She was painfully beautiful, he thought. It was not often she wore dresses given her diplomatic work and the demanding nature of all the burdens she bore so well. But as she glided around the dance floor in Solo’s arms—the smuggler visibly counting steps under his breath—-she was angelic.
He was grateful to be here at all. Most people did not know who he was, as he had chosen to dress in a simple, unmarked Imperial uniform. There was an even mix of Republic and Imperial uniform amongst the guests which indicated those who served on the Lady as distinct from those stationed elsewhere.
He sipped at his champagne and watched as Piett approached the bride and groom to tap Solo’s shoulder politely. The man surrendered Leia willingly, and the Admiral swept her off with more grace.
And how could Anakin not consider that it should be him out there, holding his daughter in his arms on her wedding day?
