but she’s not sure if it’s from today or a remnant from last night.

His words come out in a rush. “This place, it’s not what you think, Rey. The glitz, the glamour, the Hollywood dream… it’s all smoke and mirrors. When you sign a contract with them, they own you. You become property of First Order Studios. They make every decision about your career, your image, what sort of parts you’ll play. If they don’t think a part is good for your image, or doesn’t fit the image of you that they’ve created, that’s the end of it.”

He stops to take a breath, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. When he opens them a few moments later he continues, a bit slower this time. “They build you a gilded cage but they lock you in it. Forever. You give them everything and they give you nothing,” he grates out, his voice strained and raw.

Rey is stunned. She doesn’t even know what to think. Certainly not Kylo Ren, "The King of Hollywood", isn’t telling her to give up before she’s even begun?

“They’ll tell you we’re one big family here," he continues. "You’ll trust them, you’ll feel like you belong. They’ll lavish you with money, more goddamn money than you’ve ever seen in your life. Your face will become so famous you’ll never be able to leave your house again without someone stopping you on the street for an autograph. Then there’s all the adoring fans, the reporters… they’ll all tell you how wonderful you are, how much they love you, and you’ll start to believe it. It’s a heady feeling, all that mass love. It can become addictive, especially if you don’t have any real family of your own.” He looks at her knowingly, and Rey hears the words he doesn’t say.

Of course. A few pieces of the puzzle click into place.

“Is that why you do it?”

He tilts his head, his dark brows furrowing slightly. He’s still holding her hands– the warmth from them grounds her, makes her brave enough for what she's about to say next. His gaze once again flicks down to her mouth.

“For the mass love,” she clarifies.

He drops her hands like she's burned him and sits back in his chair.

They stare at each other for a few dizzying moments and suddenly the mood changes. He lifts an eyebrow and that smug, self-assured smile is back on his handsome face.

And just like that he's Kylo Ren again, the world-famous movie star.

Rey swallows. She’s going to get emotional whiplash from this guy.

“Me? Nah, I do it for the fixed speeding tickets,” he quips.

He stands abruptly and goes to the door. But he turns back to give her one more long, searching look.

“Good luck today, kid.”

The door closes behind him.

Holy moly, she thinks.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

It’s two-thirty on the dot when Luke reappears at her dressing room door. He presents her with a costume: a sumptuous red velvet ball gown with a tight bodice trimmed in gold. Holding her hand for balance, he helps her shimmy into the petticoat with its endless layers of tulle and laces her into the silk corset.

“Not my first rodeo,” he chuckles, pulling the laces together until she can scarcely breathe.

Once she's fully dressed, Rey is escorted to yet another building. It’s a massive soundstage set up with what appears to be the interior cabin of an old wooden pirate ship.

Enormous light fixtures shine from every direction, connected to a complex structure of metal scaffolding running all along the top, sides, and bottom of the set. Each light blazes like a miniature sun, and like the sun each one radiates heat– the temperature on set must run hotter than the rest of the building by at least fifteen degrees. Electric wires of all colors and thicknesses snake across the floor, and there are stagehands everywhere, making sure everything is running smoothly. A gigantic movie camera attached to a dolly is at the center of it all, and next to it is a man seated in a folding chair. As she and Luke approach from behind, Rey reads the name “P. DAMERON, DIRECTOR” emblazoned on the back in bold black letters.

Luke makes the introductions. “Poe, I’d like you to meet Rey. She’s the one I told you about.”

The man rises from his chair. He’s only slightly taller than her, with olive skin and curly black hair and a devilish smile. “Nice to meet you, Rey," he greets her affably, sticking out his hand. She gives it a good squeeze and flashes him her most dazzling smile in return. She’s heard of Poe Dameron, of course– he’s one of the most sought-after directors in Hollywood. But lately he almost exclusively directs movies for First Order Studios.

Finn is also here, to give her hair and makeup a final touch up. While she’s in the makeup chair, Poe begins to tell her his ideas for the film.

“I know Luke already gave you the script and had you prepare for the scene. This picture is another one of First Order's trademark swashbucklers– they're hugely successful and rake in tons of moola for the studio, but they also stick to a very strict formula. Dashing pirate hero rescuing a fair maiden or damsel in distress,” he says with a slight roll of his eyes. “But what sets this script apart is the female lead. She’s not some maiden that needs rescuing.” His dark eyes light up as he begins describing his vision. “On the contrary, I see her as a heroine herself. Someone who can give as good as she gets. She'll step toe to toe with any man, including the hero. She doesn’t take any bull. In fact, I would even like her to have a sword fighting scene or two,” he adds.

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. She doesn’t recall seeing a woman doing a fight scene in a movie, ever.

Poe grins at her reaction. “Think you can handle that?”

Can she? Rey swallows; she's never held a sword in her life. And certainly not while wearing a corset. But suddenly Maz's voice resonates in her mind. You'rea survivor, like me.

Not wanting to give him even the slightest hint of doubt, she quickly nods. “Of course!”

Poe doesn’t look completely convinced. He exchanges a look with Luke, and Rey can’t decipher what it means.

But Luke nods. “I believe she can do it.”

Finn, who’s patting her nose with a giant pink powder puff, gives her a wink.

Poe turns to her again. “Ok, dollface, let’s see what you've got.”

Poe leads her on to the set. “Now Mitaka over there, he’s going to be reading the part of the captain off camera. He’ll just say the lines and you respond however you feel is natural. Remember, your character is a princess. But she’s a gutsy princess. She’s no fragile flower.”

Rey nods. The heat from the lights is almost unbearable on this side of the set, and a bead of sweat begins to trickle down the back of her neck. She's so full of nerves right now she's afraid she might be sick, and the binding corset isn't exactly helping matters. But she knows she has to pull it together, despite her discomfort– this is her big break, her only chance, and she's not about to let anything get in her way, not even herself.

For a brief moment she recalls Kylo Ren's words– this place, it's not what you think, Rey– but she shoves them aside. The idea of returning to Iowa with her tail between her legs is so repellant that it sparks something deep within. A fierce desire to succeed. She can do this. Maz believes in her, and so does Luke Skywalker. Taking a deep breath, she draws upon that spark, that flame, hoping she'll be able to channel its heat into her performance.

Poe walks over to the camera and situates himself on the giant dolly, making some final adjustments through the viewfinder. She has to shield her eyes from the brightness to see him, and even then he’s not much more than a shadowy outline. She can also vaguely make out Luke, Finn, and about a dozen stagehands and crew members milling about.

Poe calls out from his place behind the camera. “Now Rey, when I say action, you start. And don’t stop until I say cut.”

She gives him a dignified, regal nod like a princess would, already thinking about the upcoming scene and getting into her character.

But the sudden crash of a door slamming shut from the back of the soundstage shatters her concentration.

What in the world...?

Rey squints, unable to see a thing through all the blinding lights, but a couple of shocked gasps and whispers float among the crew members, and she can hear someone's brisk, heavy footsteps as they thunder across the floor, approaching the set.

“I thought I told you not to come here today!” Luke shouts from beside the camera. “Go home and dry out.”

From around the corner of the set, a large figure appears in front of the lights and starts walking towards her.

Oh, God.

It’s Kylo Ren.

He’s magnificent to behold, dressed in full costume, and Rey can't help but stare.

A royal blue velvet cutaway jacket with gold embroidery showcases his broad shoulders, and is layered over a collared white tunic. The tunic has a deep v-neck, revealing an eyeful of his smooth, muscled chest. It glints in the studio lighting, and Rey isn't sure if he’s coated in vaseline or real sweat but either way, the sight is enticing, and she swallows. Snug black breeches hug his thick thighs while cradling the– erm– sizable bulge in between, and a wide black sash is drawn around his taut, tapered waist. His dark wavy hair is loose and unfettered, his full lips twisted into a scowl.

Her breath hitches. Rey finds herself hoping he’s in character already and not scowling at her.

“I’m fine, Luke,” he tosses over his shoulder and continues making his approach, the sound of his heavy black boots almost ominous as he moves closer and closer. Her stomach knots as Kylo's dark eyes burn daggers into hers.

Some scuffling from the vicinity of the camera distracts her, and she manages to tear her gaze away. Shielding her eyes again, she frowns as she tries to make out what’s going on.

From here it looks like Poe is holding Luke back from bum-rushing the set. Poe's voice drifts over to them, hushed yet filled with excitement. “But this could be great! We need to see if they have chemistry.”

Luke pushes Poe’s hands off and shoots back, “She’s not ready for him yet.”

A spike of annoyance, sharp and hot, suddenly rises in her chest. Is she just going to stand here and allow everyone to make this decision for her?

Rey turns back to Kylo. Poised several paces away, he stares at her, his fists tightly clenched at his sides. Her pulse races when his gaze meets hers, piercing yet inscrutable as ever.

If he was told not to come, then why on earth is he here?

Common sense would say she ought to remain cautious and a bit wary; after all, she's already learned this man is nothing if not unpredictable, and her mind whirls as she considers his enigmatic, brooding energy, the constantly shifting emotions, and about him coming to her dressing room earlier, trying to talk to her.

And yet.

Rey doesn’t have him all figured out yet, but at this moment she truly believes his intentions toward her are authentic. Good. She gives Kylo a small, tight smile before calling out toward the camera.

“It’s alright. I can do it.”

The scuffling noises stop. Poe’s voice calls out through his megaphone. “Are you sure, Rey?”

She glances over at Kylo again. His face is a carefully blank mask, but his eyes are glittering with something. Approval, maybe. She nods.

“Positive.”

After a brief pause, Poe shouts.

“Action!”

Kylo steps closer to her until he’s just a few paces away.

“Do you know why I captured your ship, Highness?”

Rey backs up a step but keeps her head held high and meets his gaze. “I know everything I need to know about you.”

“You do?” he counters, in a voice wrapped in raw silk and tinged with the slightest hint of amusem*nt. It’s not the way she expected the line to be delivered and it catches her off guard for a second. Her eyes widen but she recovers quickly.

“Ah, you do.” He takes another step towards her. “You have that look in your eyes. From the main deck. When you called me a monster.”

“You are a monster,” she hisses.

“Yes, I am,” he agrees softly, his lower lip quivering.

Another unexpected response. Utterly enthralled, her gaze flicks from his plush mouth to his dark, haunted eyes as she waits for him to deliver the rest of his lines.

He's incredible, Rey can’t help thinking, feeling both strangely in the moment but also outside herself, watching as a captivated fan. An intangible energy flows between them again, with that now familiar tension; her heart pounds as she's finally able to recognize what it is. What it was even before they set foot onto this set.

Chemistry. Attraction.

Desire.

“But this world is filled with monsters, as soon you will find out, Highness." Kylo steps forward, his smoldering gaze locked with hers. "You might be interested to know that I was hired by your precious fiancée to capture your ship and kill you so that he may assume the throne. And once I’ve delivered on my promise, he will reward me with more riches than your pretty little head can imagine.”

“That’s a lie!” she shouts at him, fuming. The betrayal pierces her heart as real and true as anything, and her eyes fill with salty, bitter tears. “Besides, even if it were true, why would you tell me?”

“Because,” Kylo steps close to her now and pulls her to him with a rough yank.

She gasps, placing her hands against the hard planes of his chest. He feels like he’s carved from marble– unyielding, but hot to the touch.

“I want something that's worth much more to me than gold." His heavy-lidded gaze is unflinching, brazen with its shameless need. "Join me, Highness,” he pleads, his deep voice now husky and low. "Join me, and we can take him down together."

He dips his head down, his lips meeting hers in a crushing kiss.

This is all part of the scene, of course. The kiss is in the script. Rey melts into the embrace, allowing herself to enjoy Kylo's soft lips moving against hers for a few moments. But when she starts to pull away, his large hands travel up from her waist to either side of her throat, holding her in place, and Rey is sure he can feel the racing gallop of her pulse beneath his palms.

He holds her there for a few breathless seconds, asking a silent question Rey doesn't fully comprehend, before his hands slide up to cup her face in a gentle but firm grip, and he begins to deepen the kiss.

He tilts her head further to the side to give himself better access, the tip of his scorching tongue brushing along the seam of her lips.

Purely on instinct, she opens for him.

Without hesitation, he starts stroking and licking into her mouth, tasting and taking with a wild, almost desperate urgency. A low groan rumbles through his chest, sending an electric jolt of arousal straight to her core.

Her head spins and her body thrums, the realization that Kylo Ren is kissing her for all he's worth unleashing a deep swell of yearning from inside, unlike anything she's ever felt before. His passion ignites a flame on her desire and she begins to respond, stroking hotly into his mouth, and for a few dizzying moments she completely forgets where she is. She's entirely lost to him and his kiss.

Rey doesn’t know if it's minutes or simply a handful of seconds that pass by, but finally they break apart. Kylo looks down at her, breathing raggedly, lips swollen and glistening. His eyes are dark and possessive, claiming her.

Mine.

Still in character, she observes thickly, her senses slow to return.

The chorus of low murmurs off set penetrates her lust-clouded brain, snapping her out of her trance. But it's the lecherous catcalls and snickers of a few stagehands on the scaffolding overhead that really rattle her, as well as a jeering whoop whoop from behind the set.

They’re mocking her.

A slow rage begins bubbling in her blood, beneath the surface. There are kisses and then there are kisses. And Rey is well aware that this kiss just broke at least a dozen Hollywood morality codes. Absolutely no way in hell would a kiss like that be allowed to be shown on film.

And Kylo damn well knows it too.

Is he trying to ruin her chances on purpose?

Her emotions simmer as she sucks in a deep breath, her mind frantically searching for a way to regain control of the situation. She’s positive everyone is just waiting for her to burst into tears, or to go running off the set. It’s then that Rey realizes Poe hasn’t called cut yet. They’re still rolling.

If this is a test, she’s not going to fail.

Not today. Not ever.

Her mind races to the script, to the next part of the scene. The stage direction blazes across her mind, clear as day.

PRINCESS SLAPS CAPTAIN FOR HIS BOLDNESS

When Rey was fifteen, her oldest cousin Keyan had pulled her out to the barn one day, to teach her how to throw a punch. “In case anyone ever bothers you,” he had said. She’d just rolled her eyes and gone along with the lesson, never giving it a second thought.

Until now.

Her blood is still boiling, and it courses through her body– into her arm and down to her fist, the anger and hurt fueling her, making her feel ruthless. Before she can think twice, she pulls her right shoulder back and punches Kylo Ren with all her might, right in the nose.

She knows she's landed it when her knuckles connect with that sweet spot of flesh and cartilage, sending a shockwave all the way back into her bones, through her fingers and wrist and halfway up to her elbow. Her hand is instantly numb, nothing but pins and needles.

To his credit, Kylo doesn’t fall to his knees or howl or scream. He only stumbles back a few steps and brings both hands up to his face, over his nose, his deep amber eyes going wide with shock.

He pulls his hands away and sees the blood on them. Rey sees it too, as well as the stream of red that’s now trickling steadily from his left nostril and over his lips, down his chin and onto the floor.

A stunned silence falls over the set.

“Cut!” Poe finally shouts.

There’s a flurry of action.

Poe runs up onto the set with Luke hot on his heels.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Poe spins Kylo around so they’re face to face. “You ok, buddy? Tip your head back." Kylo obeys.

Poe fishes a white handkerchief from his pocket, holding it up to Kylo’s nose before turning his head toward Rey.

“You’ve got quite the right hook, sweetheart,” Poe says lightly as he tries to staunch the bleeding. “We might have to change your name to Sugar Rey.” He says it in a joking manner but there’s something else in his eyes, something hard and flinty. Even though Kylo is the one who crossed the line, Poe is looking at her like she’s done something wrong.

Luke places his hands on her shoulders and turns her so they’re eye to eye, and Finn comes rushing up from behind.

“Rey, are you ok?” Luke asks her softly. His eyes are filled with genuine concern, and she finds it immensely comforting. Finn looks on, his face etched with worry. Rey is touched that these two people she’s only known for a very short time would even care about her at all.

The shock and adrenaline are starting to wear off, and Rey's body sags with exhaustion. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m just tired is all," she chuckles ruefully. “It’s been a long day.”

Luke grins and nods. “It sure has.” He slings his arm around her shoulders and begins to steer her off the set, with Finn following closely behind. “Let’s take a break, shall we.”

Rey can’t help it. As she’s being pulled away by Luke, she glances over her shoulder at Kylo.

He’s holding the bloody handkerchief to his nose himself now, but his gaze is fixed on her, watching her be led away.

She tries to read his eyes, catch a glimpse of the man who had spoken to her earlier, the man who had so earnestly tried to warn her about... what exactly, she still doesn’t know.

But Rey sees nothing now except the blank mask, the celebrated actor, the cinema idol. The rakishly handsome face with indiscernible eyes, and the churning, volatile emotions surrounding him.

The King of Hollywood, Kylo Ren.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

After changing out of her costume and into her street dress, Rey allows Luke to usher her to yet another studio building. This one appears to be for some type of administration– the highly polished floors branch off in several directions, leading to hallways lined with a seemingly endless number of offices. He leads her to the end of a long hallway and to the very last door on the right.

He unlocks it and swings it open.

Inside is a spacious office, the walls lined with dark wood shelves crammed with books and various plaques and objects d’art. A large wooden desk is the centerpiece of the room, its surface battered and worn, piled high with stacks of papers and framed photographs. Rey moves in closer to get a better look.

Each photograph is a glossy headshot of some of the most famous actors and actresses to ever grace the silver screen. She examines a few and finds they’re also inscribed. “To Luke, Love and Thanks”, “Thank you Luke for everything”, “To my friend and mentor Luke, love always,” and on and on and on. The framed photos with their effusive platitudes overflow onto the wall behind his desk as well.

Rey sinks heavily into one of the chairs facing the desk. Luke picks up a clean glass from the wet bar and holds it up. “Drink?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer. “I think we can both use one,” he mutters, and she silently agrees. He returns with two glass tumblers, each one filled with three fingers of scotch. She takes a sip and the liquor burns a fiery trail down her throat, making her cough. The second sip goes down more smoothly. After a third, she feels her wound up muscles begin to relax.

Luke takes a seat in the chair next to her. He sips his drink thoughtfully. “How’s your hand?”

Rey glances down at her right hand. The knuckles are red and a bit swollen, but most of the sting has faded away. “It’s fine,” she replies softly.

They sit in silence for a few more moments, until Luke fixes her with a meaningful look. “You were really wonderful today, Rey. I mean it. Despite what happened during the screen test.”

It’s all she needs to hear for the floodgates to open. She chokes back a sob as hot, humiliated tears splash down her cheeks. “I can't believe he would do something like that," she whispers, angrily brushing her tears aside.

Luke sits back and considers her for a few moments. “Was that your first time meeting him?”

Rey looks down into her drink, swirling the liquid around slowly. She’s not sure if she should tell him about what happened in the dressing room. Despite her hurt and humiliation, she realizes she doesn't want to betray Kylo and isn't that a kick in the head? She sighs. Finally she decides Luke ought to know. Maybe he can help her to unravel this giant mystery that is Kylo Ren.

“No,” she replies. “He came to my dressing room today. After you left.”

Luke looks surprised, but not overly so. “What did he want?”

She takes another sip of her scotch before continuing. “At first I wasn’t sure. But then he said he wanted to warn me about what I was getting into. That Hollywood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. That I might regret signing a contract with First Order Studios.”

Luke chuckles, but there’s no mirth to it. His eyes are cold. “I see.”

A surge of impatience washes over her. She's starting to feel like a pawn being moved around a chessboard, against her will. She wants answers, and she wants them now.

“Luke, why would he say that? He’s Kylo Ren, the biggest star of the studio, probably the biggest star in the world. He’s got everything– fame, money, success. The things regular people only dream about. Why is he so–" she's not even entirely sure what he is, so she gropes for the closest thing she can think of– "unhappy?"

Luke sets his drink on the desk and rubs his eyes. Rey notices that he looks very old at this moment, and tired. He sighs.

“That's a good question, Rey, and I'll do my best to answer it. But there's more to him than meets the eye, I can tell you that much."

“You said Kylo Ren is the biggest star of the studio," Luke begins, "And you’re right, in a way. He’s hugely popular with his fans. The reporters love him and candid photos taken of him still command top dollar. But for the last couple of years, Kylo Ren’s films haven’t made any money for the studio. In fact, he’s cost the studio hundreds of thousands of dollars. Hell, maybe even millions. I’m not sure on the exact figures,” he sighs and rubs his forehead.

Rey can’t believe her ears. She’s seen all of Kylo Ren’s recent films. They’re still the same glorious technicolor fantasies, beautiful and high quality as ever. True, most of the storylines are interchangeable– like Poe had said earlier, First Order Studios sticks to a strict formula. But that’s not enough to stop audiences from buying tickets in hordes and droves. She’s read the reports in Variety herself– it’s common knowledge that Kylo Ren’s movie ticket sales are at the top of the box office. Besides, she knows as well as anyone that people aren’t paying to see his movies for a good plot. They’re paying to escape from their dull lives for a couple of hours. To immerse themselves in daring fight scenes and thrilling adventures. To cheer for the hero when he rescues the girl.

Especially when the hero has the face of a dark angel with a piercing gaze that makes a woman feel like he’s speaking directly to her, right through the celluloid and into her heart.

“How is that even possible?”

Luke sighs. “Rey, there’s two sides to this business. There’s the creative side and then there’s the front office. The creative side is what most people think of when they think of Hollywood– all the writing, directing, acting, makeup and costuming– everything that goes into making an exciting and beautiful film that will hopefully stand the test of time. Everyone involved with the creative side cares about the art of movie-making.” He pauses. “Then there’s the front office. Shareholders. Investors. People whose job it is to make sure the product comes in on time, within budget. People who only care about the bottom line and making a huge profit. They don’t give a sh*t about art, most of the time. They don’t care if the product is good or bad, as long as it sells.”

He picks up his drink and takes a sip. “Over the last two years, Kylo has become…disenchanted with playing the part of the suave swashbuckler. He’s frustrated because Mr. Palpatine refuses to cast him in any other role. Tells him that it isn’t good for his image. That he needs to stick to what he’s good at and what makes the studio money.

“The thing about Kylo Ren is that he’s an incredibly gifted actor. There's never been anyone like him before," Luke says with that faraway look in his eyes. “He has the ability to portray emotions on the screen in a way that I think borders on genius. But this raw talent is also his Achilles heel. He’s volatile, and has no self control whatsoever. When he doesn’t want to do something, or is unhappy about something, he throws tantrums. Destroys sets. Delays production for days, sometimes weeks. He’s also begun drinking more heavily," he sighs, staring down into his glass as he speaks. "We can’t work when the star decides to go on a bender, so sometimes we lose days of shooting. But we still have to pay the crew, the extras, the wardrobe department– everyone else who showed up and did their job. It all costs money. Lots of money.

“So what I’m saying, Rey, is that despite Kylo Ren having this amazing talent and his pictures bringing in money, it’s not enough to offset the costs that producing one of his films requires. Even if the resulting film is a masterpiece, the front office and shareholders couldn’t care less. They just want to see profits. And Kylo Ren isn’t making them any. He’s become a liability to the studio, and he knows it. But instead of taking accountability, he’s angry at the studio and bitter as hell about it.” He pauses to take another sip of scotch. “Which is why I presume he came to try and talk you out of signing a contract.”

Rey considers this for a minute. She’s not wholly convinced that’s all there is to it, but she’s in no mood right now to examine her feelings too closely as to why. Besides, there’s something else she wants to know.

“You said over the last two years. What happened in the last two years to make him so destructive?”

Luke takes a deep breath and doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He looks down and studies his hands. “Kylo was a pilot in the Army Air Forces during the war.”

Rey nods. She knows this already. Everyone does. There was a news reel shown in all the theaters when he got his wings.

“Poe Dameron actually served with him in the same squadron. They were both bomber pilots stationed together in France. Poe told me he’s never seen anyone maneuver a plane like Kylo.” Luke smiles, and Rey picks up on the note of pride in his voice. “Anyway, after Kylo returned home from the war he wasn’t the same person. He never talks about it, but Poe says he can understand why putting on a pirate costume and swinging down from the rafters on a rope just doesn’t have the same gravitas as it did before.”

Rey swallows. The war touched everyone in different ways, but truthfully she’d never given much thought to how it might have impacted the movie stars that had answered the call to serve. To her they've always seemed so untouchable, ensconced in their big mansions, beyond those scourges that only affect mere mortals. She’s beginning to see Kylo Ren in a different light, and her heart softens toward him a bit.

“So why does he dislike you so much?” She can’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Damn scotch.

But Luke just chuckles. “Well, for at least a couple of reasons, I’m sure. But I imagine one of the biggest ones is because he doesn't think I've fought hard enough for him against Mr. Palpatine to allow him to do different roles.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Luke considers the question for a moment. “I guess because I’m partly the front office myself, Rey,” he says. “I have a lot of my own money invested in this studio. Now don’t get me wrong, I care deeply for creating art, and quality pictures. But no one in the world can touch Kylo Ren when it comes to these types of films. No one comes close. He’s brilliant .” Luke’s voice is tinged with admiration. “That’s what the public pays to see. That’s the only role they’ll accept him in. I've told him he needs to come to terms with that."

Rey’s mind whirls. She doesn’t know if she believes that to be true. Kylo Ren has a legion of fans that would follow him to the ends of the earth. Hell, up until a day ago she considered herself to be one of them. She frowns, perturbed. “But if Kylo hates these roles so much, and is delaying production and costing the studio money, why won’t they just give him the chance to do something different?”

Luke shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that, cookie. Mr. Palpatine isn’t going to reward bad behavior. This picture that we’re about to begin shooting, the one that I believe you will be co-starring in,” he looks at her meaningfully, “is Kylo Ren’s last film with First Order Studios. His contract is up, and unless some miracle happens and this picture comes in on time and under budget, he’s not going to be renewed.”

She chews on her lower lip. “What’s the other reason?”

Luke looks at her, puzzled.

“You said there’s a couple reasons he doesn’t like you.”

He laughs heartily. "Well, let's just say we haven't always seen eye to eye on things. He might be an artistic genius, but he can also be a huge pain in the ass," he says with genuine fondness. "The line I've tried to draw between manager and uncle is a fine one, and believe me, Kylo knows just how to push it to its limit."

Rey stares at him, eyes wide. “Uncle?”

Luke looks down at his now empty tumbler and sighs, setting it on his desk. “I suppose it’s only fair that you know everything, especially if we’re going to be working together.” He reaches for one of the framed photographs on his desk and hands it to her. “You’ve heard of Leia Organa, I assume?”

Rey peers down at the photograph. Of course she has. Leia Organa is probably the most legendary silent film actress of all time.

“Leia is my twin sister.”

Rey just gapes at him, speechless.

He continues. “At the peak of her career, Leia fell in love with a gambler. A drifter of sorts. His name was Han Solo, and she was crazy about him. She was determined to be with him, so she broke her contract with the studio and ran off and got married.” Luke’s voice is gruff, but underneath it Rey can sense the great love he has for his sister. “They had a son who they named Ben. Ben Solo.” He sighs wistfully. “They were happy for a few years, but then Han was killed in a car accident when Ben was still a small child.”

Rey looks down again at the photograph. The wide dark eyes of Leia Organa are staring back at her, luminous even on this faded piece of paper. She realizes they’re startlingly similar to another pair of dark eyes she’s beginning to know quite well.

“It’s not a huge secret, but no one talks about it, either. Kylo becomes especially furious if a reporter asks him how his mother is doing,” Luke says as he takes the photo gently from her hands and sets it back on his desk.

“And under no circ*mstances should you ever call him Ben."

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California

1947

Rey tosses and turns after a long, virtually sleepless night, her limbs twisted in a mess of sheets and blankets. After her talk with Luke, he had phoned down to the soundstage to speak to Poe; she gathered from his end of the conversation that they had what they needed and agreed to call it a day. He drove her back to her apartment and told her to get a good night’s sleep and that he’d send a car for her at ten in the morning to bring her back to the studio.

Now that the adrenaline has worn off from the incident (as she now refers to it), she realizes that despite Kylo having been inappropriate, her choice to retaliate by punching the studio’s biggest star might not have been the best move on her part. Considering that she’s still no one. Just a girl from the sticks being screen tested by the most famous movie studio in the world. And despite Kylo's words of warning, ultimately she trusts Luke Skywalker and still hopes to be offered a studio contract more than anything. And so a feeling of regret has begun to form, like granite, heavy and solid in her stomach.

Rey buries her face in her pillow, groaning as she replays the incident again in her mind. How stunned she was to see Kylo appear on the set. How large and broad and dashing he looked, every inch the movie star. How the air had scintillated around them while they played their parts, and how that attraction stirred between them, pulled taut and tense like the strings on an instrument, just begging to be plucked. How his eyes had burned into hers just before pulling her in for that searing kiss, and how her body had responded to him when he had demanded more.

But then she also remembers what happened right afterwards: the crushing humiliation, the feeling of being stripped bare in front of dozens of leering strangers. The hurt and betrayal inflicted by someone who she thought she might be able to trust, by someone she thought might be looking out for her. And then the anger returns, sharp and rankling, and she thinks that maybe socking him in his unfairly handsome face wasn’t so out of line after all. But then she quickly remembers how important and famous he is and how she most certainly isn’t, and she's chastened by the sinking weight of regret. And she goes over the whole thing again and again.

She swings her legs out of bed with a frustrated growl. This obsessive thinking is getting her nowhere. She glances at the clock– a quarter past eight. Less than two hours until the car will be here to pick her up. Maybe a scalding hot shower will help to clear her head. Grabbing her robe from the back of her chair, Rey heads to the bathroom.

She finds Rose sitting at the small kitchen table when she emerges, clean and dressed but no less frustrated. Rose gives her a bright smile and pours her a cup of coffee from a silver carafe. “How did yesterday go? I got home late last night and your door was already shut. I’m dying to know what happened, tell me everything.”

Rey sighs as she slides into the opposite chair and accepts the coffee gratefully, taking a tentative sip. Strong and boiling hot, just the way she likes it. “It went ok, I guess.” She gives Rose the whole story, carefully omitting the odd encounter with Kylo Ren in her dressing room, but telling her all the gory details about the screen test. She figures word will eventually get around the studio anyway.

“Wait a minute– he kissed you? On set? Like open-mouth soul kissing with tongue and everything?” Rose squeaks.

Rey nods.

“And then– you punched him? You punched Kylo Ren. In the face,” she says flatly, as if hoping she hadn’t heard correctly. As if hoping Rey is just pulling her leg and she had actually made out with and then beat up the guy who makes the sandwiches in the studio commissary.

“Yep,” Rey sighs as she takes another sip of coffee.

Rose’s eyes are wide with disbelief. She stares down into her cup and doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

When she looks up, there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “So how was it?”

Rey is silent, considering. She replays the kiss in her head for the thousandth time, remembering Kylo’s strong hands and warm lips and the liquid arousal that had pooled low in her belly, and a hot blush begins to creep up her neck.

Rose cackles. “That good, huh?” She shakes her head and reaches over to squeeze Rey’s hand reassuringly.

“Boy, I wish I had been there.”

Rey arrives at the studio on time, and Luke is waiting for her at the main gate.

“Morning, cookie,” he greets her warmly. His friendliness helps to ease the turmoil in her mind. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, she thinks. Maybe she’s just overreacting.

He leads her to the same office building they were in yesterday and explains they have a meeting right now, with Mr. Palpatine.

Her nerves come back immediately, but she takes a deep breath and does her best not to let them show.

She’s here to prove she’s an actress, after all.

Harry Palpatine’s office is nothing like Luke’s. It’s wide and imposing where Luke’s is warm and inviting. The biggest desk Rey has ever seen sits in the middle of the room, elevated on a dais at least two feet off the ground. When Rey and Luke are shown inside by a meek secretary and asked to take a seat, they have no choice but to look up. Rey doesn’t know if it’s a negotiation tactic or purely for intimidation purposes. She crosses her legs and folds her hands primly in her lap.

“Welcome, Miss Johnson,” Mr. Palpatine begins, and gets up (down?) from behind the giant horseshoe-shaped desk. She guesses he’s in his mid-to-late sixties, with tan skin mottled by age spots and a shock of white hair that is coiffed to perfection. He walks around and takes her right hand between his own. His grip is cold and weak and his skin is dry as paper; it takes everything she has not to immediately pull away. She tries to appear relaxed and gives him a polite smile.

“Please, call me Rey,” she says with as much warmth as she can muster.

“Rey,” he repeats, and turns his frosty gaze over to Luke. “She’s just as beautiful in person as she is on film."

She watches as Mr. Palpatine walks back over to his desk and picks up a manila envelope. He pulls out a sheaf of glossy black and white photos and hands them to her.

She begins rifling through them and gasps. Is this really her? Is this how she looks on film?

The camera has captured all of her best angles– the shadows and light play across her features in the most harmonious way. With the professional studio lighting and Finn’s expert makeup application, her strong jawline has been softened and her high cheekbones have been enhanced, contrasting nicely with her delicate nose and full mouth. She looks feminine yet powerful. Innocent but also intelligent. Sexy but still sophisticated.

A screen goddess, indeed.

She turns to Luke with wide eyes. He just nods. “I’ve already seen them, cookie. They’re even better than I thought.”

Mr. Palpatine eyes her shrewdly. “You have everything it takes to be a star, Miss Johnson."

Rey's stomach drops. She has a feeling there’s a giant but coming.

“Your screen test was… interesting, to say the least.”

Dammit.

She glances over to Luke for help, but he’s staring down at his hands folded in his lap.

She looks back up at Mr. Palpatine. He’s returned to his seat behind his desk, gazing down at her with a cold expression in his eyes.

“I’ll just cut right to the chase. You do realize you assaulted one of our most prominent stars, don’t you?"

She winces internally. Well, when he puts it that way…

But then she remembers the kiss. The snickering stagehands. And the crushing humiliation that followed.

Rey straightens up in her chair. “I don’t care if he’s the King of England, sir, no one embarrasses me like that and gets away with it.”

Mr. Palpatine looks surprised. He turns his gaze over to Luke and something unspoken passes between them. Despite what Luke had said about Kylo Ren being on thin ice with the studio, this is clearly still some sort of boys’ club and they’re going to protect each other, no matter what. It makes her want to scream, to get up and march right out of this room and never look back. But she fumes in bitter silence instead.

You’re an actress, she reminds herself.

But suddenly Mr. Palpatine starts to laugh. It’s a dry, humorless laugh and it sends a chill down her spine.

“Oh, Miss Johnson, I do like your fire,” he says as he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “Yes, I certainly do. And that’s why I’m going to offer you a contract with First Order Studios and the leading role in this new picture we’re about to start filming.”

Her pulse starts racing and her heart pumps wildly in her chest. Did she just hear him correctly?

Mr. Palpatine continues. “But you should know, it wasn’t without the help of someone whose opinion was very crucial in making this decision.”

Rey’s brow furrows. Luke? She turns but he’s still not meeting her eyes. He’s focused on Mr. Palpatine.

“This was delivered to my office early this morning. Maybe you’d like to read it for yourself.” He hands her a yellow piece of paper that she recognizes as a Western Union telegram.

Her eyes scan quickly over the bold block letters.

TO MR. HARRY PALPATINE, FIRST ORDER STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD CA

REY JOHNSON IS A WONDERFUL ACTRESS. DO NOT HOLD MY REPREHENSIBLE ACTIONS DURING HER SCREEN TEST AGAINST HER. SHE BEARS NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY. THIS STUDIO CAN ONLY BENEFIT FROM THE ADDITION OF HER FINE TALENT AND I WOULD CONSIDER IT AN HONOR TO SHARE THE SCREEN WITH SUCH A GIFTED PERFORMER. KYLO REN.

She blinks and reads it a second time, just to make sure she’s seeing the words correctly. Did Kylo Ren just defend her for assaulting him? To the head of the studio? To the person who has the final word on whether she stays or goes?

Mr. Palpatine interrupts her racing thoughts. “We can’t have animosity on the set, Miss Johnson. Making a film is already strenuous enough without the added stress of clashing personalities. Your screen test was outstanding, but we couldn’t make you an offer without knowing there won’t be any further issues on set. Mr. Ren it seems has already let us know he bears no grudges.” He pauses and examines her closely. “How about you, Miss Johnson? Can you give me the same assurance?”

Rey searches inside herself for a few moments. Despite what Luke had told her about Kylo Ren not being able to take accountability for his volatile behavior, it seems that in this situation he has. She finds it touching– selfless even– and her opinion of him starts to shift. Her anger begins to cool, and the sharp edges of hurt and betrayal begin to soften a bit.

“No, sir. No grudges."

Mr. Palpatine once again stands up from behind his desk and comes around to give her hand a flimsy shake. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we’ll draw up the necessary paperwork and have it for you to sign before the end of the day. Luke will help explain all the details,” he says with a nod. Luke stands, and Rey can tell they’re being dismissed. She follows Luke toward the door.

“Oh, and I’ve chosen a new last name for you,” he calls as they reach the threshold. She turns and he flashes her a toothy grin. She’s momentarily reminded of a wolf, and the feeling is unsettling.

“Soon everyone in the world will know the name Rey Rian.”

Luke drops her off at the same dressing room as yesterday, promising to return in a couple of hours with the necessary paperwork. Away from Mr. Palpatine, he’s back to his warm, friendly self.

“I’m proud of you, cookie,” he says before he leaves, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Go down to the commissary and grab some lunch and get some rest.”

But Rey is far too keyed up to think about resting. After Luke is gone, she peeks out the door of her dressing room to make sure the coast is clear before pulling it closed behind her.

She has some unfinished business with Kylo Ren.

Rey wanders down the long hallways, the doors getting more spread out the further she goes. The area becomes more secluded, feels more private. There are gold stars painted on these doors, with familiar names she’s seen dozens of times on the screen, and in countless fan magazines.

Kaydel Connix. Ahsoka Tano. Richard Pryde.

And then the one door she’s looking for.

Kylo Ren.

It’s ajar just an inch or so. She lifts her hand and gives three tentative knocks.

Nothing.

Her pulse is pounding in her ears; she's nervous all of a sudden. She takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, slowly.

Well, there are no cherubs and marble fountains like she had originally guessed. But to call this aroomis a stretch– it’s basically a small bungalow, not much smaller than the apartment she shares with Rose. It’s elegantly furnished, with a living room area and a kitchenette and a small dining setup. There’s a mirrored wet bar along one wall, and two doors that she assumes lead to a bedroom and bathroom.

There’s also a large snoring man, stretched out on the long cream-colored suede sofa.

As Rey moves in closer to get a better look, she can’t help but smile at the sight.

Kylo is on his back, his massive frame taking up the entire length of the couch. His left leg has fallen to the side, knee bent, foot on the floor. His strong arms are folded across his chest and she once again notices his hands with their long, elegant fingers and blunt, neatly manicured nails. One hand could span her entire waist easily, she thinks. She admires them for a moment before her gaze moves upwards.

His handsome face looks younger in repose– with his eyes closed and full lips relaxed he doesn't exude that same intensity as he does while he’s awake. She's relieved to see the punch she gave him doesn’t appear to have done too much damage, either; there’s some slight swelling on the bridge of his nose, but it’s not too noticeable if you aren't looking for it. The shadows under his eyes are a bit darker today, but she doesn’t know if it’s from her striking him or just an overall lack of sleep.

Rey bites her lower lip; she doesn't want to wake him up if sleep is hard for him to come by. Suddenly she regrets barging in here uninvited, so she turns and begins tiptoeing out of the room.

“Rey, wait. Don't go.”

She spins around to find Kylo awake and looking at her, his dark amber eyes still blurry with sleep.

Her heart flutters and suddenly it's as if someone cranked up the thermostat to a hundred degrees. Why does this man have such an effect on her? Hastily, she pushes the thought aside and wonders if maybe she isn’t coming down with something instead.

“I-I’m sorry," she stutters. "I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sits up, running his huge hands through his dark tousled hair, and yawns. He rubs his eyes and he looks so young and boyish in this moment, Rey can’t help but to be charmed.

“Was just taking a little nap. I have to get up soon anyway.” His voice is rough from sleep and the sound makes her stomach swoop. He gestures to the chair next to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Rey hesitates for a second, but then quickly realizes how silly that is. She’s the one who came looking for him, right? Summoning her courage, she takes a seat in the chair next to him.

“How’s your nose?” she blurts out before she can think better of it. Smooth, Rey.

But Kylo just chuckles, the low rumble doing something funny to her insides. “It’s fine. My nose has been busted so many times I’ve lost count. Though I think this time you might have improved it.” He lifts his chin in mock arrogance and turns his head to the side. She takes the opportunity to admire his profile, the appendage in question looking as noble as ever. It's hawkish, slightly asymmetrical and certainly unconventional by Hollywood standards, but Rey has always found Kylo's nose to be one of his most unique and compelling features. Even more so in person than on screen.

Rey realizes she's staring. She flashes him a small smile and looks down at her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Well, I just wanted to come by and tell you that I’m sorry. For punching you. I was out of line.”

She looks up to find Kylo frowning at her, and she doesn’t understand why. “Have you met with Palpatine yet?” he asks, his voice pitched low, harsh.

She freezes. His reaction is throwing her for a loop and now Rey isn’t sure what to say. She had expected him to simply accept her apology and that would be that so they can shake hands and move on. Start fresh.

Easy peasy.

“Uh…yes. Just this morning.”

He’s still frowning. “Were you offered a contract?”

What is going on? Why is he angry? Isn’t that what he wanted, for her to get a contract?

“Yes, I was. And to co-star with you in your next film.” She pauses to look closely at his face, gauging his reaction. “He showed me the telegram you sent.”

Kylo jumps to his feet and starts pacing the floor. “Jesus Christ. I should have known,” he mutters. He stops to reach down for the black lacquered cigarette box on the table, plucks one out, then lights it– he drops the lid and it slams shut, and she flinches. He continues pacing, while taking long drags from the cigarette and exhaling the smoke through his nose, apparently trying to vent his frustration. He won’t meet her eyes and Rey begins to panic.

She springs out of the chair. “Kylo, what’s wrong? I thought you wanted them to offer me a contract. I thought that’s why you…” she trails off. Rey doesn’t even know what else to say. Baffled is an understatement. A lump forms in her throat as unshed tears begin pricking behind her eyes, and she starts twisting her hands. She’ll never understand this man, ever.

Kylo turns to her, his eyes softening when he sees how distraught she’s become. He stops his pacing and takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. Inhaling... exhaling. While he calms himself she waits, feeling like she’s standing on the edge of a razorblade. He leans down to stub out the cigarette and as he straightens, his gaze darts from her legs to her hips before landing on her face and he begins moving towards her, but stops abruptly. He inhales, a sharp intake of air that seems almost painful, and Rey notices he's clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. It's clear he's in turmoil over something, and her brow creases in confusion.

“Rey… I’m sorry." His deep amber eyes are shining with sincerity. "I’m the one who’s sorry about yesterday. I was completely inappropriate, and I had that hit coming. And that’s why I sent that wire to Palpatine. To take responsibility for what I did. Not for you to come here and apologize to me.” He pauses, running a huge hand through his hair. The dark locks fall back limply against his forehead, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Fuck.The idea of you thinking you did anything to apologize for makes me sick.”

He remains standing at a safe distance– still breathing heavily, still doing that clenching thing with his fists. He’s also looking at her like his entire future hangs in the balance on whatever she’s about to say next. No one has ever looked at Rey with this kind of intensity, almost bordering on desperation, and it’s making her a bit light-headed. She wants to let him off the hook and assure him that she accepts his apology, and that she doesn’t hold a grudge.

But before she does, there’s something she needs to know first.

“So why did you do it?” Her voice is husky, barely above a whisper.

He appears startled, clearly not expecting that question. But after a moment he sighs, resigned. He seems to know he owes her this.

“I... I was overcome,” he says simply, his gaze dropping to the floor.

She frowns. Overcome? With what? Swept up in the character, in the scene? Or does he mean…

…something else. That tension that waxes and wanes but is always drawn tightly between them. Even now.

Attraction. Desire.

Kylo looks up at her again and she meets his eyes– black and smoldering like hot coals, pleading silently for her to understand, and suddenly she knows.

Because even though he doesn’t seem to realize it, she feels it too.

Rey's pulse begins thundering in her ears, and a hot flush blooms across her cheeks.

Oh, God.

And now they’ll be working together.

Pretending to be passionate lovers… skating a thin line between fantasy and reality.

Will she be able to keep them separate?

And more importantly, a silky voice croons from within… does she really want to?

Kylo senses her reservations, but not her reasons behind them, because he assures her hurriedly, “I promise, it will never happen again. You’re an incredible actress, Rey. I had no idea how amazing you would be, how we would be together. I meant it when I said I would be honored to share the screen with you, if you still want to. If you can forgive me, if we can start over… I think we can create something special, a real masterpiece.” He's rambling now, and starts moving towards her again before stopping himself in his tracks. It's as if some unseen force is trying to draw them together, and her breath hitches in her throat. But he's too wrapped up in making his amends, and doesn’t seem to notice.

“I swear I’ll never touch you again, at least not in any way outside of what the script calls for," he vows. “I don’t ever want to make you feel like that again, Rey. I can control myself,” he says firmly, and it sounds like a chant, like something he’s been rehearsing, over and over.

As Rey heads back to her dressing room, she tries to convince herself she isn’t disappointed.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

“Dammit,” Rey huffs under her breath, her flat shoes slapping against the pavement as she races across the studio lot.

She just finished with costume fittings that ran overtime into her next call, a training session scheduled at two.

It’s two sixteen.

Rey hates being tardy as a rule, but this is her first training session with the fencing expert for the sword-fighting scene. It's crucial that she makes a good first impression.

Especially since only a week has passed since she signed her contract. A contract for one year with the option to renew, at seven hundred dollars a week.

One month of this contract is more money than Rey has ever seen in her life.

She was also offered her own bungalow near the studio, completely furnished. But she and Rose have grown so close in such a short time, that she thanked Mr. Palpatine for the offer but politely declined.

Rey was, however, put into a larger, more permanent dressing room near the biggest stars of First Order Studios. Her door is situated between veteran actor Lando Calrissian and Ahsoka Tano; the former having no compunction in the slightest for ushering tittering starlets in and out of his room, at all hours of the day and night. At first Rey was a bit shocked that a man of his age could even entertain that number of female guests, but her shock turned to mild admiration when she noticed the satisfied, dreamy smiles on his departing paramours’ faces. Lando had given her the look just a day after she had moved into her new space, but she shook her head firmly no. He just shrugged with a grin and closed the door. Rey knew there were no hard feelings; there’d be some other starlet at his doorstep before the end of the day.

Besides, there’s only one bedroom in this studio she’d be interested in seeing, and it isn’t Lando’s.

She sighs in frustration just thinking about it.

Ever since their conversation in his dressing room, Kylo has lived up to his word. At rehearsals, during breaks, he’s treated her with the utmost respect, professionally courteous in every way. Under Poe's guidance, the love scenes have become a carefully choreographed dance, and she should have known a professional actor with as much experience as Kylo Ren would be capable of pulling the desired reactions from an actress and then be able to walk away unaffected as soon as the director calls cut.

There are, however, those occasional moments– like when she’d caught him staring at her while making notes in her script, his eyes on her mouth as she absently nibbled the end of a pencil, an idle habit she's never been able to break…or during rehearsal, their bodies pressed tightly together in a lover's embrace, feeling the low rumble in his chest, a slight tremble in his hands around her waist– that make her think that maybe he's not as unaffected as he seems.

It’s all driving her insane.

Logically, Rey knows nothing can come of it. From everything Luke has already told her, to her near-disastrous screen test, she knows that completing this film, on time and without incident, is the number one priority. And that becoming involved with someone as emotionally volatile as Kylo Ren, especially when they're working together, is a terrible, dangerous idea.

Her libido, however, has no such concerns.

Lately she's taken to finding her own release for her aching body, something she's never been compelled to do before. Lying in bed at night, her mind weaving together a fantasy as her slim fingers desperately work at her slick folds– a fantasy of a man kneeling before her, his wide strong shoulders pushing her knees up and thighs apart, his dark head of hair bowed low between them, his plush mouth licking and sucking at her center– until finally she's left breathless and gasping, her whole body shuddering with a searing climax.

Rey clears her mind of these wanton thoughts as Lot One comes into view, where she’s supposed to meet with Kylo and the trainer. It’s a huge outdoor lot, sprawling for acres across the expanse of dry California terrain, with multiple outdoor sets designed to transport a film crew to just about any location imaginable. A quaint New England town. A New York City borough. A settlement in the Old West.

She’s to report to a set built to resemble an old European waterfront village, complete with its own concrete-lined lake.

Rey spots the lake instantly. Slowing her pace from a jog to a walk, she catches her breath, pausing to make sure her sleeveless white cotton blouse is tucked neatly into her tan wide-leg slacks. But she rounds a corner just in time to see something that makes her heart start hammering once again.

Kylo Ren and another man, sandy-haired but shorter than Kylo and whippet-thin, are already fencing wildly against each other, their swords flashing in the bright midday sun.

He's wearing a tight, sleeveless black undershirt with fitted black trousers, and a pair of thick black suspenders crisscrosses his broad back, looping over his shoulders and running down his flat torso to where they fasten at his waist.

Rey is mesmerized as she watches him parry back and forth; from within his large powerful frame Kylo exudes the controlled, graceful movements of a ballet dancer. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body and highlights the ridges of muscles and tendons repeatedly expanding and contracting under his smooth alabaster skin. A few stray locks of black hair have fallen forward into his eyes and sweat runs in rivulets from his temples down his angular cheeks; he gives his head an unconscious shake and continues to parry, never giving up any ground to his opponent. His amber eyes are focused and determined, with the single-mindedness of a man driven to overcome, and a smirk plays on his full lips– one that seems to say he knows he’ll emerge victorious in the end.

It’s an expression she imagines works well in bedrooms, too.

As she stands there admiring his form, Rey is aware of something stirring; starting in her chest and moving down low to her belly, leaving a trail of unquenched desire that’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. And that now familiar ache begins to throb in her core.

She’s not used to wanting someone like this. To yearn for someone like this. It’s beyond anything she’s ever imagined.

Kylo finally looks away from his opponent and notices her arrival– with one quick movement he disarms the other man, his sword clattering to the ground. He gives the smaller man a grin and claps him on the shoulder. “Good parry, Beaumont.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget who taught you everything you know,” the man responds with a good-natured laugh and stoops to retrieve his sword.

Kylo laughs too and jogs over to where she's standing, pulling the hem of his undershirt up to wipe the sweat from his face, and Rey gets an enticing view of flat, toned stomach sprinkled with a trail of dark hair that begins just below his navel and disappears down under his beltline.

He’s in the most light-hearted, jovial mood she's ever seen him in, and that along with the display of raw physical maleness before her has the combined effect of being hit with a cupid’s arrow.

She’s completely smitten.

It must not be a good look on her, however, because Kylo pauses a few feet away and tilts his head, looking nonplussed.

“Are you ok, Rey? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Great, she groans inwardly. Just what every girl wants to hear.

But she recovers quickly; straightening her back and swallowing, her throat makes a dry click as she attempts to smooth down her hair, running a hand over the messy brown waves.

“I’m fine,” she trills, giving him a bright smile. “I’m sorry I’m late– wardrobe fittings ran overtime.”

He looks at her skeptically, but then nods.

“Well, come on over and meet Beaumont. He’s not as good as I am with a sword, but he’ll probably be able to teach you a thing or two.”

“I heard that, Ren.”

Rey smiles as she’s introduced and the two men continue their good-natured banter, but the only thing she's aware of as Beaumont places a training foil in her right hand and positions her shoulders and feet into an opening stance are Kylo’s dark eyes following her, watching her every move.

And wonders how much longer she can keep these feelings to herself.

“Are you going to Poe’s tonight?”

A deep voice startles Rey out of her thoughts, and she looks up from her script.

Kylo is standing before her; she hadn’t heard him approach, she was so preoccupied in making her notes. He’s looking at her expectantly– his normally pale cheeks are flushed a bit, eyes bright.

It’s Friday, a week since her first sword-fighting lesson, and they’ve just wrapped for the day.

Someone’s excited for the weekend, she thinks. He’s so handsome right now, she can't help noticing, with a small smile tugging at his lips, waiting for her to answer…

Oh, that's right. He’d asked her a question.

“Poe’s?” she echoes, even though she knows exactly what he’s talking about. Cripes. She must sound like an idiot, and she mentally cringes. It’s her secret crush that’s throwing her so off balance, reducing her to a brainless simpleton anytime Kylo is near. It’s as if she only knows how to speak and respond to him with the words written in the script– anything outside of that and her mind turns as white and empty as a blank sheet of paper.

(Poe had announced earlier in the week he was having a party tonight at his house, and the cast and crew were all invited. “Just to blow off some steam, relax and have a good time,” he had said.

“Nothing fancy, just co*cktails and hors d'oeuvres, drop in anytime after eight.” )

Blessedly, Kylo doesn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. “Yeah, that co*cktail party at Poe’s tonight. I know you’ve been working hard, I mean, everyone has, but for you this is all new, so it’s probably been a lot to get used to…” He’s gesturing with his hands while he speaks, and he’s starting to talk fast– is he nervous? Is he asking her to go with him to this party? Her heart stutters at the thought.

She nods. Well, nods and then continues bobbing her head a few extra times for good measure. Hell's bells, what is wrong with her?

“Yeah," she manages to croak out before clearing her throat, cheeks on fire. "I mean yes… I was planning on it. I was going to bring my friend Rose with me…” so it couldn’t technically be called a date, she thinks, wondering if the implication is clear. Apparently even her subconscious knows better and is trying to block her from getting too close to Kylo Ren. Her traitorous body, however, is another matter entirely. As if to prove her point, a rogue memory of one of her recent fantasies suddenly flashes across her mind, and she instinctively presses her thighs together.

Rey makes a small noise in her throat and wonders if she can get her hands on any saltpeter leftover from the war.

But if Kylo is dismayed by the mention of Rose, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he almost looks… relieved? He takes a deep breath and exhales, releasing the tension in his broad shoulders with it. “Well, good, that’s good. So you girls will be there, then? Do you need a ride?” he asks, his dark eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline.

Her eyes widen. Good grief. Rey doesn’t trust herself to sit in a dark car with Kylo Ren, especially with Rose’s penchant for finding her own way home on many occasions, so the likelihood she’d end up alone with him is too good and God knows what she might do then. That salacious part of her brain already starts setting the scene… kissing him passionately in the front seat while straddling his muscular thighs, her fingers raking through his silky hair as his large hands explore under her dress, gripping her hips tightly as he grinds up into her…

“No!” she cries abruptly, and his brow furrows for a moment. She sucks in a deep breath. “I mean… no thank you. We’ll just take a cab. We always take a cab.”

Kylo nods his assent. His amber eyes are still shining, and a slow grin spreads across his face. Dimples, don’t get distracted by the dimples, her rational mind begs.

“Ok, then. See you later, Rey.”

As she watches his broad, rugged, stupidly tall figure amble away, Rey's chest flutters in excitement despite herself.

She's in so, so much trouble.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

Poe’s house is located high in the Hollywood Hills, perched atop a jutting cliff overlooking the city.

As the cab pulls smoothly through the iron gates and up the long winding drive, Rey gapes at the opulence– it’s a modern structure made of white stucco, with clear glass windows spanning the entire perimeter, undoubtedly intended to give the occupant uninterrupted views of the sprawling landscape. A warm, inviting glow emanates from every room and there are dozens of cheerful partygoers inside, laughing and moving about.

Several guests have trickled outside and are chatting and smoking here on the drive, while the strains of lively music float through the slightly humid evening air.

Rey takes a deep breath as they make their way up to the house, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress: a raspberry-colored silk fit & flare with a sweetheart neckline and a knee-length hem that flutters delicately in the light breeze. Her chestnut hair is loosely curled, the side pieces pulled back and piled up on her crown while the remaining length is left loose to bounce against her shoulders, her make-up limited to mascara and a swipe of ruby red lipstick.

She glances over at Rose, who is the epitome of understated elegance in a simple black satin co*cktail sheath, with a brown mink stole draped carelessly around her shoulders. Her long sable hair is twisted in a low chignon at the nape of her neck, secured with a sparkling rhinestone comb. If Rey didn’t already love her so much, she’d be absolutely green with envy.

“Rey!” A masculine voice calls as she and Rose enter the foyer. It’s Poe, and he’s rushing towards them, a flute of champagne in each hand.

He plants a kiss on her cheek and hands her one of the glasses. “So glad you could make it, hon.” He turns to Rose. “And you too, Miss Tico,” he says, handing her the other glass and kissing her cheek in one fluid motion.

“You two know each other?” Rey asks, faintly surprised.

Poe and Rose exchange an amused look. “After you’ve been here awhile, you find out this town is smaller than you think,” Poe says with a wink. “But yes, Rose here was in a picture I directed a couple years ago–” he turns to Rose, his brow furrowed– “Reckless Moment, I think it was?”

Her friend arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow, impressed. “Good memory,” she drawls, raising the glass to her lips.

Poe flashes her a charming grin. “Well, beautiful women like you, Miss Tico, are hard to forget.”

Rose chuckles and rolls her eyes while Rey sips her champagne, highly entertained by this exchange.

“Alright, you old smoothie,” Rose says to him as she loops her arm through his, “where are you hiding the food? Rey and I are starving.”

“Right this way, my darlings.”

He leads them through the foyer into the main room. It’s grand and spacious, with a soaring vaulted ceiling, hardwood floor, and a massive stone fireplace at its center, crackling with a warm blaze.

The party appears to be in full swing– there are dozens of people here already, many of whom Rey recognizes as her fellow cast members and filming crew. She smiles and nods at the familiar faces as they weave through the cacophony of music and lively conversation; around clumps of people chattering loudly between sips of co*cktails and bites of food, overjoyed at finally being able to cut loose after a stressful work week. The air grows thick and hazy with equal parts cigarette smoke and uncaged inhibitions.

They make their way over to a long table filled with an array of silver trays. Rey's mouth starts watering at the spread of professionally catered hors d'oeuvres: mini egg quiches, goat cheese and tomato tartlets, caviar and toast points, canapes, shrimp co*cktail… and many other tidbits she can’t even put a name to.

Usually when Rey zeroes in on food she's like a radar-guided missile– nothing can deter her from her target– but just then a familiar dark head of hair catches the corner of her eye, distracting her, and she looks over.

It’s Kylo.

Naturally, she thinks, and her stomach does its usual flip-flop at the sight of him.

He’s seated on one of the oversized couches, locked in deep conversation with the person next to him whom she recognizes as Edwin Ackbar, their head cinematographer.

Her canape mission is completely abandoned as she stops to take him in.

Kylo is even more dashing tonight than usual in a dark sapphire blue suit; tailored to perfection, the jacket has been cut to emphasize his broad shoulders, which she is well aware by now requires no extra padding. One large hand is wrapped around a highball glass, making it look about as small as a child’s juice cup, while the other gestures emphatically as he speaks to Mr. Ackbar, his eyes shining with excitement– whatever it is they’re discussing, Rey surmises, it must be something he’s passionate about.

Kylo must sense being watched, or else he’s as tuned in to her as she is to him, because his head turns toward her and their eyes meet.

Rey could kick herself for once again having been caught staring, until a slow grin spreads across his handsome face. Kylo actually looks delighted to see her, and her pulse starts racing at the realization.

Soft brown eyes flick over her from head to toe and a blush begins warming her cheeks; suddenly she’s thankful she let Rose style and dress her this evening. She drops her gaze for a few moments before looking up to give him a brilliant smile of her own–

“Did you try the shrimp yet, Rey?”

A gruff voice barrels through her thoughts and a head of graying hair pops into her line of vision, effectively blocking her view of Kylo.

It’s Luke.

“They’re delicious, cookie… come on and have some before they’re all gone,” he says, steering her over toward the trays of food.

She sighs, and lets herself be led away.

Rey doesn’t know if the interruption was intentional or not, but she supposes she should be grateful for it just the same.

Two hours later, Rey stumbles outside onto the back terrace, in desperate need of some fresh air.

She’s been thrust into conversation with people she’s only met in passing and consumed two plates of hors d'oeuvres and three– no, four– glasses of champagne; she’s overfull, overheated, and completely drained of small talk. Rey isn't used to having to keep up with superficial chit-chat and gossip for this long, and her mind feels stretched and loose– she needs a break.

She steals a refreshing gulp of cool night air and basks in the ambiance. The evening is clear and balmy with a light breeze, and a full moon shines high and bright tonight, illuminating her surroundings almost as well as daylight.

The terrace is blessedly empty, and her heels click softly as she makes her way across the concrete patio surrounding the in-ground swimming pool, the water dark and serene, only a slight ripple on the surface visible in the moonlight.

Rey keeps walking, off the patio and into the meticulously landscaped yard. Her high heels sink into the soft lawn, so she slips them off. She pads in her stocking feet through the grass, wet and slippery with dew, but she doesn’t care. She’s drawn to the edge of the property, past the topiary globes to the trellis of night-blooming jasmine vines acting as a border, the delicate white flowers fairly dripping with their intoxicating scent.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the view.

She can see all of Los Angeles from here; the city is sprawled out before her, the elaborate network of streets and freeways twinkling in the distance.

From way up here, underneath the night sky, the city looks like something magical and ethereal, instead of the heavily structured metal and concrete she knows it actually is.

She’s so entranced that she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, until a deep voice speaks softly next to her, almost directly into her ear.

“Rey.”

Spinning toward the voice, her arm thwacks against something big and solid. “Kylo! Jesus, you scared me!” Her other hand splays against her chest, over her now rapidly beating heart.

Kylo has the decency to look abashed, taking a few steps back. “I’m sorry,” he rumbles, his hands held up in a defensive posture, and even in the moonlight she can see a blush forming on his pale cheeks.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she takes a deep breath, willing her frenzied pulse to return to normal. “No, it’s okay, but… jeez, give a girl some warning.”

He chuckles. “I tried, but you must not have heard me.” He looks out to the darkened horizon, to the cityscape below, before turning his curious eyes back to her. “You’ve never seen it from up here before, have you?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She turns back to the view once again, finding it hard to pull away, almost as if she’s been hypnotized. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she whispers.

From the corner of her eye, Rey can tell he’s watching her face closely, watching her as she takes in the city below… her heart begins pounding again as she wonders what he must see, what he thinks about when he's looking at her like this.

She doesn’t know if it's the altitude, the jasmine, or the man standing next to her– or if it's some overwhelming combination of the three– because suddenly her vision doubles, and a flush of heat spreads across her face and chest. Rey turns away from the view and motions toward the patio, with the hand that still has her pumps dangling from her fingers.

“Could we sit for a minute?”

He eyes her worriedly. “Are you alright?”

She nods, pressing a cool hand to her clammy forehead. “Just a little too much champagne, I think.”

Kylo smiles softly and takes her elbow to lead her back over to the patio.

Most of the sun chairs and loungers must have been stowed away for the evening, so they take a seat side by side on a stone bench that’s built in next to the pool. She leans down to slip her pumps back on, and as she straightens one of her stocking seams, Rey can’t help noticing how Kylo’s gaze travels from her toes and lingers on her calves just before she rights herself back up.

He looks away and clears his throat hastily, nodding toward the edge of the property. “So what do you think?” he asks, his voice sounding a bit strained.

She glances back out toward the view. Rey can no longer see the pulsing city, so she looks up and admires the sky instead– black and rich as velvet, studded with stars, the full moon bathing everything in a cool, pale wash of light. A jasmine-scented breeze ruffles her hair, and she sighs with contentment.

“It’s more than anything I ever dreamed. I mean, I grew up on flat plains, surrounded by nothing but farmland and cornfields. I never thought I would find my way here,” she tells him truthfully.

Kylo nods and considers this for a few moments. “Do you miss your family back home?”

She scoffs. “Hardly." She pauses, thinking she ought to just leave it at that. But something about the full moon tonight has Rey feeling a bit maudlin, and she finds herself wanting to open up and tell him things she wouldn't say to anyone under ordinary circ*mstances.

And the hushed serenity of this night, feeling like they're the only two people left in the world, is anything but ordinary.

"My parents died when I was little, so my aunt and uncle took me in, out of some misguided sense of Christian obligation," she continues. "They had three of their own children to raise and really didn't want nor could they really afford another mouth to feed. Not that they ever hid that fact… I was reminded of it every time I dared to ask for seconds. I was terrified every time my shoes got a bit tight. Maz took me under her wing, bless her… she owns a little café in town and when I was old enough she let me work for her when I wasn't in school. I was able to earn money to buy my own clothes and shoes. And she's also the one that encouraged my love of poetry,” she smiles fondly, “which grew to classic literature and plays and eventually memorizing and performing.”

Her smile falters as she continues. “When I think about how far away I am, and how uncertain this all is… how it could all just end at any time… well.” She studies her hands folded in her lap. “I only know that I'm never going back there, no matter what happens."

She can feel Kylo watching her intently, his eyes fixed on her profile. "No, Rey... you don’t ever have to be anywhere except right where you want to be. You're stronger than you think you are. You're a fighter."

She hears the smile in his voice at that last part, and even though her heart glows at the praise, she’s unaccustomed to it and has a strong desire to shift the focus off herself.

"What about you? Why did you want to become an actor?"

Kylo sighs, and turns his gaze up at the stars. "I never felt like I had a choice. It's my legacy.” He turns to look at her closely. “Did Skywalker tell you?"

She hesitates for a moment, then nods.

But he doesn't appear upset, or angry. If anything, he just seems a bit wistful.

"After my father died, my mother didn't know what to do. She'd lost her husband, had abandoned her career, and was stuck with a small child. She did the best she could with me, but by the time I reached my teens, she couldn't deal with me anymore. She thought I needed a father figure, so she sent me to live with Luke, and I idolized him.” He smiles faintly as he remembers. “I spent all day every day at the studio, sneaking onto sets, learning everything I could about filmmaking. I landed a few small roles, and then in my early twenties I shot up and filled out, and suddenly Palpatine took notice, said he wanted to make me a star. So he changed my name, created my image, and vowed to make me into the biggest leading man the world had ever seen." He shrugs self-consciously. "He did it."

Rey stares at him in disbelief, shaking her head. Does he really think so little of his own talent?

She decides to tell him as much. “No, you did it. Kylo, you're an incredible actor. He might have created your image, but it's you up on that screen, not him. You're so talented… don't you know that?"

He shrugs, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Lots of people in this town are talented. But it takes more than that to make it. It's about who you know, and about being in the right place at the right time… there's also a certain charisma, a certain relationship you need to have with the camera. You can't learn it or fake it… you just have it or you don't.”

He angles his head toward hers, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Don't tell me Luke didn't give you his "having it" speech,” he says, his voice low and rich and teasing.

Butterflies dance in her stomach. "No, he did… and he tells it a lot better than you do, just so you know,” she smirks.

He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling at her too now, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, he wrote the book on it, so I would expect as much."

The air is sparking with that friction, that something between them, so Rey quickly grasps for something to say, something to dampen it before it catches fire.

"So whatever happened to your mother?"

Kylo's eyes darken, the mood suddenly shifting from flirtatious to thorny, and she instantly regrets the words once they leave her mouth.

Dammit. Looking down at her hands folded in her lap, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry…"

But after a few moments, he heaves a deep sigh. "No, it's okay… well. It’s pretty simple, actually. Once I left home, we just drifted apart.”

She peeks up at him again. His face is set, the muscle in his jaw tight, but she doesn’t detect any anger or sadness. Instead, he looks resigned, as if this is something he came to terms with long ago.

“I got busy with work, and didn't have time to return letters or phone calls, and eventually they stopped." He shrugs matter-of-factly. "It's for the best. I really don't need the distraction. Besides, Palpatine told me a long time ago that she's jealous of my career, because she threw hers away."

She frowns. That sounds not only unnecessarily harsh, but wrong to Rey's ears. She’s never had a mother of her own of course, but she can’t imagine a mother being jealous of her own child.

"What does Luke say? He's your uncle, and her brother…"

He shrugs. "He doesn't say anything. But he’s also never disputed it, so it must be true,” Kylo says flatly, his full lips pressing together tightly.

He seems so resolved, so accepting about this, that she doesn’t want to risk angering him by questioning it further. So she decides to let the subject drop, for now.

They sit in companionable silence, gazing up at the night sky, until the strains of soft music start drifting from the house and across the terrace. Kylo must notice it too, because suddenly he's rising to his feet and standing before her, holding out his hand.

“Dance with me?”

There’s a yearning in his low baritone she's never heard before, and it plucks at her heartstrings.

She looks up at him, but his back is to the stars so she can’t read the expression on his face. The moonlight gilts his ebony hair, traces the breadth of his strong shoulders in a silvery outline.

Even though Rey knows she shouldn’t– she really, really shouldn’t– she finds herself standing before him, and reaching for his hand.

She nods. “Yes."

His warm fingers completely engulf hers as Kylo pulls her gently towards him. Her palms settle high on his chest, near his shoulders, and he rests one hand lightly against her back between her shoulder blades, the other lower, near her waist.

Together they begin to drift with the music, and she lets the divine feeling of being held, of being this close to someone, wash over her.

They move along with the melody, and she breathes in the fragrant night air– the sweet scent of jasmine and something else, something smoky and masculine mingling with the creamy floral. It’s intoxicating, and she’s grateful for Kylo’s strong arms around her, because she feels like she could float away… or maybe come apart just from this.

You go to my head

You linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round

In my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

You go to my head

As Rey hums softly along with the song, she can’t help herself– she pulls herself closer to him, until they're only a hairsbreadth apart. She winds her arms behind the back of his neck, her fingers finding the ends of his hair at his nape, and it’s just as soft and silky as she had imagined.

Kylo tenses up for a moment before he releases a shuddering breath, and then both his hands drop to her waist, pulling her to him and closing the distance between them.

Her eyelids drift shut and she rests her cheek gently against his broad chest, reveling in the warmth and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath it. They’re barely moving now, just swaying slightly, and her senses narrow down to only scent, and to touch.

His head dips down and he nuzzles her hair ever so lightly. “What are you thinking about, Rey?” he murmurs in her ear, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

Her sigh is heavy with longing. What is she thinking about?

She’s thinking how wonderful this is, being held by this man whom she’s entirely smitten with, despite her better judgment. She’s thinking about how she’d like nothing more than to succumb to the charms of the evening… to the stars and the moonlight, to the jasmine and the champagne… to stop fighting it all and just let it be.

But more than that, even greater than the carnal urges and desires she’s been agonizing over these past few weeks, Rey's feelings distill down to something much more simple and pure.

“I’m thinking about how nice it is not to be alone."

Kylo stops moving and pulls back a little, peering down closely at her face. His dark amber eyes are fervent, searching.

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs, and it touches something in her very soul.

Before she can even think twice, she replies, “Neither are you.”

Kylo inhales sharply, his hungry gaze roving over her features. Their words linger in the space between them, and in his eyes she sees the dazed reverence she knows is reflected in her own.

Something cuts through the contented haziness of her brain just then– something that feels a lot like sheer panic– and she unconsciously starts to pull away.

This was a really bad idea.

“I can’t do this," she says, her voice quivering. "I'm sorry." Hot tears of shame and disappointment begin to well up in her eyes.

It’s one thing to be attracted to Kylo Ren, but to let herself feel anything more than that– Rey knows it’s a dangerous game. She’s not willing to play roulette with her emotions, not when it could cost her everything she’s already worked so hard for.

There’s too much on the line, for both of them.

And if she were to let herself go, she realizes with absolute certainty… there would be no turning back.

When she backs up another step, he doesn’t question her or try to resist, and although Rey is relieved she doesn’t need to explain, some small, irrational part of herself can't help being a bit frustrated with him, too.

Doesn’t he know how hard she’s fighting this?

He must not, because he simply accepts it, and releases her.

“You should get back to the party." Kylo nods toward the house, his hands jammed in his pockets, deliberately not meeting her eyes. His face is carefully neutral, the moment between them now passed.

Rey swallows thickly, not knowing what else to say... and not brave enough to say it, even if she did.

“Thank you for the dance,” she mumbles finally, and turns and practically races toward the house.

There’s an aching emptiness in her chest as she leaves the magic and moonlight behind, the final refrain of the song drifting off into the evanescent night.

Though I'm certain that this heart of mine

Hasn't a ghost of a chance

In this crazy romance

You go to my head

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

“Right this way please, Miss Rian.”

Rey follows a clean-cut, brusque waiter as he weaves around white-clothed tables toward the length of brown leather booths situated toward the back of the restaurant.

Today she has her first interview with one of the leading fan magazines, Silver Screen.

The interview is being held at The Brown Derby, a popular hangout for celebrities and fans alike. Conveniently located near the corner of Hollywood and Vine, the restaurant is only a few short minutes from First Order Studios, which is what makes it so popular with the movie-making crowd. Fans are also drawn here daily, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite stars.

Since Rey is still unknown, she passes by the tables mostly unnoticed. Finally, they reach a booth in the back corner, occupied by an inconspicuous looking man in a crisp blue suit. He’s drinking a cup of coffee as he rifles through his notes, scribbling furiously with each sip.

He looks up as they approach, setting his notebook aside as he stands, while the waiter silently slips away. Rey estimates he’s about her height with silvery blond hair and sharp green eyes that examine her thoroughly from head to toe. She tries to suppress an involuntary shudder– something about this man unsettles her.

“Miss Rian, pleasure to meet you,” he says as he offers her his hand. “Erich Datoo, Silver Screen.”

She accepts it and flashes him her most brilliant smile, not letting her unease show. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Datoo.”

Rey isn’t nervous about being interviewed. She’s already prepared and rehearsed for this with Luke, and she knows exactly what questions she'll be asked. The studio arranged it as a form of publicity to start bringing attention to their newest star– filming is already well underway, and they're almost four weeks into the tight six week shooting schedule. After just a handful of training sessions they’ve discovered Rey is a natural born fencer, and Poe is positively giddy for the sword fighting scene.

And then there’s the matter of her co-star.

Ever since their revelatory moment on the terrace– she still can’t get the scent of jasmine out of her mind– Kylo’s behavior on set continues to remain completely professional. If anything, he’s become even a tad more distant toward her, and Rey now finds herself oddly grateful for her empty nothingness of a childhood. Because of it, she's grown strong enough to repress an entire spectrum of emotions, when the need arises. So even though his aloofness stings, she brushes it aside and carries on, reminding herself it's for the best, all things considered.

And that's not to say she doesn't appreciate the delicate friendship budding between them, as a result of working so closely together– she does. She feels like she’s making up for lost time, having lived a life thus far without getting too close to anyone, and Rey doesn’t take any form of friendship lightly.

Even if what’s between them is less intimate than she’d prefer, she’s hardy and weathered enough to accept it for what it is.

That's what she's been telling herself, anyway.

She's also established an easy camaraderie with the rest of the cast and crew; they seem to respect her, despite this being her first professional acting job. Poe listens to her and values her thoughts and ideas about her character. Finn has become a good pal, having bonded with him over a shared love of poetry and swing jazz on set between takes. She also has Rose, and Luke too…

In only a few short weeks she already feels like Hollywood is exactly where she’s meant to be.

Rey knows she ought to be over the moon with happiness, and yet… she can’t deny there’s still something missing. An emptiness inside that her newfound belonging and sense of purpose can't fulfill.

(Finn had pulled her over to his make-up station last week during a rehearsal break, bursting with excitement. He’d brought his portable phonograph and his Teddy Wilson record to the set and was eager to show her some new dance moves. She’d whirled around with him across the floor, laughing and doing her breathless best to keep up as he tried to teach her the jitterbug and a few other fancy swing steps. After a while she noticed Kylo hovering at the edge of the set, illumined half in light, half in darkness, watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. When their eyes met, he hastily looked away and retreated back into the shadows.

It made her heart ache.)

In those weak moments, she reminds herself that nothing good can come from getting too close to someone as intense and unpredictable as he is, that it's too risky for both of them. And if she still secretly fantasizes about him in the privacy of her own bedroom, well, she’s only human.

Besides, he’s Kylo Ren, the world-famous movie star and who is she? No one special.

No, she’s a fool to think there could ever be anything more between them.

“I understand Mr. Ren will be joining us as well?” Mr. Datoo’s voice shakes her from her self-pitying thoughts.

“Oh… oh, yes.” Rey glances at her watch. “He had a redub scheduled this morning but he should be here any minute.”

That was another one of Mr. Palpatine’s conditions– that while interviewing Rey, Kylo should be present as well. Luke had explained to her not only because his already substantial fame will help generate more interest in the studio’s new star, but also to create a bit of buzz about the new film they’re working on.

However, if Mr. Palpatine is surprised or pleased by the level of professionalism Kylo has demonstrated during filming thus far, he hasn’t shown it. The addition of Kylo to this interview came over in a flat, ten word memo from the studio late yesterday afternoon.

“Oh, here he is now,” Mr. Datoo says, admiration evident in his voice.

Rey twists around to see Kylo heading toward their booth, his paces so long the waiter in front of him is almost running to lead the way. There’s a low hum and murmur as patrons turn their heads to gawk at the handsome real-life movie star in their midst. But Kylo seems oblivious to it all, his face arranged into that blank mask Rey has come to realize is his default expression.

It’s maddening to not know what he’s thinking most of the time– his only tells are the small tics she’s learned to read over the short time she’s known him. A slight twitch of the undereye when he’s upset. A clench of the jaw when he’s angry or trying to stop himself from saying something. And her favorite, a tiny uptick at the corner of his mouth when he’s trying not to smile, usually in response to something ridiculous Poe has said or done on set. He's not always successful though, and seeing those dimples and imperfect teeth is like getting a precious gift.

Mr. Datoo rises once again, offering his hand and looking up at Kylo. “Mr. Ren, so nice to see you again,” he practically simpers.

Kylo shakes it briefly and gives him a curt nod. He removes his charcoal gray suit jacket and hands it to the waiter who evaporates from their sight. “Datoo. Sorry I’m late.” He looks down at her and his amber eyes soften a bit.

“Hello, Rey.”

His low voice saying her name still makes her feel warm all over, like slipping into a hot bath. She scooches over in the booth to make room for him to sit next to her.

“Hello, Kylo,” she says with a small grin, and that something begins flowing between them, strong and deep, like the current in a river. It’s always there, a force of nature of its own, and she’s learned by now there’s no use anymore in questioning it or trying to deny it.

She often wonders if he still feels it too, if he knows how much it pains her to keep pretending she doesn’t.

Mr. Datoo shrewdly observes this exchange before he clears his throat. “May I begin with the questions, Miss Rian?”

“Certainly,” she nods politely, turning her attention back to him. She and Luke have gone over this several times, and she has the answers down pat.

Kylo lights a cigarette, the scent of sulfur from the match mingling with the heady restaurant smells of strong coffee and cooked meat. Her stomach growls, and she hopes no one notices. She pours herself a cup of coffee, praying it’s enough to tide her over for now.

Mr. Datoo looks down at his notepad. “You’re from Iowa. What was your childhood like?”

Rey gives him her bright, practiced smile. “Oh, you know. Typical small-town upbringing. I was raised on a dairy farm by my parents and with two siblings, a brother and a sister. I’m the youngest though, so everyone was always looking out for me,” she adds with a small sheepish shrug.

Luke had made up the idea of her being the youngest child, so that fans will subconsciously feel protective of her.

And the idea of actually having parents and siblings, of course.

Mr. Datoo nods as he scribbles away on his notepad. Rey glances at Kylo and she realizes he's watching her closely. His face is carefully impassive, however his left undereye gives a small twitch.

Is she not as convincing as she thinks?

But Mr. Datoo seems to accept this easily enough and asks, “And did you need a lot of looking after?”

It probably would have been nice, she thinks sourly.

(When Rey was six years old, she decided one day she was going to follow the railroad tracks to see where they would take her. When darkness fell and she could no longer see the tracks, she curled up on a wet grassy embankment, sobbing and shivering and enduring the stabbing hunger pains until the sun finally rose and she could see well enough to make her way home. She stumbled into the kitchen and started to devour the loaf of bread that was left out on the table until her aunt came in and threatened her with the belt unless she put it down, hollering that little girls who hide in their rooms and don’t come down when called for supper don’t get to eat until the next meal is served.

They hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.)

“Oh, not me," she giggles coquettishly. "I never misbehaved.”

Luke thinks she should cultivate a ‘good girl’ image.

Next to her, Kylo takes a loud slurp of his coffee.

Now what? She wants to shout at him. She knows he knows none of this is true, that it’s all been made up for the public’s benefit, but this is Hollywood– everyone has had their sad tragic pasts covered up with some phony story or another.

Is it so hard to believe that she was a good child, worthy of love and attention?

Evidently Mr. Datoo is convinced, and Rey tells herself that’s all that matters. He smiles at her indulgently. “I don’t doubt it,” he practically coos, and Kylo instantly stiffens next to her. A different kind of energy sparks in the air, something thorny and sinister, and her own hackles begin to rise.

“I understand the two of you are currently filming a new movie together,” he begins. “Another Kylo Ren swashbuckler, no doubt,” he adds, with a touch of derision in his voice.

“Yes,” Kylo says curtly. “But this one is different. And Miss Rian is incredible in it. First Order Studios was lucky to sign her.”

“I’m sure they were,” Datoo croons. “And I’m sure they weren’t the only ones to get lucky,” he adds with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Rey's stomach drops, and a prickling heat creeps up her neck. What is this worm trying to imply? Next to her, a thick tension begins rolling off of Kylo, but he keeps his composure.

“What are you getting at, Datoo?” he practically growls.

Datoo leans back in the booth and takes a sip of coffee, looking supremely satisfied, like the proverbial cat that got the cream. He focuses his attention solely on Kylo, as though he’s just been waiting for this very moment.

“Oh, just that I heard from one of my very reliable sources that you and Miss Rian put on quite the performance during her screen test. That the two of you couldn’t even contain your… passions, shall we say, for a few measly minutes of filming.” He turns to Rey and smiles lewdly, and once again that feeling of humiliation washes over her. That feeling of being stripped bare in public. Her blood begins pounding in her ears and she’s tempted to smash her fist into his ugly smug face.

But the fact that Kylo has gone eerily calm stops her. He’s sitting completely rigid next to her, his face composed. But the clench of his jaw betrays him, as do his fists which are balled tightly in his lap.

“What do you want, Datoo?” he asks, his voice low and cold as ice.

But Datoo doesn’t seem to notice the danger looming right in front of him. “Hmmm, what do I want, you ask. Well, for starters Ren, you could offer me money.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder how much Kylo Ren would pay to keep his salacious affair with First Order’s newest property out of the papers?”

“Or maybe,” he shifts his attention to Rey, his lascivious gaze trailing from her face to linger on her chest, “you could offer to let me take your new little toy out for a spin.”

It happens so fast she doesn’t even have a chance to try and stop him.

Kylo springs up like a coiled snake, quick and merciless and every bit as deadly. With one large hand he grabs Datoo by the collar and lifts him out of the booth, slamming his back hard against the wall, the glass cracking and shattering in a couple of the framed celebrity caricature portraits the Derby is famous for. His other co*cks back into a fist aimed at the smaller man’s face.

Silverware clatters as nearby patrons take notice of what’s going on, their shocked gasps and murmurs propelling Rey into action. She’s not going to let Kylo do this, not here in public. As much as she’d like him to, he’s got his own reputation to worry about. And she’s not going to let him sully it over her.

She jumps up from beside him and wraps her hands around his right arm, the one that’s ready to strike. She realizes immediately it’s a futile attempt– his bicep feels like it’s made of solid iron, and he doesn’t budge an inch when she tries to pull him back.

“Kylo, don’t," she pleads softly. "Please. He isn’t worth it."

He’s breathing hard, nostrils flaring, and she isn't sure if he can hear her. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t let Datoo go, either.

“Please,” she whispers again, urgently.

That seems to snap him out of his trance. He looks down at her, eyes stormy black and full of fury. She tries communicating with her eyes, Please, please don’t do this. Not here, not now.

As Rey holds his gaze, a sense of calm seems to wash over him, and the fiery rage in his eyes begins to subside. He takes a few steadying breaths before dropping Datoo back into the booth, the china and silverware clattering on the table as the smaller man lands on the seat with a hard thud.

Kylo and Rey exchange a look and sit back down in the booth, as if nothing happened.

The patrons and waiters resume their chatter and pretend nothing happened, either. Kylo Ren is a huge star, widely admired and adored by the public, and if he’s going to sit there and act like everything is normal, then by golly they will too.

Datoo tries to loosen his collar where Kylo had just held him in a lethal grip and coughs a couple of times.

A brave waiter appears next to the booth. “Is everything alright here, Mr. Ren?” He slants Datoo an icy glare.

Rey knows by now that Kylo Ren, like other Hollywood A-listers, is protected by his fame and celebrity status– it surrounds him like a golden halo, shielding him from any wrongdoing. Datoo is just a reporter, no one of importance.

There’s no question of whose side the public is on.

Kylo gives the waiter a polite nod. “Fine, thank you.”

After the waiter scurries away, Datoo chuckles and looks at Kylo, shaking his head. “Well, that was unexpected. I was only kidding, Ren. What happened to your sense of humor? You know I would never encroach on your,” his gaze shifts over to Rey, “territory.”

“Don’t even look at her, you sleazy, parasitic piece of sh*t,” he snarls.

Datoo sighs dramatically and straightens his tie. He gathers up his notepad and stands. “Listen Ren, you know how this works. Your secret is safe for now, because lucky for you I’m smart enough to know which side my bread is buttered on. Despite how much I would love nothing more than to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs, I know that old man Palpatine is prepared to pay me anything I want to protect his golden boy. And to protect his shiny new golden girl.”

He gives them an oily smile.

“It’s been fun, kids. Until next time.”

He’s gone.

Rey releases the breath she’s been holding and flexes her fingers underneath the table a few times, trying to get the blood flowing back into them after being so tightly clenched for so long.

So many questions are swirling through her head, she’s not even sure where to begin. She starts with the simplest. “Who do you think his source is?”

Kylo seems distracted, and at first Rey doesn’t think he’s heard her. But then he looks down at her, his expression neutral but with a reassuring warmth in his dark eyes.

He shakes his head. “I don't know, but there's only one person who would have leaked the story to begin with. And that's Palpatine himself."

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “What? But… but that’s impossible! That makes no sense… why would Mr. Palpatine do that knowing he’d have to pay off the press to keep it out of the papers?”

Kylo’s lips are set in a firm line. He tries shrugging nonchalantly, but tension seizes his broad shoulders, making the gesture seem subdued, even defeated. “There’s no amount of money he wouldn’t pay for the chance to humiliate me.” He looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them absently in his lap. "I've been a thorn in his side for years. But I'm also a valuable property, for now anyway, so… " he trails off. “It’s his fun little way of letting me know he’s still in control,” he finishes, his voice hollow.

A thick wave of nausea washes over her, and for a minute Rey thinks she’s going to faint. Instead, she decides to lean back in what she hopes is a casual manner against the back of the booth, planting her feet firmly on the floor so she doesn't go sliding theatrically under the table.

She’s just gonna close her eyes for a few moments…

She senses Kylo turning towards her, his weight shifting on the seat. “Rey, you’re white as a ghost,” he says softly, his voice filled with concern. His large hands are warm where they hold her face, and he sweeps one gently over her brow. “You’re sweating,” he murmurs, and he’s so close his breath tickles her cheek. But before she has the chance to fully enjoy his nearness, her stomach gives another sickening lurch.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles. She just needs another minute. She takes a few deep breaths and sits up cautiously, slowly opening her eyes. Black and white dots speckle her vision, and she fears she really is going to pass out.

“Wait,” he says. “I know what you need. You’re starving. I heard your stomach growling earlier.” He stands up and signals for a waiter who rushes over immediately.

“Your usual, Mr. Ren?”

“Yes, please. The roast chicken and a Cobb salad. And spaghetti and meatballs for Miss Rian. And make it quick.”

“Of course, sir.”

Rey can’t believe it. Spaghetti and meatballs is her favorite. How did he–

Kylo shrugs and looks down, as if he heard her unspoken question. He unbuttons his cuffs and begins rolling up his white shirt sleeves a bit self-consciously. “You order it almost every day from the commissary.”

Her heart flutters. So this is what it feels like to be cared for. Tears spring unbidden to her eyes and she takes a few more deep centering breaths. Just the prospect of food has made her feel better already. Maz used to always tease her about her insatiable appetite.

But Kylo notices her tears and asks worriedly, “Is that ok, Rey? Would you like something else?”

She shakes her head and smiles softly. Logically, she knows she should heed the little warning bells going off in the back of her mind– Kylo was right, he had tried to warn her, this place isn’t all it pretends to be. But right now knowing that this extraordinary man cares for her is eclipsing everything else– and nothing, not even the discovery of these dirty Hollywood machinations is enough to dim her happiness.

Rey looks into his solemn honey-colored eyes, finding the genuine concern reflected in them. She knows it's only a silly romantic notion, one she might have read in a fairy book once, but at this moment she believes that as long as they’re together they can withstand anything.

Her heart is bursting with joy, but she's careful to conceal it.

For now.

“No, I don’t want anything else. It’s perfect.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Get outta here, Finn.”

“Rey, I’m telling you, Richard Pryde wears a wig– and three inch lifts in his shoes.”

“Nooo.”

“Yes.”

Rey lets out a low whistle and shakes her head as she turns to the next page in this month’s copy of Photoplay.

She’s in one of her favorite and most sacred places: Finn’s makeup chair. It’s eight-fifteen and he’s getting her powdered and painted for this morning’s first call.

They’re in the home stretch now– it’s the final week of filming, and everything has gone smoothly so far. So smoothly in fact, that Finn keeps telling her something’s bound to happen, that the other shoe has to drop one of these days. Rey, having no other experience to compare it to, just rolls her eyes and tells him to stop being such a nut.

She should have known better. That life will pull the rug out from under you when you least expect it. Rey understands that fact better than anyone.

The door to the makeup department slides open, and Rey looks up from her magazine. In the lighted mirror she finds Poe walking up to them from behind. He looks uncharacteristically agitated, and Rey's skin prickles with apprehension.

“Morning, kids.”

She spins her chair around to face him. He and Finn exchange a look, and Finn immediately stops what he’s doing. He shakes his head and murmurs, “I knew it,” as he begins putting his cosmetics kit away.

Rey’s brow furrows.

“What’s going on?”

Poe looks to Finn again. “Could you give us just a minute?”

Finn nods. “Sure.”

Rey watches the door slide closed behind him as Poe pulls up a chair next to her.

Now she’s the one getting agitated. “Poe…” she says warningly.

He sighs. “Rey. I sent out a memo to the rest of the crew, but I wanted to come talk to you personally in case you had questions.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded, and looks at her intently. “Shooting is cancelled for today.”

She stares at him blankly. “What? Why? ”

Poe sighs again, reaching for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, and lights one. He takes a deep drag before continuing.

“I just got off the phone with Kylo. He refuses to work today.”

She blinks in confusion. Suddenly Luke’s words pop into her mind ( he’s volatile…has no self-control…delays production for days, sometimes weeks ) and her stomach does an anxious flip-flop. She’d almost completely forgotten, because the man Rey has come to know in these last several weeks is not the same man she’d been warned about. Kylo has had not one tantrum, not missed one day of shooting.

She recalls her recent memories, each one clearly defined, like a colorful snapshot.

(Kylo during rehearsal, reading his lines in that wonderfully unexpected way of his… The two of them doing their dramatic scenes together, the energy crackling between them, feeding off each other’s performance… Poe calling “Cut!” and shouting, “Brilliant! We got it!” after the fourth take of the sword fighting scene, his enthusiasm infectious to everyone on set, even Kylo… the careful mask slipping as she catches the gleam in his eye, the corners of his mouth lifting in a mischievous smile... and in the blink of an eye he scoops her up like she weighs nothing and tosses her over his broad shoulders, taking them for a victory lap around the set, the clapping and cheering of the entire crew echoing in her ears, her cheeks aching from the huge grin on her face… )

“Why? I mean… is he ok?” She’s unable to hide the distress in her voice.

Poe looks at her closely. “You really do care about him, don’t you?”

Rey swallows, feeling a hot blush creep up her neck. Having seen for herself on set the abbreviated way they’re able to communicate, with only a few words and weighted looks, the unspoken trust between them– she knows Poe and Kylo are close. Brothers in arms as well as best friends. Did Kylo tell him something? She opens her mouth to protest, but Poe interrupts her.

“Now, now, I know what you’re thinking and no, he never said anything,” he says, holding up his hands in mock defense. “But he didn’t need to. Jeez, Rey, it’s pretty obvious just by the way you two look at each other. And I don’t just mean during filming, either. You guys are head over heels.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Although Kylo is more subtle about it. The big brooding lug has never been easy to read. But I can tell,” he says fondly.

Rey squirms in her seat, caught between a rock and a hard place. And here she thought she was being so clever, so secretive. Idiot, she chides herself. She supposes there’s no point in trying to deny it, even if what’s between herself and Kylo isn’t exactly what Poe thinks it is. It’s not as if she doesn’t have feelings for the big brooding lug, but she's determined to keep them to herself, even though her reasons for doing so sometimes feel vague and flimsy– and each day she spends with him tests her every last shred of resistance.

Poe shakes his head, sensing her discomfort. “Look, Rey, I’m not trying to butt into your private business. That’s not why I’m here. I just want you to understand what’s going on. The rest of the crew– we’ve all seen this before. Having a day of shooting cancelled last minute because of Kylo Ren is old news. Hell, most of them are surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

He looks at her hopefully. “But I think you can help me. Help us.”

A wave of uneasiness washes over her. “What can I possibly do?”

Poe stubs out his cigarette. “We’re three days ahead of schedule. We can afford to lose a day and still bring the picture in on time. But what I’m asking from you is to make sure it’s not more than a day. Let him sulk, simmer, whatever he needs today– but tomorrow, I want him back on set for the first call.”

Her brow furrows. “You’re his best friend– why don’t you tell him?”

Poe snorts. “That’s a good one. Listen to me? The stubborn ass would rather have tea and crumpets with the Committee than take an order from me. But coming from you, his girl?” He looks at her and shakes his head. “That’s different.”

She stares down at her hands, now fidgeting in her lap. Hell’s bells. Rey doesn’t know what she can possibly do– she's just Kylo's co-star and not his girl, despite what Poe seems to think.

But she cares enough about Kylo– and oh, how she cares– and the rest of the filming crew to give it her best shot.

She nods. “Ok, I’ll try.”

Poe stands, and exhales a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Rey. I knew I could count on you.”

She walks with Poe to the door. “He was in his dressing room last I checked,” he says, turning to her just as they reach the threshold. She nods.

“Oh, and another thing,” he adds, a shadowed expression crossing his face. “I like you, Rey, I do. But B-Kylo is more than just a friend. He’s like a brother to me. I don’t know how much he’s told you but… he’s had a tough go of it, especially in the last couple years. I don’t want to see him get hurt…” his voice trails off, rough and thick with emotion.

Her heart swells in her chest. These people, this place. She's only been in Hollywood for such a short time and yet, she can barely remember a time when she wasn't. It’s been like gaining an instant family, or what she’s always assumed having a family would be like. Rey would never deliberately hurt a single one of them. She gives Poe a fierce, impulsive hug.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Rey takes a deep breath before giving three sharp raps to Kylo’s dressing room door.

A low voice bellows from within. “f*ck off, Dameron, I said I’m not shooting today.”

Her lips quirk in amusem*nt. “Kylo, it’s Rey,” she calls through the door.

Her words are met with a few beats of silence. Finally, she hears heavy footsteps approaching before the door swings open.

“Sorry, Rey, I thought you were Poe,” he mumbles, looking at the ground.

“No kidding,” she huffs a laugh. “Can I come in?”

He looks up and she meets his gaze.

His eyes are dark and shadowed, but he’s clean-shaven, and Rey notices his unruly dark waves are unusually tame today. He's neatly groomed and dressed in a way that indicates he’s already been somewhere, for a meeting or something else. A date? Her heart skips at the thought, until she remembers it’s only nine in the morning. She mentally rolls her eyes at her own ridiculousness.

“Sure, as long as you promise to join me,” Kylo says, a teasing note in the deep timbre of his voice, and it makes her knees wobble. He backs up a step before turning and heading over to his bar. She follows him inside, closing the door behind her.

“What’ll you have? I’ve got scotch, soda…” he pauses, a hand on his hip, the other rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he examines the contents. He turns to her, looking a bit sheepish. “I hope you like scotch. And soda. Or any combination of the two.”

She smiles wryly. “A scotch neat is fine.”

“Coming up.”

Rey takes a seat on his long cream suede sofa, and he hands her a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. He settles into the matching chaise next to her, his own highball glass filled to the top: a scotch and soda on the rocks. The shades are pulled tightly against the morning daylight, and only a few strategically-placed lamps illuminate the room with warm, ambient lighting. She takes a small sip for courage before diving in.

“Bad day?” Rey asks, careful to keep her tone light, conversational. As if it’s totally normal to be drinking scotch at this early hour. As if they’re not both supposed to be on set right now, rehearsing and shooting the final scenes for their film.

Kylo's dark eyes narrow as he gives her the once-over. He’s sizing her up, and she tries not to squirm under his intense scrutiny. “Straight to the point, huh? I suppose that’s why they sent you here, to give me a pep talk.” He leans forward on his elbows, one eyebrow raised. “The big guns, the secret weapon."

The accusation stings, but she has to admit he’s not entirely wrong either. And if what Luke and Poe have told her about Kylo is true, Rey knows she needs to tread lightly. Right now he reminds her of an untamed stallion: a distrustful creature that will take off running the second he’s spooked. So she responds with the only thing she thinks he’ll listen to, which is nothing less than he deserves– the truth.

She holds his gaze. “Poe told me that you weren’t going to shoot today. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.” She keeps her voice low and measured, making sure he doesn’t miss a word. “I’m here because I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You… were worried. About me,” he repeats flatly.

Rey co*cks her head to the side, nonplussed. It’s true she’s been trying to keep the depth of her feelings hidden from him, but even so– she was certain he’d be able to tell that she cares about him.

Like he cares for her.

But that’s something Rey can’t bring herself to say out loud. Afraid of how it might complicate things. Afraid that despite all the little clues he’s left along the way, that she might be wrong. That she’s not worthy of someone like him, after all.

So instead, she asks, “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Kylo heaves a deep sigh and sets his drink down on the glass top table between them. He leans back in his chair and scrubs both hands down his face before resting them on his lap. He looks exhausted, his energy so unlike what she’s come to know over the last several weeks. Sitting there now, he looks like a man who’s been defeated, burned out, and her heart squeezes.

Moments pass, and just when she thinks he’s not going to answer, he speaks.

“How worried?” There’s a note of something– hopefulness, maybe– in his voice.

Her heart cartwheels in her chest, and suddenly it’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything– all the things she’s kept hidden inside, away from him, from everyone, sometimes even herself.

How her pulse starts to race first thing in the morning at just the thought of seeing him– how his face and hair and body all seem to have been divinely created as some kind of perfectly exquisite torture, causing her to ache and flutter and throb whenever he’s near. How she nearly comes undone at the way he looks at her sometimes, his eyes burning like coals, and because of that tension between them, an undercurrent of desire that flows steadily beneath their interactions, both on set and off.

But it’s deeper than that, deeper than just physical attraction. The crush that began weeks ago has flourished into something more– much more. Rey has discovered there's a flesh and blood man behind Kylo's carefully cultivated on-screen image, human and fallible, and that's who's turned her world upside down. It's because of his kindness, the way he never fails to make sure she's alright before and after filming a particularly intense scene. And it’s not limited to her; she notices the way he gives little nods and looks to the rest of the cast and crew, ensuring their comfort and safety, like the innate leader he is. It's his protectiveness over her, and his concern for her well-being; asking if she’s eaten and making sure she doesn’t skip their meal breaks.

He’s the first person Rey's ever met in her life that she wants to share her past with... she wants to show him all the rough and scrappy and messy parts of who she was (and still is, deep down). She wants him to see her, see all of her, and she desperately wants to know him the same way too. She wishes she could crawl under his skin and burrow down into his soul to find out if she affects him even a fraction of the way he affects her.

Maybe it's because she takes too long to answer. Kylo leans forward and brushes his knuckles along her forearm, the light contact sending a shiver down her spine.

Rey keeps her eyes lowered, focused on his fingers gently trailing across her skin… because she knows if she looks at him right now she'll give in.

She'll give him everything.

But at the last second Rey remembers why she’s here in the first place– there’s too much for Kylo to lose right now. His entire career is at stake. Both their careers, most likely. She’d never forgive herself for being so selfish, so she steels her resolve instead.

"You're my friend. Of course I was worried about you," she says softly, placing a slight emphasis on the word friend.

She watches as his hand pulls away and waits a few beats before looking up to make sure the moment has passed, that the spell is effectively broken.

When she does finally look up, Kylo is leaning back in his chair, the carefully impassive expression she knows so well back on his face. His eyes are dark, not cold exactly, but certainly without the heat she had felt before she’d called him her friend.It feels like the slightly detached way he regards her on set, and even though it pains her, she’s grateful to be back in familiar territory.

"Well, you didn’t have to come here to check up on me. I’m fine. I just had a bad morning is all.” He picks up his drink and takes a long sip.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He looks over to her in mid-swallow, and sets down the glass carefully. He sucks on a piece of ice before crushing it between his teeth and stares at her, like he’s mulling something over.

“So we’re friends, you say?”

She nods.

He sighs resignedly. “Ok, friend. But if I share this with you, you have to promise it doesn’t leave this room.”

She makes an X motion over her heart.

His full lips pull into a wry smile, but it quickly fades as he begins to speak. “I met with Palpatine this morning. There’s a script that’s being shopped around town– Poe told me about it, said the part for the male lead is incredible. An American boxer who accidentally kills an opponent in the ring, and he’s so shook up over it that he leaves his fame and everything behind to return to his homeland, a tiny village in England, to purchase his family’s old cottage and start a new life.” His voice is tinged with excitement, and he takes another swig of his drink. “Anyway, it’s by an unknown writer, plus it would be a relatively small scale production, so I know First Order could obtain the script for peanuts. But with the right cast, it could be an amazing film. I can just feel it.”

“So I met with the old man to discuss it. Didn’t even have a chance to plead my case. I was shot down immediately. He said he’s read the script, he doesn’t see me in the part. Plus it would be just a small film, not worthy of First Order’s time or money.” He sighs heavily. “And then he mentions that my contract is up anyway once this film is finished, and he hasn’t decided yet if he’s willing to renew it. He says I’ll be lucky to be offered a two-picture deal.”

How disappointing, she thinks, her fists clenching reflexively. As Rey waits for him to continue, her gaze wanders over his face– handsome as always, but tired. Depleted. His ivory complexion seems even paler than normal today, his beauty marks standing out in striking relief. The compassion she has for him is overwhelming, crashing through her like a tidal wave, the feeling so strong she’s surprised her body is able to contain it.

"But that's not the crux of it," he sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He picks up his glass and downs a few gulps before continuing. “When I was in Europe during the war, I swore that when I came home things were going to be different. Because when you’re over there, you’re in it completely. And you’re so far away from everything that’s familiar. Even Hollywood became a distant memory. The only thing you can focus on is your own survival, every minute of every day. And you find out just how cruel and horrific humanity can be…" He trails off, and her heart aches at the faraway, haunted look in his eyes. He stares down into his drink, swirling the ice around absently as he continues. "And eventually you start thinking about all the time you wasted before– time spent doing things you didn’t love, but that made you money and made you famous and because people around you told you that you were the greatest, and because it’s your destiny. You realize you've been nothing but a workhorse, a meal ticket, and that no one really cares about you, not even your own family," Kylo practically chokes on the word, and her chest pangs with empathy. He closes his eyes for a moment before he continues.

"Anyway, I realized over there that my career was a hollow pursuit; it’s never given me anything back. Nothing meaningful, anyway," he sighs, setting his drink aside. He leans forward and his mood shifts– he looks at her earnestly, and there’s a glow emanating from the amber depths of his eyes.

“I decided there must be more to life than just this. I want to do more– hell, maybe write, produce, direct– who knows. I just know I’m sick of wasting time doing things that are meaningless, because I know now how precious it is... and that once a second ticks by, there’s no getting it back. And this morning I realized here I am, two years later, still wasting time."

Kylo leans back and regards her thoughtfully, while absently running a fingertip across his lower lip. The movement causes something to stir down low in her belly, until a firm look of reckoning settles upon his features. “And I’ve just realized something else... all of this is still brand new to you. You're sitting there having to listen to me sound off about things you can’t even begin to understand, nor should you have to. Hollywood is still a big shining jewel, and you’ve got it in the palm of your hand. Or you’re about to, anyway.”

Rey's eyes widen as he stands and crosses over to her, reaching for her hands and pulling her up gently from the couch. He pushes her hair back from her face and leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, his lips warm and pliable against her skin. It's an innocent gesture, and yet she can't resist closing her eyes and inhaling his scent, savoring the smoky woodsiness.

When she blinks them open a few moments later, he’s still standing close, his large hands now resting on her shoulders. It almost feels like an embrace, and it makes her feel safe, cherished even. Her gaze skips up from his broad chest to his face, finding his eyes gentle and a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not going to be selfish and ruin this whole experience for you. You deserve better than that. You can go back and tell Poe and Luke that Mr. Ren will be on time for the first call tomorrow.”

He removes his hands from her shoulders, and Rey immediately misses their solid warmth. She looks up at him as if in a daze, unable to breathe, unsure of what to do next.

Kylo's dark eyes are hooded, searching as they rove across her features– she doesn’t know what he finds there, but he doesn’t make a move to step away, and neither does she.

“Rey,” he breathes, his voice sounding strangled, desperate; like he's waiting for her to make a choice.

Like he wants her to, needs her to be the one to decide.

It would be so easy,she thinks, just to reach up and pull him down to her, to feel his lips against her own, to kiss him, to taste him– to allow this to happen for real, not just acting for the cameras…

Instead she takes two steps back and turns, trying not to appear as though she’s fleeing from him, but she’s afraid that’s exactly what it looks like.

Rey stumbles into the safety of her own dressing room, slamming the door and leaning heavily against it. Her face crumples and her throat closes with unshed tears. He must think I’m a heartless monster, she silently berates, for running away after that.

Her chest aches as she thinks about the things Kylo confided in her, but there’s something else, too… a burning anger at the injustice of it all. A fury toward the studio for denying him the opportunity to stretch his wings, to prove he can do more than the roles they’ve typecast him in.

And yet, despite his resentment, he promised he wouldn’t ruin this shoot… for her. Because he thinks she deserves better than that.

It takes every ounce of self control she has not to run back there, draw him into her arms, and press soft reassuring kisses against his face, his jaw, and the corners of his mouth while she whispers everything she’s felt for him since the day they met.

Even though she tries, Rey can't hold back the tears from forming and slipping down her cheeks. This façade she herself created, to keep the depth of her emotions hidden– it’s tearing her apart. Suppressing her true feelings, something she's been able to do her whole life out of necessity, now just feels unnatural and wrong.

How long can she continue fighting against something that feels so right?

But Luke’s warnings still haunt her, and the weight of the situation as well as the potential consequences settle heavily over her heart, overtaking her own desires.

So she takes a shaky breath and wipes the tears away. And for what feels like the millionth time, she again strengthens her resolve.

But like Kylo, she wonders if she isn’t just wasting precious time, as well.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

After a quick call down to the studio switchboard, Rey finds out that Poe hasn’t left yet, and that he’s on Soundstage One. She splashes some cold water on her face to wash away the tearstains and runs a comb through her hair before heading out to find him.

As she makes her way down to give Poe the news, she feels a sharp twinge of guilt, as though she’s somehow betraying Kylo. She doesn’t relish being the middleman in this situation, especially after now knowing how unfairly Kylo is being treated by the studio. But maybe after this film is finished, if they can bring it in on time, show Mr. Palpatine the dependability Kylo is capable of…maybe then he’ll be offered to do other things. Projects he’s passionate about. Maybe she can even be of help, attest to his work ethic on this shoot… there must be something she can do.

Hope flickers in her chest. She’s certain Luke would listen to her. And Mr. Palpatine listens to Luke.

Becoming more optimistic by the second she picks up her pace, eager to set things into motion.

A pair of familiar voices engaged in conversation travel across the darkened set: it’s Poe and Luke. But instead of the friendly cadences she’s come to know, they sound tense and heated. Rey slows down, trying to listen, trepidation building with each step.

“Goddammit Poe…I knew this would happen.”

“Listen, Luke…he’s different on this shoot. Something's changed in him.”

“Yeah, and I have a pretty good idea of what it is. Where in hell have you been, anyway? Why aren’t you putting a stop to it? You know damn well it’s going to blow up in all our faces…”

Rey stops in her tracks. There’s a cold steeliness in Luke’s voice she’s never heard before. What’s going to blow up in their faces? She frowns but continues making her way toward them.

She’s determined to find out.

“Hey.”

Not her most eloquent greeting, but at least they take notice of her arrival.

Poe and Luke are both standing, arms crossed, their faces partially obscured by the shadows dominating the dimly lit set. The friction in the air is palpable, and a trail of chilly goosebumps rises on her skin. As they watch her approach, both sets of eyes trained on her, Rey notices one is warm and hopeful, the other is… suspicious?

Luke? Of her?

A heaviness settles in the pit of her stomach.

Why is he looking at her like this?

Luke is her friend, her mentor. Her trusted advisor.

Or so she thought until about two seconds ago.

Luke's grim expression is like being doused with a giant bucket of ice water, and all of a sudden the idea of her trying to help Kylo in some way now seems pathetically childish and naive. This place isn’t all it pretends to be, isn’t that what Kylo had said? The memory of his face from earlier floats through her mind, the haunted look in his eyes as he talked about wasting time, his palpable disappointment with his unsatisfying career. And she suddenly remembers, with a heavy sense of dread, Mr. Palpatine’s ploy with the fan magazine, to remind Kylo of just how powerless he is.

This isn’t going to be a cakewalk, after all.

Rey clears her throat. “I just spoke with Kylo. He assured me he’ll be back on set for the first call tomorrow. He’s not feeling well today." She says the last part evenly, not feeling one pang of guilt for lying. She’d swear it on a stack of bibles right now if they asked her to.

They both just stare at her for a few moments before Poe lets out a relieved chuckle that rattles his entire body, and gives Luke a hearty slap on the shoulder. “See, what’d I tell ya? No problem.”

But Luke looks back and forth between them incredulously, as if they’ve each just sprouted another head.

“No problem? Is that what you just said, Dameron? Because I think you know as well as I do that regardless of whether or not Kylo decides to grace us with his presence tomorrow, that we still have a big f*cking problem.”

Rey flinches. Not that she’s the type to faint at four letter words, but she’s never heard Luke– even-tempered, mild-mannered Luke–say anything so harsh, and with such vitriol. It’s just so unlike him, so unlike the person he is…

Or maybe, she thinks, her suspicions growing by the second, the person he pretends to be.

“So what is the problem?” she asks, struggling to keep her voice light. Rey can already sense that Luke is ready to dismiss her, or ignore her presence entirely. But she’s not a child and this involves her too, whether he likes it or not.

Poe turns toward her again, looking torn. Luke's face is crimson, apparently at having been pushed well past the point of diplomacy and politeness, and he doesn't appear likely to hold anything back.

He narrows his ice blue eyes at her, his hands fisted on his hips. “This flirtation between you and Kylo…okay, it was bound to happen. You’re a hot new property, and it’s good for on screen chemistry. But that’s all it ever should have been. I thought that was clear after your screen test, Rey…you don’t want to toy with someone like Kylo Ren. He’s a f*cking emotional timebomb. And now this little fling is about to ruin everything for him, for you…for this whole studio. Christ, if you’re that hard up, there’s a slew of men in this town who would have jumped at the chance to rumple your sheets– you didn’t have to throw yourself at him.”

Each word lands like she's been physically struck, and for a moment Rey is stunned speechless. Evidently Luke Skywalker has a nasty streak, and she's somehow found herself at the receiving end of it.

A white hot anger and indignation begins to bubble in her chest, but instead of flying into a fit of rage, it has the opposite effect. Rey regards him with cool, detached eyes.

“Who I choose to sleep with is no one’s business, but just for the record– there’s nothing going on between Kylo Ren and me.”

Luke raises a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze shifting over to Poe and then back, perhaps waiting for him to interject. Poe, for his part, remains silent, and Rey is relieved. She doesn’t know if Poe believes her or not, but it appears he’s choosing not to voice any objections or suspicions; and whether it's out of loyalty to her or to Kylo or for some other reason entirely, she has no idea. Rey supposes it doesn’t really matter to Poe one way or another, from a professional standpoint– he’s an independent director, and his career doesn’t solely depend upon First Order Studios. This whole place could burn to the ground and Poe Dameron would emerge unscathed, and be no worse for wear.

When nothing more appears to be forthcoming, Luke begins to shrink a bit. His fury starts to subside, and he seems to recognize he’s made a mistake.

“Well, cookie–”

“Don’t,” she grits out. “Don’t call me that.”

Luke sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Well, the rumors are pretty thick on this set. The way you two look at each other–”

“It’s acting,” she scoffs. Her suspicions are definitely piqued. And while she doesn't know what this is all about yet, or why he's so worked up, her finely-honed survival instincts tell her not to reveal anything that could be used against her down the road.

“Jesus, Luke,” she continues. “I thought that’s why I was cast. We’re doing our jobs,” she adds, with a roll of her eyes for good measure.

Poe is watching her shrewdly, but keeps his mouth shut.

Luke visibly deflates, and starts to backpedal. “Rey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got so angry. You just have no idea of the consequences if you were to get involved with him–”

“Why does it matter?” she interrupts testily, finding it difficult to keep her composure. Luke has insisted since the beginning that not only are their careers at stake, but now apparently the fate of the entire studio could be jeopardized if she becomes romantically involved with Kylo Ren. It seems comically incongruent. "Even if we were… what’s the worst that could happen?”

Luke takes a deep breath, and Rey recognizes that look in his eyes, the one he gets right before he delivers one of his trademark speeches.

“Kylo needs to focus on his career, bar none. He’s done a good job showing up on time for filming these last several weeks, no tantrums, no drinking binges… but he’s at a critical point professionally right now. I’ve seen the daily rushes. This picture has the potential to be one of the best he’s ever done. We’re talking Academy Award level of greatness. And if I’m right, and it is, it’s also going to be one of First Order’s crowning achievements. He needs to keep this momentum going, to show Mr. Palpatine that he’s devoted to his career, to First Order Studios… and now is not the time to be swayed by any distractions. His number one priority right now should be getting his contract renewed so he can go on making top tier pictures like this for the studio, and for the rest of his career.”

A few words and phrases pop out at her, blaring like a neon sign.

Devoted to his career… no distractions… making pictures for the studio.

She recalls what Kylo said about his own mother, about being told that he doesn't need the distraction.

Her pulse pounds in her ears and her stomach twists violently as the realization sets in. It’s so simple she’s surprised she didn’t see it sooner.

“What’s in it for you?”

Luke furrows his brow, confused.

She pins him with a hard look; she's not about to allow him to sermonize his way out of this one. "What I mean is, how much do you get to keep Kylo Ren exactly where he is, isolating him, keeping him under your thumb. Is it a percentage, or a cut of the profits, or what?”

Her words are met with deafening silence.

Luke has the audacity to look offended. Poe is watching them warily, and Rey wonders if she’s gone too far, but quickly realizes with a shade of hysteria that she's past the point of giving a damn. Her body is fraught with tension from this already eventful morning– her nerves are raw and frayed, and the walls she’s built to contain her emotions are rapidly crumbling all around her.

“Rey, if you think I’m only interested in money… you couldn’t be more wrong. Kylo is my nephew– ”

“Oh, I know," she nods. "I know all about who you are to him, biologically. But do you actually care about him? Do you listen when he says he wants to do something else? I would think after all these years, after everything he's done, after proving how goddamn talented he is, he would have at least earned the chance to try." Rey can barely get the words out, past the giant lump forming in her throat, while hot tears begin prickling behind her eyes.

Luke’s face hardens and his eyes narrow, like he hadn't expected this kind of pushback from his new protegee.

Like maybe she’s not the ‘good girl’ he thought she was, after all.

“Rey. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t possibly understand how complex this industry is. Kylo Ren is a superstar. A swashbuckling superstar. That’s what his fans want him to be, and that’s what they pay good money to see. Fans are fickle…if you disappoint them once, they never forget it. Just ask Tyrone Power. And yes, I get a cut of the profits when Kylo's pictures do well, but that's part of my deal with the studio. I’ve earned that. Because I'm the best at spotting new talent, and for knowing exactly how to market them to audiences. And I’m never wrong.” He puffs up a bit, his ego swelling before her very eyes.

How hadn’t she noticed it before?

He’s starting to get worked up again. “Jesus, Rey…it’s a business. Showbusiness. It’s not always pretty, but hell, nothing ever is. The choices that are made are with the studio’s best interests in mind– we can’t cater to every wish and whim. It’s dollars and cents. Do you think Kylo isn’t handsomely compensated for his contributions to film, to this studio? He’s making over five thousand a week now. Because he’s the greatest at what he does. And it’s high time for him to get with it and face facts. This studio is never going to let him do anything else. It’s for his own good.

"Turned that kid into a goddamn living legend, but do you think he’d show any gratitude? Hell no," he grumbles under his breath.

Rey’s heart sinks, the fight starting to drain out of her. So that’s it, then. As far as Luke is concerned, Kylo Ren will remain the swashbuckling superstar, the King of Hollywood, so long as he’s contracted under First Order Studios. They’ll keep him tethered to his current image, never relinquishing any control, because it’s profitable for them. And particularly for Luke, it seems. He more than just admitted it– he practically boasted about it.

She exhales, feeling numb. “I see.” There's nothing else she can say to convince him to change his mind. Any hopes she might have had to help Kylo with his career ambitions have completely withered and died.

Luke approaches her and tries to put his hands on her shoulders, but she steps out of his reach. He drops his arms and sighs. Something that might be regret flickers in his eyes, perhaps at knowing things between them might never be the same after today, but there's no way to know for sure.

“Rey, I know how this probably sounds. I know you must be upset,” he croons, and she thinks he might be trying to soothe her, but instead he just sounds patronizing and it grates on her nerves. “But trust me, this is all for the best. It’s what Kylo was born to do. And once he sees this new film, the finished product up on the screen…he’ll realize it too. And he’ll be thankful that we prevented him from making a fool of himself.”

Rey peers at him closely, and it's as though she’s really seeing him for the first time.

“Did you know about his meeting with Mr. Palpatine this morning?”

He nods slowly. “I did.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?”

Poe suddenly chimes in. “Do with what? That boxer screenplay that’s being shopped around?” He turns to the older man, his dark eyes beseeching. "Oh, man… Luke, come on. You know he’d be perfect for that part. Pirate, boxer… I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch. Audiences would love it.”

But Luke ignores him. “I was asked for my input. But Mr. Palpatine makes all final decisions.”

Rey’s chest flares with anger. “And I don’t have to guess what your input was, do I?”

Luke changes his tack, makes another plea for understanding. “Rey, please… I’m not your enemy. Don’t make me into one. Despite whatever grievances Kylo has filled your head with… this is how showbiz works. It’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”

She nods. She's gone this far, she may as well go all the way. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“And what about me, Luke? Have you already decided my fate, the parts that I’ll be typecast into playing?”

Luke sizes her up for a moment, and maybe it’s as though he’s really seeing her for the first time, too.

He steps forward. “Rey, listen to me very carefully. You’re brand new in town. You’re also poised to become one of the studio’s top stars once this film is released, as long as you stay the course and keep doing as I say. You don’t want to start your career off on the wrong foot, now do you?” His voice is soft, but not without a hint of warning. “You don’t want to set yourself up to fail, just for a pair of pretty eyes,” he adds, and the implication is clear.

If you want to succeed, stay far away from Kylo Ren.

But it’s too late for that. She can’t, and she won’t. Rey's heart and gut have already decided Kylo is someone she can trust.

As for everyone else? To say she’s beginning to have doubts is a colossal understatement.

Luke’s words weigh heavily on her mind.

Nothing personal, just business.

And who watches out for her interests? For Kylo’s? For any actor who finds themselves bound by a studio contract into being forced into roles they don’t want to play?

She realizes for the first time how powerless they are, indeed.

But Rey won’t show defeat. If this is the game, she can play it. For now, anyway. At least she has a better idea of what she’s up against.

She meets Luke’s gaze before nodding at Poe, smiling thinly.

“See you at first call.”

She spins out on her heel and doesn’t look back.

Her conversation with Luke keeps playing in her mind until Rey can't stand it any longer. Since there’s no shooting today, she decides to go back to her apartment. She’s been so busy, working so many long days and nights, that she and Rose have been like ships passing in the night. But she needs her friend today more than ever.

Turning her key in the lock, she swings the door open. The main room is bright and cluttered as usual, with records spilling across the floor and ashtrays overflowing. A door slams down the hall just before Rose’s voice calls out.

“Rey?”

“Yep, just me.”

Rose comes bursting down the hall and pulls Rey into a tight hug, her feet momentarily leaving the ground. “Girl! I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

Rey laughs and squeezes her just as tightly. “Well, no rest for the wicked, you know how it is.”

Rose grins and steps back. Her black cherry eyes are shining, and there’s... just an aura about her. Something is up, that’s for sure.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here because–” she picks up a newspaper from the coffee table and holds it up with a flourish– “take a look at this! Front page! I was going to leave it in front of your bedroom door, but you’re here now, so…”

Rey takes the paper from her friend's hands. It’s a front page gossip column alright, with a black and white picture of Rose beaming up at a handsome, slightly haughty-looking man that Rey knows she’s seen before but can’t place. Until she reads the caption.

Bandleader Armie Hux woos starlet Rose Tico

“Rose!” she gasps. Armie Hux is one of the biggest bandleaders in the world– working for popular radio shows as well as being a composer and a performer himself. He’s extremely talented, charismatic, and is considered to be one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors.

“I know!” Rose laughs with girlish glee, doing a little twirl before flopping into the big easy chair. “We met last week at Ciro’s where they’re booked right now and it was like fireworks between us. You know, I never believed in all that love at first sight jazz until now." She tilts her head back and sighs, a dreamy look drifting across her face. "And he has a six month engagement at The Blue Room in New York City starting next week and he wants me to come with him! Can you believe it? Oh Rey, I’m so happy I could die!”

Rey just stares at her friend. Of course she’s happy if Rose is happy…but New York City? Next week? It just seems like it’s happening awfully fast.

“How long will you be gone?”

Rose grins. “Permanently, I hope.” She examines her manicure, checking for flaws in the glossy carmine polish. “I have a feeling we'll be getting married sooner rather than later. We've already discussed it, and I told him flat out I'm not like the other starlets he's dated. I have no aspirations of being a kept woman.”

Rey drops onto the sofa in a boneless heap, her head spinning. “But what about your career here?”

Rose scoffs and rolls her eyes. “What career? I’m a starlet, Rey…I’m not like you. I get paid in favors like this apartment and clothes and a contract for eighty bucks a week. Some starlets get more if they put out more, but I haven’t been willing to part with that much of my dignity. You on the other hand–” she hops up and plops down next to Rey on the sofa–“are about to become one of the biggest stars in the world. You’ll have this whole town at your feet… and you won’t have to part with a shred of dignity to get it. You can have anyone, anything you want. And I’m so happy for you, Rey. We’re both about to get everything we’ve ever dreamed of.”

Rey studies her hands in her lap. She knows some of what Rose is saying is true, to an extent. But she doesn't feel like she's getting everything she’s ever dreamed of, not after this morning…

Rey shakes her head. This isn’t about her right now.

All of a sudden what Rose is saying catches up with her… Rose is leaving. Maybe forever. She might never see her again. She leans forward and pulls her closest friend into another fierce hug.

“I’m going to miss you, Rosie. I’m so happy for you,” she says thickly, as hot tears begin trailing down her cheeks.

The tiny woman squeezes her back just as tightly. “I’m going to miss you too, Rey-Rey. You keep that big ol' hunk of man Kylo Ren in line. When are you going to finally climb that tree, anyway?”

Rey chuckles through her tears. “Rose! You know there’s nothing like that between us. We're just going to be friends.”

Rose pulls back and regards her skeptically. “Uh-huh. You might be the greatest actress of all time after all, if you can keep convincing people of that.”

Rey sniffles a laugh, and Rose passes her a clean linen handkerchief. “But promise me something Rey... the rat race of showbiz is real, and it's ugly. If anything happens, promise me you’ll get out before it’s too late, before it consumes you. I’ve seen it happen to the best of them. I don’t want it to happen to you.”

Rey looks into Rose’s eyes, earnest and shining brightly with tears of her own.

She’s not about to spoil the mood and tell Rose exactly how well acquainted she’s become with the ugliness of showbiz.

She only nods.

“I promise.”

There’s a glass carafe of freshly brewed coffee in her dressing room early the next morning. She breathes in the dark, rich aroma and it immediately perks up her senses.

A huge slice of pecan pie sits on a plate next to it; Rey recognizes it as the one made from scratch by the studio commissary. A sticky confection made of Karo corn syrup, sweet cream butter, and succulent pecans transported thousands of miles from Georgia, just the sugary-sweet smell of it makes her taste buds water. The story goes that it began as a request by one of the old silent film stars: a Southern gentleman who longed for his grandmother’s pecan pie, but it became so popular the studio kept it on the menu, and now it’s become something of a tradition. It’s also become her favorite dessert, and since they only make a small batch once or twice a week, it goes fast– she's often left the commissary empty handed.

Rey wonders if today just happens to be her lucky day, or if someone called in a special favor from one of the studio chefs.

There’s also a note. She picks up the folded piece of white stationery and recognizes the handwriting immediately, an elegant but hasty scrawl.

Let’s knock ‘em dead today, kid.

–KR

Her lips curve into a small smile as she runs her fingertips gently over the ink.

He kept his promise.

Her co-star, her friend, and now her trusted ally.

Quite possibly her only ally.

Pulling up a seat at her table, she pours herself a steaming cupful and takes a bite of the decadent pastry. It’s heavenly, and she hums with delight.

As she takes her first sip, Rey realizes she’s no longer that wide-eyed girl who just stepped off the train from Iowa, and Hollywood is no longer the glittering fantasy she once thought it was. But she doesn’t have regrets; if she hadn’t come here she’d never have discovered her talent, found her purpose, her belonging…

…and she’d never have met Kylo Ren.

At just the thought of him, her heart begins to pound and her chest fills with… something, an unfamiliar emotion she can’t quite put a name to. She doesn’t know exactly where their relationship is headed, but realizes with a burst of clarity that she’s no longer afraid of finding out.

As far as the studio is concerned, Rey has already decided to play along with their games, but she’ll be making her own rules as she goes.

Because for the first time in her life she’s got something worth holding on to, something worth fighting for–

–and they’re sorely mistaken if they think she’ll give up on it so easily.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Hollywood, California

1947

“Thanks again for doing this for me so last minute, Finn. I really appreciate it.”

Finn just smiles and presses a tissue between her lips, and she obediently blots her lipstick.

They’re in Rey’s dressing room, just a couple of hours before the big wrap party at the Cocoanut Grove, hosted by Harry Palpatine himself.

The last scenes were filmed only yesterday, and Mr. Palpatine sent out a memo just a few days ago that he’s throwing this bash for all principal cast members, as well as for certain members of the Hollywood elite and subsequently, the large number of press expected to attend.

Rey had thought it was incredibly unfair that the rest of the cast and crew had been excluded, but Finn explained that this event tonight is less of a party and more of a contractual obligation for the big stars, to show up at a fancy nightclub dressed to the nines, in an effort to keep up the studio’s glamorous image for the shareholders and the public. She’d wrinkled her nose when he described it as trotting out the show ponies, more or less.

Mr. Palpatine had also insisted that he would be escorting Rey himself, to introduce her as his newest rising star. The Silver Screen article had done its job, and now everyone in the industry wanted to see the new It Girl for themselves. Luke had come by her dressing room to tell her she’d be attending the party at Mr. Palpatine’s behest, resulting in a brief, somewhat stilted conversation.

She sighs as Finn brushes loose powder onto her nose.

Ever since their confrontation almost a week ago, she and Luke have maintained their professional relationship, but it has definitely changed– a certain amount of tension now strains their interactions. Rey knows she’ll never look at him the same way again, with the trust and fondness one would expect between a mentor and their protegee, but she can’t bring herself to hate him, either. Once her anger had cooled, she rationalized that Luke has been in this business for decades, and she supposes that even the best of people can eventually lose sight of what’s important.

But that doesn’t mean she’s going to give up on what’s right, and what’s important to her.

Her stomach does a little flip-flop and her lips quirk into a small, secretive smile.

“Alright, Rey, what’s that look about? You’ve been positively moony all week.” Finn stops patting rouge onto her cheekbones, pulling back to regard her suspiciously.

“Have I?” she demurs. Finn is her friend, but she’s not ready to share with anyone what exactly has her acting so moony lately. At least not until after she has a talk with the man himself.

Now that filming is finished, and they’ve been informed they all have some time off before their next projects are announced, Rey’s decided the timing is right for her to finally tell Kylo how she feels.

And she’s decided to do it tonight.

She had found out from Poe that even though Mr. Palpatine hasn’t announced a renewal yet, Kylo’s current contract technically still runs until the end of the month, and that includes fulfilling his obligations to the studio, like press junkets and public events, such as this party tonight.

Kylo will definitely be there.

It’s a formal event, and Rey's cheeks heat up as she envisions him on the red carpet, tall and broad and dashing– because in her mind, no one does justice to black tie quite like Kylo Ren.

Sometimes it takes her breath away, the intensity of these entirely new emotions. It’s as if that initial flame of attraction, bright and hot, has settled into something deeper, a glowing ember in her heart, fueled by compassion and trust. It’s given her strength, freed her from the worries and fears she had before, all of Luke's warnings crumbling to dust. And now, without those fears, not telling Kylo how she truly feels is starting to lean uncomfortably toward deception. The last thing in the world she would ever do is lie to him, and Rey knows she can’t go on like this.

A little niggle of self-doubt whispers she should just leave well enough alone, be satisfied with his friendship, but she pushes it firmly aside.

Fortune favors the brave,and all that.

Finn just sighs and shakes his head. “Ok, Rey, I won’t press you for details. But I hope you know you can trust me– and if you ever want to tell me about it, I’ll be here.”

She nods and tries to focus on the task at hand. “Thank you, Finn.”

A few minutes later, Finn steps back and sets down his mascara brush. “Alright, my dear, you’re all finished.”

Rey turns toward the vanity mirror, her eyes lighting up as she assesses his handiwork; Finn’s worked his magic once again. Her best features have been enhanced and she looks soft, almost ethereal– a word she’d never typically use to describe herself.

He bends down and meets her gaze in the mirror. “Gorgeous, as always,” he says, dropping a light kiss on her temple.

Rey hops out of her chair and gives him a quick hug before rushing over to duck behind her dressing screen.

“What are we doing with your hair? An updo?” he calls over to her as she strips off her bathrobe.

The gown she’s chosen for this evening doesn’t really allow for any kind of brasserie or girdle, and luckily she can get away without one, despite it being considered unladylike. Her breasts are on the small side, but perky and well-shaped, and Rey has always found most foundation garments to be more trouble than they’re worth.

“I thought I’d just leave it down loose and curled, like it is,” she replies as she rolls a sheer ivory stocking up her right leg to mid-thigh, fastening it to her white lace garter belt before doing the same on the left. She slips the gown off the hanger and steps into it.

“Unless you think we should put it up…” she continues as she steps out from behind the screen.

Finn nods absently, focused on putting his cosmetics back in their black leather case, but glances up as she emerges. He freezes, dropping the jar of face powder he has in his hand back on the counter while his eyes go comically wide.

“Rey," he breathes. “That dress.You look…” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Ravishing.”

“Do I?” she asks, surprised. She's not particularly vain about her looks, but she supposes looking her best tonight can't hurt her cause.

Rey turns to the full-length mirror. The gown is sleeveless and backless with a high halter-style neckline; a skintight bodice made of a fine nude mesh covers her torso and is embellished with white flower appliques, sewn more densely over her more delicate areas. At the flare of her hips the bodice gives way to a floor-length skirt, her lower half enveloped in diaphanous layers of nude mesh and floaty white chiffon.

As she turns a critical eye on her reflection Rey has to admit, the overall effect– the makeup, the hair, the exquisite dress– is pretty nice.

Not just nice, she tells herself, trying to give her wayward confidence a boost. Ravishing.

Finn’s face breaks into a wide grin and he shakes his head.

“Whoever the lucky guy is, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Nervous, dearie?”

Mr. Palpatine’s voice cuts through Rey's thoughts and she looks down, noticing her knee bobbing under her gown in anxious anticipation.

They’re in the back of Mr. Palpatine’s limo, headed toward the Cocoanut Grove. He’s perfectly coiffed as usual, and she’s forced to admit he looks quite dapper in his tuxedo. Luke is here too, and Rey is oddly grateful; she's still unnerved by the ominous studio head and wasn’t looking forward to being alone with him, even for a small amount of time. Even if Luke is predictably silent, as he always is whenever Mr. Palpatine is around.

Rey stops her leg from bouncing and takes a deep breath, willing herself to relax. She’s certainly not going to tell Mr. Palpatine what really has her so wound up, so instead she turns and gives him a pert smile. “Well, maybe just a little.”

He laughs and pats the back of her hand resting on the seat, his touch cold and dry as ever. “Now now, my dear, it’s nothing you can’t handle. Just some celebrities and photographers coming out to see my newest star… all you need to do is smile and look pretty. I'll handle the rest."

If this were happening weeks ago, Rey would have rolled her eyes at such a belittling remark, and in return Luke would have given her a reassuring wink or warm smile…

But now everything’s changed and he’s staring out the window, his mind apparently elsewhere.

Before she has time to consider whether or not it bothers her, the limo pulls to a stop and the chauffeur gets out to open her door.

Mr. Palpatine pats her hand one more time.

"It's showtime, my dear.”

A swarm of reporters descends upon them at the entrance of the club. Within seconds, Rey is blinded by the popping flashbulbs and overwhelmed at the chorus of people shouting her name, and she freezes on the spot.

“Miss Rian! Miss Rian! Over here please!”

It’s so tempting to put her hand against her forehead to shield her eyes against the bright lights flashing repeatedly in her face, but Rey knows the reporters are expecting her to poseprettily.She recalls all the pictures of Zorri Bliss and Ahsoka Tano and even Kylo on the red carpet, looking like perfection. How do they do it? She realizes belatedly it's something she should have prepared for.

Suddenly Luke brushes past and makes a beeline for the entrance, nodding and waving at the few photographers who recognize him and call out his name.

She stands there mired in uncertainty for a moment, just a few feet from the open limo door, when Mr. Palpatine appears next to her and places a hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

Now the flashbulbs are really popping, and Rey thinks she might actually go blind after this.

“Mr. Palpatine! Mr. Palpatine! What can you tell us about your new girl?”

He pauses to turn and wave to the crowd, smiling like a proud father, clearly in his element. With his other hand still resting on her back, he addresses them all at once.

“All in good time, my dear friends. Come inside, join the party, and you’ll see for yourselves why I’ve invited you all here tonight.”

Rey examines his face and finds no trace of warmth or friendliness.

He’s the best actor of them all, she thinks wryly.

Together, they turn back towards the entrance of the club, and make their way inside.

The Cocoanut Grove is one of the most famous and prominent nightspots in Los Angeles, and many high-profile events, including the last several Academy Award ceremonies, have been held here.

And like most of the country, she’s seen it in countless photographs, but to see it in person is another thing entirely.

The décor is really something else: the high ceiling is studded with artificial stars, and huge, life-size papier-mache palm trees stand ostentatiously between the dozens of white cloth-covered tables, with garish red-eyed mechanical monkeys dangling from their fronds. Just beyond a large, polished dance floor there's a stage, where over the din of people chatting float the first strains of an orchestra tuning up. Brusque waiters in crisp white jackets dash from table to table, with trays of champagne flutes and dinner plates elevated precariously over their heads.

Most of the tables are already occupied, and the ballroom is a sea of tuxedos and colorful gowns. Rey recognizes many of the faces and for a moment is star struck; these are the faces of Hollywood luminaries she has seen many times before, but never in real life, only on screen and in magazines.

The crowd takes notice of Mr. Palpatine’s arrival, and they start to break out into resounding applause. He beams and waves good-naturedly at them as he continues to guide her forward, toward the microphone set up on the stage in front of the orchestra.

Rey's eyes scan the crowd, searching for one person in particular.

The overhead lights dim and a spotlight hits the stage, illuminating the shiny silver microphone in static brightness.

From up here she has a bird’s eye view and sure enough, even in the darkened ballroom she spots that familiar crown of lush black hair, seated at a table almost front and center, nearly a full head above everyone else.

She meets his gaze and her heart begins pounding, a thundering tattoo in her chest.

Kylo looks… awestruck, is the first word that comes to mind, and a thrill of satisfaction rushes through her body. He’s staring at her with so much intensity, his full mouth slightly agape, that Rey knows she’ll never again underestimate the power of a beautiful dress.

Mr. Palpatine approaches the microphone and pulls her alongside him. He exchanges a look with the leader of the orchestra, who responds with an understanding nod. The bandleader turns toward the musicians and with the wave of his hand, the music stops. Mr. Palpatine gives the microphone a couple of quick taps and a resounding thump thump from the speakers indicates it's on.

Once the clapping and chatter die down, he launches into his speech.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming tonight. To the press, as well as to my pantheon of stars and also to those who work behind the scenes, to ensure our future in creating those dreams, those aspirations, that the world counts on us to provide.”

His words become a faded jumble of noise as Rey once again looks over to Kylo.

A photographer materializes out of nowhere and passes in front of his table, snapping his picture. As he steps back to replace the bulb, Rey notices for the first time that there’s a woman seated next to him.

A beautiful woman, in a low-cut black evening gown, who’s now leaning against Kylo and resting her hand possessively on his forearm, smiling widely as the photographer’s bulb pops once again.

But Kylo's heated gaze is still focused on her up on the stage, and Rey can't help wondering if the picture will be worth anything with him looking so distracted.

Her heart begins to sink as she assesses the woman again. Her long brown hair and delicate, gamine features are familiar, and Rey’s mind scrambles to place her.

The woman turns to whisper something in Kylo’s ear, giving Rey a good view of her profile.

Baz. The woman Kylo was with the night they met at Ciro’s.

Otherwise known as Bazine Netal, a starlet who’s made an appearance in some well-known pictures, but hasn’t done anything notable of late that Rey is aware of.

In a frenzy, she racks her brain, trying to recall if she’d ever read anything about Kylo and Bazine officially being an item.

Because if she’d read it, or if he had mentioned it, she’s damn well certainshe would have remembered.

Mr. Palpatine is still addressing the crowd, clearly relishing being the center of attention. But Rey can’t focus on anything he’s saying, now that her heart is careening into a violent freefall inside her chest.

Instead, she recalls the last time she spoke to Kylo off set.

In his dressing room, telling him that she considers him a friend.

And all the times before that, when it seemed like there may have been an opportunity for her to tell him– or show him– how she feels, what did she do? Go off running like a coward.

Of course he must not think she cares about him, as anything more than a friend. Her hesitancy and fear have left the door wide open for another woman to swoop in, and Rey has no one to blame but herself.

She watches miserably from the stage as Bazine plucks a fresh cigarette from her case, placing it between her lips, and Kylo immediately leans over to light it. She takes a deep drag and exhales, turning to bat her long eyelashes at him, a smile curving her bright red lips in gratitude.

Rey quickly looks away, trying to ignore the thorny vine of jealousy now winding its way around her heart, and attempts to concentrate on what Mr. Palpatine is saying instead.

“I’d like to introduce the next big star of First Order Studios, this diamond in the rough, who went virtually overnight from unknown actress to starring in our next big release, The Turning Tide with Kylo Ren.” The crowd murmurs appreciatively, and a couple of flashbulbs pop in front of the stage and in the vicinity of Kylo’s table, but Rey restrains herself from looking over that way again.

“And I’d also like all of you, the First Order family, as well as the press gathered here tonight, to be the first to meet her before the rest of the world does. Here she is, the girl you’ve heard so much about–” he pauses and turns his head towards her before addressing the crowd once again–“Miss Rey Rian.”

The crowd breaks into fresh applause and Mr. Palpatine is motioning for her to step up to the microphone, with that wolf-like grin on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Panic grips her chest and Rey instinctively shakes her head… what happened to just smile and look pretty?

His eyes narrow, and she reads the subtle threat in them. He turns back to the microphone.

“I think Miss Rian might be a bit overwhelmed… can we give her another big round of applause?”

The crowd obeys, and it's like a thunderstorm rocking through her body, the clapping and cheering of two hundred people directed at her. Reyknows she ought to be pleased by this show of acceptance, and yet as she looks closely at the myriad of faces, she knows she’s still being judged. Evaluated. Weighed against their Hollywood standards, the bar set impossibly high.

Suddenly Rey is wracked with insecurity and self-doubt. That old fear of not being accepted, of not being good enough begins to surface, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune time.

She feels weightless, like all the oxygen has left her body in a rush, and a cold sweat beads up on her skin.

A handful of photographers stampede to the front of the stage, their flashbulbs popping once again.

But then she remembers a night not long ago, a whispered conversation under a moonlit sky. Kylo had called her a fighter, and she believed him then.

She believes it now.

Squaring her shoulders, she takes a deep breath, drawing upon her own inner strength, that fire burning in her belly that’s brought her this far.

You can do this.

As Mr. Palpatine retreats and she approaches the microphone, attempting to affect the grace and poise expected of a Hollywood leading lady, the applause dies down. She gives the crowd a beatific smile.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you, what a kind reception, thank you so much.” The alto timbre of her voice resonates through the speakers, and a faint ripple of surprise flows through the audience. Expecting Betty Boop, perhaps? Of its own accord, her gaze flicks over to Kylo, and for an instant it's as if nothing between them has changed. That intangible energy flows between them, fortified by a mutual trust, and Rey basks in its familiar warmth. He’s looking at her with pride and maybe, if she didn't know better, a hint of possessiveness.

There's my girl, his face seems to say, one dark eyebrow lifted and a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Rey's gaze slides over to Bazine, who’s studying her own face in her compact, apparently bored beyond belief.

Something hot and stabbing sears inside her chest and she takes another deep breath, determined to wrap this up as quickly as possible and get down from this damn stage.

“First, I’d like to thank the man responsible for making First Order Studios what it is today, the reason we're all gathered here tonight… Mr. Harry Palpatine.” When the round of enthusiastic applause dies down, she continues. “I’ll do my best to adhere to the image set by all you fine people, and to uphold the ideals set by this studio. Thank you again so much, and have a wonderful night.”

The crowd erupts into another fresh round of applause as she steps away from the microphone, and Mr. Palpatine resumes his place in the spotlight.

“Isn’t she wonderful, folks? Now you understand why I was so utterly captivated and had to sign her immediately,” he says with a grin, and the crowd murmurs in agreement. He turns to gaze at her approvingly, and Rey feels as if she's passed some sort of test.

“Now let’s enjoy this evening on my dollar,” he adds magnanimously, like a king addressing his court while the orchestra begins to play, “and let the festivities begin.”

After almost twenty minutes of hiding in the bathroom, Rey accepts defeat.

It's mind-numbingly boring, and she can't force herself to stay in here a minute longer, much less all night. And of course she isn't carrying a purse tonight, so she flips an embarrassed little wave to the attendant as she scurries past the tip jar, imagining the blind item that will likely show up in tomorrow's gossip columns: "What Hollywood newcomer has worrisome bathroom habits and is tighter than bark on a tree?"

The opening notes of Moonlight Serenade greet her when she emerges, and Rey relaxes despite herself– the easy jazz ballad is one of her favorites. Mr. Palpatine catches sight of her and his face lights up; he extends a hand and pulls her onto the dance floor.

Even though dancing is the last thing in the world she feels like doing, she doesn’t think she’s in any sort of position to object. Many other couples follow suit, and soon the dance floor is full of swirling, heated bodies.

The only good thing about this is that Rey can no longer see Kylo and Bazine at their table through the dozens of glitterati on the dance floor.

Mr. Palpatine proves to be a capable dancer, and they move smoothly around the darkened ballroom. Rey has never been this close to him, and she tries not to wrinkle her nose at a stale mustiness seeping from underneath his expensive French cologne.

She moves to the music automatically, her body disconnected from her mind, her thoughts running in a jumble through her head.

Does Bazine know how lucky she is?

A couple swirls by, giving Mr. Palpatine a congratulatory smile, and her a curious glance.

Does she know how amazing Kylo is? How kind and generous he is? How just a couple weeks ago, when a new electrician on set fell from a ladder and broke his leg, Kylo had insisted on paying his hospital bill?

Not that he went around bragging about it, of course. The only reason Rey knew is because Finn told her after word made its way through the studio grapevine.

Does she know how he loves to snack on oranges, and that he has a wickedly dry sense of humor, and that he hates wearing a watch because he’s never found one that fits comfortably?

The dance floor is really crowded now, and someone bumps into her from behind, but she barely notices.

Does she know how he obsessively works the LA Times crossword puzzle to kill time between takes, because he's smart, because he enjoys the challenge, because he's so obscenely talented he doesn't need any extra preparation to work on his character, he can just turn it on and off at will?

Another couple bobs past and they catch her eye, giving her an encouraging smile which she just can’t bring herself to return.

Does she know how in just the right lighting you can find flecks of gold in his eyes, and that his kiss can steal your breath away while making you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt?

Rey is fairly certain Bazine knows at least that last one, and her throat tightens as unshed tears begin pricking behind her eyes.

No, absolutely not, she’s not going to start crying on this dance floor, in front of all these people.

“May I cut in, sir?”

A clipped, vaguely British-sounding voice slices through her despairing thoughts.

Rey turns her head to find a man standing next to her; dark-haired, attractive she supposes, in a generic sort of way. She doesn’t recognize him right away, but from his looks and demeanor Rey deduces that he must be an actor, or an aspiring one.

Even though he’d presumably been addressing Mr. Palpatine, he’s looking at her expectantly.

“Cody!” Mr. Palpatine replies heartily, releasing her to give the man an affectionate clap on the shoulder. “Rey, I’d like you to meet Cody Breaker. He’s one of our fastest rising stars– his latest film has broken several box office records.”

Ah, yes. Cody Breaker. The name rings a bell. He’s a fairly new star and has acquired quite a large female following if her memory serves. In fact, she seems to even recall a silly article in Photoplay a couple months ago, pitting him against Kylo Ren. “Is Cody Breaker the new ‘King of Hollywood?'" or some such obnoxious title. But she doesn’t remember if the writer of the piece had determined whether or not Kylo’s reign was truly in jeopardy.

Mr. Palpatine looks between the two of them, as if considering something. “Yes, yes… you two youngsters go ahead, get to know each other. I have a feeling you’ll get along just fine.” He takes her hand and places it in Cody’s, smiling cagily before disappearing into the crowd. It feels strange, like some kind of deal has just been made without her consent, and Rey withdraws her hand quickly with a scowl.

However, Cody doesn’t seem to be offended, regarding her with a glimmer of amused interest in his hazel eyes.

All around them, couples are still swirling with the music, and Cody extends his hand once again.

“Miss Rian, would you do me the honor?”

She stares at it, feeling numb. Now that Mr. Palpatine is gone, all Rey can think about is making a quick exit. To someplace, anyplace– there must be a back room or something around here that has a window she can climb out of, where she can hail a cab and disappear unnoticed.

But she knows that’s impossible; half of Hollywood is here tonight, assembled practically on her behalf. Not to mention the breach of contract she’d undoubtedly face once they figured out she’d skipped out early.

On the other hand, she also knows that Kylo is bound by the same contractual obligation and must still be in this club somewhere, and the last thing she wants to do is watch him with Bazine, eating her heart out for the rest of the night.

It’s as though her frantic thoughts have somehow fulfilled some wretched prophecy, or perhaps conjured him up before her very eyes, because suddenly Kylo appears: all six feet four inches of tall, dark and handsome. Large and broad shouldered and absolutely killing her in a perfectly tailored tuxedo.

He sidles up from behind Cody with Bazine in his arms, but he stops for a moment to look at Rey in the most curious way– his dark brows furrowed, a burning intensity in his amber eyes, a tightness set in his full mouth and elegant jawline.

Rey is so accustomed to Kylo’s regular expression, the one of impassive neutrality, so to see him so blatantly affected by something piques her interest while turning her insides into jelly.

Suddenly it’s all too much. She grabs Cody by the arm and pulls him forward, away from Kylo and Bazine.

“It’s getting a little hot and crowded out here, don’t you think?” Rey knows her voice sounds thin and desperate but she can’t control it. She needs to get out of here fast. Away from heated looks and dark fervent eyes and strong arms wrapped around someone who isn’t her.

But she thinks Cody might mistake her desperation for eagerness, eagerness to be alone with him– however, she can’t be bothered to explain or clarify. She just wants to make a fast exit, the sooner the better.

He flashes her a smooth, charming grin and Rey notices his teeth. All of them straight and even and utterly perfect, and her stomach sinks.

Is this how it’s going to be, she wonders dully, comparing every man to himfor the rest of my life?

But Cody doesn’t sense her dismay, and instead takes her by the arm to lead her off the dance floor.

“Don’t worry, my cherie,” he says, and she just barely stops herself from pulling a face at the endearment. “I know just the place.”

As she and Cody leave the crowded ballroom arm in arm, Rey can feel the weight of Kylo’s stare pressing against her, and yet she somehow finds the strength not to look back.

Rey is surprised to discover that the Cocoanut Grove has a rooftop terrace. Delicate lanterns strung around the perimeter sway slightly in the light breeze, the golden glow providing just enough illumination to stave off the darkness. Only a handful of stars are visible in the sky tonight, the smog having been thick over Los Angeles today.

Cody leads her over to a padded bench built in next to an impressive water fountain at the center of the terrace, its interior lined with a mosaic of colorful glass tiles, shimmering underneath the clear surface.

Rey loves water as a rule, and normally would have found the trickling sound pleasant and soothing, but right now she’s too heartsick to enjoy it.

“So I begged Hedda not to print that, but you know Hedda– stubborn as a mule. Anyway, she did, and other papers picked it up and ran with it, so now I’m “The Hollywood Heartbreaker” until the day I die. Hell, it’ll probably end up on my headstone,” he chuckles with the quirk of his brow. His eyebrows are his most prominent feature, Rey has decided; they’re heavy and dark but sharply angled, giving his face a look of perpetual mischief.

They’ve been out here for almost half an hour, and in that short time Cody has managed to tell her quite a bit about himself. How he’s originally from Connecticut but came to Hollywood two years ago “on a dare.” How he’s been contracted with First Order Studios almost since the day he arrived, but that he just got his big break starring in their latest film Tender Virtue, and now his career is skyrocketing– he’s being featured in all the gossip columns and fan magazines, and people are stopping him in the street constantly, begging for an autograph.

(“That’s when you know you made it,” he told her conspiratorially. “Watch out, it’ll be happening to you next,” he said with a wink.)

Rey knocks back the rest of her champagne and picks up the bottle to pour herself another glass. At least Cody had the foresight to grab a full bottle and two crystal flutes before they made their escape.

She’s been sitting here mostly silent, apart from the occasional nod and mmm hmm, but if Cody notices or minds her lack of conversation, he hasn’t shown it. She supposes she should at least make an attempt at being sociable, but to say her heart’s just not in it is a gross understatement.

He’s really not a terrible guy, Reymuses as he launches into another anecdote, his face splitting into a wide grin as he tells her about some amusing run-in he had with Mickey Rooney at The Derby. He’s handsome, he’s talkative, and he’s charming, in his own way. It’s obvious to her why he’s becoming such a big star– he has all the typical Hollywood leading man qualities.

And maybe in anotherlifetime,she thinks, if things were different… maybe she’d be interested. Maybe if she had met him before she had met Kylo Ren. Before she had realized that big, brooding, and taciturn was what she craved instead.

She stares at the fountain without really seeing it and sighs.

Cody Breaker simply isn’t Kylo Ren, and that’s all there is to it.

Lifting her glass to her lips, she silently wills the champagne to do its job, to make everything seem warm and fuzzy and a bit surreal, like sliding a blur filter over a camera lens. She stares down at the bubbles clinging to the inside of her glass as thoughts of Kylo with Bazine loom in the back of her mind... painful shadows from which she has nowhere to hide.

Rey doesn't know how long she sits there like that until she realizes Cody’s gone silent and looks up, blinking in bewilderment.

Did he just ask her a question?

She isn't certain, but nevertheless he’s looking at her like she's hung the moon as he moves his hand up toward her face, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear.

Her brow creases in confusion, and all of a sudden Rey has the urge to burst into a fit of giggles, the champagne high finally kicking in. She presses her lips together in a firm line but can’t suppress the liquid grin from spreading across her face.

Cody is staring into her eyes now, his own hazel ones shining, and leans in closer. He plucks the flower, a vibrant red carnation, from his lapel and tucks it gently behind her ear.

“You’re mesmerizing, Miss Rian. I was enchanted from the moment I saw you.”

Belatedly, her alcohol-infused brain realizes He’s gonna try to kiss you, you dope, but before she can move away, the rooftop door swings open.

Rey turns her head just in time to find Kylo scanning the terrace, looking around frantically for a moment before his eyes land on her. She watches as his expression changes, from panic to relief to something that looks a lot like hurt as he takes in the scene before him.

She pushes Cody away and jumps up, her face warming with an inexplicable mixture of guilt and shame. Kylo's eyes flick to the carnation that’s still stuck behind her ear, so she pulls it out hastily, tossing it on the bench. The muscle in his jaw tightens as his cutting gaze sweeps over the empty champagne bottle and the two glasses, and she mentally cringes. Demille himself couldn’t have staged a more cliched setup for seduction.

“I’m sorry– you two were obviously in the middle of something and I interrupted,” he says politely, but the heavy strain in his voice betrays him. He gives Cody a curt nod. “My apologies.”

He turns back to Rey, his eyes obsidian in the near darkness, and the expression on his face mirrors the misery she feels inside.

Good, she thinks cruelly, from that hurt and bitter place in her heart that’s still aching– and yet, a soft swell of compassion fills her in the same instant, and Rey knows despite everything, causing Kylo any pain or grief is the last thing she ever wants to do.

She can’t stand it any longer. Whatever this is between them needs to be sorted out, now.

“Would you please excuse us, Cody?” she asks softly, her eyes never leaving Kylo’s face.

She senses Cody’s reluctance, and although he rises to his feet, he doesn’t make a move to go. Rey turns to ask him again and is mystified by the slow smile lifting his lips.

He nods sagely. “I see. Filming just wrapped and now it’s time to officially end things. Well, I understand. You’ll let him down gently, won’t you, dear?” He leans in, curling a hand around her waist and presses an intimate, lingering kiss against her cheek.

Before she can ask him just who does he think he is, Rey notices Kylo’s gone deceptively still, like the eye of a hurricane, while his emotions roil and churn all around him.

She swallows. This isn’t going to be good.

But Cody doesn’t seem to sense the tension building in the air, thick and rancorous, because he turns to Kylo and claps him affably on the shoulder. “No hard feelings, old boy. It was bound to come to an end, anyway, these things always do. C'est la vie.”

Kylo’s fists are clenched, his entire body taut with fury, and by now Rey is mildly surprised that Cody's still in possession of his appendages.

“You’re lucky I’ve recently turned over a new leaf, Breaker,” he snarls, pushing the other man's hand away. “Not long ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about knocking the lights out of a phony pretentious asshole such as yourself.”

Cody blinks at him in surprise, until his thick eyebrows suddenly quirk with amusem*nt.

“Well now, seeing as how you’ve reformed from your old thuggish ways, Ren, allow me to press my luck a bit further.” He steps into Kylo’s personal space, and Rey marvels at this man's lack of survival instinct. “Your days of being the king of this town are almost up. And I intend to not only have your title, but your co-star, too. I just wonder which one you’ll regret losing the most.”

He turns back to Rey with a wink. “Don’t be too long, cherie.”

She sighs with relief when he's finally gone, the rooftop door swinging closed behind him.

Kylo pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a couple of deep breaths while Rey waits, wanting him to be the first one to speak. When he finally does, his voice is low, some residual anger still seeping through, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Care to tell me how long that’s been going on?”

He sounds angry, but also a bit condescending, like she’s some naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It's not what she was expecting and it rankles her, sending her temper flaring, white and hot. He has no right to talk down to her, or to make demands– besides, he’s the one who has some explaining to do, not her.

“Care to tell me how long you and Bazine have been going on?” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest.

His brow furrows, and he tilts his head in confusion. “There’s nothing going on between Bazine and me.”

Now she’s confused, and they just stare at each other blankly for a few moments, as if they’ve suddenly begun speaking two different languages.

“What are you talking about?” she demands, cheeks flaming. “You were together tonight. I saw you, Kylo." She's ludicrous, with her arms flailing for emphasis. "Hell, the whole world saw you.”

He exhales a long breath, and the line of tension around his shoulders and body seem to disappear with it. He steps toward her, relief and concern sweeping across his features.

“Rey, didn’t you know?” he asks gently. “Bazine is being kept by a very powerful, very married film producer. When the rumors get too thick around town, the studio sets her up on a date with an eligible bachelor… who as of late just happens to be me.” He shrugs a bit sheepishly. “It benefits us both, I guess. Keeps nosy people from speculating about my love life, too.”

Rey just gapes at him, stunned into silence. Her head is spinning for a few reasons, not the least of which is astonishment at the lengths these Hollywood people will go to cover their misdeeds, but most of all… with overwhelming relief.

He’s not with Bazine.

“Rey…” he breathes as he steps forward, cupping her face with exquisite care. His dark eyes are filled with concern as his thumbs smooth away the tears she wasn't even aware had begun sliding down her cheeks.

“I’m not with Cody Breaker. I just met him tonight,” she admits, swallowing the painful tightness in her throat.

Kylo looks at her tenderly, his eyes searching her face. It all feels so familiar, like deja vu, like they’ve been here so many times before.

But this time she's not running away.

“So what happens now?” he murmurs, his voice irresistibly low and seductive.

Her pulse thrums wildly, her blood rushing through her body with each frantic beat. This is it, the moment she's been waiting for. She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Say it,” he urges, his voice thick with desperation.

“I– I’m falling for you, Kylo,” she whispers, the words finally escaping her lips in a breathless rush. He’s still holding her face gently between his hands, and they start trembling lightly against her cheeks. “I care about you so, so much. And not just as a friend.” Her voice gains strength as she continues, encouraged by the tender reverence in his eyes. “I think about you all the time, about everything you are, and how you still leave me craving to know more. I want to be with you, I want to keep working with you, but most of all... I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning.”

Her bare confession lies between them and for a dizzying moment she feels stripped and vulnerable, worried she might have said too much.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, just before lowering his head to hers, and the endearment lights up every corner of her heart. But it’s nothing compared to the light pressure of his lips against hers, and the series of soft, plush kisses he begins tantalizing her with. His kisses are almost testing, teasing, but grow more insistent as she becomes impatient for more.

She surges up against him, against the hard terrain of his body, her fingers digging into his wide shoulders for purchase. Their mouths and tongues find an erotic rhythm, languid but steady, urgency building with each stroke. His large hands travel downward, caressing her arms until they slide across the bare skin of her back and he groans, sending a carnal wash of desire through her body, and wetness begins to pool between her thighs.

“Rey,” he murmurs heatedly, and hearing him say her name with such passion almost tips her over the edge, a tacit reminder that this is happening for real, and it releases some primal urge within her. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, biting down gently as she rakes her fingers through his thick hair, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp, while she hooks her right leg over his hip to grind experimentally against his hardening length.

Kylo groans again, louder this time, and pulls back gently, breaking the embrace.

Rey actually whines at the loss of him, and would probably be embarrassed if she didn’t notice how absolutely ravaged he looks right now– his hair tangled and mussed, his lips red and swollen, his immaculate tux rumpled and more than a bit worse for wear.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold out– and I never envisioned our first time happening on the rooftop of The Cocoanut Grove." His hands circle her waist and he dips his head to the curve of her neck, his teeth nipping her earlobe and grazing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw.

“Where did you envision our first time, then?” She aims to sound playful, but the raw huskiness of her voice adds a decidedly wanton nuance to the question.

He straightens, his eyes blackening and jaw working as he considers if she’s serious or not. She instinctively licks her lips under his scrutiny and his eyes chase the movement of her tongue, and that seems to be all the validation he needs.

“I can show you, if you’ll come with me." His words are little more than a ragged whisper.

God, yes please, let’s go now hersalacious mind screams, but her common sense wins out this time.

“Wait, what about the party... won’t we be fined for leaving early?”

But Kylo already has his fingers threaded through hers and is pulling her towards the stairs, pausing to take out his handkerchief to delicately clean the smudged lipstick from her face before scrubbing it a bit more roughly against his own. Rey smooths his hair back into place and marvels at the ease in the intimate way they touch each other now, as if this was always the way it was meant to be, and their coming together was kismet, inevitable.

“Ifthey catch us, I’ll happily pay the fine for both of us. But right now, the only thing I’m concerned with is giving you everything you want.”

He glances over at her, a roguish smile breaking across his face.

“Starting by making sure we wake up together in the morning.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

As soon as they’re in Kylo’s sleek black Cadillac convertible, they speed off into the night. Her heart is racing with exhilaration at slipping away from the party unnoticed, but also because he’s holding her hand– or more accurately, her hand is pressed between his and the gear shift, his long fingers interlaced with hers, while his other one deftly manages the steering wheel. It’s strangely erotic, the way the engine thrums higher and higher as it builds speed with each movement of their joined hands, the hard polished knob vibrating powerfully under her palm while they crest over winding hills and plunge into deep valleys as they drive further and further away from the city.

It doesn’t take long for Rey to realize they’re heading further west, beyond the swanky area of Hollywood so many celebrities call home.

“Where are we going?” she asks, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Malibu,” he replies. “I have a house there on the beach. It’s a little out of the way but,” he shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road. “I like having the privacy.”

Rey studies his strong profile in the near darkness, still marveling at how natural it feels to be this close to him. She smiles softly to herself as she realizes that she can’t picture Kylo living in one of those showy, grandiose hillside mansions after all. He’s too quiet, too thoughtful– and how he ended up in the spotlight to become one of the most hounded, most sought-after celebrities of all time is beyond her.

Well, she knows how he did, of course, but having to endure the pitfalls that go with that kind of fame must have been so difficult for him to adapt to. It's probably something he still struggles with every day, and her chest pangs with compassion and affection.

Compassion for his plight, but also affection for being the kind of person he is. The kind of person that would rather avoid attention and public scrutiny than be immersed in it. The kind that would rather be alone with her at a remote beach house than preening like a peaco*ck at a fancy Hollywood party.

Rey's heart glows, with fondness as well as something else she can’t quite put her finger on. She just really likes him so much, more than anyone she's ever known.

They slow down as they make their way along a smoothly paved road, and Kylo pulls into a short, sloping driveway. She can’t make out much in the darkness, except for the shadow of the jagged, rocky cliff rising high and steep behind her, and the sound of waves crashing beyond the carport.

He still has his fingers entwined with hers as he pulls her through the dark carport, fumbling in his pocket for a moment before she hears the jangle of keys and the turning of a lock.

Her heart beats rapidly and her stomach flip-flops as he leads her inside.

Now that they’re actually here, and she’s laid everything out on the line, a wild and frantic thought pops into her mind.

They’re going to have sex.

That was the plan, wasn’t it? Not that she’s changed her mind or anything like that, but after that long drive, some of the frenetic urgency from the rooftop has tempered a bit. And now that the moment has arrived, Rey finds that her inexperience is suddenly making her nervous, her previous bravado and eagerness giving way to uncertainty.

What if she can’t please him... what if she isn’t any good?

She’s aware of Kylo moving across the darkened room, but right now she's too lost in her anxious thoughts to bring herself to look at him. He flicks a switch, and she blinks when a couple of lamps bathe the room in a soft, white light.

It’s a large, square main room with hardwood floors and big, comfortable looking furniture befitting of a man his size. Bookshelves lined with hundreds of books fill a whole wall, and she’s so tempted to make a beeline for it. She wants to run her fingertips along the spines and examine every single title, to gain more insight into this man she’s dying to know everything about.

But she doesn’t. There are other, more urgent matters at hand.

She rubs her bare arms unconsciously. A slight chill crisps the air, and without her even saying a word, Kylo is kneeling in front of the fireplace. He makes quick work of getting a fire going, and soon the room begins to warm up, the sound of crackling logs the only thing breaking the weighted silence.

Rey moves over to the huge floor to ceiling windows, entranced by the sight of the ocean just paces away, practically right underneath them. She tries to allow the sight and sound of the moonlit tide wash over her, soothe her, free her from this paralyzing sense of insecurity.

He’s probably had hundreds of lovers, a dark voice taunts her from within, compared to her one totally un-thrilling experience. She’s always had an exceptional imagination of course, but she’s not sure that can make up for–

“Rey. Look at me.”

Kylo's deep voice is low but assertive, so she spins away from the window to face him, her fingers plucking nervously at the flower appliques within the folds of her dress.

He’s hovering near the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, still wearing that million dollar tuxedo. He looks so beautiful in the firelight, she thinks feverishly.Almost otherworldly. The flames lend a burnished glow to his pale cheeks, and highlight the sheen of his wavy black mane. His eyes are a wonder, like molten honey, but it's the expression in them that takes her breath away– gentle and understanding, as if he can tell what she’s thinking.

He smiles softly. “I want you to know that I don’t have any expectations about tonight. We can take things slow. Just being here with you is more than enough.”

She sighs. What a relief it is to be understood, without having to say it out loud.

But hearing him say it out loud, in that warm, low timbre she knows so well, instantly dissolves some of her nervousness. Suddenly she knows what it is that she needs. Reassurance. To have some sort of affirmation that he cares about her the way she cares about him, and that they're not about to make a giant, colossal mistake.

Because Rey knows without a doubt: this decision will either be the best thing that's ever happened to her, or it will ruin her.

Completely and irrevocably, forever.

She approaches Kylo slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.

“Tell me more.”

He watches her closely, trying to determine what she’s asking for. And looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than to give it to her.

“What do you want to hear?”

She shrugs with one shoulder. “Anything that’s true.”

His eyes flicker over her and his lips tighten for a moment, considering.

“Poe told me what you did. About what you said to Luke.”

Rey is momentarily caught off guard. She definitely wasn’t expecting him to say that. A nervous fluttering begins in her throat as she waits for him to go on.

“No one has ever fought for me like that before, Rey. Ever." There's a raw fierceness in his voice that makes her breath quicken, pulse thrumming wildly. "And it was keeping me up at night, just thinking about it. I kept thinking, here is this girl that just came out of nowhere. This girl that since day one has challenged me, proved she’s not scared or intimidated by me.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, and the blatantlonging in his eyes is enough to melt her heart— or maybe break it in half.

“This amazing girl who makes me want to be better, makes the work exciting again. This gorgeous girl I’m crazy about but doesn’t feel the same way about me… why would she do a thing like that? Put herself out on a limb, for me?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he shakes his head and continues, his words coming out in a jumbled rush. “And then I realized, it doesn’t matter why… because no matter what, I would do the same for her.”

Kylo moves toward her slowly, his eyes locked with hers. “I would do anything for you, Rey. Because I—" he breaks off, his mouth pursing as he seems to consider his next words carefully. “Because I care for you, too.”

He takes another step forward but she’s already there, closing the short distance between them. His breathing is as uneven and shallow as hers as they come together again, her arms twining around his neck, his low and secure around her waist. He dips his head down, but instead of kissing her, he murmurs, soft and ragged against her cheek.

“I care for you, Rey, and I’ve never cared for anyone before. And to tell you the truth, it scares the hell out of me. Because I don’t know what happens next.”

She pulls back to look at him again.

Kylo's eyes are glassy and wide, his chin quivering slightly, and Rey knows she’s seeing him, all of him— there’s not a trace of that carefully impassive mask he wears so often. It’s as if he's baring a part of his soul right now, and it touches her deeply, in a place she didn’t even know existed. She sweeps her hands reverently over his brow, trailing them down his cheeks to rest lightly against his chest.

“We’ll just have to figure it out together, then.”

He exhales and she feels his relief, some of the tension unfurling from his body. Rey thinks she could remain forever like this, being held in Kylo's strong arms, just luxuriating in the connection spun between them.

But then he speaks, and that sinfully deep voice lights a fuse on her desire, making her crave another kind of connection.

“I need you to tell me what you want, Rey. I’ll give it to you, whatever you need. If you just want to talk, or if you need some space–”

She presses a finger to his lips, silencing him.

All her earlier insecurities and fears are gone, having disappeared with the knowledge that this remarkable man has feelings for her, equal to her own. Her lust has once again been stoked, and it burns hot and bright, like the fire roaring in the hearth.

“I want you to take me to bed.”

If Rey weren’t already so pent up and throbbing she would smile at the look he gives her— so achingly tender and hopeful at the same time.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for any sign of uncertainty.

She nods. She’s so sure she thinks she might combust.

Any lingering doubts he might have been harboring must fade away, because suddenly his mouth crashes against hers, and he kisses her like a starving man, ravenous. There’s no slow exploration or teasing this time– his mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue sliding expertly against hers, and the all-consuming neediness of it makes her knees give out.

Which is fine because Kylo's strong arms are around her, and he uses the opportunity to scoop her up, one arm hooking securely behind her knees, the other wrapping around her back. She loops her arms around his neck and continues kissing him, losing herself to the heady bliss of her mouth ravishing his, never wanting to stop.

She’s dimly aware that they’re moving, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. He pauses to flick on another switch and only when he places her down gently does she allow him to pull back from the embrace.

Rey opens her eyes to a spacious bedroom; softly lit and sparsely furnished with long, ivory-colored drapes pulled closed against the windows. The four-poster bed she’s been placed on is also soft, and huge— she wonders idly, like his clothing, if this mattress was custom made for him, too.

The thought that he’s so big to require a special mattress makes something in her low belly clench hard.

Kylo is standing over her, his eyes dark and heated, a flush spreading across his pale cheeks. Her heart pounds wildly, and she shifts a little on the bed; her satin panties cling wetly against her flesh.

He removes his tuxedo jacket and throws it carelessly across the room, his eyes never leaving her face. He toes off his shoes as his hands move to his bowtie next, and she notes with a hint of dismay the rest of his vestments– the black vest, white dress shirt, pants– why on earth is menswear so complicated? It’s going to take forever to get him undressed.

She surges up from the bed and begins unbuttoning his vest, her fingers shaking slightly.

He chuckles softly against her ear. “So eager.”

But as her hands move down to pull his shirt up and out of his pants, the impressive bulge straining against the front gives her pause, and her mouth goes dry at the sight.

He’s no scrawny farm boy, like the ones she knew back home. Kylo Ren is a man, in every sense of the word.

A thick current of lust passes between them and he inhales, nostrils flaring, his eyes black and simmering. With one swift movement he rips the shirt open and flings it aside, buttons scattering in all directions across the floor.

Now who’s eager, Rey wants to jape back at him, but she can’t because she’s immediately rendered speechless by his bare torso. She swallows thickly as she drinks him in.

Kylo's body is wide and muscular, and she’s gratified to find that a handful of the same beauty marks dotting his face are also smattered across the ivory skin of his well-defined chest and stomach. She’s suddenly struck with the desire to trace them all, with her fingers, with her tongue– and her already aching center begins to throb even more insistently.

Instead, she braces herself against his broad chest and kicks off her high heels. She reaches for the catch at the back of her neck, under her hair, and without any ceremony whatsoever, her dress falls limply to the floor.

“Rey,” he breathes, and she knows she’ll never forget as long as she lives the look of pure adoration on his face as his worshiping gaze runs over her body. He dips down and kisses her with all the heat and passion of a man consumed, while his hands travel downward... long fingers curling along her shoulder blades, sliding down to the curve of her waist before gently gripping and squeezing her ass. She shivers, kissing him back with equal ardor as she reclines on the bed, pulling him down with her.

He releases her mouth and begins pressing soft kisses against her neck, her chest, making his easy, languorous way down towards her navel. He’s hovering over her, one hand bracing himself next to her head, the other caressing the soft skin of her belly, barely skimming the edge of her lace garter belt.

Kylo's exploration of her body is aimless and unhurried, and the aching in her center is beginning to border on painful. When his lips finally move across her breast, and his tongue flicks against the rosy, hardened peak of her nipple, Rey keens at the sharp twinge in her core. Her back arcs off the bed and her hands find his hair, pulling him against her desperately.

“Please,” she cries out. She’s not even sure what she’s asking him to do, she just needs more.

He looks up at her, his eyes glassy and fevered, skin flushed. She can sense his arousal, as hot and insistent as her own. His fingertip grazes over her other nipple, circling lazily, and she whimpers.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks, his breath puffing against her overheated skin.

She nods. “Just one time. It was– nothing.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, a shadowed expression clouding his face, and she hasn't a clue of what it could mean.

He sits back on his heels, between her legs, gazing down at her.

She’s spread out before him, naked except for her panties and stockings, and her breathing grows more rapid and shallow as Kylo just looks at her, as though he’s trying to commit every inch of her body to memory.

“No man should ever be given the privilege to touch you unless he’s going to make you feel something.”

Rey's heart thunders in her chest. All she wants is for him to come back down here, touch her, kiss her— soothe that pulsing ache in her core that’s growing wetter and more demanding with each passing second.

“You do,” she insists as she reaches for him. “And I need you so badly. Please, Kylo.”

His expression shifts, his eyes brewing with a dark possessiveness heated by desire. He surges over her, his mouth finding hers once again, kissing her deeply. She rakes her nails across his bare back, her body like a live wire, snapping and sparking with anticipation. So when he pulls away from her again, she's forced to choke back a frustrated whine.

“I have to ask you something, Rey. Before we go any further. Would you do something for me?”

Her head spins. She can’t imagine what he’s going to ask, but right now she’d say yes to just about anything if it means he’ll go on touching her.

“Of course.”

His amber eyes are solemn as his hand strokes her cheek, fingertips tracing lightly along her jawline. “My real name is Ben. No one ever calls me Ben, but I want you to. Just you.”

Oh.

She wasn’t expecting that, and a hazy warmth blooms in her chest.

“Ben,” she murmurs, trying it out. It feels good, and by the awed look on his– Ben’s– face, it must sound good, too.

“Ben,” she says it again, practically moaning it, because she’s still unfulfilled and that ache in her core is still demanding attention.

Hearing his name fall from her lips in such a wanton way must have thrown open the door to reckless abandon, because suddenly he’s moving over her with renewed urgency, no longer content with taking it slow. She runs her hands through his soft hair as he kisses her fervently, and when his fingers slide through her slit over her drenched underwear, she almost sobs with relief.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, astonished. “You’re so wet.”

But Rey can no longer manage coherent thought– all she knows is that she needs him to keep touching her, keep taking her to that place of higher, faster, more.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads.

He unfastens her garters with remarkable dexterity and pulls the soaked fabric from her body, tossing it aside. He makes quick work of removing his pants and the rest of his clothing, and Rey only has a chance to admire his naked form for a fleeting moment before he’s hovering over her again, his tongue lapping at her taut nipple while he slides a finger through her slick folds.

She bucks up against his hand as his finger makes a pass over her already swollen cl*t, and a needy moan tears from her throat.

He curses softly then murmurs, “You’re even more perfect than I imagined, sweetheart."

With exquisite tenderness he pushes into her, opening her with a thick digit as his thumb grazes gently around her cl*t. He begins kissing her again, the rhythm of his tongue stroking along hers matching the movement of his hand, and it feels so good her eyes roll back while her entire body quakes and flushes beneath him.

“Ben,” she whimpers into his mouth, clutching at his nape as he pushes a second finger inside. The fullness is overwhelming, and the rough pad of his thumb strokes her cl*t with a delicious, deliberate friction; gentle swipes and circles with his fingers curling and sliding against her walls, setting a tempo that has her moaning her pleasure while her legs twitch and shake, a glorious tension spooling low in her belly as the ecstasy builds and builds.

“Yes, my sweet girl,” he murmurs when she grinds against his hand, her moans growing louder, more desperate. “You need to come, don't you? Let go, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Hearing those words, knowing that he’ll be there to catch her is ultimately what sends her over the brink. She cries out as her org*sm crashes over her, shocking in its abruptness and its intensity, stars exploding behind her eyelids and her walls clenching hard around his fingers, stilling them completely.

Rey's still breathless and shivering from the aftershocks as Ben moves over her, the warm, thick head of his co*ck nudging at her opening only for a moment before he sheathes himself inside her, in one long thrust, her body stretching around him with a delicious burn. They both sigh when his hips meet hers, and she presses her hands against his chest to feel his heartbeat, gratified to find it thundering as fiercely as her own. With trembling fingers, she brushes a lock of dark hair from his eyes while he holds her close, cradling her face between his palms, just two lovers marveling at the wonder of being joined together for the first time.

The wellspring of emotions is enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she knows without a doubt it’s the same for him, too– the reverence and awe she feels is shimmering in his gaze, warming the soft caress of his thumbs along her cheeks.

But then he begins to move, dragging his co*ck slowly against her walls, and it's such a tight fit she gasps, feeling every ridge along his hard, silken length. He sets a leisurely pace at first, letting her get used to the stretch, to adjust to the sheer size of him, pulling out almost entirely before slowly sinking back in. His pupils are blown wide, his body shaking and barely breathing with the effort of his restraint, and Rey's heart swells. Touched that even during this, in the throes of lovemaking, he remains gentle and understanding as ever.

It’s good, it’s so good she could cry– the sensation of Ben stroking deep inside her, in and in, touching her in places no one has ever reached before. But then she hitches her knees up, pressing her ankles against his back and tilting her hips up just so, and suddenly the angle changes and his co*ck rubs along a spot that makes her cry out, almost sending her into orbit.

“f*ck, Rey,” he sighs, capturing her mouth in his. The stretch goes from bordering on almost too much to just right, the stinging burn ebbing into a sublime fullness, and she begins meeting him stroke for stroke, their bodies finding a rhythm, the pace growing faster and more urgent. They swallow each other's moans and soft cries, the lewd sound of skin against skin arousing her even more, and she flutters and tightens all around him.

Every movement pushes her toward that divine peak and she chases it, each exquisite thrust taking her someplace higher and higher, waves of pleasure overlapping each other, one after another. Her legs are clutched about his waist, his powerful body caged between her thighs that grow slippery with sweat and heat while he strokes into her steadily, unrelenting as his eyes burn into hers, their mingled, humid breaths growing more ragged and uneven.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he gasps, his rich voice alone sending another gush of arousal through her core. He reaches down, snaking a hand between them, and a heady moan tears from her throat when he slides a fingertip against her cl*t, circling her in time with each glorious thrust.

Oh, God.

Ohgodohgod—

She’s so close, and when he chokes out a desperate plea against her lips—“Please, I want to feel it”—that’s what tips her over the edge.

"Oh,Ben," she cries out as her second org*sm spills over her, spreading sweet wildfire throughout her body, through her limbs, into her fingertips and down to her toes. Her hands claw into his wide shoulders, gripping the hard mounds of muscle as her back arches up off the bed, her eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open in a silent wail.

For a heart-stopping moment Rey can’t even breathe, and all the while Ben carries her though it; he's a mountain of warmth surrounding her, a safe and steady anchor at the edges of her awareness. Her walls continue to flutter with his every thrust, deep and unyielding, as waves of pleasure keep rippling through her, each one rocking her like a tiny earthquake.

“God, you’re gorgeous when you come,” he rasps into the curve of her neck when the waves begin to ebb, when she floats softly back to herself. His warm, supple fingers are now laced with hers next to her head, while his opposite forearm keeps his huge body propped over her. Shallow breaths punctuated by low groans graze her skin as he approaches his own release and Rey sighs, running her free hand blissfully through his thick hair, open and sated and pliant beneath him.

He raises his head to watch her, and Rey doesn’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful than he does right now— his full lips parted, eyes dark and glossy, skin flushed and sweaty. Her heart swells with that unfamiliar emotion, only now she understands what it is.

It’s love.

Of course it is, the realization dawning over her, bright and golden as a sunrise. Tears start to well up but she blinks them back, reaching up to cup his face with her hand. She reads the question in his eyes and just nods, too overcome for words. It feels like a benediction, the way his eyes widen followed by a sharp, shuddering intake of breath. He grows impossibly thicker inside her, stroking hard and deep.

“Let go, Ben,” she purrs, an echo of his words from before.

At her command, his eyes roll back and he tenses up just before collapsing against her, groaning into the crook of her neck. Abruptly and with his hot tongue laving along her throat he pulls out of her, stroking himself furiously in hand. A lush throb of arousal pulses in her core as he comes apart over her with a hoarse growl, and as something warm and wet spreads across her stomach, leaking down to the apex of her thigh.

When he's finally spent, his whole body shudders and he grunts... a soft, sated sound muffled by his teeth sinking gently into the round of her shoulder, the sharp pressure a pleasing contrast to the gentle kneading of his hand which has now found her breast, lightly tugging at her nipple.

A contented sigh escapes her lips as she runs her palms in soothing circles over his muscled back, slick with sweat, his softening co*ck pulsing heavy and warm against her belly.

After a minute, once their breathing evens, he lifts his head to look at her. He tucks a damp tendril of hair behind her ear as a slow smile breaks across his face, amber eyes shining and dimples on full display. It takes her breath away, this look of unabashed joy and adoration, so pure in its honesty. It’s unlike any other look he’s ever given her, and Rey knows why it feels so different.

The world can have Kylo Ren, the image, the icon, the Hollywood star.

She just wants this man, real and flawed and perfect in her eyes, right now and for the rest of her life.

She just wants Ben Solo.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

Rey rolls over and rubs her eyes, the sound of waves crashing and squawking seagulls pulling her out of a deep, tranquil sleep. She’s never slept that hard in her life, and for a second she’s disoriented, but remembers where she is once she fully comes to and finds Ben’s sleeping face on the pillow next to her, peaceful in the gauzy morning sunlight. She smiles, noticing the tip of his ear peeking out from under the black silky strands, the wide expanse of his chest rising and falling with each slow, steady breath.

She curls on to her side and faces him, pulling the crisp white sheet up to just under her chin, content to simply watch him like this. Her gaze wanders over his contrasting features, admiring his strong nose and soft, full mouth in particular. When he’s awake he’s usually so restrained, always fighting to keep the intensity of his emotions in check; so to see him fully relaxed and unguarded feels like something sacred, like she’s the only one ever meant to see him this way, and a streak of fierce possessiveness runs through her.

No one ever calls me Ben, but I want you to.

Just you.

That memory from last night sparks some primal instinct, from someplace deep in her bones, and she reaches over to brush a stray lock of dark hair back from his brow. Rey has never felt like anything truly belongs to her, having grown up in secondhand clothes and with a family that never made her feel like anything more than an outsider, but now– now there’s Ben, and Ben is hers, she had realized at some point during the night. He’d given her more of himself each time he made love to her; in every caress of his strong hands along her body, in every kiss of his lips against her skin, but most of all she saw it in his eyes– blazing from the amber depths, something pure and vital and hers. She’d recognized it immediately as the twin to the flame dwelling in her own heart and soul, awake and vibrant and his.

Still in a heavy sleep Ben stirs, reaching over for her with one massive arm and pulling her tightly against him. His gentle exhale of breath combined with what sounds like her name brushes against the top of her head as she cuddles into him, her cheek settling against his bare chest, her hand resting over his heart.

He’s so warm, she marvels, his body so big and powerful, and she’s never felt as safe and protected in her whole life as she does right now. Rey closes her eyes and inhales, savoring the scent of skin and sweat and something that’s profoundly him, and wonders fleetingly if this is what people mean when they say they’ve finally found home.

Rey is just dozing off again when Ben begins shifting underneath her. She lifts her head from his chest and finds him awake, his eyes golden and heavy-lidded in the hazy daylight filtering through the closed drapes.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, a half smile playing against his lips, his arms tightening their hold around her.

She can’t help the silly grin she feels breaking across her face. “Good morning.”

He starts rubbing slow, gentle circles against her bare back. “How do you feel?”

Elated. Euphoric. On cloud nine.

But she knows he’s probably thinking more along the lines of her physical well-being. Her lack of prior experience, in addition to the fact that he’s just plain huge,makes his concern understandable.

Rey stretches out under the sheet, taking a quick inventory of her body. She expects to feel stiff and sore all over and is surprised that she doesn't; she chalks it up to the fencing training she’s had that’s conditioned her body, making her muscles strong and supple. There’s a deliciously satisfying ache in her core, a tangible reminder of last night’s activities, of every time he’d claimed her as his.

Not that it was his fault– once they’d started, it was nearly impossible for them to stop. Weeks of that exquisite tension between them finally being released had felt like a force of nature, like a dam breaking, because they were both insatiable. She recalls the last time, just before they had finally collapsed into his bed, allowing the sated, blissful exhaustion to take them over. After how a seemingly innocent inquiry about the bathroom had led to Ben giving her a guided tour. And how after showing her the sink for her to rinse out her lingerie and a quick demonstration on how his shower taps work, they had somehow both ended up under the warm spray, her legs spread and hands splayed against the wall while he rocked into her from behind, his thrusts languorously slow and steady as she was held in place by his strong fingers digging into her hips, their moans bouncing and echoing off the cerulean blue tiles.

“Rey?” He tilts her chin up to look at him, a frown appearing between his brows when she doesn’t answer right away.

“Fine, I’m feeling just fine,” she assures him hurriedly. She’s both amazed and a bit scandalized by her body, by the arousal that’s beginning to stir again, so soon after being so thoroughly satisfied.

Ben must be able to sense it, because his eyes darken and he leans forward, pressing his open mouth to her throat to suck gently as his hand pushes down the sheet, his palm brushing delicately over the peak of her pebbling nipple. Rey tips her head back and sighs, more than ready to give in to the craving once again, until her stomach growls loudly, startling them both out of the moment.

“Come on,” he laughs, pulling her into a sitting position as he climbs out of the bed and heads over to his chest of drawers. She frowns, watching him take out a folded pale green set of cotton pajamas and step into the bottoms, tying the waistband loosely before shaking out the top. He comes back and holds the top over her head, motioning for her to lift her arms. “Let’s make you some breakfast first.”

She pouts, wanting to argue that she’s not hungry for food, but then her stomach gurgles again and she’s forced to admit that maybe they’ll have to leave his bed at some point, after all.

Feeling impish, she raises her arms dutifully and the sheet falls to her waist, revealing her naked breasts. She smirks as he drops the garment over her head, tugging it down so it conceals her body from his heated gaze. Rey doesn’t miss the way Ben's jaw tightens as she stands, his eyes roving over her bare, toned legs, the hem of his pajamas skimming the tops of her thighs. She decides to give him a slow twirl for good measure, raising her arms up in a feigned stretch so that the hem rides up, just barely covering her behind.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he grumbles, moving towards her. He leans down and Rey closes her eyes, thinking he’s coming in for a kiss, but yelps in surprise as Ben scoops her up off the floor instead, tossing her over his shoulder and giving her rump a playful swat.

He starts walking them out of the bedroom and she giggles uncontrollably, his strong forearms pressing against the backs of her legs, locking her tightly against him so she can’t squirm from his grasp.

Not that she really wants to, of course. Hanging upside down over his back, she seizes the opportunity to give his firm ass a sound smack, and Ben tightens his grip on her, retaliating quickly by pinching her inner thigh. It doesn’t hurt, but she squeals anyway, thoroughly enjoying this game.

“Brat,” he mutters, but she can hear the smile in his voice, and he continues to carry her towards the kitchen.

By the time they get there she’s breathless with laughter, and Rey doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy.

“More?” Ben asks, holding up a spatula and the frying pan of the remaining scrambled eggs.

She shakes her head, swallowing the last of her orange juice, and wipes her mouth on her napkin. “No, thank you. They were delicious, though.”

He smiles, turning away and begins scraping the remnants into the trash bin. It seems wasteful, but then she supposes scrambled eggs probably don’t make for the most appetizing leftovers. Not that she would know– Maz did all the cooking at the cafe, not letting her ever get near the griddle again after the time she had managed to reduce a perfectly good pound of bacon to nothing more than smoking lumps of blackened ash.

Which suited her fine– she prefers eating to cooking, anyway.

Rey leans back in Ben’s kitchen chair, sighing contentedly. It turns out Ben is more than capable in the kitchen, having made them a breakfast of fluffy scrambled eggs, toast with butter, and orange juice– freshly squeezed from the bowl of oranges she found sitting on his countertop.

At first she had insisted on helping, but after she told him about her bacon debacle, as well as a couple of other amusing incidents at the cafe, Ben just smiled and shook his head, saying that she was his guest but she could squeeze the oranges if she wished. She thought he’d handed her the knife somewhat warily, as if worried she might accidentally slice off a finger in the process.

Ben starts running the dishwater so she gets up, bringing their breakfast dishes to the sink. This is the one thing she knows is within her area of expertise.

She slides the plates and silverware into the hot, soapy water and bumps her hip against his leg. “Out. You cooked, I’ll clean.”

He looks down at her, a teasing sparkle in his eye. “I don’t know. You might leave the water running, flood us out of the house and right into the Pacific.”

“Har har,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. Honestly. Now Rey wishes she hadn’t shared so much about her domestic shortcomings.

The piercing, obnoxious shrill of the phone ringing interrupts their lazy morning, demanding immediate attention. Her pulse speeds up as she wonders who could be calling. Because until this moment, Rey had almost completely forgotten there was an entire world that existed beyond this warm, intimate little bubble they’d created.

Ben’s face clouds over, and she can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

She nods toward the living room, immersing her hands in the hot water. “Go on, I can handle this.”

He presses his lips together and nods, but stops to stroke her hair back and drop a light kiss on the top of her head before turning and heading into the living room.

The beach house is not overly large, and it’s also one of those modern, mostly open-floor designs, with one room flowing into the next, so it’s impossible for her not to overhear his end of the conversation. A thin wall with open ends on each side is the only thing separating the living room from the kitchen.

“Ren,” he answers gruffly. She also hears the lid of his cigarette box slamming shut, and the soft metallic click of his table lighter. A few seconds later the familiar smell of cigarette smoke wafts into her nose.

She scrubs at a fork absently, waiting for him to say something else.

“Just fine, Dameron. But I noticed you were conspicuously absent last night.”

Rey exhales a sigh of relief. It’s only Poe.

After a brief silence, Ben speaks again. “Rey? No, I haven’t talked to her yet today.”

At the sound of her name, she releases the plate she’d been washing back into the dishwater and heads into the living room, drying her hands on a clean dish towel and dropping it on the kitchen table as she goes past.

She finds him sitting in a big easy chair next to the window, receiver pressed to his ear, sunlight streaming in brightly behind him. Her eyes flick from the breathtaking view of the ocean back to Ben, who’s silently beckoning for her to come over, a finger over his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. She nods and pads over, standing before him. But he pulls her down onto his lap instead; she squeaks as she perches on his wide thigh and his arm curls around her waist, settling her against him until their heads are touching so they can both listen.

Poe’s voice is tinny and distant, but Rey can hear him well enough.

“...because Mitaka says he thinks he saw you and Rey leaving together last night, holding hands and running past the ballroom into the hotel kitchen like your asses were on fire.”

She sits up and covers her mouth with her hands, smothering a giggle. Ben just rolls his eyes, tightening his grip around her waist.

So much for being discreet.

“Tell Mitaka he needs to get his eyes checked. And if he even thinks about saying anything to the press, tell him I’ll sue his ass for slander.”

Rey leans down again, pressing her ear to the heavy black receiver. “Buddy, relax… you know Mitty would never say anything. Besides, we’re your friends. We just want you to be happy.”

She sits up again to gauge Ben’s reaction. He gives her a gentle smile and a wink but remains silent. Poe’s graceless attempt at fishing for information isn’t working, and Rey understands why– their relationship is too new, too precious to run the risk of being turned into tabloid fodder for wagging tongues to dissect and analyze.

“Anyway,” Poe sighs when Ben doesn’t volunteer any more information, “I tried calling Rey twice this morning but there was no answer. I have some big news– for both of you.”

Rey frowns, turning her head to look at Ben, whose dark brows are furrowed in confusion.

“What is it?”

“I spliced together a reel of some of your best scenes from The Turning Tide and took it over to Parnassos Pictures.”

Ben drops the receiver, his amber eyes going wide with shock. She picks it up and holds it to his ear, giving him a reassuring smile, despite her own heart now thundering in her chest.

He quickly comes to his senses and takes it from her, pulling her down to listen.

“You did what?Poe, you could be sued for that. The old man could have you blacklisted, completely annihilate your career if he finds out. That was an amazingly stupid, reckless thing to do… why in hell would you do that?” His voice is shaking with outrage, and Rey grips his hand firmly, trying her best to be the anchor to his roiling emotions.

But Poe sounds totally unbothered. “Eh, not the biggest risk I’ve ever taken. Besides, I wouldn’t even be alive right now if it weren’t for you,” he says quietly, and the words hang heavily between them for a few moments, their meaning not lost on Rey. She pulls back a little, feeling like she’s hearing something she isn’t supposed to, and finds Ben’s eyes are closed. He sighs deeply into the receiver, tugging her back down and squeezes her hand, lacing his thick fingers through hers.

“That’s not– that’s not a good reason for jeopardizing your career, Poe. I don’t want that–”

“Well, it’s too late because it’s already done,” Poe interrupts breezily. “Anyway, let me get to the best part. I had a meeting with Gwen Phasma and we screened it together, and she loved it. Said she had no idea you were capable of that kind of acting, had always assumed you were a one trick pony. Which isn’t your fault of course,” he interjects quickly when Ben huffs at that, “it’s the image First Order has built up for you. But not only that, she was also bowled over by the scenes with Rey, never saw that kind of… what did she call it? Raw erotic energy?I had to agree of course… told her that being on set with the two of you for six weeks was like watching a never-ending mating dance between two flamingos in the wild.”

Ben slaps a palm over his face, and Rey's cheeks begin heating up. For cripe's sake.

“Anyway,” he continues smoothly, “she told me to get in touch with both of you because she wants to set up a meeting to start negotiating a new contract with you, and to see if Rey would be interested in being bought out from First Order.”

Rey jerks away from the receiver, Poe's words jolting her like an electric shock. Bought out from First Order Studios? Why would she even consider such an idea? Her contract is practically brand new, the ink she signed it with is barely dry on the paper. Not to mention her first film hasn’t even been released yet.

And of course there’s Ben to think about. She doesn’t yet know if he’ll be offered a contract renewal by Mr. Palpatine, but if he is, and he accepts it, she intends to stay right where she is.

Rey climbs out of Ben’s lap and moves toward the windows, staring out at the water without really seeing it, lost in thought.

“Poe, let me call you back. Yes, I promise to consider it. And yes, I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Rey.” He drops the receiver onto the cradle with a definitive-sounding click.

The floorboards creak as he comes up from behind, just before his strong arms wrap her in a tight embrace. Rey leans back and exhales, resting her head against his bare chest. He kisses her cheek tenderly before brushing his lips along the shell of her ear.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

The sand is dry and searing hot beneath her bare feet, so she races over to the shoreline, where the sand turns dark and cool, and squishes between her toes. This is her first time ever on a beach, and she closes her eyes, tipping her face up toward the bright midday sun, the rays still white and glowing beneath her closed lids. She inhales the salty air and laughs as the roaring tide comes in, foaming around her ankles before going back out. Chasing it, she wades in to just over her knees and shrieks in surprised delight; the force of the incoming waves is almost strong enough to knock her completely off balance.

Rey turns and finds Ben standing at the shoreline behind her with his arms folded loosely, watching her with a huge grin, his dark wavy hair ruffled by the wind.

She races back to him, saltwater drying on her legs in the sunlight and warm breeze, leaving her skin feeling tight and a little itchy.

“You’re sure your neighbors won’t see us?”

Rey was hesitant about going for a walk on the beach in nothing but his pajama top and her panties, but the idea of going out in her evening gown was even less appealing.

He shrugs, unbothered either way. Several other similarly designed beach houses line the coast, but there are no signs of life in any of them.

Ben is still bare-chested, in nothing but his pajama bottoms, and her heart swells. She didn’t even have to ask him not to change.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a neighbor out here, to be honest.”

Rey shakes her head. What a shame. For these people to be so rich and able to afford the luxury of owning a house on a beach like this and never even go outside and enjoy it. If she lived here, she’d be out here every single day.

“It loses its magic if you grew up with it,” he says gently, and she considers that for a moment. It’s hard to believe ever taking something as wild and vast and beautiful as the ocean for granted, but she concedes his point. Still, it's all new to her, and she can tell it's delighting him too, being able to experience it freshly through her eyes. Ben seems relaxed and happy here in a way she's never seen him before.

Rey turns toward the water again, marveling at the seemingly endless length of turquoise spanning the horizon, the sunlight shimmering like scattered diamonds across the waves.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” he blurts out of nowhere. “To this meeting at Parnassos.”

She peers up at him. His face is controlled, in that way she knows so well, and it irks her. He’s trying to hide something from her, she can tell.

“Are you going?” she asks, as if she doesn't already know the answer.

“I have to,” he replies with a shrug. “There’s nothing left for me at First Order, Rey. If Palpatine hasn’t announced a renewal by now, he’s never going to. And even if he did, it would be for the same old swashbuckling routine, without any chance of me ever doing anything else. I’m almost thirty years old," he scoffs, shaking his head. "How long will fans keep paying good money to see a middle-aged pirate swinging down from the rafters?”

She touches his arm lightly, a soft swell of compassion for him washing over her. Ben is hardly middle-aged, but she’s not so naïve as to not understand he’s speaking in terms of Hollywood years and longevity.

“Even if it meant working with me?”

He sighs heavily and reaches for her, brushing the windswept hair from her face. “That’s the only consideration– but I can’t count on the old man putting us together again. My gut tells me he has other plans for you.” His eyes scan over her features, almost as if he’s trying to memorize them. “To build you up with someone younger, someone newer. Someone like Cody Breaker,” he finishes roughly.

She wrinkles her nose. He can’t be serious. The idea of working with Cody Breaker makes her sick to her stomach.

“But– but they’re all saying how well we work together. Our on-screen chemistry. That must count for something,” she argues.

He shakes his head, that stubborn lock of sable hair falling across his brow. “I know them, Rey. I know Luke and Palpatine and First Order Studios and how they operate better than anyone. I’m finished with them. But just because I am doesn’t mean that you are. They discovered you, and I admire your loyalty to them. Loyalty is a rare quality out here, believe me. And you’re also on the cusp of something truly amazing, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Ben grasps her shoulders and looks into her eyes, his expression serious. “I want you to have the career you want, the career you deserve, and not feel like you need to be tied up with me. We’re on two different paths, Rey– my career might be setting, but yours is just beginning to rise.”

She frowns. Everything he’s saying sounds so final, as though he’s already decided both their fates.

And that’s when she realizes what he’s trying to get at. Why he’s being so guarded.

He thinks he’s letting her go.

Giving her an easy way out. Allowing her to say goodbye to him.

To them.

Her temper flares, anger and indignation swirling hotly in her chest.

Doesn’t he know her better than that?

She's considering what Ben just said about loyalty, when it occurs to her: What does she owe First Order Studios, really? Yes, they gave her a chance, but wasn’t she the one who proved herself worthy of being here? She’s found out for herself how rigid and inflexible they are in terms of their actors’ careers and images– not only with Ben, but with so many others as well. And she isn’t simple enough to believe they won’t do it to her, too. Despite her gratitude to them, she knows if she stays with First Order, especially without Ben, she'll remain powerless– and the reality of the situation fills her with dread.

The only person in this town Rey can fully trust is standing before her, and she doesn’t want to do this without him. Never, ever.

She’s rarely ever allowed herself to be selfish, but if letting herself be bought by a rival studio so she can stay with Ben is selfish, so be it. In this town full of greedy, self-serving egomaniacs, it can’t be the worst transgression to ever have occurred. They’ll get over it, she imagines.

She shakes her head fiercely.

“No. You don’t get to decide this for me, Ben Solo. I’ve already told you that I want to keep working with you. For as long as possible, in whatever capacity. I want to act, and I want you to have the opportunity to act, or write, or direct– to do anything and everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing. And I want us to do it together.”

He frowns, a crease appearing between his dark brows.

“What are you saying, Rey?”

She reaches for his hands and squeezes them tightly. “I’m saying that I’m going to this meeting at Parnassos with you.”

Ben shakes his head but she reads the hope and relief written all over his face.

He pulls her closer and cups her face gently, his eyes searching hers. “Stubborn, gorgeous girl. What am I going to do with you?”

She smiles as she grasps his shoulders and hops up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Ben catches her easily, his strong hands lifting her up before he locks them securely beneath her thighs. Rey dips her head down, her palms cradling his face, stroking along his neck, and kisses him deeply. He tastes like salt and fresh air and oranges.

“Just love me,” she whispers when they break apart. The words tumble out of her mouth faster than she can think and she freezes, stunned by her own brazenness.

But to her amazement Ben grins, dimples lining his cheeks. His eyes are positively golden in the sunlight, and the tide keeps rushing in and out behind them, like it always has, like it always will, until the end of time.

“Sweetheart, I already do.”

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

“I love you, Rey.”

Rey blinks in disbelief, her eyes searching Ben’s face where it's still cradled between her hands. Her thumbs trace the corners of his mouth where they’re lifted in the barest hint of a smile, and he releases a shuddering breath when she lightly glides her fingertips along his brow, his eyes drifting shut as they feather across the roughly stubbled skin of his cheeks.

Time stands still, and the rest of the world falls away, leaving nothing behind except for the two of them and the roaring, infinite sea.

Ben loves her.

Her chest swells with joy, and her vision swims with tears. None of the plays or novels she’s read, or the movies she's seen have prepared her for this moment. Oh, she’s always fantasized about it of course– how it might feel for someone to tell her they love her. How she would flutter and swoon in response, like the heroines always seem to do.

But this isn’t a play or a movie or a fairytale. It’s something even better, something she’s almost never allowed herself to hope for.

It’s real.

Her heart pounds steadily as the words take shape in her mind, the only words they've come up with thus far to describe that mystical, miraculous thing that sometimes happens between two people, if you're fortunate enough. Four tiny words, seeming much too small and inadequate for the passion and all-consuming fire in her soul.

I love you, too.

But somewhere along the path between her mind and her heart and her throat the words get stuck, and Rey is horrified to find she’s unable to say them out loud.

Ben sets her down gently on the wet sand, cool and gritty beneath her feet. He sweeps a few strands of windblown hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ears. She looks up, and her stomach twists at seeing a small frown appear between his brows, his amber eyes dimming a bit as the silence begins stretching between them.

No, no. She’s not going to let this perfect moment be ruined by those lifelong fears and insecurities that still hang heavily like a noose around her neck, let her unhealed wounds from the past destroy her future. She has to fix this, now. She has to make him understand.

Tears of joy turn into tears of frustration as they begin to trickle down her cheeks, and she presses her hands firmly against his bare chest.

“I-I do too, Ben. But I’ve never said that to anyone, and no one’s ever said it to me, either. I’m just– I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I need you to know that I feel it, too. Even if I can’t say it.”

His dark eyes fill with compassion and tenderness and it gives her hope, so she continues.

She sniffles, and whispers fiercely, “You know I feel it too, don’t you, Ben?” Her voice is desperate, pleading. Rey thinks she might die if she can’t make him understand.

But to her overwhelming relief, he smiles. He dips his head and kisses her, slow and deep, one large hand cradling the back of her head, the other at her waist, pulling her against him. She winds her hands behind his neck and weaves her fingers through his silky, wind-tousled hair.

Rey meditates on that beautiful, burning ember in her chest, that love she has only for him, hoping she can somehow channel some of it through her kiss.

When they finally break apart, they’re both left breathless and panting, and Ben presses his forehead gently against her own.

“I do, sweetheart," he rasps, low and reassuring. "I feel it.”

Hollywood, California

1947

Ben glances over at her in the passenger seat of his parked Cadillac, his face shadowed by near darkness, as hazy purple twilight settles over Los Angeles.

“Ready?”

Rey takes a deep breath, hoping her nervousness doesn’t show. She nods.

“As I’ll ever be.”

They’ve just arrived at Parnassos Pictures, located on Sunset Boulevard, some eight miles north of First Order Studios. It’s almost nine in the evening, an odd hour for a business meeting, surely– however, all parties agreed that minimizing the risk of being seen, or worse, photographed by curious onlookers and sneaky reporters, was the best plan.

It’s only been three days since Poe’s phone call, since Rey first set foot in Ben’s Malibu beach house, and yet it already feels more like home than the rundown old farmhouse she grew up in. She and Ben have quickly fallen into a peaceful routine of domestic normalcy: days spent reading, walking on the beach, listening to the radio. Talking about everything and nothing at all. The silences are nice, too– stretched out on the sofa together, a tangle of legs and arms, just listening to the rolling surf as Ben strokes her hair, occasionally pressing light kisses to the top of her head.

To her delight, Ben seems to really enjoy cooking, and has taken it upon himself to make sure she eats three square meals a day. After questioning her about her favorite foods, he called and paid extra to have a grocery boy deliver them, almost a dozen paper sacks filled with frozen meat and fresh fruits and vegetables, since the nearest grocery store to Malibu is nearly twenty miles away.

But the nights– the nights might be her favorite. Curled up in Ben’s arms, head on his chest, lulled by the symphony of his beating heart and waves crashing as she drifts off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she’s not alone. That neither of them will ever be alone, ever again.

If she takes a minute to really stop and think about it, to really think about how lucky she is, how lucky they are, she becomes dizzy and lightheaded and has to sit down to gather her bearings. So she limits her time spent ruminating, and tries to remain focused on the here and now.

And that’s what she does, as they’re greeted at a side door by a small man, pleasant-looking with round cheeks and a swath of fine, light brown hair. His blue eyes are friendly as he extends his hand.

“Mr. Ren, Miss Rian. Welcome to Parnassos Pictures. I’m Arby Johnson.”

They each shake hands in turn. Arby Johnson … the name sounds familiar.

Ben speaks first. “Mr. Johnson, it’s a pleasure. I’m a fan of your work. Notorious was a directorial masterpiece.”

Aha, of course. Not Arby, but rather RB Johnson, the acclaimed director. Rey has seen many of his films, and Ben is right– they’re outstanding. She tells him as much.

Mr. Johnson pinks slightly at the praise. “Well, thank you both. And I’ve heard many wonderful things about the work you’ve done in Dameron’s latest film. But instead of standing here gushing over each other, why don’t we head down to Ms. Phasma’s office. Where we can discuss things and perhaps express our admiration with something a little more substantial than just words.”

They follow him down a long, polished hallway. Parnassos Pictures is not as large and sprawling as First Order Studios, and Rey knows they don’t release as many pictures as First Order. However, the pictures they do release are nothing short of cinematic works of art, and Rey already has the impression that this studio is nothing if not devoted to maintaining artistic integrity, first and foremost.

They finally reach a heavy wooden door at the end, and Mr. Johnson enters without knocking, turning the brass knob and standing aside to allow them to file in. Ben rests a steady hand on the small of her back and guides her forward, and Mr. Johnson closes the door behind them.

Inside is a spacious office, airy and softly lit– there are several Tiffany glass-shaded floor lamps, one in each corner, suffusing the room with a warm, golden glow.

Behind a massive, antique wooden desk, a woman with short, wavy blond hair sits with her long legs stretched before her, crossed at the ankles, her shiny black pumps resting on its surface. She has her head tipped back and is casually blowing cigarette smoke toward the ceiling, a loose chain of rings drifting upwards before fading into the air.

She moves her feet to the floor when she sees them approaching and stands, stubbing out the cigarette, and Rey can’t help but gape a bit– she's easily the tallest woman she’s ever seen. In her pumps, she’s the same height as Ben.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black silk pantsuit, this woman radiates confidence and control, and Rey swallows, suddenly feeling prim and girlish in her terracotta cashmere fitted jacket and matching straight skirt.

“Gwen Phasma,” she says brusquely, holding out her hand. “Welcome to Parnassos Pictures. Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the two chairs in front of her desk.

They each take a seat, and Ms. Phasma resumes her place behind her desk. Mr. Johnson retreats to a chair near the corner, off to Ms. Phasma’s right.

Rey crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She turns to look at Ben, who’s already watching her, and he gives her a reassuring wink. She gives him a small smile and nods in return.

They can do this.

“So let me begin by saying, I was quite impressed with the rushes I screened with Mr. Dameron.” Ms. Phasma’s piercing blue eyes flit from Ben to her and back. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Ren–”

“Call me Kylo, please,” he interrupts hastily. She nods.

“Kylo. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t aware of your dramatic abilities. First Order has been keeping your light hidden under a bushel, as it were.”

The muscle in Ben’s jaw tightens. “You don’t have to tell me that, Ms. Phasma. I’m quite aware of my screen image. And my– bushel, for that matter.”

She waves her hand. “Gwen, please. To both of you.” She lights up a fresh cigarette and takes a deep inhale before extending the black lacquered box out to them, which they both decline.

Ben must be nervous too, Rey realizes, to turn down a cigarette.

Gwen turns her attention to Rey. “And you, Miss Rian–”

“Rey, please.”

She acknowledges this with a quick nod. “Rey. This is your first feature film?”

Rey nods. Her first real acting experience of any sort, but she doesn’t feel the need to volunteer that information. She's afraid it's more likely to hinder her rather than help.

“Very impressive,” Gwen hums. “Really. What the two of you have on screen, I’ve never seen the likes of which before, and maybe never will again. Which is why I’m so interested in having both of you working for me, for Parnassos Pictures.”

“What do you have in mind, if I may ask?” Ben’s voice is calm and steady, but Rey picks up on a note of excitement, too. He’s intrigued, she can tell.

Gwen exchanges a nod with Mr. Johnson before she turns back to them.

“Well, it’s simple, really. I'm sure you're aware of those on-screen couples that are paired again and again, in film after film, because of their shared talents? Jeanette McDonald and Nelson Eddy, the singers. Astaire and Rogers, the dancers. Well, I see Kylo Ren and Rey Rian as the lovers.”

Rey’s brow wrinkles in confusion. She sees them as the what? She glances over at Ben but his face is carefully neutral, having reverted to his old Kylo Ren expression.

Gwen and Mr. Johnson both chuckle, and Gwen continues. “I know, it sounds odd at first, but please hear me out. It's no secret that First Order tends to put their actors in creative boxes, stifling them, only allowing them to do one thing, and one thing only. But what I see with you two is a variety of scripts and genres. We can do dramas. Westerns. Noir. Some light comedies. Anything we want, with the one constant is that you two are featured in the starring roles, as each other’s romantic interest.”

There’s a skeptical silence from Rey and Ben, but Gwen is not deterred.

“I’ve already thought this through. As the chief executive of Parnassos Pictures, I’m committed to quality over quantity. I’m not interested in releasing a bunch of crummy B pictures to pad my bottom line. I have a team of the finest creative minds and artists in Hollywood working for me, and I’m proud to say I only choose to work with those I think are the best, the ones I believe are capable of greatness." She pauses, taking a drag from her cigarette. "And I'm betting on the chemistry you two have will be very inspirational to my creative team, and that together, we'll make cinematic history."

Rey turns to Ben with her eyebrows raised. It all sounds very tempting, but…

“You two aren’t opposed to working together exclusively, are you?”

Rey has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning, but she can already feel her lips pulling into a small smile. As if working with Ben exclusively isn’t everything she's ever wanted.

“No,” they answer in unison, perhaps a tad too earnestly, because Gwen gives them a shrewd look but doesn’t push further.

She leans back in her chair and deals another card out on the table.

“Kylo, Mr. Dameron mentioned you’re interested in directing, as well.”

Her words are met with surprised silence. Ben shifts a little in his chair and clears his throat, glancing over at Mr. Johnson, who gives him an encouraging smile.

“I’m interested in many aspects of filmmaking. I’ve spent over half my life on soundstages, so I’ve had the opportunity to see the entire process, from soup to nuts, so to speak.”

Gwen smiles, apparently pleased by this response. “Well then, let me assure you, Kylo, that we’d be inclined to nurture those interests as well. Provided you agree to fulfill your acting obligations, of course.”

Ben runs a finger over his lower lip thoughtfully. “That would be written into the contract?”

Gwen has a gleam in her eye as she nods. “Absolutely.”

Rey’s pulse quickens. This sounds so wonderful for Ben– finally, at long last, the opportunity to do what he wants. And for herself as well– the chance to continue to act, in a variety of genres, different types of characters. But most importantly, alongside Ben.

She dares to allow herself to feel the first twinges of excitement. It all sounds incredible, like a dream come true.

“So, let me ask you this… are you interested in what Parnassos has to offer?”

Rey looks to Ben and they share a look of understanding. They turn back to Gwen and nod.

“We’re interested,” they reply in unison.

Gwen raises her eyebrows in surprise. Mr. Johnson huffs a small laugh.

“I’ve never seen co-stars so in tune with one another,” she says mildly, and Rey's cheeks begin to burn. Next to her, Ben cracks his knuckles, one of his anxious tells. Cripes, they’re so obvious. But Gwen doesn’t comment on it further.

“Now,” she begins, her tone businesslike, “because I want to feature you as on-screen lovers, I want the public to believe all that magic and stardust is due entirely to your raw talent and chemistry, and not because there’s anything else happening in real life. I think a real life romance coinciding with what’s happening on-screen will undermine your perceived abilities. At least in the beginning,” she adds, as if sensing their burgeoning discomfort. “It’s something we can re-visit, and hell, maybe even capitalize on, down the road.”

A knowing smile drifts across the executive's face and she looks off at some point behind their heads, an uncharacteristically sentimental look sweeping across her features. “People always have a soft spot for a dramatic love story.”

Gwen blinks, and instantly reverts back to business mode. “I’m not even going to ask,” she says, holding up her hands in capitulation, “because what you do on your own time is your business, as long as it’s kept behind closed doors and out of the public eye. So what I have planned, in order to keep up appearances, is setting Kylo up on a few staged dates with a starlet–”

“No,” Ben interrupts vehemently. He shakes his head. “No dates.”

Rey turns to him with a frown. It’s just for appearances. She understands. This is his big chance, and now is not the time to start becoming uncooperative…

She tries to convey this to him with a look, but his posture is determined, his face set, and he won’t meet her eyes. He’s not budging on this, that much is clear. She sighs.

But Gwen doesn’t surrender just yet. She tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s the usual protocol, Kylo, you know that–”

Ben remains adamant. “I said, no dates."

Gwen raises her eyebrows, and Rey sees something flash in her eyes. Surprise, certainly. But also maybe approval, as well.

“Okay…” she drawls, pursing her lips and steepling her fingers under her chin, considering. “I guess we can release a few fan magazine interviews, and go with the old standby “Just waiting for the right woman who will cook and clean for me and put up with my hectic movie-making schedule” story.”

Rey almost chokes on a laugh, unable to help thinking of her own abysmal housekeeping skills. Ben must too, because his mood lightens considerably and she catches him pressing his fingertips to his mouth, smothering a grin.

He nods. “I can go along with that.”

She turns to Rey with a shrewd look. “No dates for you either, I presume?”

Definitely not. But she just shakes her head.

Gwen sighs, but shrugs offhandedly. “Well, luckily you’re much easier, Rey. The public doesn’t wonder why a woman in Hollywood is without a husband as much as they wonder why a man is without a wife. They just can’t fathom the idea of a grown man having to do his own cooking and cleaning, the poor helpless creatures that they are,” she says facetiously, rolling her eyes. “You’ll tell the reporters that you’re simply too busy and focused on your career to have any time left for dating and romance.”

Rey’s lips quirk in amusem*nt. “Agreed.”

Gwen nods, satisfied. She leans back, folding her hands across her stomach. “Now comes the sticky part.” She turns to Ben. “Has Palpatine reached out to you yet to renew your contract?”

Ben shakes his head.

Gwen arches one thin blond eyebrow. “Are you expecting to hear anything?”

Ben looks down at his hands in his lap, clenched into fists. As much as Rey knows he was unhappy with Luke and Mr. Palpatine, it must be incredibly hurtful to be dismissed so casually, after so many years. And by his own uncle, no less. A bloom of compassion for him warms her chest.

He looks up again, meeting Gwen's gaze steadily. “I think the fact that I haven’t heard anything at all yet speaks volumes, wouldn't you agree?” His voice flat and resigned, without any sharpness or anger, and Rey’s heart squeezes.

Gwen nods, her expression hard to read. “And are you surprised by this?”

She knows, Rey suddenly realizes, and her stomach flip flops. Despite Ben’s past behavior having been kept hidden from the public and from mostly everyone outside of First Order Studios, somehow Gwen knows.

Ben sighs heavily. “No.”

Gwen rises from her chair and leans against the front of her desk before them, her arms folded loosely. Mr. Johnson continues observing in silence from his place near the corner, but a look of empathy settles upon his features.

“I know only too well what happens when a person, especially a talented artist, feels trapped and stifled. When they feel unsupported by those around them. Now, I’m not saying that you handled it in the best way, and I don’t necessarily condone your actions, but what I am saying is that I understand." Her voice is firm but with a gentle undercurrent beneath her words, and she chances a quick look at Rey before addressing him again.

“And happily for you, Kylo, it seems you’ve been motivated to turn things around. But,” she straightens, and resumes her seat behind her desk, “I need you to know that I will not tolerate unprofessional behavior. I won’t play passive aggressive games like Palpatine did and continue putting you in pictures you don’t want to do for the remainder of your contract. That’ll just be miserable for both of us, and frankly, I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. If you ever become dissatisfied, either of you–” she glances at Rey–“I want you to come talk to me. And if we’re unable to reach an agreement on how to move forward, we’ll discuss terminating your contract. Does that sound fair?”

Rey can’t help but to be impressed. Gwen Phasma doesn’t play games, and she sure as hell doesn’t beat around the bush. She’s growing to like and respect this woman more and more by the minute, and as she glances over at Ben, she can tell he feels the same. A lesser person might resent being chastised like this, but Rey knows how far Ben’s come along, and that he's able to own up to his mistakes, regardless.

They both nod in agreement.

Gwen also nods, satisfied. “And in return, I want to assure you that I will do everything in my power to support you. As I said before, I take pride in surrounding myself with those I consider to be brilliant and talented. The cream of the crop. So if anything should happen, where our original plans must deviate due to unforeseen circ*mstances, I will do whatever I can to ensure your talents are still utilized and nurtured.”

Rey frowns. Unforeseen circ*mstances? Meaning… if she and Ben were to decide they no longer wish to work together? That would never happen. She dismisses the idea as nonsense and doesn’t give it another thought.

Gwen shuffles through a short stack of papers on her desk. “Now, then. Rey, you still have more than ten months left on your twelve month contract, at seven hundred dollars a week.” Rey nods in acknowledgement. “I’ve managed to obtain a copy. Everything looks to be pretty standard. If you choose to break the terms, you’ll be fined a penalty at double the contract’s original value. Which is roughly seventy-three thousand dollars.”

Rey gasps. Seventy-three thousand dollars? What an outrageous sum of money, she thinks abysmally. It might as well be a million.

But Gwen doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. “I’m prepared to send Palpatine an offer to buy you out for one hundred thousand dollars.”

Rey thinks she might faint.

Gwen reaches over for her cigarette box and this time, when she offers it to Ben, he accepts. She passes the lighter to him and takes a drag of her cigarette, a confident smile lifting her lips. “I don’t think he’ll turn it down. It’s the most money that’s ever been offered to poach a brand new talent, and one that hasn’t even had a film released yet, at that.”

Rey turns to Ben with wide, disbelieving eyes. She’s desperate to know what he thinks about all this. He knows Luke and Mr. Palpatine better than anyone– he’s said so himself.

Ben nods, but with perhaps a little less confidence than Gwen. “It is a lot of money, and the old man does love his coin. Not to mention the huge grosses he’s sure to make when The Turning Tide is released.” Ben's mouth turns down slightly. “But Palpatine hates to lose.”

Gwen sits up straighter in her chair. “Then we’ll make sure he feels like he’s won.” She taps a finger against her chin, thinking for a moment. “We’ll agree to some positive publicity for First Order. We’ll have Rey give some interviews saying that while she’s so pleased and grateful to have made her first picture for the most famous, the most wonderful movie studio in the world, she felt she was out of her element and asked to be let out of her contract in favor of working for a smaller studio, which First Order so graciously agreed to do. Because Mr. Palpatine insisted that her happiness, like all his stars, is his number one priority.”

Gwen leans back, toying with a thin gold chain around her neck, beaming with delight. “He’ll have to go for that. The public will be convinced he walks on water by the time we’re through with him.”

Rey knows even in her short time spent with Mr. Palpatine, that he loves nothing more than to play up his image as the benevolent leader and father figure to their studio “family”. That, paired with the opportunity to make more than twice his money back on her contract ought to be the cherry on top for him to agree to release her, she thinks.

She turns back to Ben, who’s rubbing his lower lip thoughtfully, not entirely convinced. “And if he doesn’t go for it?”

Gwen's mouth curves into a sly smile. “Then I guess we’ll play hardball.” She sits up and takes another drag of her cigarette. “Let’s say Rey walks away from her contract and First Order sues her for breach. It’ll be in all the papers, and it won’t look good for First Order, releasing The Turning Tide at the same time they're dragging their leading lady through an ugly court battle. The negative publicity will cause Tide to flop, and at the end of the day we’ll still win, because Parnassos will not only cover Rey’s contract penalty, but also the legal fees. And we’ll drum up our own publicity in the meantime, saying that Rey had asked to settle for a peaceful parting of ways, but First Order was determined to draw it out in court.”

Gwen clutches her hands dramatically against her chest. “And who couldn’t help but side with the innocent little lady from our nation's heartland, this beautiful unknown actress who came to La La Land with nothing but a dream and a prayer, and who’s now being bullied by the big mean men who run First Order Studios?” She scoffs and shakes her head. “If that’s the way they want to handle this, I’m all in. But something tells me after he gives it some thought, the old man will be more than willing to do this the easy way.”

Well then. It appears that Gwen's thought of everything. She's checked all the angles, and everything she's said tonight makes logical sense, so it would seem. But even though she already considers herself somewhat wise to these Hollywood power plays, Rey feels out of her depth in assessing a plan to outmaneuver Mr. Palpatine such as this.

She looks over to Ben again, the one who has spent most of his life under the banner of First Order Studios, who was born with the very essence of showbiz running through his veins– and he’s puffing on his cigarette, his expression carefully guarded.

But then the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, secretive smile, one dark brow arching wickedly.

“Well, I’ll be damned, this just might work, after all.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

It’s not until they’re back in Ben’s Cadillac and cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway back to Malibu that Rey starts to relax.

They leave Parnassos Pictures with an agreement to have new contracts drawn up for both of them, and Gwen’s promise that she’ll be sending an offer over to Mr. Palpatine’s office to buy out Rey’s existing contract the following day.

Neither of them speak much on the ride back, each of them preoccupied by their own thoughts. It was a lot to take in, and Rey, despite Gwen’s unwavering confidence, still harbors a small seed of doubt. What if they’re all wrong? What if Mr. Palpatine doesn’t react the way they expect? She chews on her thumbnail idly, staring out the window into the darkness.

Traffic is practically non-existent, so they arrive back at the beach house in record time. Night has fallen over the coast and Rey exits the car, tipping her face upward to marvel at the constellations twinkling against the inky sky. Her body loosens once the tangy air hits her lungs, and when she hears the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

She takes a deep breath and briefly closes her eyes. Home.

Once they’re inside, Ben heads straight for the fireplace, and it isn't long before the whole room starts to warm up from the crackling blaze. He shrugs out of his gray suit jacket and lays it on the chair, followed by his tie, which ends up tossed on top of the jacket. He undoes the top two buttons on his white dress shirt while Rey toes off her pumps and slips out of her cashmere jacket, adding it to the heap of clothing.

Much better, she muses, as she heads over to the bar in her ivory silk camisole and straight skirt. She pours them each a glass of scotch and they settle in on the sofa, curled together and gazing at the flickering hearth.

She burrows deeper into his side, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Ben's arm is strong and solid around her as he pulls her securely against him, one large hand grasping her calf while the other holds his scotch, soothed by the low rumble of contentment in his chest after he takes a long sip.

They sit like that in comfortable silence, just staring into the fire. But after a handful of minutes Ben gazes down at her, his eyes solemn, questioning.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks softly.

Rey sighs, not quite knowing what to say. It’s hard for her to put into words, everything she's feeling. Excitement, of course, at the prospect of working with Ben, at everything Parnassos is offering both of them. But there’s a sliver of fear too, that things might not actually pan out the way they want them to. Rey’s suffered so many disappointments in life, far more than triumphs, and she’s learned from an early age not to expect too much.

She runs her finger along the rim of her glass. “I’m just afraid it’s too good to be true. What if we’re wrong?” She takes a long sip of scotch, the liquor burning a trail down her throat, though not unpleasantly, and meets his eyes. “What if Mr. Palpatine doesn’t go for it?”

Ben smiles, squeezing her calf reassuringly. “The old man is many things, Rey, but he isn’t stupid. He knows he can’t sue his leading lady while trying to promote a new film. He wouldn’t even consider it. And besides,” he pulls her over onto his lap, taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table next to his, “I just found you.” His voice is low and sensual, his amber eyes flashing with a glint of possessiveness. It doesn't quite follow, but the declaration makes Rey's blood sing anyway, the thought of being found by Ben. Like she’s something he’s been looking for, like she’s something he needs.

It must read on her face because his eyes darken, and the air thickens with that familiar tension, that desire that always seems to be simmering between them, at varying degrees. Her heart starts thumping and her skin tingles with goosebumps as Ben lowers his head and starts pressing soft kisses against the curve of her neck. It’s so damn good and she sighs, tipping her head back to give him better access, while his hands begin roaming along her body. She braces her hands on his shoulders as he lifts her up to straddle his lap, but the narrow skirt doesn’t allow her legs the room to go where he wants them. He huffs, and she bites back a grin while he appears to contemplate the logistics of bunching the whole thing up around her waist and being done with it.

"Lie back for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, following her down to lie on the couch instead, peppering light kisses against her throat and chest. When he sits up, his gaze is black and smoldering, flickering over her with unconcealed want. Her breath quickens and her center pulses with arousal as he palms her breasts over the camisole, squeezing them firmly, her nipples hardening under his touch. He skims his hands down her sides to cup her hips just before dragging the zipper down her skirt and pulling it off her body, tossing it toward their growing pile of discarded clothing. He does the same with her panties, sliding them down her legs and tossing them aside, while she peels off her camisole, dropping it carelessly on the floor.

He kneels back between her parted legs and she arches her back instinctively, feeling wetness slicking between her thighs, her nude body exposed to the coolness of the air and his intense, heated gaze. Ben is still fully clothed, and the thought of them doing this while she’s bared for him and he's not makes her low belly clench and that pulse in her core throb insistently.

His thoughts must run along the same lines because his eyes flash with a dangerous gleam just before he leans over her again and kisses her, long and deep, without making a move to remove any more clothing. One large hand caresses her breast, teasing her nipple, while his tongue laves with masterful strokes against her own.

Like a devoted pupil, Ben has committed to the study of learning her body, and Rey has discovered just how much he enjoys coaxing out every little response, figuring out exactly what makes her beg and shudder and mewl. Right now his feather-soft touches and maddeningly slow pace are setting her whole body aflame with need and sure enough, she can feel his pride as well as his arousal swelling each time he draws another hungry moan from her throat.

Every time is like the first time, and as she fists his white dress shirt desperately, Rey can't imagine ever taking for granted the sheer ecstasy of kissing Ben, of feeling his touch, of having him inside her.

"Ben, please," she finally whimpers against his lips, driven nearly delirious with want. He hums lowly in his throat, satisfied, as his kisses become less finessed and more urgent. She hears the unzipping of his trousers just before he sits up, lips parted and breathing heavily, grasping his stiff, flushed co*ck in one hand. Rey watches with heavy-lidded desire as he gives it a few pumps, spreading the leaking fluid from the tip along his swollen shaft, before bracing himself over her again.

It was always meant to be like this, something whispers in the back of her mind, her hands carding through his thick sable hair as he takes her in one smooth thrust, and they groan in unison.

"So good," he rasps hotly into her mouth. "Always so ready for me." Another lick of arousal heats through her core at his praise and she nods loosely in agreement. Her body is deliciously stretched and full and greedy to take all of him, to take everything he can give her.

Ben begins to move, seated deeply inside while grinding his hips against her own, with short, forceful thrusts that rub against the perfect spot, every stroke pumping liquid fire through her veins. The added friction of crisp cotton and scratchy wool against her nipples and her most intimate skin is incredibly intense, and she cries out with a shudder, clenching hard around his length.

Ben's eyes are black and hooded as he gazes down at her, something wantonly wicked stirring from their depths at realizing how much she’s enjoying this, and he seizes her wrists none too gently, pinning them firmly above her head, before lowering his mouth to nip sharply at her earlobe.

Rey gasps, because it surprises her how good this feels, how much she likes it, how much she wants it. Ben's whole body is pressed flush against her this way, and the massive weight of him on top of her combined with the erotic taboo of his fully dressed form chafing against her bare skin makes her clench around him again, like the needy, desperate creature she is.

"f*ck," he growls against her throat, his voice thick and heavy with lust. He pauses briefly, their heartbeats pounding against each other for a few breathless moments before he starts moving again. "You feel too f*cking good, Rey."

So do you floats through her mind, but she can't even speak, not with the sound of her own pulse roaring in her ears. All her senses feel heightened– her nerve endings spark with curling, sinuous desire at every little brush, every little abrasion against her sensitive flesh.

There's an urgent, almost feral edge in the force of his thrusts that's different from the tender, leisurely way they usually make love and Rey finds it thrilling– her walls start fluttering as the pleasure rolls through her in waves, and she realizes she’s approaching her climax more quickly than she usually does.

“Ben, harder, please,” she begs, her voice thin and reedy. Her breasts strain against his chest as she pulls her knees higher, trying to push her hips up toward his, but she’s limited in her movements. She’s completely at his mercy, pinned underneath his powerful, massive frame, and she loves it– loves the feeling of being trapped, like being buried in hot quicksand, surrounded by nothing but Ben. His plush mouth sucks a bruise against her throat, drawing the thin skin between his teeth, the exquisite pain making her whimper as her walls squeeze around him, gripping his thick, pummeling co*ck. She's so slick with arousal she can feel it dripping out of her, hot liquid trickling down her crease.

His chest rumbles with a low growl, his hold on her wrists tightening as he pumps into her faster, harder, the room filling with the carnal sounds of squelching flesh, and with her soft, breathy cries and his guttural moans.

"f*ck, that's it," he wheezes into the crook of her neck, "I want you to give it to me, sweetheart." His pace is relentless, his huge co*ck buried so deep and hitting a spot that makes her blood race and her toes curl in ecstasy, and she can only groan out her assent as the pleasure builds and builds. Her wrists are still pinned above her head, and she balls her hands into fists, her nails cutting into her palms as Ben hurtles her toward an earth-shattering release.

Their passions feed off each other in a ceaseless to and fro, pushing them higher and higher until they reach their peak at almost the same time– her neck arching and mouth slackening with a long, breathless whine, her limbs convulsing as her org*sm breaks over her, stronger than anything she's ever felt before, a molten sunrise lighting through her veins. Ben draws out her pleasure for as long as he can but he's too far gone himself, and his hips stutter against hers for only a few moments more before he withdraws with a hoarse shout, surrendering to his own bliss, painting her stomach with thick ropes of hot spend.

He collapses onto his side next to her and pulls her boneless, weightless body back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her while his softening co*ck pulses against the crevice of her ass. The fire in the hearth is now little more than a pile of glowing embers, and he rains light, torrential kisses against her bare shoulder, her neck as they lie in the darkness, with nothing except the sound of their fractured breathing to break the gentle silence.

Her eyelids grow heavy, and it isn't long before Rey starts to drift off into a sated, peaceful slumber, with Ben and all his warmth pressed soundly behind her. But just before sleep overtakes her, the cozy knitted blanket they keep on the sofa is draped over her, and Ben nuzzles the back of her head, her hair, before murmuring softly against her cheek.

“I just found you, Rey. And I’m sure as hell not going to lose you now.”

Since the party at the Cocoanut Grove over a week ago, Rey has been calling the studio switchboard daily to check her messages. So far, she’s had none.

Until today.

The pleasant-sounding operator tells her, “Why yes, Miss Rian, there is a message here. Mr. Palpatine would like you to come to his office tomorrow at noon, if it’s convenient for you?”

Her heart begins to race as she grips the receiver tightly.

It’s showtime.

Hollywood, California

1947

Rey makes her way down the hall toward Mr. Palpatine’s office. It’s different since the last time, the very first time she was here, with Luke at her side. She can recall it now almost fondly. The eager, nervous Rey Johnson with wild hopes of being offered a studio contract.

It feels like such a long time ago.

She’s still nervous, but for the exact opposite reason– now she’ll be asking for her release. She smooths her sweaty palms against her skirt as Mr. Palpatine’s secretary announces her arrival via intercom.

Ben has his own meeting today, over at Parnassos Pictures, to go over the details of his new contract. He’d given her a tight hug and a tender kiss before she left, assuring her in that warm, loving way he has that she can do this. Reminding her that she’s strong, that she’s a fighter.

That they’re meant to be.

But now, Rey can’t help feeling like she’s walking into the lion’s den as she’s escorted into the massive office. It looks exactly the same as last time– Mr. Palpatine sitting high up behind his ridiculously elevated desk, impeccable as ever. Luke is also here, seated in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, somber and silent as he usually is in Mr. Palpatine’s presence. He doesn’t look up when Rey approaches, and she finds it doesn’t particularly affect her one way or another.

Soon, she won’t have to deal with either of them anymore.

The thought gives her a boost of confidence.

Mr. Palpatine’s eyes are steely as he watches her make her way toward the desk.

“Ah, Miss Rian. Thank you for coming in on such short notice. Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the other chair next to Luke.

She nods, and sits, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

She's not sure what she was expecting– maybe for Mr. Palpatine to seem upset? Angry? Disappointed, perhaps? But he’s none of those things as he steps down from behind his desk and stands before it. In fact, he almost appears… delighted? With a small frown, Rey waits for him to begin.

“Well, Miss Rian, I wanted to meet with you today to discuss your next project.” He pauses ceremoniously, and she blinks. To say she wasn’t expecting this is a colossal understatement.

“I’ve decided to cast you as the lead in a script we’ve just obtained. It’s not our usual type of fare, but I think it will do quite well, and also cement you as First Order’s top female star.” He gives her a significant look. “You’ll play an Englishwoman living in a small village opposite the American boxer who arrives to start a new life after killing his opponent in the ring.”

He smiles. “I’ve already signed Cody Breaker to play the boxer.”

Rey clenches her teeth as she casts a sideways glance at Luke who, of course, is still as a statue. Of all the dirty, rotten double-crosses. But she’s careful to show no reaction. Mr. Palpatine isn’t aware that she already knows about this script, that it’s the part Ben wanted so desperately to play before he was callously rejected.

Her spine tingles with apprehension. Why would he offer her this part when he must have received the offer from Parnassos to buy her contract?

But she hides her bewilderment, and instead gives him a sunny smile.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Palpatine. That sounds like a wonderful part, and I’m so pleased to be considered.”

He tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed. “You sound unsure, my dear. Other actresses would be jumping for joy at being cast in this role. Is there something I'm missing?”

She swallows. So this is the game. He’s going to force her to bring it up.

But before she can, his face lights up and he snaps his fingers, as if he’s just remembered something. “Oh, I know what it is. I almost forgot about it completely, because I was certain it was some kind of mistake.”

He walks back over to his desk and picks up a stack of paperwork. “This was sent over to my office the other day.” He flips through the pages idly. “An offer from Parnassos Pictures to buy out Miss Rey Rian’s contract, for a sum of one hundred thousand dollars.”

He looks at her with affected sincerity. “This clearly must be some kind of mistake. Unless… well, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Rey's stomach twists into an anxious knot. He knows she does, the bastard, and he’s just toying with her. Like a cat playing with a helpless mouse. She chances another glance towards Luke, but of course he’s of no help. She’s entirely on her own.

She clears her throat. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do, sir.”

He feigns a look of shock, pressing a hand dramatically against his chest.

What a ham, she thinks sourly.

“My dear, why on earth would you want to leave us? Leave the studio that discovered you, that has given you everything?”

Rey hesitates. She realizes now she should have seen this coming. But up until this moment, she really thought her release was a foregone conclusion: Mr. Palpatine would simply agree to the offer, and take the money and run. Mentally, she gives herself a swift kick– did she really think it would be that easy? Her mind reels, quickly recalling the story Gwen put together, the dangling carrot designed to entice First Order and Mr. Palpatine with an opportunity for some excellent publicity.

“Well, sir, I just feel a bit overwhelmed by working for such a big studio and think I’d be better suited for something smaller–”

His eyes narrow and he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “Applesauce, my dear.” Her eyes widen in surprise. He tosses the paperwork back on his desk and picks up a manila folder instead. “Let’s cut to the chase. Are you sure there isn’t another reason?”

She tilts her head to the side, nonplussed. “Sir? I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

His smile is vicious as he hands her the folder. “Still playing dumb. Well, dearie, perhaps this will jog your memory.”

She frowns up at him as she opens the folder.

But then she looks down and her heart stops beating.

It's a photograph.

Black and white and grainy, obviously taken at quite a distance with a long-focus lens. But the image is clear enough, and there’s no mistaking what it is.

Or more importantly, who it is.

A cold sweat beads on her skin as a wave of panic sweeps through her.

It’s her, laughing and splashing around in the ocean. In Ben’s pajama top, with Ben standing off to the side in the matching bottoms, watching her.

Breath escapes her, like she's just had the wind knocked out of her lungs.

But she realizes that’s not all. There’s a slim stack of photos in this folder. Her hands start to shake as she flips to the next one.

Her hand touching Ben’s arm as they walk along the beach.

Flip.

The two of them facing each other at the shoreline, in the middle of a deep conversation.

Flip.

Ben reaching to brush windblown hair back from her face as she gazes up at him adoringly.

Her mouth goes dry and her heart jackhammers against her ribs. She doesn’t know if she can bear to see any more.

But there’s just one photo left.

Flip.

This one makes her blood run hot before turning to ice in her veins.

She runs a trembling fingertip against the image of Ben holding her up, her bare legs wrapped around his waist, her head lowered to his in a passionate embrace.

The moment Ben told her he loves her.

The image blurs before her as her eyes fill with salty, anguished tears.

The most perfect, beautiful moment of her life, captured on film by some spy, while she and Ben were blissfully unaware they were being watched.

Her shock gives way to a nauseating sense of violation, and her stomach rolls in sickening waves. She wishes she could throw up, or just disappear. She looks up at Mr. Palpatine, whose thin lips are curled in a satisfied grin.

Her nostrils flare and her mouth twists into a bitter scowl.

“You despicable monster,” she seethes.

But Mr. Palpatine just waves his hand impatiently. “Oh, grow up, Miss Rian. I have spies out tailing all my stars, when I get the sense they might be up to no good. My suspicion that something might be going on between you and Kylo started when I heard the rumors of your on-set flirtation, but no one could provide me with any concrete evidence of any dalliances. But the night of the Cocoanut Grove party, that’s what really sealed it.”

He takes a cigarette out of his box and lights it, looking at her quizzically. “Did you really think you got away with it, my dear?” he asks, disbelief evident in his voice. “I noticed your absence right away. And when Cody came back to the ballroom alone, I knew something was awry.”

He puffs on his cigarette. “I had my man out to Malibu, staking out Kylo’s place by sunrise,” he declares.

"And now, word is that Kylo is currently in talks with Parnassos, negotiating a new contract, and you think I'm supposed to believe that's just a coincidence? " He shakes his head, glaring at her with such virulence she's surprised her skin doesn't wither and peel right off her bones.

“Don’t ever walk in here and think you can pull one over on me, my dear. It’s impossible.”

Fine, Rey thinks, balling her fists at her sides as her shock gives way to anger. Two can play at this game.

“So, you won’t release my contract?”

Mr. Palpatine just shakes his head, eyeing her closely.

She nods. “Fine. But you can’t keep me here against my will.” She rises out of her chair with as much dignity as she can muster. “I quit, Mr. Palpatine. And I’ll see you in court.”

She’s angry– oh, she’s more than angry. She’s livid, seeing nothing but red right now. She wants nothing more than to spit in his face and spin out on her heel, leaving this revolting man behind her as just another ugly blemish upon her past. But Rey knows she has Gwen Phasma and the entirety of Parnassos Pictures supporting her on this, and the thought gives her the strength to see it through to the end.

“Oh, Miss Rian," Mr. Palpatine chuckles. "Still so wide-eyed and naive. You think you can just quit? That I'd just allow you to ride off into the sunset with Kylo Ren? That you can betray me, you disloyal, ungrateful little whor*?”

Her jaw tightens and her temper flares at the insult, but she doesn’t bite back. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

His eyes get a faraway look. He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I’ll put up with a lot from my stars. I’m benevolent that way. But the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty.” He turns his gaze to the framed photos on his wall, of all the stars to have risen through the ranks of First Order Studios, their legacies spanning the decades.

“The last time a star betrayed me, I vowed it would never happen again.”

Rey follows his gaze to the wall, and a dark tendril of dread unfurls in her chest when she sees the picture he’s looking at.

Leia Organa.

Her heart starts to pound as he continues. “I gave her everything. A career on a silver platter. Any part she wanted to play, I let her. Because she was brilliant, and beautiful, and perfect.”

He sighs, murmuring to himself. “Leia. My shining little star.”

His head snaps back to Rey, his eyes going cold again. She notices Luke is watching him too now, his face frozen in alarm.

“But then she betrayed me. Told me she had fallen in love and wanted to give up performing. Wanted a normal life, with a family. Family?” he scoffs. “Hah. I’m her family, I told her. This studio, this is all the family she should have ever needed. But she disagreed.”

He shakes his head. “She left me heartbroken. I had put all my trust and faith into that woman, and she ran off to marry a two-bit, good for nothing card hustler. And for what? Love,” he sneers at the word. “Sentiment. Bullsh*t,” he thunders, slamming his fist on the desk.

“I was still young then, and waited a few years, hoping she would come to her senses and return to her real home, with me, at the studio. But she never did. And then my spies reported that she was living happily in some little shack in the woods near Santa Cruz. And that she and that two-bit gambler had a son, on top of it. Well, that’s when I knew she wasn’t coming back. And I knew I had to make her pay for her betrayal.”

Rey drops back into her seat, the beginnings of ice cold fear prickling along her spine. She grips the arms of the chair, needing to touch something to keep her grounded in reality, even though she desperately wishes she were having a terrible nightmare instead. It's as though she’s watching some horrible scene being played out, and as awful as it is, she can’t bear to tear herself away.

Mr. Palpatine’s face softens, as if unloading on them is easing something that’s weighed on his mind for far too long. “No one questioned it when the sonofabitch’s car veered off that dicey stretch on Canyon Road that night. Of course, if anyone had, the LAPD wouldn’t have discovered the tampered brake lines, anyway. They’re all on my payroll, you see.”

Rey starts trembling violently, his words hitting her like a punch in the gut.

He killed Ben’s father.

She turns to Luke, horrified at how he’s been able to work for this unhinged megalomaniac– this murderer– all these years. But he’s gone white as a sheet, his blue eyes clouded over in despair.

He didn’t know.

Rey turns her gaze back to Mr. Palpatine.

“How could you?” Her voice is strangled, barely above a whisper.

“She betrayed me!” he roars. “If she would have stayed where she belonged, none of this would have happened. And besides, I was generous enough to take her bastard son under my wing as he got older, wasn't I? But he proved to be nothing but a disappointment, as well. Just like his mother,” he spats.

“So to hell with them. I’ll have no more to do with her or her rotten ingrate of a son. But I’ll be damned if I let another woman betray me again!”

Rey realizes her distress has suddenly made her calm. It’s a welcomed, familiar feeling, like a cloak draping over her shoulders, a defense mechanism she’s relied on since her childhood.

She shakes her head. “No, Mr. Palpatine. You can’t keep me here. I’d sooner drop dead than work another day for you or your studio.”

Mr. Palpatine's smile is wicked. “Oh, is that so? I must inform you then, Miss Rian, if you quit there will be... consequences.”

She frowns. “There’s nothing you can do to me.”

He shakes his head, almost sympathetic. “No, maybe not to you, dearie. Not directly. But I’m sure it would be devastating for you to lose your new lover. It’s not a secret within the studio that Kylo Ren has a… history with booze." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "No one would think twice upon hearing the news that he was killed in a car crash, especially when the LAPD finds several empty bottles of scotch in the backseat.”

A sinister smile stretches across his face. "In fact, it would almost be poetic. Like father, like son.”

Her vision swims with black dots and her ears start ringing while her whole world tilts dangerously on its axis.

Oh, God.

She has no doubt Mr. Palpatine is capable of pure evil, and ruthlessness, once he has some sick justification for doing so. The very thought of him plotting to take Ben’s life–no, she can’t even think about that now.

Luke remains silent and withdrawn, his face having gone a disturbing shade of gray, and it appears as if he’s lapsed into some type of shock.

Rey stumbles out of her chair, her legs failing her, and crawls over to him. She’s on her knees, desperately shaking him, begging for him to snap out of it, stopping just short of slapping him across the face.

“Luke, wake up. This is your family, goddammit! Your own flesh and blood. How can you just sit here and let him get away with this?”

But Mr. Palpatine just laughs from behind her. “Don’t even waste your time," he sneers. "Luke Skywalker sold his soul to me many, many years ago. He knows his priorities.” She turns and finds him shaking his head with pity. “It’s a shame you didn’t learn them for yourself sooner.”

Rey crumples on the floor, her body shaking and weak. In this moment, she accepts that she's been defeated. The knowledge crystalizes in her mind, clear and sharp. She knows, with no uncertainty whatsoever, that she’d never be able to go on if anything ever happened to Ben.

She looks up at Mr. Palpatine, now impossibly high above her behind his desk, like some cruel ancient god toying with mere mortals just for the sheer entertainment of it.

She decides to risk one more futile plea.

“He’ll never believe I don’t want to be with him,” she whispers, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.

Mr. Palpatine looks down at her with a chilling glare, puffing a freshly lit cigarette, not even bothering to hide his disdain. “I beg your pardon. I thought you were Rey Rian, the Hollywood “It Girl". The girl everyone's talking about, the girl everyone wants. The brilliant, talented actress,” he says, his voice dripping with venom.

He blows smoke dismissively in her direction.

“So I suggest you begin by acting like it.”

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

When Rey was young, she didn’t make friends easily. She always felt somehow inherently different from everyone else, and preferred the company of her books instead– where she could retreat into vivid fantasies of kings and queens and faraway lands, and of a knight so bold as to slay the mighty dragon and rescue the princess, driven by his enduring love and faithfulness. She’d run her small fingertips over the illustration of the brave knight kissing the princess against a painted sunset, hues of pink and orange blurring together behind their entwined silhouette.

And they lived happily ever after.

But then she’d hear the voices of her cousins, just outside her bedroom window, laughing and making plans with their friends to go swimming in the creek, or to play kick-the-can in the field by Doc Tekka’s old house.

Without her. Always.

So she resigned herself from an early age: she'd always be on her own. She would never feel any strong, deep connection to another person, and had all but convinced herself that the type of love she found in books could never happen to anyone in real life. That it was reserved for the sole purpose of making beautiful art and music, and for creating unforgettable performances on stage and in movies.

She’d lie in bed at night, alone and restless, and tell herself she was going to be fine. Over the years, the words grew into more and wound their way around her heart like a vine, eventually becoming her own personal mantra, more or less– one that she would say to herself in times of deep loneliness, or despair.

That mantra comes to mind now, while she sits dazedly in the big easy chair next to the window in the main room of Ben’s beach house.

As Rey watches the rolling surf, she realizes those same words that were once a harsh bitter truth, wielded as a shield against her solitude, have now become– after everything, after Ben – a grievous, tragic, devastating lie.

I can live without love.

Rey exhales a long breath, somewhat relieved when it comes out in a steady stream, without a hint of shudder or shake, and the tears that have been lingering behind her eyes remain hidden. Good, that’s good. Her body seems to have gone into some kind of protective mode in the last few hours since she left Mr. Palpatine’s office. Since she watched herself move, in a detached, disconnected sort of way, placing one foot in front of the other until she reached the studio’s car, sliding limply into the backseat before the driver closed the door softly behind her.

Since staring blindly out the window for the entire drive back to Malibu, and after hearing her own disembodied voice asking the driver to wait in the driveway until she came back out. Since somehow managing to pack her meager belongings: a few toiletries, dresses and underwear; items hastily tossed into her suitcase several days ago after she and Ben made a quick stop at her apartment. Taking for granted she’d have plenty of time to come back for the rest. Or perhaps not at all. She held no attachment to anything there, really, and could afford to buy a new wardrobe eventually. First Order Studios owned the apartment, and Rey was more than happy to give it back once she was signed with Parnassos. It was just an unspoken assumption that her home was now with Ben. That they’d always be together from this point on.

Forever.

Her old battered suitcase sits near the doorway, under the wall clock, ticking away the seconds as she waits. A quarter past four. Ben’s meeting with Parnassos was at one. He should be home soon.

Home. The word cuts painfully deep, now. His home, not hers. Not even theirs. Not after today, not anymore.

She exhales, getting up from the chair and begins pacing the floor. She’s done so much pacing already she’s likely worn a hole right through the rug.

For hours she’s been racking her brain, trying to think of some way out of this. Going over different scenarios, different options. She's considered just telling Ben everything, the whole sordid story– and the two of them running away together, somewhere they wouldn’t be recognized, where they could live their lives quietly, hidden and secluded. But there were more than a few problems with this, Rey had realized immediately.

For one thing, as much as she knows Ben loves her, she could never ask him to give up his career, his dreams, just to be with her. Putting him on the spot like that, forcing him to choose her under such highly pressured circ*mstances, feels selfish and presumptuous and wrong. She fears he might grow to resent her over time.

And for another, she knows Mr. Palpatine has no problem with waiting. Biding his time, years even, until he exacts his revenge. Even if they did attempt to disappear, they’d always be looking over their shoulders, living in fear, waiting for the day he eventually finds them. Maybe he'd even draw it out on purpose, wait until they’re happy and secure and unafraid, until the moment they've let their guards down. Even waiting for so long until they had a child of their own.

Her heart had shattered at the thought.

It was almost frightening, how easily Rey was able to envision it, the picture of domestic bliss– with Ben at her side and a chubby, brown-eyed baby clamped to her hip, living together in secret, somewhere soft and green and peaceful.

And it would be just like Mr. Palpatine to wait until that day, until he was good and certain his revenge would come at the worst time, when it would inflict the most devastating, excruciating pain. Lying in wait like a snake, looking for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Like father, like son.

An image of Ben’s Cadillac exploding in a fiery wreck flashes in her mind, and her stomach lurches violently in revulsion. She swallows down the bile burning its way up her throat and squeezes her eyes shut, trembling as she frantically pushes the image from her mind.

No, she can’t risk it. She can’t risk that fate ever coming to fruition. Even if it means ripping out her own heart, walking away from the only person she’s ever loved, and who loves her in return. It’s the only thing carrying her through right now, the one fragile thread she can cling to while every fiber in her body begs her not to go through with it. The possibility of losing Ben forever from this world is a fate worse than being alone again.

It cannot happen. She won’t allow it.

Even if it means breaking Ben’s heart, too.

Not for the first time today, she damns Harry Palpatine to an eternity in hell, with every last shred of her being.

And Luke, too. For standing aside and doing nothing while his family is tormented, ripped apart, piece by piece.

Her chest heaves with short, shallow gasps, and her fists are clenched tightly at her sides. Drawing a long, slow breath, Rey wills for control over her body once again. She needs to do this, and she needs to do it convincingly. Ben’s life is at stake if she fails.

The thought subdues her immediately.

She moves back over towards the window, inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling out her mouth. Smoothing her hands over her hair, and down the front of her dress.

Moments later, she hears the door to the carport open and Ben’s voice calling out from the other side of the house.

“Sweetheart?”

Oh, that voice. Low and rich, just thesound of it makes her insides start to quiver.

His footsteps are heavy against the hardwood floor as he makes his way into the main room, where he finds her there, frozen in place next to the window.

He smiles at her briefly, before turning his head and jerking his thumb back in the direction he just came from, his dark brows furrowed. “Did you know the car is still here? You want me to tell him he can go?”

Oh, God, how did she ever think she’d be able to do this? Standing there in front of her, everything about him is so achingly familiar and wonderful and hers. His tall, broad figure as it fills the entire doorway, his deep blue suit jacket swung loosely over his shoulder on one hand. His black wavy hair, which she notices now is in need of a trim as it curls against his collar, with the one stubborn lock that always seems to want to fall forward against his brow, no matter what.

Every last inch of him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, Rey knows better than she knows herself. Knows how soft his hair feels wound and threaded through her fingers. Knows every scar and freckle and beauty mark decorating his ivory skin, because her passion and curiosity to discover them, like uncharted stars, had led to her mapping out each and every one. She knows her fingertips just barely reach his knuckles when their hands are pressed palm to palm, and that the soft skin on his sides, over his ribs, is where he’s the most ticklish.

But then her gaze travels upward and their eyes meet, and Rey's defenses rapidly slip away. Her heart pounds and a giant lump forms in her throat.

Because Ben's eyes are, by far, his most captivating feature. Those clear amber eyes– so expressive, no longer shuttered or inscrutable– reveal everything, give her everything, in those moments when words just don’t suffice. In less than a second she can lose herself forever in their golden-brown depths, drowning slowly and sweetly, and Rey had welcomed a future where she could drown every single day, ecstatically, until she takes her very last breath.

It hits her in that moment, just how much she's fallen wildly, desperately in love with him.

Her next breath hitches in her chest, while the tears she’s been holding back threaten to fall. Ben frowns, noticing her distress and begins moving towards her, but stops when his toe kicks the suitcase on the floor near his feet. It lands heavily on its side with a loud thud, and she flinches.

He looks down, and up again, his eyes widening in alarm.

Rey suddenly realizes she doesn’t just hate Palpatine for making her do this.

She hates herself, too.

“N-no, don’t tell him to go, yet,” she says, shaking her head. Dammit. Her voice is a wobbling, trembling mess.

“Rey,” he breathes, tossing his jacket aside and approaching her slowly.

She shakes her head again, looking down, away from his imploring eyes. Needing more time to gather herself, to find the strength to go through with this.

But where do you find the strength to destroy the only person you’ve ever loved?

A sinister voice croons from the back of her mind.Like father, like son.

She straightens and meets his gaze steadily. Her pulse is pounding in her ears, but she’s pretty sure she can keep her composure. For a little while, anyway.

“Stop,” she commands, holding out her hand, palm turned towards him. He stops abruptly, and the wounded look on his face cuts right through to her soul.

But she presses on.

“I’ve decided to stay with First Order, Ben.” She swallows the acid rising in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze skips over her up and down and she waits, watching him as he considers her.

He shakes his head. “Rey,” he says gently, “whatever the old man said to scare you, I promise, that’s all it is. Just scare tactics. He can’t hurt you.” His eyes are tender, beseeching. “I promise.”

Oh, if only he knew. If only there were some way she could tell him.

But she can’t. Not without putting him in harm’s way.

For a brief moment Rey considers treating this like a scene; as though they’re on set and this is just some terrible, tragic movie. But in the same instant, she knows she can’t pretend... not when those are Ben’s eyes looking at her, luminous with all the love and trust he reserves just for her.

So she’ll have to lie to his face, instead.

“It’s not that, Ben. I just decided, after giving it more thought, that perhaps I do owe them my loyalty. Like you said, they did discover me, after all.” The lie feels like tar, black and thick, clinging to the inside of her mouth.

He just stares at her before scrubbing both hands down his face and heaving an exasperated sigh, resting his hands on his hips. It's obvious he's not completely convinced, but that doesn’t seem to be his primary concern at the moment, because he glances back over at her suitcase.

“Okay, Rey. That’s fine. I won’t pretend to understand what’s brought on this sudden change of heart, but if you’re telling me you want to stay with First Order, that’s entirely your decision. I won’t stop you.” He steps towards her again, his brow creased in concern. “But what’s with the suitcase?” He shakes his head. “There’s no law that says just because we’re not working for the same studio means we can’t still be together.”

He’s right, of course. But it’s not enough for Mr. Palpatine to only put an end to them working together. He wants them to suffer. He’s hellbent on making them as miserable as possible, not only for attempting to betray him, but for being foolish enough to be carried away by love and sentiment, just like Ben’s mother was.

Rey’s fractured heart is screaming: He knows you’re my only weakness, and the murderous, vindictive snake is determined to use it to his advantage. He had your father killed, and he’ll have you killed, too, unless I do exactly what he wants.

The thought cuts a fresh wound through her barely held together defenses, and she blinks back scalding, bitter tears.

She stares down at the floor. “I just think things with us might be moving a little too fast. It’s probably for the best if we both take some time apart, to focus on our careers…” she trails off, knowing the words sound flimsy and weak, even to her own ears.

Ben is standing before her now, one large hand gripping her upper arm, the other tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

She can’t hide from him. Not when he’s this close, not when he’s looking at her like this.

“Rey,” he murmurs, his eyes filling with concern– no, more than just concern. He’s fearful. He has no idea what’s happening, what could possibly be causing her to behave this way. “You’re shaking.” And so she is. She realizes it now, her whole body practically rattling in his grip.

He pulls her into a tight embrace. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me," he rasps into her hair. "Tell me what this is about.”

She melts into him, against the warm, firm planes of his body. Wrapping her arms around his back, feeling the taut muscles flexing underneath the crisp cotton of his white dress shirt. Rey closes her eyes as his unique, familiar scent floods her senses, and that's when it suddenly occurs to her...

This is the last time she'll ever feel his arms around her like this.

The thought causes something inside to break and she starts to sob, emptying whatever jagged pieces remain of her heart. Ben squeezes her tighter, whispering soft words of comfort against the top of her head, holding her like he’s never going to let her go.

And as much as Rey wishes he would, wishes they could stay like this forever, some lucid, rational part of her brain that’s still functioning is painfully aware at how much this isn’t working. She’s supposed to be saying goodbye,not clinging on to him for dear life. She’s failing miserably, and Ben’s life is on the line if she doesn’t do this right.

A thick spike of anger, of hate and bitterness and disgust– at herself, at Palpatine for putting her in this position– rises in her chest, sharp and hot, threatening to split her in two. It’s a familiar mix of emotions, but instead of trying to stifle it as she's been apt to do most of her life, she leans into it.

And misdirects it at the person who is least deserving of all.

I’m so sorry, Ben.

She chokes back her sobs and gulps for breath. “Ben, stop,” she grits out, pushing him away. He stumbles back a step, the shock and hurt in his eyes sending another wave of self-loathing through her.

Rey claws her hands through her hair, tempted to pull a chunk of it right out from the roots. “See what I mean? It’s just– this is too much, Ben. I can’t handle all of this–” she makes a vague circle motion between them–“right now. I need to stay focused on my career. And you probably should, as well. Given your… history, and all that.”

Oh, she doesn’t know if he could look more stunned and betrayed if she had slapped him right across the face.

“Rey,” he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t really mean that.”

Latching on to that black spire of hate and anger inside, she lets it take over, unleashing it to raze everything that’s good and pure and sacred in her world.

She tries to affect a cool, slightly indifferent tone. “I’m sorry, Ben. I care for you very much, I do. And what we have… it’s been amazing. But I’ve had a lot of time to consider some things today, and I think we need to reevaluate our priorities. You want to direct, and I think that’s wonderful. I want to act, and if I’m going to act, then I should be working for the studio that can put me at the top. And in the meantime, I don’t think we should allow ourselves to become too distracted by… all of this.”

His eyes narrow. “All of this,” he repeats flatly. “Meaning… what exactly. What are you trying to say, Rey?”

Even though she’s starting to get the reaction from him she wants, some foolishly romantic part of her is disappointed at how easily he’s accepted her reasoning. Why isn't he calling her bluff, or challenging her… putting up some sort of fight. But at the same time, what else did she expect? Why should he fight back when she’s the one with the gasoline, dousing their relationship like it's nothing and holding a lighted match over it.

She hems and haws a bit, looking down to pretend to study her cuticles and shrugging. “You know what I mean.”

He steps forward again until he’s towering over her, and his own bitterness and anger are palpable, tangible things. "No, I don’t think I do. I think I need to hear you say exactly what it is you're trying to say. I deserve at least that much.”

Rey looks up into his eyes, dark now with hurt and anguish. The knowledge that she’s the one that’s done this to him, to them, makes her want to vomit.

Instead, she regards him with a calmness she doesn’t feel and drops the match.

“I think it's best if we went our separate ways, Ben.”

Ben inhales sharply and backs up a step. His clear amber eyes become shadowed and distant, and it's like slamming a door in her face. It hurts her more than she could have ever imagined.

He looks at her now as if she were a stranger and shakes his head. “Well, I gotta hand it to you, kid. I’ve been f*cked over before, but never quite like this.” His face is sickly white and his arms are folded, his body curling inward slightly, almost as if he's trying to hold himself together.

He’ll get over it, that cruel, sinister voice whispers. You come from nothing... you're nobody. It wouldn’t have lasted, anyway. He would have grown tired of you.

And with that, the overwhelming anger and hatred begins to dissipate, leaving her as no more than a dry, empty husk, burnt up from the inside out. She moves mechanically over to the other side of the room and picks up her suitcase, feeling like she’s watching it happen from outside herself. She turns toward him, compelled by the need to say something before she leaves. Not that anything she could say could ever fix any of the damage she’s done, but Rey finds she wants to try, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

His hands are now jammed in his pockets and he doesn’t meet her eyes. The silence hangs awkwardly between them.

I can live without love.

If she says it enough, Rey hopes maybe someday she'll start to believe it.

She continues toward the doorway, toward a life and a future without Ben, a life of emptiness and solitude, just as she’d resigned herself to so many years ago. At least Ben will be safe, although the thought brings her no comfort now.

But just before she’s out of earshot, she hears his voice, soft and broken behind her.

“I love you, Rey.”

She stops in her tracks. There must be one shattered fragment of her heart that remains, and his words fill it, excruciatingly. Her face crumples as tears begin flowing in silent rivers down her cheeks, and she’s grateful her back is turned, so that he can’t see her face.

I love you, Ben. I love you so much, more than I can ever tell you.

The words she couldn’t say before are now on the tip of her tongue– but she has no right to say them anymore, now that he no longer belongs to her, and she thinks that might be the cruelest irony of all.

Instead, she responds with the only thing she can say.

Rey's back is still turned, not wanting Ben to see the heartbreak streaming all over her face, but by some miracle her voice comes out steady and clear.

“I know.”

She closes the door softly behind her.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California

1947

Loss, Rey has come to find out, is a very strange thing.

After losing someone you love, you expect to feel exactly that– like something that was once there is now missing. Gone. The absence of that person who was so much a part of you, bound to your very essence, should leave a hole inside, a gaping emptiness that no one or nothing could ever possibly replace.

But instead, she feels full. So unbearably full, to the point of overflowing. Every broken piece of her that remains is brimming with all the love she still carries for Ben and nowhere to go with it.

The same love that used to make her feel lighter than air, with all the promise and hope of a new day is now a torturous burden, gathering in her chest like stones of lead, the weight of it so heavy she’s certain if she were dropped into the ocean she’d sink straight to the bottom.

She swallows down the knot in her throat that forms any time she starts to think about him.

It’s only been four days since she left Malibu, and it already feels like a lifetime. Just trying to make it through the next moment, and the one after that is a monumental task, and has made her aware of how time slows down when you’re in pain, in a way she never even thought was possible.

Yesterday she had thought about calling Finn, or perhaps sending a wire to Rose in care of The Blue Room in New York City... but what would she have said? She can’t tell anyone the truth, not without putting Ben in jeopardy. She even thought of trying to reach out to Poe, but rejected that idea in almost the same instant. As Ben’s closest friend, there’s a good chance Poe already knows what’s happened, and her chest tightens at the thought. She’d promised Poe she would never hurt Ben, and the thought of him finding out that she has makes her stomach queasy with shame.

She covers her face with her hands and sighs. Her grief has made her apathetic and weak, and she’s glad there’s no one else in this apartment to see her in such a sorry state as she lies motionless on the couch, watching dust motes floating within the shaft of afternoon sunlight streaming in through the huge windows. Even though she moved in months ago, Rey never spent enough time here for it to become familiar, and the foreigness only adds to the overall sensation of being lost, of being rudderless on the waves of an uncaring sea.

She thinks about Ben constantly.

Ben, who built up walls to protect himself but lowered them for her, trusted her enough to let her in. And she had seen his loneliness, and not only understood it, but something inside her had been drawn to it, because she was the same. They were two halves of a whole, and against all odds they’d found each other, had loved each other– until she destroyed it all with one cruel, vicious stroke.

The guilt and shame for what she’s done and how she’s hurt him festers under her skin like a wound, and one that her mind relentlessly picks at so it keeps bleeding, never being allowed the chance to heal.

Rey doesn’t think she deserves healing, anyway.

What if she was wrong? What if there was another way? These are the questions that haunt her now, running on an infinite loop, robbing her of any possibility for peace of mind.

It makes her fists clench and her teeth grind, knowing he’s so close, less than an hour away by car, and she’s forbidden to go to him.

She sits up quickly, overcome by a sudden impulse to see him, to know that he’s ok.

Swinging her legs off the couch, she rushes over to the telephone next to the chair by the window, nearly tripping over her own feet. She’s unsteady and lightheaded, and wonders idly when was the last time she ate.

At first her intention is to call for a cab, to drive out to Malibu, but she knows that’s too risky. But a telephone call… that should be harmless, right? Even if she doesn’t say anything, just to hear his voice, to have reassurance that he’s still here and still nearby would be enough to satisfy her for now.

Rey lifts the receiver to her ear and begins dialing with shaking, eager fingers, but stops as something out the window catches her eye, causing her to do a double-take.

A shiny black sedan, parked across the street. With a man holding a camera aimed right at her window, watching her through the long-distance lens.

He lowers it when he must notice she’s seen him, but he makes no move to put it aside.

Her stomach leaps into her throat.

Of course Mr. Palpatine would have his spies out watching her. She’s an idiot for not having anticipated it already.

Her eyes trail downward along the cord to the heavy black base, and she squeezes the receiver as another thought occurs to her, knuckles turning white. This apartment is owned by First Order Studios. The phone lines have probably always been tapped, but if by chance they weren’t before, they most certainly are now.

A searing blend of fear and anger at being trapped like an animal swirls in her chest, melting the shell of apathy she’s been wrapped in for days.

She depresses the hook on the base, but keeps the receiver pressed to her ear, trying to appear nonchalant as the detective raises his camera again.

Desperation has her turning to the last person in the world she wants to ask for help, but right now Rey is all out of other options.

She waits until she hears the tone buzzing again and dials a different number.

“Yes, this is Miss Rian. I need a car to pick me up from my apartment and bring me to the studio. As soon as possible.”

The car arrives in less than twenty minutes. Rey slides in the back, and the driver closes the door soundly behind her. The detective continues to watch her through his camera, but he makes no move to start his car to pursue them. He must recognize that it’s a studio car, or else he heard her telephone conversation through the tapped line. She flips him a decidedly unladylike hand gesture as they pull away from the curb, hoping he was able to get a clear shot of it.

For the first time in days, Rey feels something other than general malaise and self-loathing. Her pulse spikes as she catches her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are shadowed by dark circles, but there’s a flicker of light in them, and a trace of determination to the set of her mouth.

This is her last resort. Her only hope.

The car pulls through the studio’s wrought-iron gates, the massive white building looming high above her, and her heart starts hammering in her ears. While there had once been a time when she had admired and gaped at the impressive structure, she's now only filled with trepidation and disgust.

Summoning her courage, Rey makes her way inside, down the polished halls leading to the corridor of offices located in the east building.

“Miss Rian!”

Rey stops in her tracks at the familiar voice, and groans inwardly.

Cripes. Not him, not right now.

She turns around to find Cody Breaker striding towards her, impeccable in a crisp gray suit. His hair is slicked back, glossy with whatever cream he uses to give it that amount of shine, and his suntanned face is lit up with a wide, white grin.

“It’s been awhile, cherie, but I’m so pleased to see you again. You’re looking just as beautiful as ever.”

She blinks at him, unimpressed. It’s false flattery of course, or else he should be fitted for glasses, because the mirror in her apartment before she left told her a completely different story. Heartbreak has caused her skin to take on a ghostly pallor, and despite a halfhearted attempt at combing it, her hair remains a mess of dull, tangled waves.

“Hello, Cody,” she says, managing to lift her lips in what she hopes is a polite smile. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, anxious for him to get on with it so she can keep moving.

He presents a newspaper which she only now notices in his hands, shaking it open with a ceremonious flick of his wrists, and moves to stand next to her so they can read it together.

“Isn’t it wonderful? I’m so looking forward to finally working with you, Miss Rian. I have a feeling it’s only the beginning of what’s to become a beautiful friendship." He eyes her meaningfully.

Rey’s heart sinks.

Because there, on the front page of Variety,a headline in bold black type blares,“Cody Breaker and Rey Rian to Star in First Order Studios’ Upcoming RomanticDrama.”

And across from that, on the other side of the front page, another smaller headline announces,“Kylo Ren Signed in New Contract with ParnassosPictures.”

A bittersweet mix of pride and sadness sweeps through her.

Oh, she’s so proud of Ben, and so relieved he’s no longer trapped under Mr. Palpatine’s thumb, finally free after all these years to pursue his ambitions.

And yet for it to happen like this, to see their careers and lives diverging so publicly, in stark black and white, makes everything all at once seem far too real.

There’s no use in trying to deny it. There they are, Kylo Ren and Rey Rian, on opposite sides of the same page. So close, and yet never further apart.

Telltale pricking starts behind her eyes, but she blinks it back and attempts to give Cody a halfhearted smile. It must come off as more of a painful grimace though, because his heavy, dark brows pull together in a confused frown.

“I– I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect for Mr. Palpatine to make the announcement so soon,” she hedges as her mind reels. Everything is happening so fast. Too fast.

A renewed urgency sends a rush of adrenaline through her veins. She needs to find the only person who might be able to figure out a way to put an end to all this and convince him to help her.

He’s her last hope.

Shaking her head, she begins to back away. “Listen, Cody, I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m sorry. I... I have to go,” she flounders, unable to think up a plausible excuse for fleeing like he’s the plague.

Rey feels his bewildered stare following her as she continues rushing down the hall.

As she gives three sharp raps to Luke’s closed office door, Rey realizes she has no idea if he’s here or not.

“Go away,” a gruff voice hollers from the other side.

Hah. As if she'd be deterred so easily.

“Luke, it’s Rey. Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t reply, she decides to take his silence as a yes and pushes open the door.

She finds him seated behind his desk, staring down at a large book lying open before him. He looks up as the door creaks open and slams it shut, his eyes wide and wary as he watches her approach.

They never actually resolved their rift, and she swallows as the tension in the air unfurls, her eyes darting from Luke to glance over the rest of the room.

The office looks the same as it always has– the crammed wooden bookshelves, the scarred old desk strewn with stacks of papers and framed photos. The blinds are sealed shut against the bright sunlight and only a couple of lamps are switched on, making it seem much later in the day than it actually is.

Rey takes a seat across from him and smooths an anxious hand over her messy waves as he sizes her up, and she takes a few moments to do the same.

He looks terrible is the first thought that pops into her mind. Luke looks like he crawled into a scotch bottle since she last saw him and hasn’t come out since. His bright blue eyes are dim and bloodshot, the lines in his face seeming to have deepened dramatically. He’s in desperate need of a shave, the gray hairs outnumbering the blond ten to one, making him look old and haggard.

A sudden wave of compassion washes over her. He appears to be taking things harder than she had expected, and her disposition towards him softens a bit.

He nods at the half empty crystal decanter on his desk. “Drink?” She shakes her head. He shrugs and lifts his glass, already filled with two fingers of scotch and she watches, mesmerized, as he tips his head back and drains it in one long swallow. He sets the empty glass on the desk and immediately fills it with two more fingers, but doesn’t make a move to pick it up. Instead, he stares at it rather than meeting her eyes as he addresses her again.

“What are you doing here, Rey?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. But he doesn't sound angry or contemptuous, which honestly she'd prefer to this hollow, bloodless display of resignation. Like he'd already made up his mind against helping her before she even walked through the door.

Well, she'll need to make sure that changes as of today.

She glances down at her hands fidgeting in her lap before looking up at him again, unsure of how to begin. He’s still staring into his glass.

“I need your help, Luke. I can’t live like this. I can’t live–” she chokes back the lump in her throat forming at the thought of Ben– “without him.”

He looks up and finally meets her gaze, but the expression on his face is unmoved, his eyes cool and aloof. She might as well have been complaining about the weather. He heaves an exasperated sigh.

“It’s just an on set romance, Rey. They're common in this business. Don’t get carried away by it. I know it seems like the world is ending right now, but I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times." His voice is flat and rote, as if he really has recited this speech hundreds of times, to gaggles of other weeping actresses. "You’ll get over it and move on.” He picks up his glass and takes a long sip before setting it down, running his finger absently along its side. “You both will.”

She stands, her pulse throbbing as a fiery blend of outrage and indignation burns through her whole body, and a rush of wooziness from the sudden movement causes her to nearly lose her balance. But fate grants her a small favor and she catches herself before tipping headlong into his desk.

“This isn’t just some casual on-set romance, Luke," she pleads. "We love each other.” His face remains impassive, so she leans forward and grips the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, hoping he’ll tear his gaze away from the damn glass and look at her, to see the truth of her words on her face, and in her eyes. “I’m in love with Ben.”

Luke’s head whips toward her, his jaw going slack and his eyes widening in disbelief. She blinks, and rears back slightly. It seems like a bit of an overreaction, that she’s in love with his nephew, but at least she’s got his attention now.

“What did you just say?”

She frowns. Did she say something wrong? His obvious shock at her confession has her doubting herself. “I– I just said I’m in love with him–” she stammers, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

“No, not that,” he interrupts impatiently, shaking his head. “He lets you call him Ben?” Luke’s eyes are filled with wonder, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on.

Ah,so that’s it.

But honestly, lets? Her spine bristles at the implication. As if it’s just something he tolerates, like she’s a needy child, eager for his attention.

Her temper flares and Rey draws herself up to her full height. “No, he doesn’t let me call him Ben. He asked me to. In fact, he insists upon it.”

Luke sags in his chair at that, his shoulders slumping, and he closes his eyes. And maybe it’s just a trick of the low lighting, but Rey swears she can see tears gathering, glistening at the corners. But before she can derive any satisfaction at having finally chipped through a bit of his stony exterior, he blinks them away and stares down at the thick black book in front of him, tracing a blunt finger along the side, the edges warped and yellowed with age.

“Well, whaddya think of that, old friend,” he murmurs, his voice soft and a bit slurred, and Rey has to strain to hear him. “The kid’s in love.” He picks up his glass and downs the amber liquid in one quick swallow. Setting it back on the desk, he shakes his head mournfully. “How unlucky for him.”

Her temper retreats as quickly as it came, and is replaced with concern. Old friend? What on earth is he talking about? Luke’s eyes drift shut again, and he rests his head against the back of his chair. The scotch seems to be catching up with him, and Rey can tell she doesn’t have much time before he’s completely blitzed.

She presses on, moving over to the other side of the desk and kneeling on the faded wool rug before him. His eyes fly open, and she knows her palpable desperation startles him, but she doesn’t care. She has no pride when it comes to Ben. If she needs to get on her knees and beg for his help, so be it.

“Luke, don’t you see? This isn’t something we’re just going to get over. I love Ben, and God only knows why, but he loves me, too. We need to be together. It’s torture for us to be apart.” She grasps his hands, warm and dry between her own. “Please, Luke. There must be something we can do. I’ll help you. We can’t just let Mr. Palpatine get away with this.” Her vision swims as her eyes fill with hot, anguished tears. “Think about everything he’s done. This is your family.”

She seems to have touched upon a raw nerve, because Luke rips his hands from her grasp. “You think I don’t know that? You have no idea, Rey. If you only knew what it was like, having to watch my sister grieve–” he stops, pressing his lips into a tight line and shaking his head, too overcome for words.

Rey looks down at his feet, noticing his leather loafers are scuffed, and feels ashamed. She sits back on her heels. “I’m sorry, Luke," she says softly. "I didn’t– I mean, it must have been hard for you, too. Watching her go through that.” Hot tears fall freely down her cheeks, and she swipes them away, shaking her head. She mustn't forget she’s not the only one who’s been hurt in all of this. “I wasn’t thinking.”

He pats the back of her hand, and she tilts her head up, finding his tired, wizened face filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry for you too, Rey. For both of you. I really, truly am.” His blue eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and for a split second she’s reminded of the Luke Skywalker she used to know– her old friend, her trusted advisor– and her throat swells with emotion. “Love is the most powerful thing in the world. That’s what makes it so dangerous.” The corners of his mouth lift ruefully for a moment before turning downward, his expression darkening. “I wish there was a way I could help you. But I can’t. Not without–” he pauses.

She waits, but he doesn’t continue. She frowns, puzzled. “Not without what?”

He shakes his head, averting his gaze. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

She stands up, a prickle of suspicion rising along the back of her neck. His slip has made her remember something, like a bruise you forget about until you carelessly bump it. Something she thought seemed rather insignificant at the time, but now makes her wonder if it held meaning, after all.

“Mr. Palpatine said you sold your soul to him long ago. What did he mean by that, Luke?”

His face shutters, all the warmth and familiarity she felt just a few moments ago disappearing in an instant. He swivels away in his chair and nods toward the door. “It’s getting late. You should go, Rey.”

She makes her way around the desk but doesn’t move toward the door. Instead, she stands across from him and watches him, pinning him with her gaze and silently wills him to look at her, to start giving her some sort of an explanation. But he’s looking down again, and won’t meet her eyes.

It all makes sense now. The way Luke is always so docile and quiet in Mr. Palpatine’s presence, she’d always chalked up as some odd demonstration of humility, or perhaps as a sign of loyalty and respect. But now she understands what it really is.

It’s fear.

“You know something,” she breathes. “You know something that could be used against him, but you won’t do anything about it because it could ruin you, too.”

He spins around in his chair, turning his back to her. “Go home, Rey.”

She shakes her head, marveling that not long ago she had admired this man, more than anyone she'd ever met. That she had ever considered him a friend, trusted him, makes her stomach churn.

Luke Skywalker is nothing more than a servant, a slave to the money, or whatever it is Mr. Palpatine is holding over him. And that’s all he’ll ever be.

She’s only wasting her time here.

But before she turns to leave, she has one last thing to say.

“You know, Luke, by sitting there and doing nothing, you have just as much blood on your hands as he does.”

She only has a view of the back of his graying head, but he doesn’t appear to react, and her words are met with a stretch of thorny, definitive silence.

Rey turns on her heel and slams the door, never once looking back, and tries not to let the overwhelming disappointment in her former mentor consume her as she makes her way down the empty corridor.

She’ll have to figure this out on her own, after all.

“Damn,” Rey mutters to herself. She’s out of coffee. Sighing, she returns the empty canister back to the kitchen cupboard, and glances at her wristwatch. Almost three in the afternoon. It’s still early. She supposes she can walk the two blocks to the drugstore up the street to pick up some more.

Over a week has passed since her unsuccessful encounter with Luke, and she’s no closer to another solution. But she’s not giving up. If only she could find someone who knew what other secrets Mr. Palpatine is hiding, someone who’d be willing to talk. But Rey knows his pockets run deep, and the chances of her finding someone in Hollywood who isn’t owned by the malicious studio head are slim.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, pushing away the panic gripping her chest. She’ll lose it if she lets herself think that way.

For now, she’s decided to keep going through the motions, doing her best to cope. She managed to take a full bath and put on a fresh dress this morning, and yesterday she made it through the entire day, crying only one time before falling asleep, when she caught a familiar whiff of cigarette smoke drifting in from a passerby outside. She thinks that qualifies as a personal achievement.

Rey heads toward the bathroom to put on a swipe of lipstick before heading out, but as she passes the big window in the living room, something catches her eye.

Or the lack of something, rather.

The big black sedan is gone.

Frowning, she makes her way over to the window. She pulls up the sash, and a warm breeze fans across her face.

Unease prickles along her spine, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at the noticeable lack of activity outside. Everything seems unusually still and quiet, not unlike those moments before a raging summer storm hits. There’s no one out and about on the sidewalks, and the traffic noises in the distance are at a lower volume than normal.

A trail of goosebumps rises on her skin despite the warm air, and it feels like an omen.

Something inside– instinct or intuition, she's not sure which– tells her to turn on the radio. She rushes over and drops to her knees before it, switching it on and turning the dial until a station comes in.

It doesn’t take her long to find one, a masculine and authoritative voice booming through the speaker.

“And in breaking news, straight from Hollywood, California. The Federal Bureau of Investigation releasing a statement today that First Order Studios executive and chief, Harry Palpatine, has been found dead from an apparent suicide in his Hollywood Hills mansion. At this time, the details surrounding his death have not been released, however…”

A sharp, high-pitched ringing in her ears tunes out the rest of the broadcast. She begins to tremble violently as dizziness spirals through her, and she braces her palms against the hardwood floor, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the world from spinning.

The announcer’s voice still echoes inside her.

… Harry Palpatine has been found dead…

The word is small and senseless, crackling on repeat in her ears like a broken record.

Dead… dead… dead.

But eventually the meaning cuts through the cloud of white static surrounding her mind, and the initial shock gives way to comprehension.

The detective is gone. Because Mr. Palpatine is dead.

Which means…

…she’s free.

There are too many unanswered questions, the rational part of Rey’s brain knows this, but there’s only one thing she cares about right now. Only one thing she has to do, one thing she must fix, and it drives her into action.

She scrambles up off the floor and grabs her handbag, rifling for some cash before she runs out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

A cab with its light on is parked up the block and she sprints toward it, sliding into the backseat and uttering just one word.

“Malibu.”

The cabbie nods and shifts the car into drive, pulling away from the curb.

She stares out the window without really seeing anything, tapping her foot and wishing she had wings to fly there instead.

Her heart thunders against her ribs, reminding her of its existence, as a single thought races through her mind.

I’m coming home, Ben.

Pressing a shaking hand to her chest, over her wildly beating heart, she allows herself a tiny glimmer of hope.

Because for the first time in a long time, Rey can finally breathe again.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Malibu, California

1947

By the time they’ve made their way through the agonizingly slow stop-and-go traffic of Hollywood and have merged onto the highway, they’re almost halfway to Malibu. Rey watches the numbers on the meter spinning higher and higher, and calculates this will eventually turn into an almost sixteen dollar cab ride.

An absurd amount, and for more reasons than one she vows to obtain her driver's license sooner rather than later.

The waning afternoon sun slanting through the windows is making the cab warm and stuffy, so Rey rolls down the one closest to her a bit. The air whooshes in, fresh and tinged with salt, a sign of how close they’re getting to the ocean.

It’s also a tangible reminder of how close she is to being back in Ben’s arms, and her pulse spikes with wild anticipation.

But as her gaze sweeps across the dusky, rugged terrain of the Santa Monica mountains in the distance, a sharp sliver of doubt stabs at her chest.

What if he doesn’t want to see her? What if he slams the door in her face the minute he realizes it’s the she-devil who broke his heart?

She shakes her head. Despite everything, something inside tells her to have faith, to keep trusting in the love she knows still remains between them.

Beyond any kind of logic or reason, falling in love with Ben had felt like finding the missing piece of her soul, as though the two halves had always existed, only waiting for fate to guide them together once again. A love like theirs is boundless and infallible, she feels it in her blood and bones, and will burn its way through the heavens, always separating and reuniting, across a thousand galaxies and lifetimes.

But, a dark voice reminds her, that was before you shattered it all to pieces.

That familiar shadow of self-loathing curls in her gut, and her fists clench in her lap.

She wishes she could resurrect Palpatine from the hellfire he’s surely being raked over at this moment, just to have the pleasure of killing him herself.

For a man as arrogant and cruel and vicious as Mr. Palpatine to end his own life should have made Rey more curious as to the reasons why, but she can’t bring herself to care about that right now. All that matters is getting to Ben, and fixing the destruction she created.

The cab slows at the hairpin curve leading to the row of beach houses dotted along the coast, and they're so close now, less than a mile away. Rey swallows, her heart pounding against her ribs, and she has to resist the urge to spring out of the moving vehicle and run the remaining distance, if only to alleviate the nervous tingling now buzzing through her limbs.

As Ben’s house comes into view, Rey’s breath catches in her throat.

Because Ben is there, walking toward his parked Cadillac in the driveway, oblivious to the cab coming down the road.

Rey clutches the cabbie’s shoulder, shouting for him to stop. He hits the brakes and she slides forward, her chest slamming into the back of the seat, but she barely notices.

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, before dropping the two crumpled ten dollar bills from her pocket into the front seat and pulling at the door handle desperately, spilling out onto the pavement before slamming it shut behind her.

The cab makes a U-turn and roars away, back in the direction it came. Its tires make a small squeal in the process, drawing Ben’s attention, and he looks up.

At this distance, Rey can’t make out the details of his face, but she runs toward his large form anyway, standing motionless next to his car. Her lungs burn with each breath and her vision blurs with tears, and as she gets closer she focuses in on his broad chest, too afraid to look into his eyes. Terrified she’ll find them as shuttered and vacant as the last time she saw him.

“I’m sorry,” she cries as she crashes into him, wrapping her arms around his ribcage. He doesn’t stumble from the impact; his huge body absorbs it like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. His black cable knit sweater is soft and warm against her cheek, and she sniffles as she buries her face against him, bunching the thick wool tightly in her fists. “I’m sorry, Ben, I’m so, so sorry…” she repeats, over and over, anguish lacing her words, tumbling from her lips like water. Her voice is wretched and heavy with remorse. "Please forgive me."

For a heart-stopping moment Rey realizes Ben isn’t hugging her back; she almost steps away until his strong arms fold around her, crushing her tightly against him. It only begins beating again, double-time, when his lips brush against the top of her head, and when his low, rich voice whispers softly against her hair.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. I know why you did it. Please don’t cry.”

At his gentle tone, an overwhelming surge of relief rushes through her veins, and she releases a shuddering sigh. Pulling away slightly, but remaining gathered in his arms, she summons the courage to look up.

His complexion is paler than normal, and a few days' worth of dark stubble has grown along his cheeks and angular jaw. But those clear amber eyes are the ones she knows, the tender expression reserved just for her is the one she loves.

In that moment, the fragments of Rey's broken heart begin knitting back together, and the small flame of hope in her chest flickers brightly once again.

But suddenly his words catch up with her mind, and her brow furrows.

“Wait– you know?”

Ben’s expression clouds over, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He nods.

“That’s why I was out here. I was coming to find you." He fishes his car keys out of his right pocket and holds them up before putting them back again. Lacing his warm fingers with hers he tugs on her hand, pulling her toward the house. “I have so much to tell you, Rey. Please, come inside with me.” His eyes are pleading, begging her to understand.

Her pulse flutters as she nods and allows him to lead her inside, because of course she does. There's no place on earth he could go where she wouldn't follow.

They make their way down the hall leading to the main room, bright and warm with late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows, the brackish smell of sea spray clinging to the air.

There’s a tiny woman standing next to the window with her back to them, but when she hears them approach she turns around.

Rey suppresses a surprised gasp. She’s seen that face dozens of times on screen, has clipped that famous visage from countless fan magazines to paste on her old bedroom wall.

Leia Organa.

“Mother,” Ben says as they make their way closer, squeezing Rey’s hand reassuringly. “I’d like you to meet Rey.” He moves to stand next to his mother and gently places his other hand on the diminutive woman’s shoulder. His eyes are wide and dark as he meets her gaze and says almost shyly, “Rey, this is my mother.”

His mother.

An indefinable warmth surges through her body as Rey looks between Ben and his mother. It’s almost impossible to fathom that someone as tall and broad as Ben could even be related to someone so petite, but as her gaze flits from one to the other, there’s absolutely no question as to who he inherited those dark, expressive eyes from.

Or that undeniable star quality.

“Rey,” Ms. Organa greets her warmly, her voice low and husky, like crushed gravel. She smiles as she grasps Rey’s hand between her own. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Her brunette hair is streaked with gray, pulled back and piled high in a graceful updo, and her world-renowned face is lined with age– but she’s still a fearsome beauty, her peaches and cream complexion still intact, and she exudes an almost regal countenance that could only be attributed to a living legend such as herself.

Rey’s brain is still playing catch-up, and her reply comes automatically from some deeply ingrained well of social politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Organa.”

Ben’s mother fixes her with a look of maternal understanding. “Please, call me Leia,” she replies with a wave of her hand. The three of them stand there in a loose half circle, and Rey is certain her awkward bewilderment is palpable, because after a few moments Leia clears her throat.

“Well, I know you two have a lot to talk about, so I’m going to see myself out.” She reaches up to pat Ben’s arm, and he smiles down at her fondly. Despite her confusion, Rey’s heart glows at seeing the delicate, almost tentative affection between them. “I’ll telephone you tomorrow, son.”

Ben nods, his lips tightening with indecision, as if debating something. But before he can second guess himself, he bends and kisses his mother lightly on the cheek. Leia beams up at him and pats him on the shoulder, and Rey notices her dark brown eyes are red-rimmed, but shining with happiness. She picks up a pale lilac cardigan from the back of the chair and slips it on, giving them both a warm smile as she heads toward the doorway.

"I'll drop in to check on Luke, I’m sure he’s finished by now."

Rey’s brow furrows. Luke?

At the sound of the door closing shut, she turns back to Ben, her mouth formed to ask the first of many questions. But before she can speak, he’s already towering over her, his large hands gripping her upper arms, holding her in place as though he’s afraid she might disappear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben’s voice is thick and anguished, his eyes darkening as a look of desperation twists his features, and her pulse quickens at the sudden shift in mood. “I would have figured something out. I would have killed the bastard myself, if I had to. There’s nothing more important to me than you, Rey, and losing you… thinking I had done something to push you away…” She watches the heavy bob of his throat as he swallows, his eyes roving across her face. “I don’t want to live without you. You have to understand that, Rey. There’s nothing for me in this world without you.”

That connection between them, usually so smooth and harmonious, now feels fractured and dissonant, like a familiar melody played in the wrong key. There’s tension in the air, so thick it’s practically suffocating. All his pain, the agony of rejection, his loneliness– it’s churning all around them. Threatening to devour them whole if they let it.

Rey decides she’ll be damned before she lets anything come between them ever again.

Standing on her tiptoes, she reaches up to cup his face gently and kisses him.

Long and deep, channeling every last piece of her heart, until the tension around them starts to unwind, and the cords of muscle in his body begin to loosen. His lips grow warm and pliant under hers, and his hands wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Moaning softly, she breaks the kiss. More than this, more than anything, she needs to make him understand.

With her eyes still closed, she pulls him down to her and presses her forehead against his. “He threatened to kill you, Ben. He threatened to kill you unless I did what he wanted, and I believed he was capable of it…” Her voice grows higher and tighter as she remembers, unable to contain the icy fist of panic from gripping her throat. “And if anything would have happened to you– ” she shakes her head, allowing the bitter tears to stream freely down her cheeks– “if anything would have happened to you, I would never have been able to live with myself. Because there’s nothing for me in this world if you’re not still living in it.”

Ben lifts his head, his own tears pooling in the shadows beneath his eyes. But to her relief the fear and anguish are gone, and he pulls her back into his warm embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin. There’s no place she’s ever felt safer than when she’s being held in Ben’s arms, and as she melts against him, breathing in his familiar, smoky scent, Rey can feel her panic dissolving with every passing second. Their hearts pound against one another in a steady rhythm, as though elated at finally being reunited once again.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, the low rumble vibrating through her chest. His hands stroke a soothing path from the back of her head, gliding over her hair, down her back to her waist, and up again. “And he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

At the mention of Mr. Palpatine, her back stiffens. She tilts her head up to look at him.

“Maybe now would be a good time for you to tell me what happened.”

Ben sighs wearily and nods, and leads her over to the sofa. Through the huge windows, the last golden remains of a flaming sunset dances across the ocean waves, suffusing the entire room and everything in it with a warm topaz glow.

“I’m not sure where to start." He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, scrubbing his hands down his face. They’re seated next to each other, knees touching. Reaching over, he picks up her hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it idly. Rey watches his face closely; she can sense the exhaustion weighing over him. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and waits patiently for him to begin.

His dark eyes flick up to hers. “For years now, the FBI has had an open investigation on the old man, and First Order Studios. It’s been kept top secret from the public of course, but apparently a handful of people inside knew, or at least were suspicious. The feds had suspected him of tax evasion, embezzlement, money laundering– you name it. But they never had any hard evidence against him.” He sighs. “Until last week.”

Rey frowns. “What happened last week?”

Ben chews the inside of his cheek, pinning her with an inscrutable look. “Someone tipped them off to the location of the old man’s secret safe. A safe that contained the real books and ledgers of all the money he’s been skimming. Going back for years. Inflating losses, phony write-offs. Stealing from investors. Hard evidence that was sure to put him behind bars for the rest of his life.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who would have known the location of such vital information, but she says it out loud anyway.

“Luke.”

Ben nods slowly.

Rey can’t help the prickle of suspicion rising along her spine. “And Luke was– an accomplice to this somehow? And that’s why he never wanted to say anything, right? Because he would end up in jail, too?” Nausea twists in her gut, sickened at how she could have misjudged someone so badly. To think she had ever trusted Luke Skywalker, had considered him a friend, and only to find out he was nothing but a liar and a criminal all along. She wonders if he’s on his way to a prison cell right now, being fitted for a striped jumpsuit.

Her lips press together into a tight line. Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t give her any satisfaction. Some shadow of their friendship that must still remain has her feeling conflicted, instead.

“Not exactly.” Ben sighs again, and Rey looks at him sharply. She tries to reign in her frustration, but it’s difficult with Ben being so damn cryptic all of a sudden.

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

Ben looks down at their joined hands, only he stops circling his thumb and squeezes it instead.

“What you need to understand about the old man, Rey, is that he was a master manipulator. It’s what he did better than anything. He knew how to make people feel like the only thing they had in their lives was him and the studio. It’s why he discouraged personal relationships. Family. He wanted his stars to believe the only family they ever would need was him. And he’d say anything, do anything to separate you from any close ties to another person. And once he did, he’d constantly remind you that you were nothing without him.” He pauses for a moment, and shakes his head.

“He did it to Luke, and he did it to me, too. Convinced us that without him and the studio we’d be nothing. Over the years, Luke threw himself more and more into his work, chasing money and success, and turned a blind eye to whatever the old man was doing. Because he knew that if the old man went down, the studio would go down with him. And with no remaining ties to his family, no friends, without the studio... Luke would have nothing.”

Ben’s jaw tightens and his nostrils flare. “The old man loved pitting us against each other. Lied to me, told me my own mother resented me and didn’t want to see me and f*ck, Rey… I believed him. Can you imagine?” He shakes his head bitterly, averting his eyes. “I’m so ashamed.”

It’s not your fault, she thinks, unable to speak the words aloud because her throat closes and her chest aches as a knot twists in her heart.

He stands abruptly, and starts pacing the floor. “But the irony is, it was really the old man who didn’t have anything else. Without his stable of stars, without his studio, he had nothing, was nothing. Harry Palpatine was First Order Studios, and he knew it better than anyone. I know in the end that’s why he did what he did. One can’t exist without the other.”

Rey lets that turn over in her mind for a bit.

It would seem that in orchestrating his own demise, it was as if Harry Palpatine had written himself his own final scene and played it perfectly, like the Hollywood star he fancied himself to be. But with a sudden burst of insight, Rey realizes she doesn’t feel anything toward him– no anger, no hate. Not now, not anymore. He wielded enough power over her and so many others in life, and she’s determined to give him none in death. His legacy ought to be nothing but a vacuous black hole. A void, an empty space where nothing, not even light, can exist.

Goodbye, Harry. And good riddance.

Her brow creases in confusion. “But I still don’t understand… why now? After all these years, why did Luke suddenly decide to betray Mr. Palpatine? Knowing he would be risking everything… his whole life, his career… for what?”

Ben turns toward her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. His hands are in his pockets and he shrugs almost self-consciously. “He said he did it… for me. For us.”

Rey feels the color drain from her face. For us?

Ben crosses over to the end table next to the sofa and returns with a thick black book.

The same black book Luke was poring over in his office last week.

He sets it gently on her lap, sitting next to her again and canting his head toward hers as he opens the cover. The cracked leather binding creaks, and Rey detects a faint whiff of mildew, revealing its age.

Ben's eyes are solemn, searching as they hold hers steadily. “He said he can’t bring my father back, but at the very least he can make sure his son doesn’t suffer the same fate.”

Rey looks down and gasps.

Oh.

It's not just a book.

It's a photo album.

The first page is a huge eight by ten sepia photograph. An image of a young Leia and Luke flanking a tall, ruggedly handsome man, their arms on each other's shoulders with the ocean frothing in the background. All of them windswept and grinning at the camera.

The Three Musketeers, the handwritten caption below reads. Santa Monica Pier, 1917.

Ben’s father. No question about it. The resemblance is so strong it takes her breath away.

She looks up, almost afraid to meet Ben’s eyes. But he doesn’t appear sad or upset. Instead, he seems almost… not happy, not exactly. Relieved, perhaps. As though he just found something he thought he’d lost.

“We look a lot alike, don’t we?” He shakes his head. “I never knew. No one ever talked about him while I was growing up. I never even saw a picture of him until now." He looks down at the photograph with a rueful curl to his lips. "It was as if he never existed.”

They continue paging through the photos. Dozens of them, sepia-toned and vivid with life, each one capturing a carefree moment in time that can never be re-lived. Something in her aches at seeing how young and absolutely joyous they all were. Luke especially.

How could he have lost sight of all this?

But her eyes keep coming back to the pictures of Ben’s father, Han. He had a special sort of magnetism that Rey can feel even now, pulling hard through these faded pieces of paper. So much like Ben himself. And the way Leia looked at her husband, with so much love, like the sun rose and set just for him.

Hot tears blur her vision. It’s no wonder they weren’t able to talk about him. The pain, the grief Leia must have suffered… how much she and Luke both must have suffered when he died. What a gaping emptiness the tragic loss of Han Solo must have left in their lives.

They were truly a family, Rey thinks. Her compassion and sympathy for all of them is so strong, her throat tightens and a sharp pain twinges in her chest as though she's been hooked right through the heart.

Rey turns another page. Running her fingers lightly along the edges, the pictures like so many pressed flowers, each one a memory carefully preserved; dried and pristine. The smiling faces of Luke, Han and Leia shine up at her, giddy with all the promise of youth and a future full of hope. And love, she thinks. She can feel it, rich and tangible as if it were a living, breathing thing, right here in this room.

And maybe it is, she muses, as she glances over at Ben before turning back to the page. All the grand, passionate love between Ben's mother and father, the trifecta of fraternal love between Han, Luke, and Leia– maybe it never ended at all. Maybe it was too strong, defying even death, and now lives on in Ben himself. Because isn’t that what a family is, after all? Generations of people who have loved, and will keep on loving eternally, through the perpetuity of their bloodline?

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes. Rey’s own family tree– as rootless and sparse as a dry, dead branch– now seems pathetic when compared to his. Ben’s inherited a legacy of love, friendship and hope… what can she possibly offer him in return, and will it ever be close to enough?

Ben leans forward, as though he can read her thoughts, and grasps her hand in his. “You’re just as much a part of me as they are, Rey. I need you to know that.” His eyes are dark and beseeching, holding her own. “When I told you I found you, I meant it. Meeting you felt like finding a piece of myself I didn’t even know was missing. You belong to me, and with every breath and beat of my heart, Rey, I swear I belong to you.”

With his other hand, he reaches up to brush away the tear that's broken loose at his words and is now sliding freely down her cheek, his thumb gliding over the tremble of her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at her softly. “And that’s what being a family means. It’s more than just sharing a name– you belong to each other.”

He looks down almost shyly before looking up again. “But I’d share my name with you, if you wanted it.”

The world stops turning and for a few dizzying seconds, Rey forgets how to breathe.

She does her best to hide her shock and squeezes his hand in return, turning back toward the album– but she doesn’t really see it, now that her pulse is galloping at a breakneck speed. Her mind is spinning wildly, at his words but also at the burning intensity behind them. He’s practically spelled it out for her, and yet her own lingering insecurities keep her expectations tethered firmly to the ground.

“Careful, Ben,” she teases lightly, not meeting his eyes. Not wanting to reveal the hope building with each frantic beat of her heart. “A girl might think you’re proposing marriage.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees him moving off the sofa and bending before her on one knee. He slides the photo album gently from her lap and sets it aside before grasping both her hands, caging them between his own. They’re fully engulfed, warm and safe, when she finally lifts her gaze to meet his. Her breath catches at the mix of emotions– love, passion, tenderness– swirling in the golden depths.

“If you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, Rey Johnson, I swear to you I’ll devote the rest of my life to loving you the way you deserve to be loved, and to making you happy.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, straining under the reverent weight of his promise. Lifting her hands to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist, closing his eyes as though he's afraid to look at her while he waits for her to answer.

Silly man, she thinks. It takes her less than the space between two heartbeats to make up her mind.

“Yes, Ben, yes,” she breathes. She pulls him forward and kisses him, slow and deep, tasting the saltiness of their mingled tears and threading her fingers through the soft hair at his nape. “I love you so much,” she whispers against his mouth.

He pulls back, his eyes wide and filled with wonder. She doesn’t understand why, until a smile stretches across his lips, revealing those beautifully imperfect teeth.

“That’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.”

A warm wave of love and joy sweeps over her, and a laugh bubbles up from her chest. Is there such a thing as being drunk from happiness? Her head feels impossibly light, while an electric current buzzes through her limbs. Tracing a fingertip gently across his dimples, she grins back at him, basking in the sheer divinity of touching him, of loving him. “And I’ll say it again and again, until you’re so tired of hearing it you beg me to stop.”

That stubborn lock of sable hair brushes against his brow as he shakes his head. “Impossible,” he says, rising up from the floor and curling his massive frame over her. Rey winds her arms around his neck as he lifts her easily off the couch, carrying her toward the bedroom. Halfway down the hall he captures her mouth in a ravenous kiss that leaves her breathless and trembling, breaking it only to look at her with dark desire simmering in his eyes. “Much like you, my love, it’s just one more thing I’ll never get enough of.”

By the time Ben places her on the bed, she’s already aflame, every nerve and cell of her being quaking with desperate want. Once they’ve shed their clothing Ben takes his time, exploring her body with his hands, his mouth– traveling over her inch by glorious inch. She’s burning up, dripping with need when he finally sinks into her… and between every blissful moan and sigh they whisper I love yous with I need yous and I want yous… promises of forever and always murmured and pressed against their flushed, heated skin… the words etched like sacred vows upon their souls.

Afterwards, she lies encircled in Ben’s arms, her head resting against his bare chest. Gauzy ivory curtains flutter around the open window, billowing with soft ocean breezes while a pale wash of moonlight stretches across the hardwood floor. The sound of his steady heartbeat and the crashing, endless tide fills her ears, as a deep sense of safety and contentment like no other settles over her, warming her like a downy blanket.

This is love… this is family, she thinks drowsily, as a heavy slumber begins to overtake her.

This is home.

Chapter 21: And They Lived Happily Ever After

Chapter Text

Ambassador Hotel

Los Angeles, California

February 20th, 1949

“Sweetheart, if you don't hurry it up, we’re going to be late again,” Ben calls from the main room of their hotel suite. “And you know what that means.”

Rey rolls her eyes at her reflection in the vanity mirror and continues applying her makeup at the same painstaking pace. Without realizing it, Ben just said the one thing that always gets her blood boiling, and irritation prickles along her spine.

If they're late again, it means all the columns are going to report their entrance to the Academy Awards ceremony tonight as The Sluggish Solos, an idiotic nickname as far as Rey is concerned. Just because they happened to be fashionably late to a few past red carpet events, gossip maven Louella Parsons had taken it upon herself to bestow them with the moniker, and now all the papers run with it any time they’re more than a couple minutes behind.

Since Ben seems to be more amused by it than anything, Rey hasn't let on how much it irks her, not wanting him to think she’s overreacting.

And truth be told, maybe she is just a little bit.

Rey tosses down her powder brush in annoyance. Honestly, can anyone really blame her? Her cheeks start to burn just thinking about it. That damn Louella Parsons. It’s not as if Rey enjoys being late– in fact, it’s one of her pet peeves– but anyone with half a brain ought to be able to put two and two together. Having observed over time the way women often stutter and blush in Ben’s presence, she knows exactly what kind of effect her husband has on the opposite sex, and Rey herself is no exception. Combined with the fact that they’re still technically newlyweds, is anyone really surprised it sometimes takes them a little extra time getting out the door?

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, and turns her thoughts to something much more pleasant.

Her husband.

A dreamy smile curves her lips.

They were married less than two months after Ben proposed, on New Year's Day, ringing in 1948 with a simple sunset ceremony on the beach. Against the blazing backdrop of a fiery pink and orange sky, with only Leia and a justice of the peace as their witnesses, they had promised to love, cherish, and protect one another, forsaking all others, until death do they part. Leia had wept quietly as they exchanged their gold bands, and when they kissed for the very first time as husband and wife, a deep sense of peace and serenity settled around Rey's heart; the smallest remaining shred of self-doubt finally disappearing forever in that instant, like a wisp of smoke on the wind.

I deserve this… we both deserve this.

We deserve our happily ever after.

And just as Ben had predicted, without Harry Palpatine at the helm, First Order Studios swiftly fell to ruin. Within a few short weeks, the federal government had frozen and seized all its assets, and all the stars and employees found themselves without a studio, their First Order contracts essentially null and void.

By the time word spread around the world about Mr. Palpatine and his demise, public sympathy for the industry was riding high. Most former First Order employees quickly found new homes with other studios– Parnassos Pictures had absorbed a handful of them, and had also offered Rey as well as Finn and most of his crew new contracts within days of the news breaking.

(The one notable exception had been Cody Breaker, who abruptly announced his departure from Hollywood and retirement from acting in a firestorm of publicity. The press ate it up, and Variety devoted a full issue to the story of him wooing and marrying the reigning princess of some tiny principality in Europe, hanging up his title as the new King of Hollywood in favor of becoming real, actual royalty.

Ben had used their copy to line the trash bin.)

And to Rey’s relief, Gwen never questioned her about why she backed out on their deal in the first place. The only indication that she suspected there might have been something treacherous behind it was the flicker of compassion Rey saw in her blue eyes, and the soft smile of understanding as she slid the new contract toward her across the desk. It was so fleeting Rey wondered if she had even seen it at all, as Gwen reverted to business mode, the professional mask once again settling into place.

Luke was fully cleared by the FBI from any wrongdoing, but the events had taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally. During their small family dinner on Easter Sunday, he announced he had decided to sublet his home in Beverly Hills and would be moving to a coastal fishing village in Ireland called Ahch-to for some, as he put it, sea and rest. Even after Leia pointed out he could find plenty of sea and rest right here, he just shook his head and insisted this was what he needed to do, at least for a while. At first Leia had fretted he was embarking on this sojourn into isolation as a form of self-punishment; however, that didn’t seem to be the case. Luke’s frequent letters indicate he’s doing well and enjoying his new solitary, slow-paced lifestyle.

Long before his departure, and with an air of heavy solemnitude, Luke had asked both Rey and Ben for their forgiveness. When they came to the realization he needed it, for reasons only he could fully understand, the question of whether or not he deserved it seemed almost trivial in light of everything that had happened. Their lives were already brimming with the fresh promise of new beginnings, and they weren’t about to make room in them for bearing old grudges. Life was too short, they both agreed, and Ben was sure his father wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. They granted Luke the forgiveness he sought without hesitation– and even with an entire ocean between them, they've all committed to rebuilding their relationship, slowly but surely.

In the aftermath of First Order Studios’ collapse, the industry began to change rapidly. Stars began demanding more control over their creative choices and images, and the days of actors being bound to a long-term studio contract had all but come to an abrupt end. Rey knew over time the huge, sprawling compound of First Order Studios– its wrought iron gates now chained shut, its buildings standing empty, the vast backlots a veritable ghost town– would serve as a standing monument to the old days of Hollywood, like a mausoleum to mark the end of an era.

Parnassos Pictures ended up buying many of First Order’s assets when they went up for auction a few months after Palpatine's demise, including the boxer screenplay which had never made it into production, as well as all the rights and reels of The Turning Tide. Gwen’s talented team of editors, along with Poe, assembled the final cut, and when they screened it for the first time– just Gwen, Poe, Ben and herself– Rey had felt all her blood rushing to her cheeks, her stomach twisting in knots. Not because it wasn’t an incredible film, because it certainly was– it had a gripping, dramatic story and the photography was stunning– but Rey could see herself falling more in love with Ben in each scene. It made her squirm in her seat to watch something that felt so intimate and know it was going to be viewed by millions of people all over the world.

But all her worries disappeared when Ben reached for her hand in the darkness, running his thumb soothingly over her wedding band and whispering soft words of reassurance in her ear. She realized then how lucky she was, after all. Who else could claim to have had their love story immortalized on film, to look back on in the years to come and watch themselves falling head over feet, time and time again?

The Turning Tide was released during the summer to huge audience and critical acclaim, and Ben was officially billed for the first time as Ben Solo instead of Kylo Ren, at his own insistence. Gwen had set up several fan magazine interviews for him prior to the picture’s release, to explain to the world why the name Kylo Ren, with its ties to First Order Studios, was no longer an identity he wished to associate himself with. Unsurprisingly, the public accepted this change wholeheartedly.

But the only person Ben ever revealed the circ*mstances behind his father’s death to was Poe– and Rey watched with a heavy heart as Poe’s normally jovial features fell, his eyes shining with sympathetic tears as Ben recounted the entire story, including Palpatine's threat on his own life and how he'd used it to manipulate Rey. In that moment something between them shifted, as if by sharing this secret the three of them were now bonded in friendship, steadfast and everlasting.

Upon Tide’s release, Rey became a full-fledged movie star overnight; she could no longer go anywhere without being accosted by enthusiastic fans. A few weeks later she and Ben gave Gwen permission to release the news of their marriage, and the reporters ate it up like candy– they couldn’t get enough. Pretty soon, every tabloid and fan magazine were featuring breathlessly written articles about the real-life love story between Ben Solo and the newly re-named Rey Solo, and about Parnassos’ plans to pair them together again soon, to the public’s utter delight.

It was overwhelming, the way strangers fawned and flocked around them wherever they went– and Rey could see how, without having any other sort of anchor or support, one could get swept up in that kind of mass love, just as Ben had warned her about so long ago.

But she was fortunate enough to have learned early on that the love of fans was fickle and fleeting, and that celebrity itself was superficial and not made to last. Eventually, her own star would fade, but Rey knew when it did it wouldn’t matter– the only love she would ever need was right wherever Ben was; tightly woven between them, their family, and their small circle of friends.

The latter half of the year went by in a flash: Ben teamed with RB Johnson as assistant director on two films and was slated to direct his own picture the following summer, while Rey began meeting with Gwen and the creative team to begin pre-production on the boxer picture– now titled The Quiet Man– that she and Ben would start shooting in the early spring.

The exterior shots would be filmed on location in England, and they had already arranged to bring Leia along and spend some time visiting Luke while overseas. In his letters Luke had bragged about becoming quite the angler, and Ben said watching the famously genteel Luke Skywalker bait a hook was a sight he absolutely had to see for himself.

It was all so magical, like a dream come true– Rey had everything she had ever wished for and more, and couldn’t imagine life getting any sweeter than this.

And yet it did, when the Academy Award nominations were announced a few weeks after their first wedding anniversary. With his usual dramatic flair, Poe had telephoned at five am on a Sunday morning with the news that each of them had been nominated for their work on The Turning Tide, and that the film had also been nominated for Best Picture. All the papers began buzzing that the film was a cinch to sweep every category, and even after seeing her name listed among the Best Actress nominees, in bold black type, Rey could still scarcely believe it was true…

Rey caps her signature shade of lipstick– Bachelor’s Carnation – and places it back on the vanity, glancing at the clock as she does so. They still have plenty of time– well over thirty minutes until she and Ben need to be downstairs to meet the limo that will take them to the theater.

Her gaze drifts over to the riot of colorful blooms surrounding her. Dozens of bouquets from well-wishers had been delivered to their hotel room throughout the day, and now a veritable springtime garden sprawls across almost every surface of their suite. A tasteful arrangement of blue hyacinth and purple iris from Luke, as well as a vase of shocking pink gladiolus and blazing orange tiger lilies from Rose, which had been followed up by an exuberant telegram: Congratulations Solos!!! Armie and I can’t wait to see you both tonight!!!

They’re all lovely, but the smallest, most humble one sitting on the vanity next to her stands out from the rest.

Once the Academy Award nominations had been announced, Rey hadn’t wasted any time in posting a letter to Maz. And she had just replied back, in typical Maz fashion.

Rey pulls the note tucked neatly among the daisies and bright yellow roses and unfolds it, reading it again for the third time, the words still bringing a smile to her face.

My dear child,

I am of course elated but unsurprised by the news of your nomination. You have that special spark, that flame, burning within your soul. You only needed to spread your wings and fly out of this place andsurround yourself with the ones who could stoke it. And you have succeeded, in the most glorious way, and I have no doubt that the world has seen just a glimpse of what Rey Solo is capable of.

And of course I must congratulate you on your marriage; the strong connection between you and your husband was exceedingly apparent in your film, and I can only imagine what kind of romance transpired behind the scenes. I hope you’ll bend this old woman’s ear about it someday, for as you know there is nothing I cherish more than a timeless love story.

But I hope you’ll understand that someday isn’t now, my dear Rey– while I appreciate your invitation to the Academy Awards ceremony as your guest, it’s just not in the cards. I will hang on to these train tickets, and plan for a visit some other time in the near future. I haven’t seen the bright sun of California or those Skywalker twins in many, many years– it does my old heart good to know that the belonging you’ve always sought was found within their family, just waiting all these years for you to come along and make it complete.

I am also returning the generous check you sent— old Maz has everything here she needs andwants for nothing. However, you’ll probably be unsurprised to find out that your relatives, after having mysteriously come into a large sum of money, sold the farmhouse and relocated to a new residence on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago. I don’t have to tell you they probably didn’t deserve it, but then again, you’ve always had a kind, compassionate soul, even when your circ*mstances could have stolen it from you, made you hard and cynical. I've always seen you as a flower blooming in the desert, flourishing from within, and it's this quality that makes you who you are. Don’t ever forget that, my darling girl.

Love always,

Maz

Rey folds up the letter and nestles it back into the flowers. She gives her hair a final pat in the mirror and makes her way toward the living area of the suite.

Her lips quirk when she finds Ben pacing restlessly, running a hand through his thick waves as he glances at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. He’s already dressed– resplendent in all his bespoke tuxedo glory– and Rey's pulse spikes while her body begins flushing with heat. Not only because he's strikingly good-looking, but seeing Ben in a tuxedo always reminds her of their very first time together and her body reacts, like some carnal Pavlovian response, with a hot, slick wetness that's already beginning to gather between her thighs.

It takes him a second to notice her but when he does, his eyes go dark, his jaw clenching as his eyes rove over her gown. Finn had helped her select the simple, sophisticated Dior number in luxurious black satin, with a low-cut back, tight bodice, and a full-length skirt that's lined with yards and yards of voluminous black tulle.

Her chestnut hair is shorter than it’s ever been, in that chic pixie style that's becoming popular in Europe. And combined with the deep cut of the dress, Rey knows she looks almost scandalously bare. Miles of her skin is on display– the entire slope of her slim neck, to her creamy shoulders and back are exposed, more than halfway down to her derriere.

She feels wantonly elegant, not only because of the dress, but because of the way Ben is looking at her, in that special way he almost always looks at her.

Like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“So what do you think?” Rey asks, giving him a slow twirl.

Ben’s fevered gaze is the most delicious aphrodisiac, shooting liquid heat through her bloodstream. Suddenly nothing else in the world matters right now except this moment and the current of desire that’s flowing steadily between them.

“Come here, gorgeous,” he drawls, his voice husky and low, making her body throb with an almost desperate need. She obeys, and he wraps his strong arms around her, kissing her slowly and deliberately, stoking the fires of her passion as only he can.

Guiding her down to the sofa, she lies back for him, arousal pulsing in her core. With an intoxicating sense of dominance, she watches this large, powerful man lower to his knees before her, like a dark knight with worshipful intent– or perhaps the intent is to leave her lying in ruins. Her heart hammers against her ribs as Ben slides his hands slowly from her ankles up her legs, his eyes locked with hers, pushing up the hem of her dress as he goes.

Rey would be lying if she said she hadn't chosen a gown with a full skirt for an opportunity such as this.

“We don’t have time to do everything I want to do to you right now,” he murmurs as his large hands reach the tops of her thighs, spreading them further apart. “But I’ll settle for this.” He looks down and Rey almost laughs outright at his surprised expression.

Erring on the side of practicality, she’d decided to forgo underwear entirely, and is clad in only a black satin garter belt and sheer black stockings. She bites her bottom lip, but it isn't enough to stop the triumphant smirk from breaking across her face.

“My wife is such a naughty girl,” Ben croons, his voice thick and sweet, like dark honey. It melts over her and she squirms, her center now pulsing with an almost painful ache, under the intensity of his gaze but also at the lustful praise beneath his words. He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side, raising one rakish eyebrow. “What do you think Hedda and Louella would say?”

The biting quip that’s on the tip of her tongue is overshadowed by a long, breathless moan, when Ben leans forward and opens his mouth over her dripping core, his tongue laving and circling hungrily through her folds. Her fingers thread through his soft hair as he groans into her, her back arching as the deep rumble ignites a fresh spark of ecstasy coursing through her veins. The beard and mustache he’s grown lightly abrades her most delicate skin, a sublime contrast to the plush wetness of his clever mouth, now licking and sucking with a practiced, precise rhythm that has her writhing with toe-curling pleasure.

She’s already on the brink when he plunges two fingers into her entrance, pumping her skillfully while his tongue flicks faster and faster against her cl*t. It's almost too much–she cries out while fighting the impulse to squirm away, as if she could even if she wanted to. Ben's other huge hand grips onto her hip, holding her in place while his strong fingers dig into the flesh of her ass the way he knows she likes, just skirting that delicious edge between pain and pleasure.

Moments later she comes with a gushing burst, crying out his name as she falls apart on his tongue, her body shivering with an abrupt, blinding org*sm that has her bucking against his face while her fingers desperately pull at his thick, sooty locks.

Ben eases her through her climax, continuing to lap at her gently until the waves of pleasure subside, running his hands soothingly along her thighs.

When she returns to herself with a blissful sigh, he’s already fluffed her skirt back into place and is watching her with dark, fervent eyes, his full lips and beard still shining with her essence. She gives him a beatific smile, sitting up and reaching into his jacket to pluck the linen handkerchief she knows he keeps from his breast pocket.

After she wipes his face clean, he catches her wrist and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her palm. His lips are warm and supple, and Rey cups his cheek with her other hand, gazing at him with stars in her eyes, and love in her heart.

“If those two old gossips knew the reason we’re always running late was because of this, my dear husband, they’d call me a fool for even attempting to arrive on time for anything ever again.”

As the hotel elevator begins its descent, Rey gives Ben a critical once over. She runs her fingers through his unruly waves and straightens his slightly off-kilter bowtie – but there's no hiding the flush of color high on his cheekbones, or the glassy brightness of his eyes.

"How do I look?" he asks, with a roguish smirk on his lips.

"Absolutely debauched, I'm afraid." She sighs with feigned exasperation, brushing her hands over the shoulders of his jacket.

They might have actually been on time– early even– but once Rey had discovered the massive erection tenting Ben's pants, hard and aching, her mouth began watering at the sight. She certainly couldn’t leave him in that state without returning the favor, and had brushed aside his protests that his own pleasure could be delayed until after the ceremony.

Which then of course had required a necessary repair job to her hair and lipstick…

"As debauched as you, my love?" He laces his fingers between hers and presses a gentle kiss against her temple, careful not to muss her up again, and Rey has no doubt she's as flushed and lust-glazed as he is.

Good grief, they were a pair.

But, as she admires Ben's strong profile in the soft elevator light, Rey knows she wouldn't have it any other way.

“Ben! Over here, Ben!”

“Rey! You’re looking beautiful tonight! Look over here, please!”

They emerge from the back of the limo to the thunderous roar of hundreds of fans who have gathered around the entrance of the RKO Pantages Theater tonight, crowded behind the barricades and police lined up on either side of a wide red carpet. There’s also the usual legion of photographers shouting for their attention, amidst a shower of exploding flashbulbs.

Ben...Ben, over here…up here…stunning, Rey...Mister and Missus Solo, over here please…

High above them, a handful of stars are making their first appearance over Hollywood Boulevard tonight, twinkling against a deep indigo sky, while giant spotlights on the ground strobe their white beams into the heavens. The cool, balmy air is sparking with awards night excitement, and Rey shivers as a trail of goosebumps rises along her skin.

Ben grips her hand tightly as they make their way forward, pausing to smile and wave good-naturedly at fans and pose for the photographers.

Rey still doesn’t know if there’s some trick to avoid being blinded by the flashbulbs, but at the very least she can say it doesn’t bother her much anymore, and is able to pose for pictures for hours without squinting.

“Hey, lovebirds, over here!”

Rey spins at the familiar voice that rises up over the hundreds of others.

She finds Poe standing in a loose semicircle with Gwen and RB, near the press line. They’re all dressed to the nines– the men look dashing in their tuxedos, and Gwen is statuesque in a beaded column dress the color of burnished copper.

Ben and Rey make their way over, and after a flurry of handshakes and air kisses, Poe checks his watch dramatically.

“Eight minutes. Not bad, Solos. Think Louella will let you off the hook this time?”

Ben rolls his eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek. He curls his arm around Rey’s waist, pulling her tightly against him, and she wraps her arm behind his back. Gwen and RB watch them with fond amusem*nt.

“Probably not,” he says pleasantly, craning his neck as his gaze wanders over the press line. Once he spots the odious gossip queen, he gives her a debonair smile and a jaunty wave, to which she returns with a fluttering of her fingers and a spasmic batting of eyelashes.

Ben must be able to sense Rey’s bristling annoyance because he leans down, his breath hot against the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “But those eight minutes were definitely worth it.”

She knows he said it softly enough so that no one else could hear, but a warm flush blooms across her cheeks anyway.

Definitely worth it, she agrees silently.

Beaming up at him, Rey places a possessive hand on his broad chest. His amber eyes are almost golden, twinkling with devilish humor as he dips his head down, pressing a chaste, lingering kiss against her lips.

The fans erupt into a frenzy, whistling and shouting their approval, and flashbulbs begin popping like fireworks all around them.

Amidst the cacophony, someone clears their throat awkwardly beside them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Solo, would you mind sparing a minute or two to say a few words to our WKMH listeners at home?”

They break apart, and turn around to find themselves in front of the first stop of the press line.

Rey glances the other way and realizes Poe, Gwen and RB have already moved ahead, each of them speaking with different columnists and radio broadcasters. Through the crowd of photographers, Poe catches Ben’s eye and flashes him a mischievous smirk.

“Of course not, Din,” Ben replies easily, ignoring Poe and shaking the broadcaster’s hand. “Anything for you and your listeners.”

Fortunately, their first interview tonight is with Din Djarin, a broadcaster both Rey and Ben are fond of. A soft-spoken man, Din wears thick, tinted glasses that aren’t able to fully hide the kindness in his eyes. He never asks anyone intrusive or inane questions, and keeps his interviews brief and to the point.

As Din directs his first question to Ben, Rey finds herself too distracted by her own thoughts to pay much attention. By something she’s been trying to avoid thinking about all day, for fear she’ll be unable to stop herself from bursting out with it.

A phone call from her doctor this morning had confirmed what she’d already been mostly certain about for the last couple of weeks– and Rey has decided to wait until tonight, until after all the hubbub of the awards is done and over with, before sharing the news with Ben.

She rests her hand lightly against her stomach, unable to hide the gentle smile curving her lips. They’d definitely be celebrating later, for one reason or another.

Din’s voice shakes Rey from her soft, rosy-colored thoughts.

“And you, Mrs. Solo. How do you feel about the possibility of winning your first Academy Award this evening?”

Rey takes a few moments to consider the question. How does she feel?

She meets Ben’s eyes and a familiar look passes between them. It’s a look they exchange often, so crystal clear it eliminates the need for words. A look that's unmistakable in its meaning.

I love you. Forever and always, in every lifetime, I’d find you so I could love you all over again.

She turns back to Din, now with a glowing warmth radiating through her chest. “Well, it’s an honor just to be nominated, of course,” Rey begins. She reaches for Ben’s hand and squeezes, afraid if she looks at him right now she might burst into a puddle of joyful tears.

“But regardless of what happens on that stage tonight, it doesn’t matter. Because in every other possible way, I know I’ve already won.”

The Los Angeles Times

February 21st, 1949

Hollywood, California (AP) Winner’s Circle– Parnassos Pictures was the big winner at last night’s 21st annual Academy Awards ceremony, taking home the Best Picture award for “The Turning Tide”. Clockwise from bottom right: Armie Hux, Rose Tico-Hux, RB Johnson, Best Actress award winner Rey Solo, Gwen Phasma, Best Actor award winner Ben Solo, Finn Storm, Best Director award winner Poe Dameron.