Author's Note: A GINORMOUS thank you to my beta, katnissinme. She looked this over not once but twice! Her suggestions made me think a little harder and take the fluff factor up a notch. This will be the last chapter of 2012. The holidays make my house an insane asylum and I cannot give my full attention to making this a great story for you guys to enjoy. Happy Holidays to all of you. You have truly made 2012 a wonderful, creative experience for me.
With all the preparations for the wedding my attention is almost diverted from Peeta's absence.
Almost.
Effie has a list of chores for the entire household so we can properly prepare our home for our guests after the wedding. With a day still left, I fear we may scrub the paint off the walls. The woman is meticulous to a fault. After scrubbing the windows and right before lunch, I steal away to the Wheat House. I hope to visit, if only for a moment, with Peeta before his dinner at the Godfrey House that evening.
I walk with hurried steps to the manor and am greeted by Beetee with a smile.
"I'm afraid the lady of the house was not feeling well and is taking an afternoon nap, Miss Everdeen."
"Oh, well, I actually wanted to visit Mr. Mellark, if he is available." I look down at my hands, too embarrassed to meet Beetee's eyes.
"Ah, I see. Well, yes, of course. Mr. Mellark, I believe was expecting you or rather hoping you would call. I was to send you to him if you did," he smiles knowingly at me, "I believe he is in the library."
"Thank you."
I make my way through the quiet hallway and peer into the deserted library. I decide to inquire further to Beetee when I hear humming. It sounds like Peeta. I quietly wind down the narrow hallway and through the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. The humming becomes louder as I come around the corner.
His back is facing me. His linen shirt is half un-tucked from his trousers and flour is dusted up to his elbows. He is kneading dough. I move quietly, entranced by the sight before me.
As if he feels my presence, he turns to face me. "Katniss?"
In that moment I am too focused on the man in front of me, and I trip over a stack of baskets with a loud 'oomph' and fall forward.
I do not travel far; Peeta takes a step forward as his hands on my waist tug me back onto my feet.
My eyes travel slowly up to meet his eyes. His hands remain where they are. His chin moves as if to speak but no sound comes out. All I can see is his cerulean gaze. All I can feel are his curled fingers encompassing the dip in my waist. And all I can hear is the steady thrumming of my pulse.
His fingers flex, gripping harder. "Oh," I whisper.
The sound of a creaking floorboard somewhere in the house prompts him to pull his hands back to his sides.
"Forgive me," he croaks. I nod.
He limps the few steps back to his task. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Honestly? I am attempting to evade Effie. She has kept us all quite busy most of the morning."
He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles, "I bet."
"I was unaware you could bake," I remark teasingly.
"Ah, yes, Sae and her household staff and my family are the only ones who know my secret. Well, and now you also." He smiles again, turning back towards me and leaning against the work surface.
"However did you learn?"
He clears his throat, "Uh…"
"No. I-I'm sorry. That was improper."
"Not at all. Forgive me. I do not mind if you ask me questions, Katniss. I am just a little unsure of how to begin the answer to this one." He bites his bottom lip for a moment, which in turn makes me bite mine.
He sighs, "As punishment when I was a child, my mother would have me sit on a stool in a corner of our kitchen. I was only to emerge at her prompting. However, she often forgot. She went into town daily to buy things and would stay gone for hours on end. Our cook, Miss Portia, would always call me over to help her make things. Her sugar cookies were always my favorite. I was ten when she started teaching me to bake. After my accident, I spent a great deal of time with Miss Portia of my own accord. When my mother discovered that was how I occupied my time, I was lectured on how Mellarks do not cook or bake, as we paid staff to do it for us. Thankfully my father disagreed. He encouraged me, in fact. To appease my mother, I simply kept it to myself." He hangs his head.
I walk over to him, leaning against the table beside him, not knowing what to say. Instead, I try to comfort him with touch. I mimic the grip he has on the edge of the counter, letting my little finger curl around his. His grip tightens and I let out a sigh. "Wait," I suddenly become aware of what he's confessed to me. "You."
"Me?" he asks coyly, the corner of his mouth turning up delectably.
"You made us the sweets."
He smiles fully, "I did."
"Well, you should be aware that my sister demands that this mysterious baker make her wedding cake, Mr. Mellark. Although your invitation to the Godfreys, which I know you are so much looking forward to," he makes a face at me, "may prevent you from granting the wish."
"I shall be pleased to make your dear sister and her groom a cake even after you have called me Mr. Mellark and implied I am excited to be in the company of someone that isn't you. I won't have to lie to leave early now."
"I do not wish to keep you up all hours of the night."
"You wound me. I can do this in my sleep!"
I grin, "Very well then…Peeta." I push myself from the table, saddened by the loss of contact. "I shall see you tomorrow, then."
"Could this be our little secret?" he implores.
"Under lock and key. Oh, and Peeta?"
"Hmm?"
"This means a great deal to me as well." We stare too long at one another before the blush makes it all the way to my ears and I must leave.
When I return home and pull my apron on to assist Effie further, Prim looks strangely at my dress. And then she starts laughing.
"What has gotten into you?"
"Katniss, are those handprints on your waist?" her voice fades into a blubbering laugh.
A flush from my chest up to my hairline flares. I look down. There are the imprints of Peeta's large hands captured in flour splayed across my sides. I quickly brush the powder, smudging it. I glare at Prim.
She attempts to hold in her laughter now, seeing how embarrassed I am. She fails miserably. I hear my mother coming down the hall. "What's so funny in here, Primrose?"
I dash up the stairs before she enters the room.
Even after I've taken a wet cloth and wiped away the remnants of the handprints, I can still feel the heat of his grip. I close my eyes and bite my lip. I want to feel that heat in places I've never given that much thought to.
Prim and Rory marry mid-afternoon on Friday in our town's quaint church. I stand alongside her, watching as they are united as husband and wife. I am sure Prim has never smiled this much. She looks positively radiant in her lace gown, her hair curled and her hands clutching a bouquet of English bluebells and tulips. Rory's cheeks remain a ruddy pink and he is grinning like a court jester. Gale stands next to his brother but his eyes are cast out towards the pews. I follow his sight to Madge, whose head is bowed, no doubt attempting to hide the blush on her cheeks. Like a magnet, my eyes drift over to Peeta. He is seated near his aunt but in between Delly and Glimmer. The two women seem to be quarreling with one another. Peeta gives me a lopsided grin and a wink.
My family and our guests are escorted back to our home. The family of the bride and groom ride in style in a pair of brougham carriages, lent by Mr. Odair for transportation of the newlyweds to their party and then to carry them and their belongings to London. The weather is warm and sunny with a slight breeze; the perfect day for my beloved sister.
Our families form a receiving line, and one by one we greet our twenty or so guests. Peeta is at the end of the line, affording him the time to kiss my gloved knuckles and admire the blush that blooms across my face before moving on to congratulate the bride and groom.
The veranda has been decorated with any sort of white flower that Effie could find. The table in our dining room is covered in finger sandwiches, fruits and sweets with more flowers scattered about. Haymitch did not lie when he promised an affair worthy of a queen.
Prim's loud gasp draws my eyes to the end of the table. A tiered cake with fluffy cream-colored icing sits upon a bed of spun sugar. It looks like something from a fairy tale. So beautiful, in fact, that I am hesitant for anyone to eat it. Her eyes search me out, mouthing 'thank you' to me before pulling Rory over to admire the confection.
I can hear the click of his cane against the wood of the floor before he speaks. "Your sister seems to approve." I turn slightly and startle at the closeness of his face. His breath on my cheek makes my heart skip a beat.
"I believe she does, Mr. Mellark. Your secret baker has outdone himself."
"Shall we have some treats?"
We help ourselves to the fare. After protests from Peeta, he allows me to carry his plate to a seat in the corner of our porch so we may watch the crowd and have a laugh as Effie darts from one guest to the next. An improvised band consisting of neighbors has begun to play and a small crowd has gathered to dance in the garden. Effie begins to scowl, no doubt over the ineloquence an unplanned band can bring to an upscale party. Haymitch grabs her by the waist, twirling her round until finally, she grins. Our more stuffy guests can hardly contain the disgust that shows on their faces. Not that my uncle gives a damn but Effie does. After just a few moments, she pulls away, righting herself and going back to her proper role.
Peeta tells me of his lunch with the Cartwrights and dinner with the Godfreys. Delly had told him, in great detail he assures me, of the dresses she had just gotten from France. Glimmer was the opposite; she spoke very little, stared at him relentlessly and picked at her food while her mother had gotten a little tipsy and giggled almost non-stop.
"It was not nearly as entertaining as visiting with your family," he nudges my elbow with his.
"Perhaps next time you could take them for a walk. Maybe Delly will allow you to hold her frilly umbrella," I laugh.
He glowers. "I believe I will be conveniently ill should I receive any more invitations from the Cartwrights or the Godfreys. Furthermore, I only like to walk with you now. You've ruined it for everyone else."
The color barely has time to rise to my cheeks when I hear Glimmer and Delly's voices on opposite sides of us and almost at the same time, "Mr. Mellark!"
Both girls approach us. Delly quickly takes charge of the conversation as Glimmer pouts. She is only able to sputter out a few sentences when Peeta holds up a hand.
"If you'll excuse us, Miss Everdeen has agreed to have a dance with me." My jaw drops. He uses his cane to pull himself up and offers his hand to me.
Delly stammers, "B-but Miss Everdeen never dances."
"Well then you can understand my haste to take advantage before she changes her mind." He pulls me up beside him.
"I'll have to get rid of my cane. Do you mind if I lean on you a bit?"
I shake my head, my mouth still agape as we join the others on the bricked courtyard.
Our dance is graceless but it is without a doubt the best time I have ever had. Our laughter is jubilant. Peeta does lean against me a great deal, but my arms are strong from climbing trees my whole life. I take his weight with ease. He twirls me as the quartet finishes.
I help him back to the veranda, both our chests heaving. I fetch him a cup of tea so he can rest. Mr. Odair comes to chat with us. He badgers Peeta on what he labels 'expressive twirling' and shares stories of the other handful of times he has danced. Annie comes to drag him away whispering, "Leave Mr. Mellark and Miss Everdeen to one another's company, Finn."
Peeta clears his throat several times, "My aunt told me Prim and Rory are to live in London?"
"Yes. He will be working in his uncle's butcher shop." I frown, "My baby sister will be living apart from us, running her own household. It is quite overwhelming."
"She is still somewhat close. Just a few hours and you would get to see her. I shall escort you there any time you'd like, day or night. You need only ask."
I close my hand over his, in a crowd of people, no matter how inappropriate it may be.
My mother comes to fetch me so that I may say my farewell to my sister in private. Very few guests remain, only those closest to us. She is gazing out the window in our room. She turns to me, tears on the verge of spilling. I go to her, wrapping my arms around her.
"Penny for your thoughts, little duck."
"It's only nerves. I am leaving my family, moving to a large city. It's quite the upheaval."
"But you'll be with Rory." She gives me a small smile as a response so I continue, "He will take care of you, my beloved sister. He loves you so purely and would soon die as to have you unhappy."
"Will you be alright? All I can imagine is cold conversations with mama and snippy remarks from Haymitch. What if Effie drives you crazy?"
"I think I can manage. Madge is still here. And...Mr. Mellark, of course."
Her smile grows at the mention of Peeta's name.
"He adores you, Katniss. You must know that."
I take a deep breath but do not answer.
"Has he not yet asked uncle to court you?"
"He has not, no."
"He will soon. I know he will." We step away from one another, clasping our hands together.
She continues, "He's different. You're different. I thought you liked Mr. Gloss and Mr. Brutus but I was mistaken. You tolerated them. The way I see you with Mr. Mellark…you practically glow. You are enamored with him…"
"Prim, I-I…"
"You are. Even if you do not want to admit it yet. And he is quite taken with you." She drops my hands to gather her shawl and put on her gloves and bonnet. I help her tie the blue ribbon securely under her chin. We walk together to the top of the stairs where she turns to me, "Promise me something, sister?"
"Anything."
"Do not let any doubt overtake your mind about Mr. Mellark. Just because father deceived us does not mean every man will do the same."
I sigh, "I shall miss you, Primrose."
The tears that fall as Prim waves goodbye to us are happy ones even if my heart feels tortured. I join Peeta on the front steps. The sun has just begun to droop in the sky. He retrieves a handkerchief from his waistcoat and places it into my hand. I brush the distress away from my cheeks. He tells me to keep it when I try to return it.
He speaks barely above a whisper, "Do not worry, Katniss. Rory will take very good care of her." The tips of his fingers ease under my chin, and with a little pressure he brings my gaze to his. "And I will take very good care of you."
According to the research I've done, most Victorian weddings did not have entertainment. The bride and groom were supposed to be entertainment enough. No pressure on the newlyweds, right?