Our toasting is simple, unlike everything the Capitol planned for our wedding once upon a time. It's just me, Peeta, and the few people we've invited to witness. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. Haymitch and Effie. Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria. Annie and her son. Delly and Thom. The Hawthorne family. And my mother.
I never wanted ceremony. I just want Peeta.
I'm amazed we've managed to keep it a secret. Reporters have hounded us for years, asking for interviews with the Mockingjay, with the man who was hijacked, with the Star Crossed Lovers of District Twelve. My one request, when I finally agreed to marry Peeta, was to keep the press out of it. He smiled and gladly agreed. We didn't send out invitations, just called and asked people to come without even telling them why. I'm almost surprised they all showed up.
We toast the bread together. The hearty raisin and nut bread that Peeta made this morning using his family's recipe. The bread I specifically requested.
"Katniss," Peeta says, holding up the bread, "I fell in love with you when we were five, but I didn't really know you until the Games. Since then, I've learned that you're stubborn, you're a terrible actress, and you love quickly – almost too quickly."
Everyone around me chuckles and I blush.
Peeta shakes his head, a smile on his face. "People call those imperfections, but no, that's the good stuff. I love you because you know what you want and you keep going for it even when people tell you to quit. I love you because you can't hide what you feel. I love you because you love so hard and so strong. I love you because of your scars. I love you because you're Katniss. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."
I didn't plan my vows. Haymitch said, back in Thirteen, that I do better without a script. He's not wrong.
But now I know what to say. I take the bread from Peeta and tear it. "Peeta," I say, "I never wanted to fall in love or get married, but you made me change my mind. You do the things I can't and say the things I won't. You hold me up and keep me safe. You're my rock even when you're unstable yourself. You may not be perfect, but neither am I. I love you because you're Peeta, not because you're perfect, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."
Peeta looks down at me, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. He kisses me once, quickly, then holds out his hand. I place half the bread in it.
As we feed each other our toasting bread, our friends and family sing the traditional Twelve wedding song – some on-key, some off, some who clearly just learned it this morning.
It isn't perfect, but it's the imperfections that make it remarkable.