The tree, which we had dragged all the way from the woods back to the house in the Victor's Village, first over the fence, then through the still-ashy streets, had taken us an entire two hours to fit through the door. It now stood in the sitting room, making the furniture look strangely small compared to its massive bulk.
"It looks stupid," I say, with my usual delicacy. The top of the tree was shoved to the side where it brushed the ceiling, and the entire thing has to be tilted diagonally to even fit in the small space.
"It does not," Peeta tells me, bumping my shoulder affectionately. "We just need to decorate it."
I disagree, as the huge fir would probably look even worse with Christmas decorations piled onto it, but I help him drape the tree with garland and a wooden star topper that reminds me of Rue.
When the tree's done, Peeta turns to me, grinning like an idiot. "So, what do you think?" he asks.
I still stand by what I said earlier, but I can't tell him that, so I just shrug. Buttercup slinks into the room, takes one look at the tree that is now occupying his favorite napping spot, and hisses at it.
I turn to Peeta. "See, even the cat agrees with me!" I protest, even though we're now both laughing. "It looks ridicul–"
Peeta interrupts me with mock seriousness. "Katniss Everdeen, if you call that Christmas tree stupid one more time, you're not getting your Christmas present."
He's kidding, but the smile drops from my lips. "Oh, no. You got me a present? But I didn't think – Peeta, I didn't get you anything!" I feel really bad now – it's just like me to forget to give the boy I love a Christmas present.
Peeta smiles like it's okay, which just makes me feel worse. "It's fine," he says. "It's really nothing. I just thought that since, according to the Capitol, it's already happened, it's about time we made it official."
I shake my head, completely lost. "Of course it's not okay. And I don't know what you mean – what about the Capitol?"
Peeta doesn't respond right away, but pulls something from his pocket. Then he kneels down in front of me, holding out a simple golden band. "Katniss Everdeen," he says, "will you marry me?"
This is it. Those six words have haunted me since the War. I have thought what might happen if we got married, how our lives would change. But this is the first time I know the answer to his question, and I voice it without hesitation or reservations.
"Yes," I say. Then, "Oh, and Peeta?" I pull him to his feet and kiss him on the cheek, knowing for certain that I had made the right choice in loving him. "Merry Christmas, my love."
