Chapter Text
The autumn rain had finally stopped, but Rey's mood hadn't improved. She sat in a corner booth at La Maison, watching Simon—her agent, manager, and occasional therapist—gesticulate over his Dover sole while her lunch went cold.
The restaurant was technically a private members' club, though no one called it that. White tablecloths, dark wood panelling, the kind of place where the membership list read like a who's who of British film and media. Discreet. Exclusive. Where casting directors and producers conducted quiet business over lunch, and agents took their clients to deliver career-defining news behind closed doors.
Also where a tuna nicoise salad cost twenty-eight quid and Rey was too depressed to eat it.
"—and the optics are terrible, Rachel. Simply dreadful."
Simon only used her real name when he was about to deliver bad news. Rey braced herself.
"It's been four months since Poe Dameron, and you're still the punchline." Simon's voice gentled. "Two box office disappointments in a row, your ex-boyfriend jet-setting around the world with his new girlfriend looking terribly noble and philanthropic—"
"He dumped me," Rey said flatly. "Just say it."
"Right. Yes. Well." Simon had the grace to look uncomfortable. "He's moved on rather publicly, and you're... here. And now Zorii Bliss has the role you wanted. The Mockingbird role."
"The one I auditioned for." The one she'd prepared for. Spent three weeks with a dialect coach. Read the entire novel twice and made notes in the margins like some sort of keen literature student.
"They wanted to go in a different direction." Simon shifted in his seat. "Their words, not mine."
"I did five years on Regency Rebels," Rey said. "That was drama. Period drama. I can do serious work."
"Yes, well." Simon's expression turned careful. "The problem is, Regency Rebels ended rather... spectacularly. And not in a good way."
Rey's stomach dropped. She knew where this was going.
"Your ghastly co-star saw to that, didn't he?" Simon continued. "Ben Solo. When it all went to pieces in 2015." He shook his head. "The show should have been your launching pad into serious work. Instead it's just... tainted. Associated with that whole debacle."
"That wasn't my fault."
"Of course not, darling. You were the consummate professional. Still are." He leaned forward. "But the industry has a short memory for professionalism and a long memory for scandal. They remember Regency Rebels as 'that show that got cancelled because Ben Solo couldn't keep his act together.' And you, by association, are still seen as the sweet girl from popular entertainment masquerading as period drama."
"It wasn't—"
"It had romance, darling. That's all anyone remembers. You and Ben Solo on the cover of teen magazines for five years straight. The nation's favourite pairing." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can call it period drama all you like, but they remember it as crowd-pleasing television. The sweet girl who got the brooding boy. That's your CV."
Simon pulled out his tablet. "Which brings me to what I wanted to discuss. I've got two excellent offers here."
Rey's stomach sank. She knew that tone.
"There's a Netflix series. Ten episodes, guaranteed. Romantic comedy about a woman who inherits a bookshop and the charming property developer who wants to buy the building. Very 'You've Got Mail' energy. They're offering quite a lot of money—"
"No."
"Right, well." He swiped to the next one. "Christmas film. You'd play a high-powered executive who returns to her hometown and reconnects with her childhood sweetheart. Lead role. Proper budget. Theatrical release and streaming—"
"It's another romantic comedy."
"It's a guaranteed payday." Simon's voice took on a careful edge. "You turned down four similar offers last year."
"Because I'm trying to rebrand. I want to do serious work."
"And how's that going for you?" The words were gentle, but they landed like a slap. Simon immediately looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but we need to be realistic. You've turned down steady work to chase prestige projects, and the prestige projects... well."
"Bombed. You can say it."
"Underperformed," Simon corrected delicately. "Which means your quote has dropped, and your star power isn't quite what it was."
Brilliant. So not only was she boring and dumped, she was also becoming irrelevant.
Rey pushed her plate away. Twenty-eight quid worth of salad, wasted.
"I'm not saying you're not talented. You're tremendously talented. But the industry is fickle, and right now, they're not seeing you as the serious dramatic actress you want to be. They're seeing you as safe. Reliable. The girl next door."
"Boring."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"These are good offers. Solid work. And if you keep turning things down..." He trailed off delicately. "The offers do eventually stop coming."
Rey stared out the window. Across the street, tourists and business types crowded the pavement, the usual chaotic mix of central London.
She'd clawed her way up from nothing. Literally nothing. Foster care in Croydon. Scholarships and school plays and a drama teacher who believed in her enough to drive her to auditions across London.
Then Regency Rebels at thirteen. Her big break. She'd worked her arse off for that role. Auditioned five times. Beat out two hundred other girls. Spent five years as Aria, the witty, spirited heroine opposite Ben Solo's brooding Lord Kylo Ren.
Ben Solo—son of Hollywood royalty, all cheekbones and brooding intensity even at fifteen. On screen, their chemistry had been magic. The kind of thing you couldn't fake. Every scene crackled with tension, with promise, with that slow-burn pull the fans ate up.
Off screen? A nightmare. Ben had been moody, difficult, already showing signs of the mess he'd become. The kind of child star implosion everyone could see coming except the people meant to protect him. And Rey—young, stupid, nursing a massive crush on her brooding co-star—had spent five years trying to get him to notice her as anything other than the kid he had to work with.
He never did.
Then he'd destroyed it all. The show, her career trajectory, everything gone because he couldn't handle fame at twenty.
She'd never forgiven him. Hadn't spoken to him since the show ended. Went out of her way to avoid industry events where he might show up—not that he showed up to much these days.
And somehow, after everything he'd destroyed, she was still the one who couldn't move on from Regency Rebels.
Still the girl next door. Britain's sweetheart.
She'd worked constantly since the show ended. Built a proper career. Ten years of period pieces, romantic leads, the occasional thriller where she played the worried girlfriend. She'd been professional, reliable, bankable.
And they'd put her in a box she couldn't break out of.
Dumped four months ago for a woman who wore leather trousers to awards shows. Two films that barely made back their budgets. And now that same woman—Zorii Bliss—had the role Rey actually wanted.
And now she was sitting in a members' club in Mayfair, not eating a twenty-eight-quid salad while her agent told her the offers were drying up.
"What do you want me to tell you?" Simon leaned forward. "That your image needs work? The question is what you're going to do about it."
"I'll sort it," Rey said, signalling for the check.
"That's what you said three months ago."
"Well, this time I mean it."
She paid and grabbed her bag before Simon could offer more helpful advice.
The photographers were waiting outside.
Of course they were.
Rey pushed through the restaurant doors, already reaching for her sunglasses. Her car was parked down the street. Just a two-minute walk.
Easy. She could make it.
"Rey! Rey, over here!"
She smiled. Kept walking. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Nervous habit she'd never managed to break.
"Rey, how are you handling the breakup?"
She'd dressed carefully this morning. Tailored trousers, cream jumper, minimal makeup. Professional. Put-together. Nothing the paps could use against her.
"Any comment on Poe and Zorii's Vanity Fair cover?"
Keep walking. Don't react. Don't give them anything.
"Rey, your last two films flopped. Career over, yeah?"
Five-foot-seven in these heels, but she felt about three feet tall. Reminded herself that assault charges would definitely not help her image.
"Is it true Zorii's pregnant?"
Rey stumbled. Just for a second. Just enough.
The cameras went wild, flashes exploding.
Her chest went tight. Pregnant. Zorii. Poe's baby.
"Rey! Can you confirm the pregnancy?"
"How d'you feel about Poe starting a family with someone else?"
"Too boring to keep him, were you?"
They were closing in now, a wall of bodies and cameras surrounding her on the pavement. Blocking her path. Blocking the street.
A young photographer stepped directly in front of her. Cocky, aggressive, expensive camera.
"Come on, Rey. Give us something real." His camera was inches from her face, flash going off. "Have a cry for us. Show us you're human for once."
"Please move," Rey said, but her voice cracked. Just slightly. Just enough for them to hear.
"What's the matter? Nothing to say?" He moved with her when she tried to step around him. The pack was everywhere now, hemming her in. "Or maybe Poe was right. Maybe there's nothing underneath all that perfect—"
His hand closed around her wrist.
"Jesus Christ."
The voice came from her left. American. Deeply annoyed.
Rey glanced over. A man in head-to-toe black had emerged from the café next door, holding a to-go bag, staring at the crowd like they were an unexpected road closure.
"You're blocking the entire pavement."
The pack shifted slightly.
Rey's breath caught.
Ben Solo.
Taller than she remembered. Had to be six-two, six-three. Broad-shouldered and lean. Dark hair falling past his ears in waves that looked deliberately unkempt. Sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw shadowed with stubble. Leather jacket that had seen better days over a black t-shirt and dark jeans.
He looked like trouble had a Pinterest board and this was the aesthetic.
But it was his eyes that made Rey's stomach flip. Dark. Intense. Eyes that used to make her fifteen-year-old self stupid enough to believe in things like chemistry and fate when they ran lines together on set.
Right now, those eyes were surveying the crowd with pure irritation.
He wasn't looking at Rey. He was looking at the wall of photographers blocking his path like they were a particularly annoying traffic jam.
"Move," Ben said.
The photographers spun around. There was a beat of shocked recognition.
"Holy shit, is that Ben Solo?"
"Ben! Over here!"
"Are you two together?"
Ben didn't answer. Just stood there, to-go bag in hand, looking vaguely inconvenienced.
"Come on, Ben, give us something!"
"Is this a reunion?"
"You're blocking the street," Ben said flatly. "I've got places to be."
His eyes flicked down to where the young photographer's hand was still wrapped around Rey's wrist. He looked at it for a moment, then back up at the photographer's face.
"You should probably let go of her," Ben said, tone completely flat. "Because if she decides to file a complaint, I'm going to end up having to give a statement to the police. And I really don't want to spend my afternoon doing that." He shifted his to-go bag slightly. "So let go of the lady and move. Easier for everyone."
He said it like he was explaining why they should take the other checkout lane.
Ben was bigger than the photographer. Broader. Taking up space. The grip on Rey's wrist loosened.
"Smart."
Ben's eyes landed on Rey. For half a second, something flickered across his face. Recognition, definitely. Then it was gone, replaced by that same flat irritation.
"Your car down there?" He nodded down the street without waiting for an answer.
Rey's stomach twisted. He knew exactly who she was. Of course he did.
"Then move." He was already pushing through the photographers, who scrambled backward. Creating a gap. "Some of us have places to be, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
Like she was some random woman on the street. Like they hadn't spent five years working together growing up on set.
Rey's face went hot. Not from embarrassment. From pure, white-hot fury.
But the photographer had let go. There was a path now.
Rey walked quickly down the street toward her car, fumbling for her keys with shaking hands.
Behind her, she heard Ben's voice: "And next time, don't block the entire pavement. Some of us have actual lives."
She got in her car, slammed the door, started the engine.
Through her rearview mirror, she saw Ben walking down the street in the opposite direction, to-go bag in hand. The photographers were following him now, swarming.
"Ben! Ben, what's your relationship with Rey?"
"Are you two back together?"
"Was that a romantic gesture?"
Ben kept walking, not answering. Rey watched him reach an old black Audi parked further down.
He got in. Slammed the door.
The photographers immediately swarmed the car. Surrounding it. Cameras everywhere. Blocking the street.
Ben's window rolled down.
"MOVE!" His voice cracked across the street. Raw. Furious. All that carefully controlled irritation finally snapping. "GET OUT OF THE STREET!"
The photographers jumped but didn't back up enough. Still blocking his car. Still filming.
"I'M TRYING TO LEAVE!" Ben's voice got louder. Echoing. "YOU'RE BLOCKING TRAFFIC!"
He revved his engine. Hard. The photographers scattered slightly.
"MOVE! NOW! JUST—FUCKING MOVE!"
His tires squealed as he reversed sharply, then shifted hard into first.
And then he was gone, peeling away like something was chasing him, the sound of his engine echoing down the street.
Rey sat there, staring after him.
Her phone started buzzing immediately.
Oh god.
They'd filmed all of it.
By the time Rey got home to her leafy North London neighbourhood in Hampstead where half her neighbours were also famous, her phone had exploded.
X. Instagram. TikTok.
She pulled up the videos, still fuming.
The first was a photo. The angle made everything look different.
Ben, broad-shouldered in black, positioned directly between Rey and the photographer. His body language protective. Rey visible behind him, looking shaken, the photographer's hand still reaching toward her wrist.
The caption: "BEN SOLO PROTECTING REY 😭😭😭"
The second photo: Ben's hand out, creating distance, Rey partially behind him. You couldn't see his annoyed expression from this angle. It just looked like he was shielding her.
The caption: "THE WAY HE STEPPED IN #REYLO"
Then the videos started.
Ben pushing through the photographers with Rey following. The angle made it look like he was clearing a path for her specifically.
The audio: "Some of us have places to be, sweetheart."
The comments:
"THE SWEETHEART??? I'M DECEASED"
"That's his sweetheart voice 😭"
"Lord Kylo energy"
"REYLO IS REAL"
Rey stared at her phone. That wasn't... He didn't mean it like...
The next video was the car scene. Pure chaos.
"MOVE YOUR FUCKING CARS!"
The caption: "Ben Solo LOSES IT after defending Rey"
Then someone had made a side-by-side:
Left side: Ben from the show as Lord Kylo, in period costume, looking intense and protective.
Right side: Today's photo of Ben stepping between Rey and the photographer.
Same energy. Same protective stance.
The caption: "Lord Kylo protecting Aria 🤝 Ben protecting Rey"
"10 YEARS LATER AND HE STILL—"
Rey threw her phone onto the sofa.
None of them understood.
He wasn't protecting her. He was trying to get to his car. The photos only looked that way because of the angle.
The sweetheart wasn't affectionate. It was dismissive.
But the internet had decided on the narrative.
Rose arrived thirty minutes later, practically vibrating.
"Have you SEEN—"
"I've seen it."
Rey was curled up on the sofa, laptop open, scrolling through endless posts.
"Rey." Rose dropped down beside her, pulling up her phone. "Six million views. You're trending everywhere."
"He was annoyed about his lunch."
"Have you seen the photos? This angle..." Rose thrust her phone forward.
"It's the angle, Rose. That's where the door was. He wasn't positioning himself to protect me."
"But it looks—"
"I KNOW what it looks like!" Rey stood, heading for the kitchen. She needed wine. Now. "The entire internet thinks Ben Solo rode in on a white horse. They think he called me sweetheart like he meant it."
She grabbed the bottle from the counter, poured a generous glass.
"Well—"
"He called me sweetheart like I'm nobody!" Rey took a long drink, fortifying herself. "Then he lost it because they blocked his car. Not because of me. Because they were in his way."
Rose was grinning. "You're really wound up about this."
"Of course I'm wound up! It's completely wrong!"
"Is it though?" Rose followed her back to the sofa. "Because from every angle, and there are about fifty now, it looks like Ben Solo saw you in trouble and stepped in."
Rey looked at the screen Rose was holding out. It was the moment right after the photographer grabbed her wrist. Ben stepping forward, jaw tight, eyes hard. From this angle, you couldn't see his annoyed expression. You just saw intensity. Focus.
On her.
"That's just his face," Rey muttered.
"That's his 'don't touch her' face."
"Rey." Rose set down her phone. "I know you're mad. But this is good for you. Everyone's talking about you for something other than Poe. This is the best press you've had in months."
Rey sank onto the sofa. Something nagged at her though. The way he'd positioned himself, perfectly between her and that photographer. The way he'd known exactly where her car was. The way "sweetheart" had rolled off his tongue, dismissive but also... familiar.
Had he recognized her? She couldn't tell. And that somehow made it worse.
"He doesn't even remember me," Rey said quietly. "Or he does and doesn't care. I can't tell which is worse."
Rose squeezed her shoulder. "You know what? Sod him. Sod everyone. You're going to show them all that you're not boring." She grabbed her bag. "And for the love of god, stop Googling yourself. Or him. That never helps."
Rey managed a small smile. "No promises."
"I mean it. No Googling. No reading comments."
"Fine."
"Good." Rose headed for the door. "I'll text you tomorrow. Try to relax, yeah?"
Rey's phone buzzed. Then again. Then continuously.
She picked it up.
Simon calling.
She answered. Put it on speaker.
"Rey, darling. Tell me you've seen the videos."
"I've seen them."
"Darling, this is phenomenal! Absolutely phenomenal!" Simon sounded delighted. "You're trending everywhere. You couldn't have asked for better publicity if we'd staged it ourselves!"
"The optics are wrong, Simon. He wasn't—"
"Oh, who cares what he was actually doing! It's what it looks like that matters. And it looks like Ben Solo, bad boy, train wreck, absolute disaster, can't stand seeing Britain's sweetheart harassed. The reformed bad boy angle! The protective ex-costar! Do you know how good this is?"
Rey closed her eyes. "Simon—"
"I've already had three interview requests, darling. Everyone wants to know about you and Ben. The reunion. The history. People are rewatching Regency Rebels as we speak. This is a gift. An absolute gift."
"It's been four hours."
"Four brilliant hours!" His voice was bright. "We should capitalize on this. You're going to Canto Bight in two weeks, yes? The fragrance launch?"
"Yes..."
"Perfect, darling. By then, everyone will be dying to see if you two are actually together. Be seen. Look gorgeous. Keep the momentum going. This is your moment."
He hung up.
Rey drained her wine glass.
On her phone, notifications kept coming. #Reylo trending higher. More photos. More angles. More people convinced they'd witnessed something romantic.
When really, Ben Solo just wanted his lunch and she'd been in his way.
Sweetheart.
She was definitely going to kill him.
If she ever saw him again.
Later that evening, Rey tried to take Rose's advice. She had a bath. Did some yoga. Read a script Simon had sent (it was rubbish).
She lasted approximately forty-five minutes before she opened her laptop.
She typed "Ben Solo" into the search bar.
Wikipedia came up first. She skimmed it. Born 1995. American-British actor. Son of Han Solo and Leia Organa. Regency Rebels from 2010 to 2015. Then: "Career derailed in 2015 following DUI arrest and increasingly erratic behaviour that led to the show's cancellation."
Right. That.
Rey clicked on Images.
The top results were all disaster.
Mugshot from the DUI arrest, June 2015. His eyes unfocused, jaw clenched. He'd been twenty.
Being restrained by security outside a nightclub. Shirt half unbuttoned, face twisted in rage.
Stumbling on some street at 4 AM, looking absolutely wrecked.
Then the parade of women. Ben with a different model or actress or socialite every week. Blonde it-girls whose fathers owned hotels. Cool-girl types with vintage band tees. Models from campaigns Rey had seen on the sides of buses. All of them looking expensive and bored.
The sex tape had leaked in March 2015. Some actress-slash-model with her own tabloid history. Rey hadn't watched it. Everyone else had.
She scrolled past those. Found older ones.
Ben at fifteen, first day on set of Regency Rebels. Still had that baby-faced look, trying so hard to seem older, more serious.
Behind-the-scenes shots from the early seasons. Some with her in them. Both of them so absurdly young. She'd been thirteen, playing the orphan Aria. He'd been fifteen, already tall and awkward, growing into that face.
Photos of him at seventeen, eighteen, getting sharper-featured. Premiere after premiere. Award show after award show. The media watching him grow from child star to heartthrob.
Then the shift. Around season four, maybe season five. The photos changed. Ben at clubs. Ben with older crowds. Ben looking tired. Ben looking wasted. Ben looking angry.
And then it all came crashing down.
Rey clicked on a Daily Mail article from 2016. She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't.
"From Golden Boy to Train Wreck: Ben Solo's Spectacular Fall"
She skimmed it. DUI in June 2015. Cocaine in the car. Production halted immediately. The spiral: nightclubs, models, rehab that didn't stick. The show cancelled. The final season, already filmed, locked away forever.
Rey's jaw clenched. Hundreds of jobs lost. Including hers. She'd been eighteen, just finished filming what should have been her big breakout season.
The final straw: Ibiza, August 2016. Trashed hotel room, £50,000 in damages. Video of Solo throwing furniture off a balcony went viral.
And then he disappeared.
Rey searched "Ben Solo 2017" and then "2018" and then "2019."
Barely anything.
Small role in an indie film, 2018. Theatre work in Edinburgh, 2019. Fringe festival stuff. Supporting role in a thriller, 2021 that made £2 million total.
He'd disappeared. Not from acting entirely, but from mattering.
Meanwhile, Rey had spent ten years clawing her way back from the damage. Building a career from the ashes. Being professional. Being perfect. Being boring.
All because Ben Solo couldn't handle being famous at twenty.
She found herself on Tumblr somehow. Old Regency Rebels content still circulating. Fan-made clips of scenes between Lord Kylo and Aria. The ballroom scene. The library confrontation. The almost-kiss in the rain that the writers had teased for three seasons.
She remembered filming some of these. Remembered how Ben used to make her laugh between takes by doing terrible impressions of the director. How seriously he took the work, even at nineteen, twenty. How he'd run lines with her in his trailer when she was nervous about a big scene.
Before he'd decided partying was more important than showing up.
Someone had compiled their joint interviews:
"Rey and Ben being chaotic for 10 minutes straight"
"The way he looks at her in this interview I—"
"They had so much chemistry it's insane"
"I'm still not over how he used to look at her"
Rey slammed the laptop shut.
She didn't know what he'd been doing for the past few years. Didn't particularly care, either.
He'd destroyed both their careers. She'd just been better at rebuilding hers.
Until Poe. Until the flops. Until "boring Rey" became the narrative.
She went to bed early, determined not to think about Ben Solo.
(She thought about Ben Solo.)
One Week After the Paparazzi Incident
Primrose Hill on a Saturday was picture-perfect in that way that felt almost staged.
Rey had driven down from Hampstead, through the tree-lined streets and pastel-painted houses that made this corner of North London feel like a village dropped into the city. Where you paid seven pounds for a coffee and nobody blinked.
Greenberry Café sat on the corner, all floor-to-ceiling windows and exposed brick, packed with the weekend brunch crowd. Young families, couples in athleisure, people with expensive sunglasses pushed up on their heads. The queue stretched to the door.
Rey had been lucky to get a table. Corner spot by the window, good light, relatively private.
She'd come here on purpose. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could just... exist. Have a nice Saturday brunch. Read. Relax.
Except she'd forgotten to bring a book.
And now she'd been sitting here for twenty-five minutes with nothing to do but pick at her food and try to look like she wasn't completely alone and pathetic.
The salmon and avocado toast sat in front of her, barely touched. Fourteen pounds, which was obscene, but this was Primrose Hill. Everything was obscene. She'd taken three bites when it arrived. It was good. She should eat more.
But she just... sat there. Pushing food around her plate.
The server had checked on her twice already. "Everything okay with your meal?"
"Yes, fine, thank you."
But his expression said he didn't believe her. He thought she'd been stood up. Rey could see it in the sympathetic tilt of his head, the way he kept glancing at the empty seat across from her.
Brilliant. Even the staff feel sorry for me.
Rey pulled out her phone. Scrolled through emails she'd already read. Opened Instagram, then immediately closed it because the first thing she saw was another Poe and Zorii photo. Tried to look absorbed in something important.
Just a woman having a nice Saturday brunch. Perfectly normal. Not tragic in the slightest.
The woman at the next table was definitely staring now. Rey could feel it. That look. Recognition mixed with pity.
Poor Rey Niima. Eating alone on a Saturday. How sad.
Rey checked her phone again. Nothing new. She'd checked it two minutes ago.
This was a mistake. She should've stayed home. Should've—
"You're in my spot."
Rey's head snapped up.
Ben Solo stood there, looking far too pleased with himself.
For a moment, Rey just stared. Taking him in.
He looked different than he had yesterday. Less polished. His dark hair was uncombed, falling messier around his face like he'd literally just rolled out of bed. Same leather jacket, but the t-shirt underneath was rumpled grey instead of black. He had that just-woken-up look that somehow worked on him, all tousled and unfairly attractive despite clearly not trying.
His eyes were fixed on her table with something between amusement and mild irritation.
"Excuse me?" Rey managed.
"You're in my spot," Ben said.
Of course. Of bloody course. One week after the paparazzi disaster, and here he was. The universe had a sick sense of humour.
"Your spot," Rey repeated flatly.
"My usual table." He gestured at the packed café. "And since there's nowhere else to sit..."
Before she could respond, he slid into the seat across from her.
The woman at the next table immediately pulled out her phone.
Oh god. Here we go.
"I was here first," Rey hissed, trying to keep her voice down.
"And I'm hungry." Ben gestured at the packed café. "My usual table. Empty seat. Makes sense to me."
"That doesn't mean—"
"How's the fame treating you, by the way?"
"What?"
"The six million views. The trending hashtags. #Reylo." His eyes glinted with amusement. "You're welcome, by the way."
Rey's jaw dropped. "You're welcome?"
"For the career boost. You were tabloid fodder two weeks ago. 'Boring Rey, too dull for Poe.' Now you're 'the woman Ben Solo defended.'" He leaned back, looking insufferably smug. "Much better story."
"You didn't defend me. You were annoyed we were in your way."
"I know that. You know that. But they..." He nodded toward the woman at the next table, who was absolutely filming them now. "They don't know that. They think I'm your white knight. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?"
"Your agent's probably losing his mind right now. In a good way."
Rey's face went hot. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm practical." He glanced at her barely-touched food. "You going to eat that, or just push it around looking miserable?"
"I'm not looking miserable."
"You absolutely are. Very 'stood up for brunch' energy." His expression turned thoughtful. "Although now that I'm here, it looks less like you got stood up and more like we're on a date. Funny how that works."
More phones came up around them. Rey could feel eyes on them from every direction. Through the window, she could see people on the street slowing down, looking in. Someone had definitely recognized them.
"This isn't a date," Rey said firmly.
"Course not. You're just sitting at my table, I sat down, and now we're having brunch together. Completely platonic." But his smirk said he knew exactly what this looked like.
Rey grabbed her bag. "I'm leaving."
"Are you?" Ben didn't move. "Because that photographer across the street has been there for ten minutes. If you leave now, tomorrow's headline will be 'Rey Storms Out on Ben Solo.' Very dramatic. Great for engagement."
Rey froze, bag in hand. She glanced out the window. Sure enough, someone with a proper camera across the street, not even pretending to be subtle.
"And if I leave," Ben continued, sounding far too entertained, "it'll be 'Ben Solo Walks Out on Rey Niima.' Also bad for both of us." He gestured to her chair. "So. Seems like we're stuck here for a bit. Might as well finish your food."
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" He flagged down the server. "I'll have the full English. Extra toast. Thanks."
The server glanced between them, clearly recognizing both of them now, trying not to look too shocked. "Together or separate?"
"Together," Ben said smoothly before Rey could answer. "She's got it."
The server nodded and left.
Rey's mouth fell open. "I'm sorry, WHAT?"
"What?" Ben's expression was pure innocence. "We're having brunch together. Would look weird if we paid separately. Very 'not actually on a date' energy. The photos wouldn't read right."
"You did NOT just—"
"Besides, you're the one benefiting most from this. Your image needed help. I'm providing a service." He settled back in his chair. "The least you can do is buy me brunch."
"The LEAST I can do—"
"Think of it as a management fee. For improving your image." His smile was absolutely shit-eating now. "I'm very expensive, you know. This is actually quite reasonable."
Rey stared at him, fork gripped so tightly her knuckles were white.
"You," she said slowly, "are the most insufferable person I have ever met."
"Not the first time I've heard that today." He looked delighted. "Probably won't be the last. Oh, and I'm going to need orange juice too. Thanks."
He said the last part to the server, who'd just reappeared. "Anything else?"
"No, we're good," Ben said cheerfully. "She's paying, so really, sky's the limit, but I'll be reasonable."
The server walked away, definitely trying not to laugh.
Rey picked up her fork with more force than necessary and took a bite of her now-cold toast.
Across from her, Ben looked far too pleased with himself.
"So," he said conversationally. "How IS the internet treating you? Besides the whole 'thinking we're in love' thing."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't. You hate that I'm right." He gestured with his fork toward the window. Through the glass, Primrose Hill stretched out in all its affluent glory. Pastel houses, boutique shops, people walking tiny dogs. "Nice neighbourhood, isn't it? Very wholesome. Perfect backdrop for two old friends catching up over brunch."
"We're not friends."
"Former costars, then. Reconnecting after a decade. Very heartwarming." He leaned forward slightly. "You know what the best part is? Everyone thinks I'm the bad boy with a heart of gold. 'He acts tough but he can't help protecting her.' It's very romantic. Very marketable."
"You weren't being romantic. You were being annoyed."
"I know that. You know that. But perspective is everything." He gestured around them. "From every angle in this café, this looks like a date. You, sitting alone looking miserable. Me, showing up. Sitting down. Ordering brunch. You paying. It's very 'relationship' coded."
"This is NOT a relationship!"
"Tell that to them." He nodded at the phones. "From every angle, this looks like Rey Niima treating Ben Solo to a lovely Saturday brunch in Primrose Hill. Very sweet. Very 'maybe they really are together.'"
Rey grabbed her water glass and drank, mostly to stop herself from saying something she'd regret.
"How much longer do we need to sit here?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Another twenty minutes. Make sure they get some good shots of us looking friendly." He leaned forward, voice dropping low enough that only she could hear. "Come on. Smile. You're having brunch with an old friend who definitely didn't manipulate you into paying for his nineteen-quid meal."
"You absolutely manipulated me."
"Prove it." But he was grinning now. "From their perspective, I just sat down at my regular table where you happened to be sitting. We're having a pleasant conversation. You're generously treating me to brunch. Where's the manipulation?"
Rey took another bite of her cold toast, chewing aggressively.
Outside, more people had stopped. More phones out.
"You planned this," she said quietly.
"Planned what? You sitting at my usual table?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm good, Rey, but I'm not that good."
"You saw me through the window. You knew exactly what this would look like if you sat down."
"Maybe." His eyes gleamed. "Or maybe I just wanted my usual table back and this is all a happy accident. You'll never know."
"You're enjoying this."
"I really am." He sat back. "It's been a very boring week. This is entertaining."
His food arrived. A proper full English—eggs, bacon, sausages, beans, mushrooms, grilled tomato, the works. Nineteen pounds worth of brunch in Primrose Hill.
Ben tucked in with obvious satisfaction.
Silence fell.
Ben ate methodically. Rey picked at her avocado toast. The café hummed around them—conversations, laughter, the hiss of the espresso machine—but at their table, nothing.
Rey checked her phone. Three minutes had passed. It felt like twenty.
"So," Ben said finally, not looking up from his plate. "Still doing films?"
"When I can get them."
"Right." He took a bite of toast. "Heard the last two didn't do well."
Rey's fork scraped against her plate. "They didn't."
"Bad scripts?"
"Bad timing. Bad luck. Bad everything."
"Mm." He reached for his orange juice. "That happens."
More silence. Rey forced herself to take another bite.
"You?" she asked, because apparently they were doing this. "Still acting?"
"Here and there. Theatre mostly. Some indie stuff." He shrugged. "Pays the bills."
"That's... good."
"Is it?"
Rey looked up. His expression was unreadable.
"I mean—" She faltered. "I'm glad you're working."
"Are you?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"No reason." But something flickered in his eyes before he looked back down at his plate. "Just making conversation. Since we're on a date and all."
"This isn't—"
"I know." He cut her off, voice flat. "Relax. I'm joking."
More silence.
Rey checked her phone again. Seven minutes now. How was it only seven minutes?
The server came by. "Everything alright?"
"Fine," they said in unison.
He left. The woman at the next table was still filming.
Ben ate methodically. Eggs, then sausage, then bacon. Like he had all the time in the world.
"Your toast is getting cold," he observed.
"I know."
"Should eat it."
"I'm not hungry."
"Shame. You're paying for it." He took another bite. "Might as well get your money's worth."
Rey's jaw clenched. She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
"There we go," Ben said. "Look at us. Having a lovely brunch. Very natural."
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"Sometimes. When there's a reason to." He finished his eggs. "But since we're trapped here for another..." He checked his phone. "Eight minutes minimum, might as well fill the silence."
"Or we could just sit here quietly."
"We could. But that'd look weird on camera." He gestured with his fork. "They want to see us talking. Laughing. Maybe touching hands across the table if we really want to sell it."
"We're not touching hands."
"Your loss. Would've been a great photo." But he was smirking again.
They fell back into silence. Rey ate her cold toast. Ben finished his food with obvious satisfaction.
Around them, the café hummed with activity. Normal Saturday brunch sounds.
Except nothing about this was normal.
"You know," Ben said after another long pause, "this is actually kind of fun."
"For you, maybe."
"Definitely for me." He pushed his empty plate away. "Thanks again for brunch. Very generous."
Rey didn't dignify that with a response.
"Alright," Ben said finally. "You can go now. I'll wait five minutes. Make it look natural."
Rey grabbed her bag. Pulled out her phone to pay.
The server appeared instantly. "All together?"
"Yes," Ben said before Rey could argue. "She's got it."
The server pulled out the card reader. "That'll be forty pounds even."
Forty pounds.
For brunch.
That she didn't even want to eat with him.
Rey pulled up her banking app, jaw clenched. Tapped through the payment. £40 exactly.
The confirmation pinged.
Ben's smile widened.
"Pleasure doing business with you." His grin was absolutely infuriating. "Thanks for brunch, sweetheart."
"Stop calling me that."
"Why? It bothers you." He took his last sip of orange juice. "Which makes it fun."
Rey stood. "I hope your brunch gives you indigestion."
"It won't. It was delicious." He raised his empty glass slightly. "Your forty quid well spent. See you around, Rey."
She walked out, every muscle tense, very aware that every phone in the café was tracking her exit.
The street outside was beautiful. Autumn sunshine filtering through the trees, leaves turning gold and copper, Primrose Hill rising in the distance. Picturesque London neighbourhood that looked like a film set.
Perfect backdrop for her humiliation.
She got to her car, got in, and sat there for a moment.
Her phone was already buzzing.
She pulled it out.
"BEN AND REY BRUNCH DATE OMG"
"Rey treating Ben at Greenberry 🥺"
"He just SAT DOWN at her table"
Rey dropped her phone in her lap.
She'd just paid forty quid for Ben Solo's brunch.
Ben Solo, who'd manipulated the entire situation.
Who'd found the whole thing hilarious.
Who'd called her sweetheart just to wind her up.
Who remembered exactly how to get under her skin.
She started the car, jaw clenched.
If she ever saw Ben Solo again—which she wouldn't, because why would she—she was going to kill him.
Slowly.
While making him pay for the privilege.
With interest.