Author's Note: Thank you for your enthusiastic response to this story and all your reviews for Chapter 3. I appreciate the follows and favorites as well.
This chapter is Peeta's point-of-view of the same day in Chapter 3.
Thanks to jeeno2 and ILoveRynMar for always being there to read my rantings and calm me down.
(Peeta)
Peeta's Wednesday morning begins exactly as most of his other mornings do. The alarm sounds at 5:30; he hits the snooze button exactly once, and the second time the bleating buzz interrupts his dozing, he smacks it and rises from the bed. Glimmer barely stirs, her black satin eye mask firmly in place.
He pulls on his gym shorts and a t-shirt, locates a pair of clean sweat socks, laces up his running shoes and makes his way through the darkened house, letting himself out the front door, hearing the lock click behind him. He pauses on the driveway and bends down to grab his foot, pulling his leg up to stretch his quad muscles. After repeating the process with his other leg, he does a few quick lunges before he sets off up the street, the rhythmic slap of his sneakers on the pavement the only sound in the early dawn, save for a few sporadic chirps of the early-rising birds.
Of course, there is a marked difference to this morning. It's not every morning one wakes up a millionaire.
At least, he assumes he—no, they—are millionaires. He has yet to hear how many winning tickets hit, but he knows there is at least one locked in the safe of his home office. He also assumes even if there are multiple winning tickets, the sheer size of last night's jackpot means a decent haul regardless.
It all still seems a little surreal, he thinks, as he turns the corner and increases his pace slightly.
He and Glimmer had very different reactions when it became apparent that the numbers on their ticket indeed matched those on the screen.
Glimmer's high-pitched, elated squeals of joy could have shattered the Waterford crystal tumblers on the wet bar. She bounced around the room like a gleeful toddler, happier than Peeta had seen her in weeks. She had immediately reached for her phone and screeched that she had to call Clove.
Peeta put a stop to that right away.
It was not an easy task to calm Glimmer down or to convince her why shouting this news to the world—which is what would have been accomplished if she told Clove Snow—is not imminently a good thing. Fortunately, Peeta has always been level-headed, logical, and able to keep himself calm and collected under pressure—the exact opposite of his wife. After much persuasion, he managed to explain to Glimmer why this should stay between them for the moment. She pouted but reluctantly agreed.
He did not mention Katniss Everdeen or the promise he made her. He simply locked the ticket in the vault and encouraged Glimmer to come to bed. In spite of her feverish excitement, she rebuffed his advances again when he suggested celebrating and positioned her eye mask into place, rolling onto her side as she turned off her bedside lamp.
Peeta had opted to stay awake, trying to lose himself in a John LeCarré spy novel, but it was futile. His mind was reeling a mile a minute, and he could not keep it from repeatedly trying to land on thoughts of Katniss Everdeen. He had given up on his book around quarter to one and lain awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to his wife's shallow breathing and occasional snores. Glimmer has long denied she is a snorer, but Peeta knows she would be appalled if he ever recorded her.
This morning, as he jogs, he finds he is still unable to keep a clear mind. The enormity of the simple, innocent offer that he made Katniss yesterday at the diner weighs on his soul like an anchor, tugging at his conscience. He never thought in a million years the ticket would win anything. The odds were astronomical. He truly thought he'd be returning to the diner, a twenty-dollar bill in hand, offering the generous tip to Katniss with an additional invitation to have dinner at Thirteen-12. He'd even planned to encourage her to bring a guest; a friend or a date, whichever she preferred because Peeta didn't have any knowledge of the status of Katniss's personal life. The lack of a wedding band on her finger told him she wasn't married, but for all he knew she could still be dating Gale Hawthorne. The guy clearly had it bad for her in high school. Almost as badly as I did, he thinks pathetically.
Peeta has always been a man of his word. A promise is a promise, and he does not intend to break the one he made to Katniss. A smile breaks out on his face, slowing his pace as he crests the small hill in front of the local elementary school. He thinks of how much her life is going to change with the gift he is about to bestow upon her.
The smile vanishes just as quickly when he remembers this is Katniss Everdeen. She has never been one to accept anything from anyone. He recalls her exact words to him yesterday morning after he proposed the idea for his tip: I don't need your charity.
A knot forms in his stomach as he realizes that is exactly what Katniss will think the winnings are now. Charity. He hopes she doesn't fight him on splitting the ticket.
Suddenly, he is jogging around the corner of his own road, and he realizes he has been running and letting his thoughts ramble for nearly twenty minutes, the amount of time it generally takes him to make the three-point-eight mile route through his sub-division. He approaches his driveway and hunches over slightly to allow his breathing to return to its normal rate, inhaling and exhaling deeply several times. Sweat slithers down his temples, running down the sides of his cheeks in rivulets and dripping onto the pavement. He stretches again and strides up the driveway, punching in the access code on the garage keypad and slipping underneath the door as soon as it elevates sufficiently.
He needs to see Katniss, he decides as he enters the house, wondering what time the diner opens. A quick glance at the microwave clock tells him it's now quarter after six. The diner could open at six, but he knows for sure it will be open by seven. He could easily stop by under the pretense of heading to Thirteen-12 earlier than usual. There is always plenty to do at the restaurant to justify an early arrival, and with Finnick out, he reasons it's more likely that he'd need to put in a few extra hours.
The sight that greets him in the breakfast nook takes him by surprise. Glimmer is seated at the table, her MacBook open in front of her. Her hair is in a messy knot atop her head, and she is still in her pajamas, but her eyes are glued to the screen, scanning back and forth rapidly.
Glimmer is not an early riser by any means. When Peeta leaves for work, she is usually still cocooned under the covers, eye mask shielding her from the slants of sunlight peeking through the blinds, barely conscious enough to grunt a goodbye when he heads to the restaurant around nine. He knows she usually rolls out of bed around ten and heads to her Pilates class at eleven.
So to see her sitting at the table, awake and reasonably alert well before seven a.m, it's slightly jarring.
"Hey," he nods, opening the fridge to grab a water. He presses the cold bottle against his forehead briefly before twisting off the lid and taking a long swig.
"Hi," she replies absently, eyes still fixed on the screen.
"What are you doing up?"
Her eyes narrow and something close to irritation, perhaps even anger, sparks in them. "You're fucking kidding me," she hisses through clenched teeth. Peeta raises an eyebrow at her and leans against the small island counter.
"What?"
"Twenty-six winning tickets. Twenty-fucking-six winning tickets!" She pushes back the chair roughly and throws her hands up. "Just our luck!"
"Glim, what are you talking about?" He takes another sip of water and watches her pace back and forth beside the kitchen table.
"185 million dollars and there are twenty-six winning tickets!"
"How do you know that?" he asks, though he suspects she has been trolling the internet for lottery information since he left on his run. It's blatantly clear what got her out of bed this early.
"It's online. A big article. Lottery officials announce there were twenty-six tickets that hit nationally."
He shakes his head incredulously. "And you're upset about that?"
She lurches for the iPhone beside the laptop. "What's 185 divided by 26?" Her fingers quickly enter her password and Peeta sees the screen light up as Glimmer brings up the calculator. She purses her lips and her mouth tugs down in a frown as the number pops up. "Seven-point-one." The pacing begins again. "Seven-point-one." She exhales and shakes her head and mutters something indecipherable under her breath.
"You can't possibly be upset over the amount that we won," he says quietly. "That's a lot of money, Glimmer. It's actually kind of nice that so many people are going to share in it."
She rolls her eyes. "It's just my luck that the time I have a winning lottery ticket, half of America seems to have a winning lottery ticket."
He finishes the water and sets the empty bottle on the counter. "We were lucky to have a winning ticket. Do you know how many people held their breath last night, waiting for those numbers, only to realize their ticket was a loser again? How many people will never hold anything but a losing ticket?" He sighs and works his fingers through his damp, sweaty curls. "You can't possibly be that selfish right now."
But she doesn't hear the warning shot he fires in her direction. Her bare feet pad against the tile floor as she continues to walk back and forth. "Seven million. Seven million." She chants the two words like a mantra before turning to face him. "We can live on seven million, right?"
We can live on less than seven million, he thinks to himself. Like maybe three-and-a-half million?
He knows he should tell her and tell her now. The longer he prolongs dropping the bomb that he has promised half their winnings to another woman, the worse he fears her reaction will be. He also knows Glimmer will instantly be suspicious of the woman, and therefore he can't very well present Katniss as more than a casual acquaintance.
His loyalty should really be to his wife, however tenuous their marriage is at the moment; it's their money, and she deserves to know.
But then, he's always had a weakness for Katniss Everdeen.
"Peeta?"
"Yeah, we can live on that," he replies quietly. "Most people live on far less than that, Glim."
She nods and crosses to the computer, snapping the lid closed without shutting it down. He sighs; he's reminded her time and time again she's going to damage the laptop by doing that, but she never seems to listen.
He walks towards her and slides his arms around her waist, intending to draw her in for a reassuring hug, but she makes a face and pushes him away. "Ew, you're all sweaty."
"I sweat when I run. Most people do," he says, reaching out to run his thumb along the curve of her jaw before pressing his lips lightly along the same path. "C'mon upstairs with me. Join me in the shower. You can help me get un-sweaty."
She wrinkles her nose and twists her pretty face into another mask of disgust. "I'm going back to bed." His stomach sinks and he flushes with embarrassment that she has rejected his advances yet again.
She doesn't notice, of course. As she turns and moves to leave the kitchen to head for the stairs, he calls after her. "I meant what I said last night, Glimmer." There is an edge to his voice, and he knows his frustration with her is manifesting itself in spite of his best efforts to remain composed. "Don't tell anyone we have one of the winning tickets yet. There are a lot of things that need to be considered before we go public. You understand?"
"I told you I wouldn't say a word. You don't believe me?" She leans against the doorframe between the kitchen and foyer; her posture and the gleam in her eyes seem to be challenging him to goad him into a fight.
"I believe you," he replies quietly, stalking past her to climb the stairs. He heads for the shower without another word spoken.
She is sound asleep, blinds still drawn, eye mask back in place when he finishes showering and dressing ten minutes later. He walks calmly to the windows and yanks on the cord, slanting the blinds upward and letting the early morning sunlight flood the bedroom.
It's nearly ten a.m. before Peeta finally pulls into the parking lot of Cray's Time to Eat. The foul mood that Glimmer had lifted in him before he left was only further exacerbated by the chain of events that transpired from the moment he pulled out of his driveway.
It's a fairly short drive from their house to the restaurant, but since Peeta intended to go see Katniss first, he had made a left out of his driveway rather than his usual right, heading north. The slight detour, coupled with his distracted state of mind from his interaction with his wife and the anticipation of seeing Katniss, caused him to blow right through the stop sign at the intersection.
He had completely missed it. Unfortunately for him, the cop who had been idling on the side street perpendicular to his road did not. The red and blue lights had flashed instantaneously and Peeta had cursed under his breath as he pulled to the side of the road and reached to the console for his wallet.
As he had done the previous day, he had left it at home. Strike two.
When the officer had politely asked for his license and registration, Peeta had opened the glove compartment where he kept the registration and handed it over, preparing to explain his dilemma with his license. The cop had taken one glance down at the registration card and smiled wryly, informing Peeta the registration had expired.
He vaguely recalled having asked Glimmer to mail in the registration renewal that he had filled out a few weeks earlier. Whether the registration had gotten lost in the mail or Glimmer had never sent it off, he couldn't say.
The cop was nice enough, but the whole situation earned Peeta a lovely citation and a collective fine of $1,145 for no license, no registration and running the stop sign. That stung, and Peeta could not help but note with some dry amusement how much angrier he would be if not for that other ticket in his safe.
After turning around and going back home to retrieve his license, he had shaken Glimmer awake and asked her about the missing registration. She snapped at him for disturbing her sleep and replied that she was "pretty sure" she had mailed the requested envelope. Peeta ignored her request to close the blinds, grabbed his wallet off his dresser and went back downstairs.
The household finances are Peeta's responsibility. He isn't even sure if Glimmer knows how to pay a bill or check their account balances; she is however good at spending money. But typically when he gives Glimmer even a menial task, she manages to complete it without incidence.
He had spent nearly an hour tearing apart his office looking for any sign of the registration renewal, and it was well after eight-thirty by the time he found it, buried beneath a stack of resumes he had brought home the other night from which to cull candidates for Annie's maternity leave. Seething, he jammed the envelope in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and grabbed the resumes.
A thoroughly infuriating hour at the Motor Vehicles Commission had followed. He had finally managed to persuade the nasty teller to issue him a temporary registration, though she steadfastly refused to take the renewal envelope and mail it for him.
He locks his car and walks towards the diner's front doors. The thought of seeing Katniss lifts his spirits considerably as he steps inside, eyes scanning the crowded diner for her familiar braid and slim figure.
"Help you?" The grizzled old man peers at him over the rim of his glasses, scowl on his creased face.
"Ah, yeah, I'm actually looking for one of your waitresses."
"My girls aren't here to socialize, they're here to work. Have a seat or you can wait til she gets off later."
"Um, okay," he replies uncertainly, taken aback by Cray's rudeness. He feels sorry for Katniss having to work for and answer to this asshole. "Could I be seated in Katniss's section, then, please?"
Cray lets out a ragged bark of a laugh and his eyes twinkle almost cruelly. "Katniss don't work here anymore."
Peeta allows the news to sink in, his mind racing. How? Why? She certainly worked here yesterday. Had she seen the numbers? He wonders if it's possible that she sat in front of her own television last night, his business card between her slender fingers, studying the numbers he had written there for her. The timing is suspicious, to say the least.
"You looking for Katniss?"
He turns to his left and sees the same petite woman with the spiky brown hair that he had observed Katniss chatting with yesterday while he and Finnick had waited to place their orders.
"Yes, actually, I am," he smiles at the girl, and she gives him a pointed look.
"She doesn't work here anymore."
"So he said," Peeta replies, nodding at the owner, who has turned his attention back to his Sudoku puzzle but is obviously watching their exchange not-so-discreetly. "What happened? Did she quit?"
"You'd have to ask Katniss yourself," the girl shrugs.
"Listen…" he trails off.
"Johanna," she supplies impatiently.
"Johanna," he smiles winsomely. He knows he can be charming when he has to, and right now, he needs information.
This girl doesn't appear to be buying it though. She eyes him dubiously.
"Mason, get back to work," Cray snaps.
"If you have an open table, I'll sit. I'll order a cup of coffee so we can talk. It will just take a minute of your time. I promise."
Her eyes look him up and down, scrutinizing him, her face contemplative. "Cray, I'm seating Table Fourteen," she announces, jerking her head to indicate to Peeta that he should follow her. "You bring money today?" she smirks over her shoulder.
Peeta reddens slightly. "She told you about that, huh?"
"It's why you're here, isn't it. You told her you'd come back." She sweeps her arm to the two-person booth in a mocking gesture and Peeta takes a seat. "I'll go grab you coffee."
Peeta doesn't even drink coffee that often, but he's acquired a daily need for caffeine being in the restaurant business. He and Finnick often grab something stronger in the morning, lattes or espressos, but he sincerely doubts an establishment like Cray's has anything more than brewed black coffee. He considers stopping Johanna and asking for tea, but he thinks better on it.
She's back within a few moments with an urn of coffee that issues a steady stream of steam from the spout. "Fresh for you, Blondie."
He reaches for one creamer. "Thanks," he says, stirring the ribbon of white into the dark liquid.
"So you want me to give Katniss a message or something?"
"I actually need to talk to her."
"If this is about her tip, Blondie, I think she'll live without a couple of extra dollars. Katniss isn't a big fan of handouts, even if this one was an earned handout."
"It's, uh, a little more than that," he replies, taking a sip of the coffee. It's bitter this morning, and he grabs a sugar, even though he usually doesn't take it in his coffee or his tea. "Do you know how I can get in touch with her?"
Johanna narrows her hazel eyes at him. "I don't know anything about you other than you went to high school with Katniss and you've got some fancy restaurant. For all I know you could be some kind of serial killer. You expect me to give you her personal information? You think she'd want me to do that?"
"It's pretty important that I speak with her, Johanna. Please."
She sighs and rips a piece of paper off her notepad, her left hand scrawling across the page quickly before thrusting the paper at him. "This is her cell phone number. Don't make me regret it. I know you're married. You better not be fucking with her."
He's stunned by her blunt accusation. He licks his dry lips and swallows, trying not to think about what she is implying. "I'm not interested in Katniss that way," he says softly, leaving the still-full coffee cup on the table and rising to stand. He pulls his billfold from his pocket and removes a ten-dollar bill. "Like I said, I just need to speak with her. Thanks for the number. I promise you won't regret it." He lays the bill on the table and gives her a polite smile as he strides towards the front of the diner and listens to the bell jingle his departure as the door swings shut behind him as he heads to his restaurant.
He accomplishes a lot at work before they open for lunch at 11:30, though not as much as he would have had he gotten in as early as he had hoped to. He gets the schedule created for next week, narrows down Annie's temporary replacement down to three candidates—one of whom, Lavinia, already works as a hostess in the evenings—and begins entering payroll into the books. Finnick is generally the business end of things; he has a degree in finance and a minor in business management, so when Peeta had the idea for Thirteen-12, Finnick jumped at the chance to go in with him.
When Peeta's grandfather had passed away eight years ago, the Mellark family learned at the reading of his will that the old man had set up trusts for all three of his grandsons. He had invested well over the years and lived moderately, thus giving Peeta and his brothers a sizeable inheritance on each one's twenty-first birthday. Grant was already 22 at that point, and he used a large portion of his money for a lavish engagement ring for Charys, a ridiculously ostentatious wedding (their mother still complains it was the bride's parents' responsibility to foot the bill, not Grant's) and a two-week honeymoon in Fiji. They used the rest as a down payment on a house. As far as Peeta knows, Kiernan has yet to touch his.
And Peeta happily put his towards a restaurant and secured a small loan for the remaining capital needed. He proposed the idea to Finnick, who eagerly agreed to enter a partnership. Finnick was actually the one who found the building for lease and commissioned the interior decorator.
Thirteen-12 has been thriving in recent months, and it's a daunting task that Peeta will be without his best friend for the next few weeks while he enjoys his paternity leave. He already hasn't been in the kitchen nearly as much as he would like to be. Cooking is still his first passion and why he dreamed of opening a restaurant of his own in the first place.
The day goes by rapidly. The lunch rush carries well into early afternoon, and before Peeta realizes it, his night shift employees begin trickling in. He manages to get into the kitchen for a bit, putting the finishing touches on the soup he created for the evening's menu, a creamy artichoke and parmesan soup with shallots and garlic.
A little after seven o'clock, he finally locks his and Finnick's office, sticking his head into the smaller office set aside for the assistant managers-they have two-to bid farewell to Thom, who will close the restaurant down tonight.
Sliding into the driver seat of his G37, he revs the engine to life and sits motionless for a few minutes. Reaching into the breast pocket of his dress shirt, he studies the tight, cramped handwriting and begins to memorize Katniss's cell phone number.
He sighs and rubs at his eyes with his palms, lowering the sun visor as he backs out of his parking space behind the restaurant and guides the car down the narrow alley that leads to the main road. He is irritated that he was not able to speak with Katniss before having to face Glimmer. They are going to have to come forward and claim their share of the lotto winnings, and Glimmer won't be able to keep her mouth shut for long, no matter how vociferous she was about her own promise. Things have a tendency to slip her mind, especially where money is concerned.
He cringes to think how she is going to react when she realizes that the seven million dollars she pouted over that morning is actually half that amount. He envisions a lot of screaming and perhaps a few things thrown in his direction.
On a whim, he presses the phone button on his steering wheel and the blue-tooth device's familiar click alerts him that the call is connecting. It rings several times before she picks up.
He proposes meeting for dinner at Origins; its not one of his favorite places—there are far better restaurants within a thirty-mile radius—but Glimmer loves to be seen there, and he has the furtive hope that if he plies her with Asian Pear Mojitos and coconut curry shrimp, it might lessen the blow that he is giving away half their winnings. It's also a very quiet, very zen type of restaurant, and he thinks even Glimmer will have to restrain herself no matter how angry she gets to avoid causing a scene. He knows how concerned his wife is with appearances, and he hopes to use that to his advantage.
Her squeal pierces the car's speakers and after she tells him she will see him in an hour, the call disconnects before he can voice a protest to meet sooner.
Unsure of how to kill sixty minutes-Origins is just around the corner from Thirteen-12-he circles the block for a few rounds before finding an open meter, where he proceeds to park his car. He heads into the restaurant and finds a seat at the bar, ordering a Stella when he doesn't find any other acceptable beers on tap. He nurses the pint for the better part of the hour, periodically checking his iPhone for basketball scores and reading his email.
Glimmer still hasn't arrived at half past eight, and so he orders another beer and opens the news app on his phone. The third article down proclaims multiple winners in the PowerBall lotto drawing from last night. His fingers wander to his shirt pocket again, unfolding the crease of paper that bears Katniss's phone number. His other hand drums on the bar as he contemplates calling her.
Deciding it might be more appropriate to text her and put the ball in her court, he types out a message, deletes it, types a second message and rereads it twice.
Peeta: Hey its Peeta. Was hoping we could meet up soon to talk. Stopped by Crays this am to see you but your friend Johanna said you didnt work there anymore. Hope everythings ok.
He skims the message a third time and taps the screen to insert his last name after the 'Peeta.' Not that she would know any other Peetas; he just reasons that it sounds more business-like to have his full name there. And then he rethinks it and takes it out.
He hits send.
"There you are," Glimmer's voice purrs in his ear. She's already acting differently, he notes wryly upon hearing her seductive tone. He quickly slips his phone into his pocket, crumpling up the paper and tossing it near his empty pint glass.
"Hey." He turns on his chair and gives his wife a terse smile. She's clearly spent the last ninety minutes primping; she looks as if she is ready for a night on the town rather than a quiet dinner at an upscale restaurant. He settles his bill at the bar and brushes a quick kiss to Glimmer's cheek. "You look beautiful."
"Thanks," she smiles haughtily and raises her chin. "Is our table ready?"
"It was probably ready thirty minutes ago," he replies. "I told them eight o'clock."
Her blue eyes flash darkly. "Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me I'm late?"
Peeta heaves a sigh and threads his fingers through her right hand as they near the hostess. So much for a new and improved Glimmer. "Don't start with me, Glim. This is supposed to be a nice evening out."
"You started it," she hisses almost inaudibly, but he hears the accusation nonetheless.
The pretty young hostess escorts them to a very private table in the rear corner of the restaurant, and Peeta holds the chair out for Glimmer, who settles herself in the seat and immediately reaches for her purse, where her iPhone has emitted a loud ping.
"No phones tonight, Glimmer," he pleads, sliding into his own chair and giving the hostess a smile when she hands him the menu.
"But it's probably Clove," she whines. "She wants to do a different class at the gym tomorrow. I have to answer her."
"You can answer her later. I think she'll be fine. We need to talk about the money."
Glimmer's eyes light up. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't talk about it, Peeta," she begins, unfolding her napkin into her lap, "but when my mother called today-"
"You told your mother?" He wishes he could say he is surprised that she couldn't keep her mouth shut in spite of his repeated requests to stay quiet. But he supposes he can't be too upset with Glimmer for confiding in her mother. The two women are very close, Glimmer being an only child, and there is virtually nothing his wife doesn't tell his mother-in-law.
"I had to," she sniffs, eyes cast down at her menu. "I can't keep something like that from her."
He nods and lets it go, studying his own menu; nothing sounds appealing tonight, and his stomach is queasy and unsettled, no doubt as a result of what he will tell his wife momentarily.
Their waiter arrives to take their drink order and share the night's specials. As Peeta predicted, Glimmer orders an Asian Pear Mojito, and he knows it will be the first of several. He declines another drink, opting to stick with water for the duration of the evening. As much as he wants to numb himself with alcohol, he needs a clear head now.
"Mother said we should consult a lawyer before we do anything else."
"That's probably a wise idea," he agrees. "There are a number of things we are going to need to think about, Glim. We'll have to decide if we want to take the lump sum payment or if we want the annual payments, for starters."
"We do whichever gets us the bigger payout, duh," she laughs. He shakes his head as a warning as he sees their waiter approaching with Glimmer's drink, hoping she understands to stop talking about the money until they've placed their dinner orders and they are alone again. Fortunately, she takes the hint and once the waiter departs the table again, Peeta inhales deeply and braces himself for the revelation.
"So, Glimmer," he starts, his pulse quickening and his stomach somersaulting, "there's something I need to tell you about the money." He reaches for her hand and lightly caresses the back of it with his thumb. There is suspicion in her kohl-lined blue eyes, but she doesn't say anything.
"You see, ah, I kind of made a promise to someone and it has to do with our lottery ticket."
Her eyes narrow.
"I was at breakfast with Finnick yesterday morning and I kind of had forgotten my wallet. And I really don't know what possessed me to do this, but I made the waitress an offer." He pauses, searching his wife's face for any reaction, however miniscule. She gives him nothing. "I told the waitress that I would share whatever the lottery ticket won with her."
As the words leave Peeta's mouth, he watches the indignation mount in Glimmer's eyes and her mouth twist into an oval of disbelief.
"You did what?" she asks, teeth clenched. Her fingers grip the edge of the table in front of her.
Peeta sighs. The volcano is simmering, and it is only a matter of moments before a full-blown eruption is upon him. "You have to understand, Glimmer, I never thought the ticket would win anything. The waitress thought I was crazy too. She said I might as well leave her nothing. So I explained—"
"You're. Telling. Me," she interrupts, enunciating each word deliberately in a restrained hiss, "that you are giving half our money to a fucking stranger? To some white-trash woman who works in a fucking diner?"
"Katniss isn't white-trash," he spits, and he regrets the immediacy with which he corrects her.
"Oh, you know her name? What the fuck, Peeta? What the have you done?"
"Keep your voice down!" He's vaguely aware that her voice is rising with each outburst, and soon she will be outright shrieking. He also knows she is livid; Glimmer is not prone to swearing, but she cusses like a sailor when she is angry.
"Who does that, Peeta? Who tries to tip a waitress with a stupid lottery ticket?"
"It wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't won," he shoots back. "You have to believe me, Glimmer, I figured I'd be going back to that diner this morning with a couple of twenties to settle the bill and give her a generous tip for her kindness. She didn't charge me for the meal when I explained about my wallet."
"How very charitable of her," Glimmer says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You can't tell me you really thought we'd ever win anything, yesterday or any day! No one does! The odds are just so ridiculously stacked against winning—"
"But we did win. And so did twenty-six other people, and now you expect me to just let you give half of our money away to some girl you met in a diner?"
"I made a promise, Glimmer," he says quietly.
"There are times when you don't have to be so fucking noble, Peeta. This is one of them."
"What are you saying?"
"Tell me you didn't tell this waitress about the ticket yet. We can still fix this, Peeta."
"I haven't seen her since yesterday," he replies honestly, thinking of the text message he sent, and the urge to look at his phone and see if she's answered him is suddenly overwhelming. But he said no phones. Shit.
"So she doesn't know," Glimmer says slowly.
Peeta shakes his head. "She could, I don't know. I wrote the numbers on one of my business cards for her. I don't know if she took me seriously enough to check the numbers."
"Then fix this," she orders, her voice icy. "No one can really expect you to keep your stupid promise, Peeta. This is unprecedented. Go back to that diner and give the nice little waitress a hundred bucks or something and we can put this behind us."
"It's not that simple, Glimmer."
"Yes, actually, Peeta, it is." Her tone is clipped.
"I'm not breaking my promise," he says quietly.
"If I tell you it's your stupid promise or me you will." A cruel smile curls onto her pink-painted lips as she drains the last of her mojito.
Peeta's stomach clenches and his throat constricts. He knows she's bluffing, and he doubts Glimmer will ever be the one to pull the trigger on their marriage, especially not now with so much riding on their shared assets.
But it unnerves him that if it isn't just an empty ultimatum, he can't be certain which he would choose.
A/N-I'd like to take a moment to encourage readers to head over to AO3 and read the wonderful gift I was given for the HungerGamesExchange's Spring Fling. It's called To Protect and to Serve, and it's brilliant. To my wonderful gifter, if you read this, I am still in awe. There are also many other awesome stories there, including six that I betaed and one that I wrote...which I will eventually post here. Authors are revealed Friday. Many thanks to the cool ladies, Angylinni and sabaceanbabe who moderated and ran the whole shebang. Merci, gals.
As always, thank you for reading, and I welcome your thoughts and comments! I answer every review. :)