Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins
Actually, we are very young to be getting married. Only eighteen, and fresh out of the Revolution, when I said yes I just followed my instinct, but now I understand why.
We had danced too close to death too many times to count. How many times was one of us trying to sacrifice our own lives to save the other? How many times would we almost be separated for good? How many times would both of us have to almost meet with death for us to realize that every minute with each other counts? Now that the Revolution is over, we don't know if we'll get to live the full span of our expected lifetimes, or if we'll be buried young. There were many instants when I wondered if I would even get to be buried at all. But we do know that we shouldn't waste time, because both our lives could end at any moment. Not everyone was in favor of the Revolution, and we're sure there are probably many who were suppressed who are just looking for the perfect opportunity to take out the infamous Mockingjay and her Lover Boy.
I don't know what to expect when I walk inside, but the expression on Peeta's face tells me he's in on it. Traitor.
The Mellarks - Peeta's parents - are all gathered around my large white leather couch. I take in the smell of warm, fresh bread. Peeta's mother looks none too enthusiastic, but his father regards me with the warmth in which he has always welcomed me and my sister.
"What's going on?" I ask as my mother, Prim, and Peeta's parents all shout "Congratulations!" simultaneously.
"Oh, honey, we're just so happy for you two!" My mother says, wrapping me in a hug.
I look at Peeta accusatively. "Did you know about this?"
He shrugs. "Well, I had to tell my mother so I could get the ring, and I had a feeling my father would come up with something like this."
I smile sheepishly. "So you knew I would say yes?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I hoped you would." He smiles shyly back at me.
He puts his arm around my waist as he guides me toward the kitchen. His father is just lighting a giant sparkling candle by the time we walk in.
"Don't mind me," he says. "I'm just lighting the candle, but Peeta made the cake."
The cake is beautiful. I remember back before my first Hunger Games, when Prim and I would walk by the bakery's display windows and look at all the pretty cakes that we could never afford. One day, Peeta told me that he was the one who frosted the cakes.
"Do you like it?" Peeta asks. The cake is frosted a creamy white, with frosting lace wrapped around it. It's a two-layer cake, topped with a giant frosting replication of my wedding ring.
"I love it!" I exclaim, turning and wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shirt. I can feel his chest moving with soft laughter; he knows I have a thing for food.
"Come on, blow out the candle," he tells me, gently trying to lure me out of the shirt.
I smile as I blow out the candle placed in the center of the frosting ring. Everyone cheers and claps their hands, and Peeta leans down to press his lips to my hair.
The cake, of course, tastes amazing. I giggle as Peeta reaches over and dabs frosting on the tip of Prim's nose. When the "party" is finally over, Peeta walks me upstairs and tucks me into bed. Then he leaves with the rest of his family, who I can still hear talking to my mother and Prim at the front door.
I'm full of joy as I feel the diamond on my ring finger in the darkness. But then something makes me feel a little guilty.
How am I supposed to tell Gale?
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