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District 3
Usually Peeta wakes with the sun and disappears from my bed before anyone else is up, but this morning my eyes open and the first thing I see are his golden eyelashes, his mouth slightly parted, his entire face relaxed in sleep. In the night I'd woken up to our legs tangled together, but had quickly tucked mine away. The world thinks we're lovers, but for me even that small, secret bit of personal intimacy had seemed too much.
My stomach rumbles. I didn't eat much again last night, though the dinner at District 4 had an astonishing array of seafood of the likes I'd never seen. I'd been too anxious over the waves of dissatisfaction rolling off the crowds everywhere we went, my skin prickling: were they on the verge of an uprising, too?
I slip out of the bed, pad across the floor to where I'd left my robe, and throw it on before stepping into the hallway. I make my way to the dining car, following the scent of coffee. Somehow the Avox manage to always be at the ready, no matter the time of day or night – I don't want to consider how the Capitol makes this happen.
But it isn't just an Avox that greets me – Effie is already at the table, face and outfit on, pouring cream into her cup, Capitol newspapers spread in front of her.
"Good morning," I say, grabbing myself a cup of black coffee before settling diagonally from her. I don't much care for the taste of the stuff, but at this point it seems necessary.
"Good morning, Katniss," Effie says, scanning an article. She gets to the end and takes a sip from her cup, then delicately places it back on its matching plate. "We should talk, dear."
I swallow too quickly and the liquid burns down my throat. "Oh – okay," I stutter.
"We all know how important the tour is," she begins, dignified. "It allows you and Peeta to see the country and be recognized for your achievements. It boosts morale in the districts." (I don't know what tour she's been on, but I haven't seen much morale boosted.) "It also gives you a brief vacation from home and your families."
"… Right."
"This means that you two have more time to… be together," she continues, and I hear the suggestion in her voice. "With only I to chaperone, you can get away with much more than at home, with your family around. And I do make many allowances… for the public."
Every one of her words is coated in ominous dramatics that I can't take seriously, but I continue to listen. "What I am saying, Katniss, is that it is quite common knowledge that Peeta is sneaking into your room every night and staying until morning – something of which I am sure your mother would never approve," she sniffs. "And as your escort I feel it my duty to warn you of the perils of this sort of thing getting out, and the scandal it could cause."
I hold back an oversized eye roll, because of course Effie feels it's her duty to discuss scandalous perils with me, and my perils seem chaste compared to what Panem is used to hearing about victors. I debate telling her the truth – that it really is only sleeping and nightmare-soothing going on in my compartment, nothing else – but she wouldn't believe me. Besides, this is the sort of thing that if leaked could possibly help my case with the president.
"Does everyone on the train know?" I ask, mimicking worry.
"I should say so," Effie sighs, full of pity for my reputation.
"I'll speak to Peeta about being more discreet. Thank you for the warning," I say, as if she's done me a great service, the kind of thing Effie laps up.
"Of course, dear," she responds, looking satisfied with herself.
That night, or early the next morning, as it were, my compartment door slides open and shut, and then Peeta's weight shifts the mattress. "Effie says everyone knows you come in here at night," I say, watching him settle on his side, facing me, one arm under the pillow. "She says it could be quite the scandal."
"Oh?" Peeta says, his breath minty and his teeth white in the darkness. "Should I not come anymore? To save our reputations?" His whisper is mock serious and makes me smile. "Wouldn't want to upset Effie's delicate standards of propriety."
I snort. "I think it's too late for that, anyway." What I don't say is: I like having you here too much to care.
Four stops to go.
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