Wow—I just want to start out this chapter by thanking the fantastic community of readers that like this story so much. I've gotten a thousand more views since I posted the last chapter, and it takes my breath away. This is why I post my silly stories on this website—for those of you that love this literature so much that they can't get enough. So, THANK YOU from the bottom of my fangirl heart. If anyone has an interest in Finnick & Annie, I have a story on them as well! Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins, and once again, thanks for being such great people and reading my fantasy version of the Hunger Games trilogy.

The air in the Capitol is warm, humid, and smelly. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. When we first step off the train, I have to cough a few times because my lungs are protesting the disgusting air that has entered them. I clutch Peeta's hand desperately, and try not to touch the makeup that paints my face. My prep team has threatened me with death if I mess it up.

Peeta and I wave at the cameras, smile a bit, but mostly just steal glances at each other. Trade secret smiles, because no one in the Capitol knows what we know now—that we're engaged. That we're going to have a small, quiet—and secret—wedding back in District 12. That we can't live without each other. That we spend our nights on the train wrapped around each other. A smile spread across my face without my permission because I don't want to forget the way Peeta kissed me last night, after I said yes.

He catches my smile out of the corner of his eye. He stops me in the middle of a swarm of photographers and kisses me full on the mouth. One of his hands touches my face gently, the other wraps around my waist. My hand moves on its own to touch his face, but the kiss isn't as long as I want it to be. But I still have to grin at him when he pulls away, even though it's only by inches.

He pinches my cheek before he grabs my arm and pulls me alongside him. It's easier to smile and wave now, with the fresh memory of his lips on mine.

When we arrive at the Training Center, where we're staying, Peeta pulls Effie aside, whispers a few things in her ear. Effie's face splits into the widest grin I've ever seen as she nods at Peeta. I don't know what the hell they're talking about, so I just turn to Haymitch and point at Peeta and Effie as if to ask "what's that?" He just shrugs his shoulders at me and takes a long pull from the flask that's hidden in his jacket.

I watch Peeta carefully as he hands a small folded piece of paper to Effie. She nods discreetly and heads back out the door of the Training Center. "Where's Effie going?" I finally ask Peeta. "We're having dinner in like fifteen minutes."

"She had to run an errand. Should be back soon," Peeta says coyly. I scowl at him but still take his hand as we walk towards the elevators. I'm famished, and exhausted. Peeta and I stayed up late last night to talk about the plans for our secret wedding, and had to wake up early for breakfast and prep. I haven't eaten much all day.

We're having an early dinner, as it's around 3 p.m., because we have an interview with Caesar Flickerman at 6, then another banquet afterwards. I'm sure by the time the banquet rolls around, I'll be hungry again. So when the plate of chicken and noodles shows up in front of me, I tuck in and ignore the coy little looks Peeta is throwing my way. I don't know why he wouldn't have told me what he's planning with Effie. Technically, we're already engaged—for us. And his involving Effie with whatever is going on taints it a little bit. Soon after I scarf down dessert—some sort of fruit pie—my prep team sweeps me away again, because apparently the prep I received earlier was just for the cameras at the train station. I groan and they paint me and make me desirable and chatter about meaningless, stupid things. Time passes, as it inevitably does, and when Cinna walks in, I'm so grateful that he's my stylist that I throw my arms around him.

"Long day?" He asks, eyebrow cocked.

"Peeta is planning something with Effie," I blurt out. "It's annoying." Cinna chuckles at me and holds up a garment bag.

"This might cheer you up," he suggests.

"Maybe," I say with a scowl on my face. I just want to know what they're doing. Planning our public engagement? But Cinna does indeed lift my spirits when he unzips the dress to showcase a fantastic black gown, made of some kind of silk that is absolute magic to touch, but is also comfortable.

When I put it on, I see that it's flattering, and my little girl look is mysteriously gone. "It's beautiful," I remark. "No more little girl dresses?"

"Well, they are beautiful. But I wanted something a little more sophisticated for you tonight," he says enigmatically.

"Are you in on this, too?"

"Nope," he responds with a smile on his face. He dodges the shoe I throw at him by about an inch. I scowl at him as he leaves the room and I'm left alone. Surely Peeta is planning something to do with how he'll propose to me for the cameras. I just don't know why he wouldn't include me—we're supposed to be in this together. Maybe he's just keeping how he's going to do it from me so I'll seem surprised. Yes, that has to be it. I exhale a little bit, feeling better.

Peeta and I are supposed to be making separate entrances onstage, so it's just Cinna that comes with me to the President's mansion where the interview is being conducted. It's Cinna that walks me to my side of the makeshift stage.

He adjusts my makeup a couple of times for the lighting, positions a curl differently on my head. Before I know it, it's time to go on. I'm not nervous, not after this Tour. The crowd here belongs to me and to Peeta. They're dough in our hands.

When Cinna gives me a little push, I walk out into the blinding lights of the stage, where Caesar's lavender hair is waiting for me. I shift my eyes a little to the left and see Peeta walking towards me, and everything else around him seems to recede a little bit. He smiles at me and I'm sure I smile back but I'm too busy watching the light reflect off his white teeth, too busy caught up in his eyes, too busy feeling like the girls I used to hate before the Games.

When we meet, we kiss, and yet again, it's far too brief for my liking. I have gotten too used to the kisses he gives me on the train. When we part, we sit on the couch across from Caesar Flickerman and he asks how our life has been in District 12. I tell him about our talents, how my interest in fashion seems so shallow next to Peeta's exquisite paintings. Of course, that prompts Caesar to bring one of them out and display it. I notice that it's the one of me in the gray mist. I turn to Peeta. "Did you choose that one?" I ask, and I don't mind that the audience hears.

"Yes," he says back, leaning into to touch his nose to my nose. "It's my favorite." He leans in to whisper in my ear, "That's how I see you in my dreams." His breath on my neck feels electric, but I lean in closer anyways. I whisper to him that I love him, and he gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek before resuming the interview. We talk an equal amount, about how fantastic it's been discovering each other and loving each other. When Caesar asks us about our plan for the future, I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, because Peeta has to do it soon or our plan will be ruined—

"Katniss," Caesar interjects, adjusting his ear piece. "I've been told that one of your biggest fans wants to send a message to you."

"Oh really?" I smile at the audience. "What's the message?"

"On the screen behind you," Caesar tells me. So I turn around and the giant screen that usually shows close ups of our faces has words written on it. The words aren't in normal type—they're in a suspiciously familiar handwriting that darts across the screen. Katniss,´it reads in giant green letters. Will you marry me? I hear the audience gasp loudly. The room seems to be so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

Even though it's for the Capitol, part of this still seems to belong to us. Because the Capitol can't touch the deepest, best parts of Peeta. They can't taint his ability to love. So I turn around and I find him like I did last night, balancing on one knee close to the ground. This time, however, he holds something in his hand. I don't know what it is, because I'm too busy looking at the man I love.

What I mean about him being untouchable is this: even though we are in a city full of people we both hate, staging a second marriage proposal, he is still so moved by his love for me that there are tears in his eyes. He is still smiling up at me in that completely innocent, good way. I'm reminded of something that Haymitch said to me months ago, when I went to him to vent my frustration and anger at Peeta freezing me out. You can't do any better than that boy, sweetheart. And looking at him now, I know that I can't. My vision of him blurs a bit because tears came into my eyes, unwanted and unbidden.

It's been a few seconds since I first saw Peeta kneeling on one knee, and I haven't said anything. This will belong to us, too. This memory. Tears in our eyes as we agree to bind ourselves together forever. So in this quiet room filled with too many people, I let a tear or two slip out of my eye, and I breathe the words so quietly I'm not sure if the microphone catches them: "Peeta, yes. Of course I'll marry you."

He sweeps me up in his arms and lifts me off the ground, twirls me around so much my dress flares out a bit. The audience is going crazy, cheering and crying and screaming, but I don't care. Because I'm closing the shutters of our life again, kissing him and hugging him and shouting "I love you so much" over the screams of the audience.

When the audience quiets down, Peeta sets me down for the express purpose of showing me what was in his hand. I'm speechless, only for a second or two, as I study the ring he's sliding on my finger. The silver band looks like it's made of two ropes that coil around each other in a figure eight motion, and the white diamond that sits in the middle of it is large, but not too much so. On each side of the white diamond, there are three smaller green diamonds, exactly my favorite color. I look up at him, breathless.

"Did you design this?" I ask.

"Yes, it's the paper I gave to Effie this morning. It was a sketch, and she took it to the jeweler to be made," he explains. I laugh and kiss him again, because of course he had to get me a ring that he designed. After the kiss, I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly. He whispers, "I love you," in my ear, but the microphones, which are closing in on us, caught it. So I tell him that I love him back, trying not to care too much.

President Snow is brought onto the stage to congratulate us, and after he embraces me, I raise my eyebrows slightly at him, as if to ask "Did we do it? Did we convince you?"

He moves his head up and down almost imperceptibly, and a wave of relief stronger than the waves of District 4 washes over me. Prim and my mother are safe. We're safe, for now. And we're free, at least for a while, to live the life we deserve.