The next few days were a total blur for Raphael.
Good Morning America was outdoors—hundreds of fans packed around the set, screaming so loud it felt like the ground was shaking. When the host asked about his relationship with Natalie, he just flashed a grin and said, "We're good friends."
The Today Show was indoors. They talked Star Wars for half an hour, then his career for the other half. When they asked if he had a girlfriend, he laughed and shot back, "Why ask when you already know the answer?"
Entertainment Weekly cover shoot was in a studio. Six outfit changes, three solid hours under lights. The photographer was a woman—by the end, she was looking at him like she wanted to eat him alive.
The fan meet-and-greet was at Rockefeller Center. Five thousand people crammed into the plaza, screams rolling in waves. Raphael stood on stage waving until his arm felt like it might fall off.
Oprah was in Chicago—two full hours of taping. Oprah was a master at getting personal; Raphael answered everything smoothly, never once slipping.
Some events he did solo, others with the cast, but every single one left him exhausted.
Every night when he got back to the hotel, all he wanted was to collapse.
But every night, he ended up in Natalie's room.
She never asked about Jessica, never mentioned Lima or Alessandra. She just asked if he was tired today and what his schedule looked like tomorrow.
Raphael found it strange. That didn't seem like Natalie at all.
But he was smart enough to go with it—silence was the safest answer.
The press caught on fast.
Day three, a tabloid "bribed" a hotel staffer and got photos of Raphael leaving Natalie's room.
Day four, the headlines dropped: Star Wars Couple: Fake on Screen, Real Off? Raphael and Natalie's Hotel Rendezvous
Day five, more photos leaked—dinner together, walking back to the hotel, basically everything that could be shot was shot.
Natalie's agent called to check in. She just said, "It's promo for the film."
Ari called Raphael too. Raphael shrugged it off with, "Temporary arrangement."
George Lucas heard and couldn't stop laughing.
He personally called Raphael.
"Raphael, you're killing it!"
Raphael blinked.
"What?"
"The publicity!" George was practically giddy. "Do you know how many headlines you and Natalie have generated these past few days? It's worth more than all the Google ads we paid for combined!"
Raphael: "…"
George kept going.
"Keep it up! Don't stop! Whatever you two want to do until the promo tour ends—go for it!"
Raphael hung up and looked at Natalie.
"George just praised us. He thinks we're acting… or maybe sacrificing ourselves for the movie?"
Natalie grinned, eyes sparkling.
"And you're playing along pretty well."
Raphael thought about it.
"I mean, I'm not exactly losing out."
Natalie shot him a glare and smacked him with a pillow.
The next few days, they leaned in harder.
During interviews, they threw each other flirty looks. During photos, they stood closer. At the hotel entrance, they made sure the paps caught them going in and out together.
The media had never seen stars this cooperative. They went absolutely feral.
Tabloids ran headlines every day; even the legit outlets jumped on it.
The Hollywood Reporter even published a full analysis piece: Fake Romance or Real Spark? Raphael and Natalie's "Star Wars Love"
George checked the numbers every day and grinned like a kid.
He texted Raphael: Keep going! If we break records, dinner's on me for both of you!
Raphael replied with a simple OK emoji.
---
August 15th, JFK Airport.
Raphael stood at the VIP exit, watching the familiar Gulfstream glide to a stop on the tarmac.
The door opened.
Madeline Baker Lee was the first one down the stairs.
She wore a sharp, tailored charcoal gray suit, hair pinned back perfectly, Hermès bag in hand.
Even just walking down airplane steps, she projected pure "I'm here to inspect the troops" energy.
Philip trailed behind in a suit, dragging two suitcases like a dutiful assistant.
Raphael couldn't help laughing at the sight.
Madeline reached the bottom. Raphael walked over and pulled her into a big hug.
"Mom."
She patted his back, then stepped back to look him over.
"You got even more handsome!"
Raphael laughed out loud.
"Dear Madeline, if I'm the most handsome guy in Hollywood, then you're the mother of the most handsome guy in Hollywood—aka the hottest mom!"
Madeline laughed too.
She linked arms with him as they headed for the exit.
"Come on, take me to see this… what's it called? Space opera?"
Raphael corrected her gently.
"Star Wars."
"Right, Star Wars." She nodded. "Sounds childish anyway. All those space movies are."
Raphael: "…"
The car headed toward Manhattan.
Madeline grilled him the whole ride—his life, the tabloid girlfriends, Fast & Furious 2 & 3 filming, Star Wars promo—nothing was off-limits.
Raphael answered everything, feeling a quiet warmth.
In his last life he'd been a left-behind kid, raised by grandparents. He could barely remember what his parents looked like.
This life? Having a mom like this? Pretty damn good.
The car pulled up to the hotel.
Madeline glanced at the facade and nodded.
"Not bad. Not too shabby."
Philip muttered under his breath.
"Mom, this is one of the best hotels in New York."
Madeline shot him a look.
"I know. I've stayed here before."
Philip shut up.
Raphael walked them to their rooms and paused at the door.
"Mom, rest up. There's a cast dinner tonight—I have to go."
Madeline nodded.
"Go. Don't worry about me. If I need anything, I'll find Philip."
Raphael left.
August 16th, evening.
Outside the Ziegfeld Theatre, the street was a madhouse.
Fans, reporters, cameras—everything jammed tight. A massive Star Wars poster hung on the wall: Anakin's back to Padmé, the tagline bold underneath:
A Jedi shall not know anger.
Nor hatred.
Nor love.
The red carpet stretched from the doors to the curb. Security lined both sides, arms linked to hold back the crowd.
Raphael sat in the stretch limo, watching through the tinted window.
Philip was beside him.
"Mom here?"
"Yeah. Came in through the VIP entrance—no red carpet. Said she didn't want the hassle of photographers."
Raphael nodded.
He glanced down at his Jedi robes—brown coarse-weave tunic, wide belt, black boots.
The stylist had spent half an hour getting it just right.
"Look okay?"
Philip eyed him.
"Better than Ewan."
"Ewan would punch you if he heard that."
"He's not here."
They shared a grin.
A knock on the window. A staffer leaned in.
"Raphael Lee—red carpet time!"
Raphael took a deep breath and stepped out.
The second he appeared, the screams nearly knocked him over.
"Raphael!!!"
"Anakin!!!!"
He smiled, waved, and started walking.
Halfway down, he stopped to sign a few autographs and pose for cameras.
Natalie was already at the center of the carpet.
She wore a stunning gold gown, hair in Padmé's signature elaborate style, carrying that regal, queenly smile.
She looked unreal.
When she spotted him coming, she extended her hand.
Raphael took it. They stood together facing the flashing lights.
The cameras went insane.
"Over here!"
"Raphael, closer!"
"Natalie, smile!"
They posed—deep gazes, shared smiles, hands linked.
Reporters snapped until their fingers cramped.
After a full ten minutes, Raphael let go.
"My mom's inside."
Natalie nodded.
"I know. Go be with her. I can finish the walk alone."
Raphael looked at her.
"You sure?"
"Positive."
She smiled. "I'm Queen Amidala. Queens always make the grand entrance."
Raphael laughed.
He turned and headed toward the theater entrance.
Behind him, the flashes kept going.
Inside, the lobby was packed—suits, gowns, champagne trays, laughter, chatter.
Raphael had barely stepped in when a crowd swarmed.
"Mr. Lee! I'm a producer at Sony—got a minute?"
"Raphael, Variety—quick question?"
"Mr. Lee, I'm an indie producer—I've got a script that's perfect for you—"
He smiled politely, nodding, making small talk, but his eyes scanned the room.
In the back corner of the auditorium, Madeline sat chatting with the man next to her.
George Lucas.
Raphael walked over.
"Mom."
Madeline looked up and smiled.
"You're here."
She eyed the robes. "Better than I expected."
George chuckled beside her.
"Mrs. Baker just told me she thinks the movie sounds like a space opera after I explained the plot."
Raphael stared at George.
"You spoiled it for her?"
George looked innocent.
"She asked. I told."
Madeline patted Raphael's hand.
"It's fine. Spoilers or not, I'm here to support my son."
Raphael sighed.
"Mom, stay put. I'm going to get someone."
He turned and headed back toward the entrance.
Outside, Natalie was still on the carpet doing interviews—poised, elegant, talking to reporters.
Raphael stopped at the edge of the carpet and watched her for a second.
Natalie caught sight of him in her peripheral vision and paused.
The reporters noticed too.
"Raphael's back!"
"What's he doing?"
Raphael walked straight over and extended his hand to her.
"Your Majesty. May I escort you inside?"
Natalie laughed softly and placed her hand in his.
The crowd erupted again.
"He came back for her!"
"So gentlemanly!"
"That's a real Jedi move!"
Natalie squeezed his hand and whispered.
"You did that on purpose?"
Raphael's mouth curved.
"Mmhmm."
Natalie laughed quietly.
They walked inside together.
The lobby was buzzing.
Raphael had barely stepped through when another wave of people surrounded him.
"Mr. Lee! Sony Pictures producer—can we chat?"
"Raphael, quick question for Variety?"
"Mr. Lee, indie producer here—script tailor-made for you—"
He smiled, polite but firm, nodding as he gently steered Natalie through the crowd toward the auditorium.