After President Snow's unwelcome visit last week, all I could think about was how I was going to keep my end of the deal.
He had figured out that Peeta's announcement during a televised interview with Caesar concerning my pregnancy was false, and merely a plot to avoid having children without the public's disapproval. I couldn't possibly tell Peeta what Snow had told me during that brief meeting, knowing well enough that Peeta would never agree to it. So I spent the last week devising a scheme that would work.
Because having children was not an option anymore. It was an obligation of my debt to the president. Or at least, being pregnant was. I could kill the growing fetus while it was still inside of me, at the very last minute, and pass it off as a miscarriage. That should give me enough time to start a rebellion right under President Snow's unsuspecting nose. Just the thought of striking a dagger through Snow's wretched heart put a triumphant smile on my face.
While I sat there on my bed, smiling like a loony, Peeta came through the door. I automatically looked up and greeted him with as much enthusiasm as I could pass for normal. Game time.
