Chapter Twenty-Five
When I get there, it's to find a Paradise Club that is even more crowded than it was the last time I was here. The Quarter Quell is in full swing and a large proportion of the Capitol citizens seem to think that's a cause for celebration. I can't stand to look at them. I can't bear the thought of how much they'll cheer when I die.
Despite how much time that's passed, the place looks exactly the same. Everywhere I look there are people and I suddenly understand why Falco and Narissa chose to meet here. It's so crowded that there's no better place in the city for two people who don't normally blend to attempt to fade into the background.
Falco sees me instantly despite the noise and the crowds, and he stands up just as quickly. The Capitolians continue to dance around us despite how a lot of them pause slightly to stare, and the bass thumping in the background fills my ears. That's what makes me think. Or maybe I should say that's what makes me stop thinking.
I walk slowly towards him, my eyes locked with his, and when I get close enough I take his hands in mine, pulling him to the dance floor.
"Butterfly, no," he says, but his expression tells me something very different.
"They can't hurt us any more than they already have," I reply, lowering his hands to my hips and stepping forwards so there's no distance between us. "This is Paradise, Falco. Nobody cares what we do." And even if they do then I don't care, but I keep that thought to myself.
"The president funds the running of this place," he whispers, leaning down so closely that his lips brush my ear. "He has spies everywhere."
"And I'm sure he's got hidden cameras everywhere too," I retort, noticing how he's objecting but not backing away from me by even a millimetre. "But what's he going to do? Kill me? Send my brother back into the arena? He's done it all already. So shut up and dance with me properly."
He smiles and pulls me even closer, leaving it impossible for the people crowded into the packed club to doubt what they're seeing. If anyone thinks I'm an unwilling slave dancing with a paying client then they're both blind and stupid.
As we sway back and forth and Falco pushes me away only to immediately yank me back against him once more, I can feel them all watching us. But I don't care. This isn't dancing, this is rebellion. Our own personal rebellion, and when I look into Falco's eyes, I can tell he's thinking exactly the same.
But then the music stops, and though there is only a brief pause before a different track begins, it's enough to make me pause as well, to make me pull away from Falco just enough to really see the people watching us.
"What are you all staring at?" I snap loudly. "Can't quite believe someone like me is capable of independent thought? Well I am. And this is my choice."
I slowly look around, meeting each person's eyes in turn and glaring at them until they turn away. I can tell that most of them understand what I was trying to say even if they can't begin to comprehend why I'm angry. Most people don't come to a place like this unless they're wealthy and privileged enough to know about what happens here. And most of them know that virtually every Victor who they've seen isn't keeping company with them out of choice.
"Let's go," whispers Falco, taking my arm lightly. "You shouldn't be somewhere like this."
"Neither should you," I whisper back, trying to smile.
He takes my hand and leads me from the dance floor and towards the exit. For some reason he feels simultaneously too close and nowhere near close enough, and I don't know whether I should push him away or hold onto him like my life depends on it.
In the end I compromise by doing nothing and gripping his hand tightly. We're almost at the elaborate spiral staircase that leads up and out of here when a dark-skinned woman steps out of the shadows to block our way. She instantly focuses on Falco and doesn't even spare a glance for me.
"You shouldn't have done that," she tells him quietly. "Don't be a fool. Get out of this mess you've got yourself into while you can. Don't waste your life like my father did."
I narrow my eyes at her, somehow deciding she's talking about both me and the rebellion even though she's only said a couple of short sentences. However she continues to ignore me, her black eyes staring up at Falco as she waits for his response.
"I might be a fool," he replies eventually. "But I made my choice a long time ago. And I wouldn't change it. I couldn't now, not even if I wanted to. You can't choose who you fall in love with."
"Goodbye, Falco," says the woman, shaking her head almost sadly.
"Goodbye," he replies, taking my hand and leading me past her.
"Who was that?" I ask as soon as we're back in the car and on the way back to the Training Centre.
"Can't you guess?"
"Guess?"
"By looking at her," he replies. "She's got nothing of her mother in her at all."
I think about the woman, about her dark skin and eyes and heavy build. Then I remember what she said and I think I know.
"I didn't know Vespasian had children."
"Only Sancia."
"She wants you to forget about me and save yourself," I say flatly, finally telling him the first thought I had when I heard what the woman called Sancia had to say to him. "I agree with her."
"And I'm not having this conversation," he replies, his tone so firm and definite that it instantly weakens what little resolve I had to drive him away.
I quickly decide it's easier to rest my head on his shoulder and say nothing so that's what I do. I haven't had many easy choices in my life so I let myself get away with that one. For a short time at least. I will have to find the strength to walk away from him at some point, but not now. There's still time.
As soon as Falco closes the door behind himself as he leaves me alone in my room back on Level One of the Training Centre after we finally return from the club, I want nothing more than to chase after him so he doesn't go. But instead I spend several minutes staring blankly at the door handle, because I can't chase after him. It's already light outside and it's interview preparation day today. I have to concentrate.
However the next question I ask myself is 'why?'. What am I going to learn today that I don't already know about what to do when giving an interview for the Capitol? I've lost count of how many I've done since I won the Games. And would I rather spend half of the day with Lace than the whole of it with Falco?
My mind made up, I dart out of the dining room and along the corridor, and when I throw open the main door it's to find Falco standing there looking back at me, his arm raised as he reaches for the handle.
"I tried but I couldn't leave you."
"I tried but I couldn't watch you go," I quip back, laughing when he smirks at me.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand and dragging me towards the lift doors.
"Falco, stop!" I shout, temporarily forgetting myself and the situation as I laugh and pretend to try and pull him back. "Where are we going?"
"Home," he replies softly. "My home. The real one, not the apartment. I want you to see it. I need you to see it."
I follow him silently into the lift as the doors slide open despite the massive number of questions suddenly flying around in my mind. I've never been to Falco's childhood home before, not properly. Not since I went to the party he held before the Games when I was a tribute for the first time. That was when we'd only just met and we hardly knew each other.
Now I know him like I do, I know he doesn't like to talk about his past. It's the one thing I've never pushed him on, because any worries and reservations I had about it have long since been pushed to the back of my mind when I decided that what happened before I met him only matters if it affects the person standing in front of me in the present.
And then there's Astoria. She might have died three years ago following a cosmetic surgery procedure that went horribly wrong, a rare genuine accident in a city where old-age and overindulgence are usually the only natural causes of death, but I always thought he associated that house with her and never mention it.
"I love you, Falco," is all I say in the end, speaking before we reach the entrance hall and forgetting to care if there's anyone else listening. It feels strange to say the words out loud.
The front of the house is virtually unchanged. The pathway cutting through the middle of the perfectly manicured lawns is still lined with the brightly coloured flowers I've never seen outside the Capitol, the massive door is still painted a dark, glossy red. It looks either like something out of a magazine or like something out of a dream, and just like last time it's a struggle to stop myself from staring.
"It needs a water feature or something," I tease as Falco hustles me out of the car while whispering that we should go inside before anyone sees us. "It's a bit…lacking."
"How right I was when I said back then that you're difficult to please," he replies lightly, failing dismally not to laugh as we virtually run down the path.
"Not so difficult now you know me," I say, rolling my eyes and hitting him when he gets that look in his eyes as we stumble inside. "Falco Hazelwell, not everything is a sexual innuendo," I continue. "Honestly, when I think of your elevated position in society… The influence you have over people… It's simply not acceptable."
"I didn't say a word, Miss de Montfort," he retorts smugly. "You're the one with the mind that jumps so readily to such conclusions."
"You looked at me," I reply. "And I know what you're thinking when you look at me like that."
"I'm not thinking anything I don't normally think when I look at you, Butterfly."
"Exactly," I say, but I'm not looking at him now. Instead I'm looking up at the massive staircase and the equally huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling above it.
"You've seen it before," he replies, the teasing note not quite leaving his voice as he follows the direction of my gaze.
"The chandelier's new."
"No, it's old. Father replaced it when I was younger because it was Mother's but I put it back."
"I like that one better," I reply, not wanting to ruin one of the few happy moments I've had these past three months by pushing him too far.
"So do I," he says, once more giving me the impression that there's more to this than just a switch of light fittings.
He doesn't say anything more for several minutes after that, and his expression makes me decide the thoughts that are distracting him aren't all pleasant.
"Well then," I say loudly, stepping forwards and deliberately imitating the commanding body language of a wealthy Capitolian addressing her inferiors that I've seen so many times before. "Am I going to get the guided tour or not?"
"What's it worth?" he replies playfully, snapping out of his trance as soon as I move.
"Everything," I say. "For another couple of days anyway."
"Don't," he replies. "Don't. Just for today. Today is the day where tomorrow doesn't exist and the day after that certainly doesn't."
"Where to first then?" I ask. If he wants to spend the day in denial of reality then I'm more than willing and happy to join him.
He leads me across the hall into what looks like a sitting room even though it's vast and every last bit as grand as Phoebe's back in the City Circle. I walk slowly towards the carved dark wood fireplace and that's when I see the two portraits hanging above it. The first is of an official and important looking man in a black suit, his skin mahogany brown and his eyes golden. I suspect they're not entirely natural. This is the Capitol after all. It's only when I look more closely at the man's high cheekbones and strong jaw line that I realise why he looks so familiar.
"That's your father," I say as Falco stops by my side. I don't need him to confirm what I've already worked out but he does anyway.
"Yes," he replies. "And that's my mother."
I turn my attention to the next portrait, which shows a woman several years younger than the man. Her skin is several shades lighter than her son's but she has the same dark eyes I know so well. Hers look happy and seem to be twinkling with the knowledge that she knows something nobody else does, but when I look at Falco he seems thoughtful and almost sad.
He's barely spoken of his parents in all the time I've known him and I'm used to family secrets so I've never felt the need to ask. As with his general background and history, I decided a long time ago that it didn't matter, but now I've changed my mind. If I don't ask him now then I never will. But I'm not supposed to be thinking like that today so I force the thought away.
"What happened?" I ask, half expecting him to tell me of her tragic death or something even worse.
"My father inherited his position from his father, and the Hazelwells have been wealthy and influential since just after the Dark Days. But you know that already," he says when I nod in slightly impatient understanding. "Mother was an actress. Father used to watch her on the stage and wait for her when the show had finished. Eventually she fell for him. When I got older she used to say that he first fell in love with her sense of freedom and independence but then spent the next decade trying to trap her in a cage. He tried to transform her into the model high society Capitolian wife and she rebelled in the end."
"What happened to her?"
"She packed her bags one night and left. I was thirteen."
"And?"
"She's living on the other side of the city in one of those tiny apartments. With a reporter, if the gossips are to be believed. She lost virtually everything tangible she had, but last time I spoke to her she sounded very happy."
"You should go and see her."
"How do you know I didn't?"
"I can tell," I reply. "Thirteen year old Falco couldn't forgive her for walking out on him and adult Falco is too stubborn to swallow his pride."
"You know me too well, Butterfly."
"I should hope so," I retort, before continuing in a much softer voice. "When this is all over, you should go and see her. Life's too short for holding a grudge like that."
And if you hurt that much when she left then you must have loved each other. So maybe she can help you when I'm gone. But I don't say any of that aloud. If I did then I'd only hurt us both. And this is our day of denial. I have to remember that, no matter how much denial still feels like goodbye.
However as soon as he kisses me and holds me so tightly that I almost can't breathe, I know he knew what I was thinking anyway.
"Aren't you going to show me the rest of the house before I see the bedroom?" I ask, trying to lighten his mood again. "It's only ten in the morning."
"I never noticed," he replies, still not letting me go.
"I'm not going anywhere, Falco," I tell him, suddenly very serious. "Not until tomorrow morning. And we're not thinking about tomorrow, remember?"
He stares at me for a minute before taking my hand and leading me out of the room and further down the corridor.
"I remember," he says, but all I can think is that neither of us sound very convinced.
"Why do they always stay there?" I ask plaintively as the car comes to a stop outside the front of the Training Centre many hours later and I catch my first glimpse of the many reporters waiting by the main doors. "It's the early hours of the morning. Don't they have homes to go to?"
"Not when the Games are on," replies Falco darkly. "You know that as well as I do."
I shake my head and shuffle backwards again, sitting deeper into the seat because I really don't feel ready to face the questions and the cameras. He can see what I'm doing and I know he's about to tell me we can't stay here forever, but I pout slightly and he lets me maintain the pretence for a little longer.
"Narissa came to tell me where you were. Did you know that?"
"No," he replies. "But she'll have told you why I was with her as well then?"
"Yes," I say. "Sort of. And I don't want you to get mixed up in that again. It's too dangerous."
"I'm not mixed up in anything," he answers immediately, but I know him well enough to know when he's humouring me and telling me what I want to hear.
"Liar," I tell him, but there's no real strength in my voice. How can I criticise him for fighting for what he believes is right? Especially when I'd have been there fighting with him if it hadn't have been for the Quell.
"Come on," he says, putting his arm across my shoulders and momentarily squeezing me tight. "If I don't get you back upstairs soon then your prep team will be looking for you. And I don't even want to think about what would happen then."
"I don't want to think about my prep team," I reply. "I don't know how I'm going to endure it again. If Cerelia tells me how she can't contain her excitement over the Games one more time then she may be watching the arena from a hospital bed."
"Now, Butterfly, that's not very nice, is it?" he teases, smirking down at me. "I think you've been spending a bit too much time with Ursala."
I smile and let him get out of the car first, and the questions and the flashing lights start before he's even stepped back to allow me to follow him. This time they're all asking us about our relationship, about Falco's opinion of the Quell and about dancing at the Paradise Club. I've always hated the place and everything it stands for, but despite that I instantly wish we were still there.
The mob crowds in around us before we have chance to reach the doors, and when I look for a path through, all I see is a mass of people getting closer and closer. Falco takes my hand and tries to push through, but it's only when the sound of a new voice rings out loud and clear over the noise of the masses that they finally back off enough to let us past.
"I don't mean to spoil the party," says the Capitolian woman who balances on the narrow boundary wall with apparent ease in impossibly high heels, "but I've just heard the Gamemakers are about to leave the Control Room. I thought you might want to know."
The effect those words have is instantaneous, and suddenly Falco and I have a clear path to the doors as our assailants make a mass exodus down the side of the building in the hope of having the opportunity to question those planning the spectacle the entire country is about to witness.
"Gamemakers?" asks a now smiling Falco of the woman. "Do you expect me to believe that?"
"No," she replies, flicking her long blonde hair back behind her shoulders. "But I expect you to be very grateful."
"Of course," he says, smiling sarcastically and sketching her a mocking bow. "You have my undying gratitude for all eternity."
"I should hope so," she answers, grinning widely as she jumps lightly down and stops only a very short distance away.
She's so close that I can smell her perfume, and just like I do when I'm this close to Narissa, I find myself almost envying her delicate Capitolian perfection. Her hair's a darker gold than mine, her eyes the blue of the sky at twilight rather than midday, and I shuffle almost self-consciously when I look closely at her and can see no sign that her beauty is artificial.
"If you see her before I do then tell 'Rissa to mind her own business," says Falco, and I get the impression that he's failed to sound anywhere near as angry as he wanted to.
"I'll tell her," replies the woman, "but since when has she ever listened to me?"
"Tell her anyway."
The woman smirks and turns away with a swish of her hair and bright red coat, leaving me staring blankly after her.
"Come inside," says Falco, taking my arm gently. "Before the reporters realise the Gamemakers have no intention of leaving the Control Room and come back."
"Who was she? Why did she do that?"
"Surely you can see why by the general lack of reporters."
"Stop being facetious, Falco," I snap, smiling all the same. "Tell me."
"Vesper works with Narissa. They're...friends. 'Rissa probably asked her to do it. For me."
"Oh," I reply, not knowing what else to say. "And is she...?"
"On the right side? Yes, she is. She's very good at getting to where she shouldn't be to pass messages on."
I nod and keep walking, taking that to mean that she did what I did for Achillea only on a much grander scale.
"And now?"
"She's Narissa's friend."
I know better than to expect more of an explanation when we're walking across the Training Centre entranceway so I don't ask, and once we've reached the lifts and the time has come to say goodbye again, I quickly forget all about the woman anyway. It takes more strength than I knew I still possessed to walk away, but it's true what Falco said. If the prep team have to come looking for me then that will never work out well.
I've only just taken my cardigan off and sat down on the edge of the bed when Serica and Cerelia burst through the door. Once more they're both exclaiming about how excited they are and how thrilled they are that today has finally arrived. It seems to take them several attempts to process the fact that I'm dressed already rather than in bed.
"Couldn't you sleep?" gushes Serica. "I'm not surprised. You must be desperate to get on that stage in your beautiful dress."
I know I should speak but I can't find words. It's true that I didn't sleep last night, but not for any reasons involving thoughts of the City Circle stage. The past hours I've spent with Falco felt like goodbye, and I know he felt it too even if neither of us could bring ourselves to say it. Which is a big part of why I wish the two women in the room with me would just disappear.
"Have you seen my dress?" I manage eventually, but I know the answer before they reply. Felix keeps his most important creations to himself until the last minute and he won't even have shown Drusilla.
"Not yet," answers Cerelia. "But I'm sure it will be amazing," she continues, dragging out every syllable of her last word for as long as she possibly can.
"I'm sure it will," I say, agreeing with her both because I honestly believe whatever Felix has made for me will be amazing and because it's simply the only reply I feel capable of giving. "Is it really going to take all day to get me ready?"
"We thought we'd make an early start," replies Serica, making my heart sink immediately. "We can stay here so there's no need to wait for a room to be free like last time."
I sigh and stand up, forcing myself to accept that I have no choice but to go along with the plan. Truthfully I don't really think I have the strength to object. But then I hear a knock at the door and I stop, turning towards it and calling for whoever it is to come in before the two Capitolian women can protest.
"What is it, Gloss?" I ask, trying to keep the relief from showing on my face at the sight of him even though I know there's no point because he'll see it instantly anyway. "My prep's started," I add, gesturing at Serica and Cerelia.
"Lucretia's here," he replies, looking slightly apprehensive.
"And?"
"The review board need your district tokens," says my brother's stylist as she steps into the room, glancing at her junior colleagues appraisingly before turning her attention back to me. "Felix asked me to get yours as well."
Then before she's even stopped speaking I realise what her words mean. District tokens. One for me and one for Gloss. The only thing other than the clothes the Gamemakers dress us in that we're allowed to take into the arena. And that means I have to choose. The necklace I wear in memory of Sapphire and the life I once had, or the bracelet Falco gave to me because he could never give me a wedding ring. It suddenly feels so much like choosing between one part of my life and the other that I can't think straight.
"Cashmere?" says Lucretia as she peers curiously across at me.
"I… Can I…?"
I don't know what I'm trying to say. Can you give me longer to think about it? Can you make them decide to change the rules so I'm allowed to die wearing both pieces of jewellery that symbolise so much? Can you tell me why making a choice between two simple things feels so much like choosing between Gloss and Falco? But I don't get chance to ask any of these questions. Instead I watch in silence as Gloss steps towards me.
He stops directly in front of me and immediately moves my hair to the side so he can unclasp my necklace. He gently pulls it away and twists the chain around his fingers while he takes my bracelet off as well. He turns back to Lucretia before I can stop him.
"This is Cash's," he tells her, holding out the bracelet so she can take it. "And this is mine," he continues, dropping my necklace into her outstretched hand before looking at me once again. "I hope you'll trust me to borrow it for a short time. Then you can have it back."
"I'd rather you kept it," I whisper. "The last time I saw you wearing it was when you came back to me."
He smiles, tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and then follows Lucretia out of the room, leaving me to the mercies of Cerelia and Serica.
They flap around for several minutes, describing all of the preparations the city has made for the Quell, all of the special television broadcasts and how they feel almost ready to burst with excitement. After a very short time, I feel ready to burst as well, but I can say with absolute certainty that it isn't out of excitement.
As soon as they mention Felix I jump on the welcome change of subject immediately, telling them both how wonderful my stylist is because it's the only thing I trust myself to say.
"It's very nice of you to say so, Miss de Montfort," says a familiar voice from the corridor.
When Felix steps into view, surrounded by the elaborately carved door frame, it's an effort to prevent myself from running across the room and jumping into his arms.
"It's true," I reply, settling for standing up and never taking my eyes off him.
"I want to prepare Cashmere myself today," he says, his expression telling me he doesn't miss the disappointment on Serica and Cerelia's faces. "You can come back before we go down to the City Circle so you won't miss out."
The two women brighten considerably when he says that, and they leave the room discussing how they hope Finnick Odair's costume resembles the one he wore five days ago at the Opening Ceremony. Was it really five days ago? It feels like five minutes and five years have passed, both at the same time.
"Why? Is it them you don't trust or me?" I ask teasingly once the sound of their voices has faded away.
"I thought you might be ready to talk now."
"Talk? I don't need to talk. I told you I'm fine."
He doesn't look convinced but he smiles and disappears into the bathroom anyway, telling me that Drusilla isn't here because she's putting the finishing touches to my shoes. I try to focus on that so I don't think about anything else, but I'm still relieved when he returns a few minutes later to say my bath's ready. I expect him to follow but he merely holds the door open for me and then leaves me to it.
I wipe the steam from the mirror on the wall so I can stare at my reflection, suddenly realising that the next time I'm in a similar position will be when I'm in my Launch Room. Tomorrow. This time tomorrow I might not be alive.
I struggle over to the bath, undress and climb in. However by the time I'm ready to place my hands on the hairdryer there are tears streaming freely down my face and nothing I do will make them stop.
When the door opens and Felix appears, he takes one look and wraps a blanket around me, pulling me against him and half-carrying me back to the bedroom. Then all of the fear I've fought and suppressed for the past three months abruptly refuses to remain contained for another second.
"Do you think it will hurt?" I stammer eventually, not looking up from where I've buried my face against my friend's neck, soaking his skin with my tears. "Do you think it will be…quick? Or will they kill me like they killed Cato? Give the audience a good show. Everyone will like that. But I'll scream, I know I will. And Victory will see, and-"
"You're not going to die, Cashmere. You didn't die nine years ago and you're not going to die now."
I barely even hear him as I sit trembling in his arms. I am going to die. The Hunger Games only has one Victor and it has to be Gloss.
"What do you think happens to a person when they die, Felix?" I ask, sounding a little steadier this time. "Where will I go?"
"I don't know," he replies, finally speaking after minutes of silence. "I like to think we see those we love who have already left us."
"I hope so," I whisper, putting my arms around him and holding on tight as I try to work out if he means that or if he's just trying to make me feel better.
I soon realise that I don't care.
"Can I see the dress before I'm wearing it, Felix?" I ask several hours later, laughing slightly weakly as he hovers behind the half open door and tells me to close my eyes, clearly still trying to make me smile despite the situation. "Just this once," I continue, stopping myself just before I say 'Just for this last time'.
"No," he replies, and I can hear his smile in his words. "I won't let you ruin the effect and spoil my fun."
"Fine," I say, sighing deeply in mock exasperation.
"Are your eyes closed?"
"Yes," I reply, struggling both not to laugh and not to open my eyes as I hear him walk into the room.
He helps me into the dress and spends a couple of minutes arranging it how he wants it. If I had any other stylist then I think I'd be worried because it's so light that I almost feel like I'm not wearing anything at all, but I trust him. I've always trusted him.
Then I open my eyes and see a golden and sequinned dress that is as sheer as Glimmer's was, however my version has another layer underneath that stops it from being at all see through. It's closer in length to my Opening Ceremony dress than virtually anything else Felix has put me in before, the material abruptly ending midway on my thigh. However that isn't what makes me narrow my eyes in confusion.
"What are these for?" I ask him, raising my arms and nodding at the fine ribbons of golden silk that seem to be attached to the collar.
Felix doesn't answer me, but instead crosses over to the table and retrieves three highly varnished wooden boxes. He opens the first one and removes what looks like a very heavy gold bangle, which he then proceeds to put around my wrist before somehow attaching it to the silk ribbons. I soon discover it's nowhere near as heavy as it looks.
He says nothing as he does the same on my other side and then takes a matching gold choker out of the last and biggest box. When I look at myself in the mirror my first thought is of a collar and chains, and then I can't think of anything else no matter how hard I try to see the garment's beauty.
"What's this, Felix?" I whisper, unable to contain my thoughts any longer. "A gilded representation of the Capitol's suppression of the districts?"
He sighs and adjusts the golden choker without speaking. It feels cold against my skin, and when I raise my arms, the heavy bracelets jangle almost like the manacles I suspect they represent.
"It's just a dress, Cashmere," he says mildly, but his expression tells me a very different story. "It sparkles like any other. And you've said often enough that they like you in sparkly things."
I raise my eyebrows sceptically at him, hoping to convey how I really don't believe him without actually saying anything aloud. The way he shakes his head back at me tells me he knows.
"Don't you think you might have gone a little too far this time?" I ask tentatively, watching him intently as he fusses with the remaining loose strands of silk until they stay where he's decided they should be.
He laughs lightly. "Trust me, Cashmere, nobody will notice but us. This is subtle in comparison."
"Comparison to what? Felix?"
I call after him when he heads towards the door instead of responding, but he doesn't stop.
"You need your shoes. Drusilla should have finished them by now," he calls, and the sound of the door closing behind him suddenly seems very loud.
After a few seconds I sigh deeply just to break the silence, but it very quickly returns so I decide to try looking out of the window to see if that distracts me. It does, but not in a good way. All I can see is a vast crowd of people, massing to witness the ceremony they've been waiting for. It isn't long before I move away and return to sit on the bed. I have no choice. However hard it is, I have to sit here and wait.
I look at the clock on the mantelpiece and immediately look away again. It's almost time, and though the room seems colder and emptier without Felix, I almost don't want him to return. I know that when he does I'll have to go downstairs. I'll have to spend what could be the last evening of my life sitting on a stage in the City Circle for the amusement of the mob.
It wouldn't be so bad if I could tell them what I really think of them, and the thought of doing just that is what makes me push myself to my feet. Then I hear a hard tapping at the door and I know it isn't my stylist.
"Who is it?"
"For the love of Panem, District One. Let me in before someone sees me."
I virtually fly over to the door, opening it just enough for me to reach out into the corridor, grab Ursala and pull her into the room. I hastily let her arm go when I realise what I did, but she merely laughs.
"Don't look so worried," she says, shaking her head in exasperation. "I don't bite if you touch me. I'm not Moreno."
"Ursala, how did you get in here?"
"Well, people have these things called feet," she replies sarcastically. "If you tell them where you want to go then they usually take you there."
"Very funny," I say, waving my hands at her and only remembering my dress when the metal cuffs jangle. "You shouldn't be in here. I'm being serious."
"And that's a serious dress," she replies, looking me critically up and down as she totally ignores the rest of what I said. "If it weren't for the rumours I've heard flying around then I'd have put money on you stealing the show."
"Rumours?" I ask, abruptly remembering Felix's earlier words that confused me so greatly.
"That Everdeen's going to turn up for the interview dressed in her bridal white."
"What? Why?"
"The same reason you're going to be standing on the stage with her."
"Punishment?"
She nods, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and pulling the hem of her dress a little closer to her knees.
"And you crept in here to tell me that?" I ask, sitting back down again and staring up at her. "You'll get into trouble if they find you."
"I came here to see you," she replies, trailing off because she doesn't need to add 'in case I don't get another chance' or 'in case you don't come back'.
She sits down next to me, the sofa pushing us together so her leg rests against mine. Only then can I tell how tense she is, and it makes me wonder for what must be the thousandth time since I won the Games if the people of District Two are actually born with the ability to conceal their true feelings.
"How did we end up becoming friends?" I ask her eventually. "What were the chances?"
"Astraea trusted you and Astraea hardly trusts anyone. And I just happened to hear you giving Tiberius as good as you got. It made me decide you weren't like you seem in the interviews," she replies, and her words remind me of Falco telling me he half fell in love with me after listening to me arguing with a Peacekeeper back home before I came to the Games for the first time. It seems people still judge me differently when they hear me speak and some things never change.
"Why don't you hate me?" I say, the question I've longed to ask her for years without ever finding the right moment suddenly spilling out in a way that makes me think perhaps my subconscious realises I'm running out of time.
"Hate you? Why would I hate you?"
"Because there was nobody to rescue you from…what you've endured since you won the Games."
The last thing I expected her to do was laugh at me, but laugh she does, and she laughs even more when she sees my confused expression.
"You seriously think… Oh, Cashmere, you really are as dense as you look sometimes. If I hadn't had Velia then I'd have told Snow to shove his business deal where the sun doesn't shine and lived or died with the consequences, but I did so I made a different choice. I did. It has nothing to do with you."
"But…"
"I get jealous of you, Cashmere. I can't deny it. I see you follow Falco Hazelwell and his friends out of banquets and parties and I wish it were me in your place, but that doesn't mean I would wish what happens to me on you."
"I didn't think you would," I reply softly. "I just…"
"I don't hate you," she says. "Just like you don't hate that stupid Fire-girl, not really."
"I do hate her," I reply, suddenly considering for the first time ever that a lot of what I feel towards Katniss Everdeen involves some form of jealousy. Then I push the thought away. There's no way I'd want to be like her. "But I'm not so cruel that I hate her because she didn't have to face the Victor's Game," I continue, trying to express my feelings but struggling to find the right words to properly describe something I've never spoken of before. "I hate her because she has no idea how lucky she is, or at least how lucky she was before the Quell."
"Sometimes I think the truly lucky ones are the ones who go into the arena for the first time and never come out," she whispers, resting her head briefly on my shoulder before sharply sitting back up again. "The collar on that dress is lethal," she says, laughing and pretending to rub her temple.
"Sorry," I reply, smiling apologetically.
She smiles back and shrugs her shoulders before pulling the hem of her dress down again. "It'd be so nice if just for once my stylist would remember that there isn't a fabric shortage in the Capitol," she says, looking down at it in a way that suddenly reminds me of the expression she wore in the arena.
"I don't think that's going to happen until you start to look old, District Two," I tease, nudging her with my elbow. She doesn't move in response, but when she nudges me back I struggle to keep my balance.
"I have to go," she says, gracefully rising to her feet in one fluid movement. "Stay alive, District One."
I stand up as well and before I realise what I'm doing I throw my arms around her waist, hugging her as tightly as I'd hug Gloss or Felix. She tenses for a second but then she hugs me too, smoothing my hair down my back as I try desperately not to start crying again. Her touch is firm but oddly comforting, and I find myself almost envying Velia. It must be nice to have a mother like Ursala to run to.
"They're coming now," she tells me, and seconds after she does I hear footsteps in the corridor. "It's time."
I nod sadly and pull away, not bothering to conceal the despair I abruptly find I can't fight. Ursala takes one look at me and slaps my face, not hard enough to mark my skin but certainly hard enough to shock me and break my trance.
"What in Panem was that for?" I snap, raising my hand to my cheek.
"Don't you dare go out there looking defeated," she replies sharply. "Do you want him to have the satisfaction of thinking he's beaten you?"
"No," I retort instantly.
"Then don't let him see how you're really feeling. Go out there looking like a proper Victor, like a District Two Victor if you think you can manage it, and don't let him win."
"I…"
"Chin up, back straight, walk tall. For me," she says, her voice commanding but her expression softer than I've ever seen it.
"I will. I promise."
"Then I have to go," she says, and when Felix opens the door she sprints forwards and is halfway down the corridor before he recovers enough to stare after her.
"Ursala," I tell him, scowling at myself because of how my voice trembles so much that I sound like I'm going to cry again. "I think she came to say goodbye."
"I'm sorry, Cashmere," he says sadly. "But it's time to go."
He opens the door wider for me and I leave the room quickly. Before my courage deserts me. Despite what I promised Ursala, I'm not sure it's going to last the night.
I'm guessing (hoping) that a lot of you are quiet because you're waiting for the interviews and the arena... If that's the case then you won't have to wait long as the 'real' end begins next week. If you're following the story then please let me know. And to my regular reviewers, thank you for your support, I'm nearly at the end now :)