"Are you sure about these guys? I mean, they're pretty new to the industry."

I gulp, portfolio in hand. If a gut feeling is all I have going for me, my boss isn't buying it.

"A rom-com relies entirely on the chemistry of the actors," he goes on, chin-on-cuff. "If we get the casting wrong - the whole movie's derailed. You are aware of that?"

I am - but you don't think I am.

I try to hide my sigh. "Sir, I am very confident in the actors' ability. I've checked their past work, their personal resumes - it all looks very promising."

"Then test it."

"Huh?"

"Give them the script. Put them on camera."

"With the high level of confidentiality required by the author, sir, we - "

"Just give them small parts." He shrugs at me like the rookie that I am. "You don't have to give them the whole thing - just the main parts. See if the chemistry clicks."

If my producer's giving me the money for that - why not?

"Yes, sir."

THE PORTFOLIO

I should have sensed him coming. Too bad I didn't.

There really is nothing good that can come from these auditions. Katniss Everdeen does not do emotional love-at-first-sight.

"Oomph!" My artwork flies, scatters all over. I cross my fingers no one walks on set and steps on them.

"Excuse me!" he tosses out the words, like it wasn't his fault.

My hands pick up the sheets and canvasses, but my eyes glare at him. It's enough to make him stop, think about it, and crouch down to help. I feel a little proud at how powerful I am in-character.

"I'm really sorry, ma'am," he says. He's clumsy with the papers. I grab some from him, can't have him wrinkled them.

"It's okay," I mumble. I hope he'll drop the subject.

"You, uhm - work for an art studio?" he keeps talking, like he has to.

I shrug. "If waiting for them to sell my art counts."

I didn't mean it to be funny, but he laughs anyway. And when he laughs, I smile a little. We both stand up once everything's back safe in my portfolio bag.

"That sounds fun," he says, smiling. He looks handsome, the way Prim looks pretty, golden-haired and blue-eyed. He also looks familiar.

I shrug. "Right - like, uhm, Wall Street fun, huh?"

"No - no," he corrects me right away. "Like, real fun."

"Real fun?" I don't believe he means all this. He's probably just a flirt, just like all those others. Besides, here he is, playing a flirt too.

"Well, yeah. I mean - " He stops to look at his watch. I feel like I'm not even worth two minutes of his time. "Sorry, I really need to go. Could I, uhm, get your number?"

Is this a trick? I frown at him. I gauge him, the way he stands and everything. He looks sincere.

"Why should I? 'cause you just hit my artwork all over?" I scowl.

"No, no." He laughs. "Just - just because."

I nod a little. I'm thinking.

"Well?" He's beaming at me, smiling like he just won a prize. What a weirdo.

"It sounds like I'm faking this," I clarify, "but - I really don't do this often."

"Right, right - me neither."

I laugh because he expects me to believe that. With that face and that body, why isn't there a line of girls behind him yet? Then again, there probably is.

So I pull out my card and drop it in his pocket. He looks surprised, like no on has ever touched that clean-cut banker suit before.

"Here you go, Wall Street," I snap. "I'll see you around."

I turn the corner as fast as I can.

THE PROPOSAL

It doesn't take me long to get into the character's headspace. I mean, how hard is it to act completely in love with her? It's been so long that I probably don't know how to act like I'm not.

So I shuffle on my knee, getting used to the classic proposal posture.

When I first saw her name on the file, it felt like a lightning bolt had just illuminated my world. This - this is it. This audition is going to be the perfect chance for me to break down her barriers. I'll reach past her defenses and extrapolate the softer version of her that I'm certain is in there.

But then she looked at me on set this morning like I was an alien, an entirely unfamiliar, inconsequential being.

So now the mission is to undo that impression.

"Dad! Please!" Her pretend mom mutters in the closet. It's hilarious how small those spaces are. It's not like we'll ever store real stuff in there.

"Sorry!" Pretend dad replies. I just smile.

Okay, this is it - proposing to the love of my life. Who cares if it's fake?

The door swings open. I smile harder. I run the entire spiel in my mind: I love you. I want to spend forever with you.

"Oh, hey." She greets me with a black eye.

I stand up instantly.

"Ka - what happened?" I drop the box on the coffee table. My ankles almost trip on each other as I scramble over. I know it's just make-up. But it looks real, too real.

"Muggers," she mutters, dropping her keys on the platter.

"Right, of course," I say like an idiot. I wrap my arms around her. "Hey, come over."

She lets me usher her on to the couch. The camera's recording red dot reminds me we're not alone.

"Hey, are you okay?" I press a kiss to her forehead. "I swear, if anyone tries to hurt you - "

"I'm fine," she cuts me off. She's huffing. The standard anger response is growing, flooding her.

I hold her closer. She lets me. For a few precious seconds, we snuggle on the couch.

"You want a drink?" I say in a bit.

She shrugs against my chest. Then she says, "Water would be nice."

"Alright, I'll just - "

"Hey." She grabs me before I even turn. "I, uhm - having you here is nicer."

I frantically remind myself that she's not saying this to me, for real. I squeeze her hand. "Where did it happen?"

She sighs. It tears at me to see her disappointed at herself. "I was bringing a piece over to that cafe place. The muggers, they - "

She gulps forcefully. I shush her softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

I fold her into my arms again. She presses against my chest. I pull her closer, anxious to relieve all the unshed tears I know are pent up inside of her. When she shifts, I shift too - and she's suddenly peeking over my shoulder.

"Mom?"

She pulls away. I turn around, following her line of sight. Oh - right.

"Dad? Amy? What's going on?" She's standing up, searching all over. People - family, friends, colleagues - trickle out into the living space. "Is it my birthday? I mean - I'm pretty sure that already happened two months ago."

I stand, I twist, I reach, I pose - all as fast as my stiff reflexes can manage.

I land on one knee just as she turns around. She looks - calm.

"Trust me - this, uhm, this was - a whole lot more romantic in my mind." I smile at her, because I can't help it.

She opens her mouth to say something.

"Will you marry me?" I ask before she actually does.

Then, miracle of miracles, she's actually smiling. "Yes."

I almost faint when she rushes into my arms, sealing the promise with a long, firm kiss on my lips.

THE PRENUP

The ugly prop pile of crappy paper stares at us for way too long until the directer cries 'action.' I wonder how long exactly we have to be on set today. How many test scenes do they really need?

"So, uhm - ladies first?"

I look up. Right - Peeta's always in character. When he played the rock and I the tree in junior high, he was still as a - rock. He's everyone's golden boy. And the memories haven't stopped coming back since they started this afternoon.

Peeta in the cafeteria, high-fiving with everyone in sight.

Peeta on stage, glowing so hard his rock costume might as well be transparent.

Peeta on stage again, giving his salutatorian speech.

It's so perfect that it's cheesy.

"Ahem," fake lawyer clears his throat. I look up. He's pointing at the ugly pile of crap again where the words 'PRE-NUP' are blazoned on top.

Let's get this over with.

So I say, "You, uhm - you wanna go through it first?"

Peeta looks at me and doesn't say anything. I wonder if there's anything on my face.

"Right," he says after a while.

He reaches out and grabs the pile. He flips through it and studies it like there's actually something on those pages.

"Look," he starts to speak. "I - I don't think - "

"I don't think I need it," we say together, perfectly synchronized. He looks at me like he's proud of me. I feel a little pride myself.

"Sir, madame, I assure you this is for your own benefit," fake lawyer starts babbling in front of us. I don't bother looking at him. Peeta's more handsome, more charming, more magnetic than - "If your families wish for this document to protect you - "

"I don't need it," Peeta throws at his face, while still looking at mine. "She can keep the house, whatever."

I smile.

"But sir - "

"And he can keep the heirlooms," I add.

"I urge you to reconsider." The man sounds frantic across the desk. I keep looking at Peeta. "It's been known that - "

"No," we both say together. We both smile even wider. His lips start making me remember the feeling I had when I kissed him earlier - that jolt of electricity down my spine. It's not supposed to matter, it's all just an act.

But it didn't feel like one.

"Let's go," Peeta ad libs. I realize I'd forgotten that was the end of the scene.

So I just smile at him a little more. "Sure."

THE PROMOTION

The weight on my shoulders feels uncomfortably real. I know it's just an act for her, that we're just actors on a stage. The man tumbling into the make-believe living room right now isn't me, it isn't Peeta. It's just a character in a movie - I know that.

But still, I had wished it mattered to her.

"Honey, is that you?" Her voice travels from the hidden kitchen set.

I smile sarcastically. I guess having her ignore me this morning is just proper payback for thinking her movie persona - the one that had kissed me so enthusiastically and held my hand when we fled the 'law firm' yesterday - had been anywhere close to real.

"Hon?" She follows up.

I groan when she appears.

It's partly because of the script - and party because she looks way too sexy in that tiny red apron. Why didn't they put longer shorts underneath that cloth?

"Hon?"

"Yeah, it's me," I say, a little too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the casting director scribble something.

Oh dear.

Oh well.

"You're home! I've been so excited! I thought that - " Katniss stops halfway towards me. And then she's looking, searching. "Are you - are you okay?"

No, I'm not, I decide.

I put on a small, frail smile. "Yeah. I, uhm - "

"Honey." She's suddenly by my side. I fight the urge to grab her and spin her around. She seriously can't weigh more than 110.

"I, uhm - Gale got the promotion." I remember my lines. I shrug and swallow. "I guess - guess I was wrong to have expected - "

Suddenly, she's kissing me. And, despite the script, I am amazingly surprised.

My hands find her back, slide down, and then lift her by the butt. She wraps her bare legs around me, and I am three seconds close to dying. I spin me - her - us - around and forward. Then I drop us on the couch. I forget who's supposed to be on top because - seriously, how am I supposed to think when her luscious lips are kissing mine, then trailing to my jaw, then sliding to my neck.

I moan, only a little embarrassed to be enjoying this make-out session so much. I've dreamed of her - of the touch of her body since junior high.

Cameras and spotlights be damned, I'm gonna enjoy myself.

"Hmm," she hums, nudging my shirt collar.

I feel myself getting an instant erection. I pray to God she doesn't slide off me anytime soon.

And that's when I remember my lines.

"I'm sorry!" I pull back. She pulls back too.

Her lips look so sexy all swollen.

"I - I - "

She starts kissing me again. I lose all rational thought for another whole minute.

"I'm sorry, I - " I pull back, panting. "I don't - I don't need pity sex, okay?"

She laughs - like, actually laughs. She plants her fists on her hips like she's the boss. "It's never pity from me."

I look at her, mouth agape. I fumble for my words. "Then, uhm - then what?"

"Well." She smirks sinfully. Then she leans in beside my ear. "You happen to be really hot."

I grab her mouth back to mine and kiss her until they yell 'cut' for the third time.

THE PICTURE

The way he's leaning forward looks familiar. I've noticed the way he props his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands before. It hasn't really changed since he was twelve. His beige coat looks particularly light against the dark brown park. Around us, fake trees give the illusion of a park.

"Hey," I say when I'm a few feet away.

He looks up. His blue eyes look both harsh and sad. His gold hair doesn't look particularly golden right now.

He's a really good actor. Even his body obeys him.

"Hey," he says back. I nod lightly.

He slides to make space for me. I sit down. We don't talk for another minute. The director looks like he's ready to yell something.

"For what it's worth," Peeta says beside me. I keep looking straight ahead. "I'm sorry."

The way he says it sounds like it's real, like we're real. I swallow.

Then I feel him nudging my arm. I look at his hand. He's holding a picture of us - my favorite among the supposed engagement photos. I blink really fast.

He starts talking when I take it. "I know I don't look half as good as I did in that picture - but, I mean, that's what engagement photos are for, right? They're, like, proof that we used to look good."

"You still look hot," I say suddenly. I look at him, and I know I've surprised both of us. The script lets me say things I otherwise wouldn't.

He does look hot, to be honest. Fake thirty years in the script don't mean real thirty years in real life. He looks young and handsome and very attractive.

"So do you," he says, and I'm suddenly smiling.

I look down at the picture I'm holding. They did a good job aging it. It's supposed to show two people who are completely in love, who have forgotten how that love because of other people showing up.

"I'm sorry about Gale." I stop, suddenly forgetting what the other name in the script was. Then I realize it probably doesn't matter anyway. I go on, "He's just - "

"No, no, no - I'm sorry," Peeta interrupts me. I look up to see him already looking at me. "My career isn't everything. I know that now."

I nod a little. It's a very small nod, but I know he's seen it.

I lick my lips. "Yeah, it isn't."

His eyes look deeply into mine. I feel scorched, like a lightning rod just hit me, and look away. He looks away too.

I have more courage when I'm not looking at him, so I add to the thought, "You know what is?"

I feel him holding his breath. "Yeah?"

I blink a lot, and then I look back at him. It takes a bit longer, but then he looks straight at me.

I feel the lump in my throat even before I speak. "You."

He doesn't say anything else - the script doesn't say anything else.

But he smiles and he kisses me.

And I realize I still want to kiss him again - and again after they yell 'cut.'