We've been in the Capitol for days. I try to focus on the different events but my mind keeps slipping back to District 1. We're done with families now. Still. I killed both of their tributes and they cheered for me like I was some kind of hero. The scenes play over and over in my head. It's what I was trying to forget last night and the night before and the night before that, whenever I close my eyes. It's what I'm still trying to forget now.
"Katniss?"
"Huh?" I look up and see the camera, Peeta posed with his arm around my waist.
"Smile," he whispers through his own. I paste on a fake, toothy smile and the camera flashes.
"Alright, you two! That's a wrap. Next on our itinerary is a tour of the Presidential Palace!" Effie harps. My stomach drops. "You won't see the president himself, of course, but they wanted some shots of you two on the grounds before the party tomorrow night. Once we finish up there, it's a short dinner break, prep, and then we are off for our interview with Caesar!"
She says everything like it's the most exciting thing that could possibly happen. I can't ever read Effie. I'm not sure if she's putting on a show or she's actually happy. I tend to think she is being genuine most of the time. Naively genuine.
My mouth feels like all of the spit has evaporated as we walk through the tall double doors at the entrance to the Presidential Mansion. I know we aren't meeting with Snow today, but he's here, somewhere near. We spend too much time in the lobby, posing with assorted statues and paintings and blinking spots from our eyes when the photographers shoot an unexpected candid. Peeta spends a long time staring at a painting on the wall – some oceanic scene.
"Hey," I say quietly. He shoots me a brief smile and returns to the painting.
"Look at the way the brush strokes form the waves – this one swirls and this one is spins. It's like the whole canvas is moving. I bet watching this person paint is like watching someone dance." He breathes in awe. Leave it to Peeta to find the beauty in this awful place. But that's something he's always been able to do. Something he even sees in me, even though I've never seen it in myself – the beauty in the awful.
We're brought upstairs and deposited in some conference room while Effie and the camera crew go to set up for the next part of the shoot. Even this business area is ornate – swirling crown molding, gilded chairs. Nothing in the palace is plain. There's a bowl of fruit on a table against the wall, but the fruit is made from sparkling crystal. I think how just one grape could feed a family in the Seam for half a year. When I look up Peeta is fiddling with a TV in the corner.
"What are you doing?" I ask, crossing over to him.
"I want to see the coverage so far. See if there's anything we need to brush up on," he answers. This is something Peeta and Haymitch do together frequently that I just ignore. They'll watch the news reports, analyze how we look and what we say, listen to the commentary and see where we need to improve. The screen flashes on, but instead of a bright, neon-haired Capitol reporter, the image is of a district square burning. It's utter chaos. People running, bullets firing in all directions, dead bodies in the street – Peacekeeper and citizen alike. Above the square is a banner bearing our faces, leftover from the Victory Tour stop. Fire chases up the pole before the edges of the banner are engulfed. I know this place. It's District 8.
"Shit," Peeta swears, hammering the buttons until the screen goes black.
We weren't supposed to see that.
We stare at each other in disbelief. We didn't do anything wrong in 8. We did everything exactly right.
"Children! We're ready!" Effie announces as she re-enters the room in a flourish. We spin around guiltily, cheeks flushed and bodies stiff, but she doesn't seem to notice. We follow her stoically. Peeta grabs my hand and grasps it tight. Our bodies are positioned in front of different scenery in the mansion. We smile, we kiss, we try to be perfect. We try to be enough.
We are absolutely terrified.
The rest of the day is a blur. I can't focus, I can't think. We sit in the Tribute Center with dinner plates in front of us and I just stare. I can feel Haymitch's eyes boring into me.
"You should eat, sweetheart. Not gonna get another chance tonight," Haymitch says.
"I don't feel well," I respond mechanically, which results in a shrill overreaction from Effie. She insists I go lie down, take my temperature, followed possibly by a blood transfusion. Haymitch talks her down and eventually she settles on delaying the prep team an extra half hour. Effie steps outside to make the arrangements and the three victors of District 12 are left alone.
Haymitch looks at me. He knows I can't say anything, not here. But he knows something is very wrong.
"I think Peeta should propose tonight," I say, my eyes glued to my plate. I can't see their reactions. No one makes a sound.
"Okay," Peeta finally says, his voice distant.
"Peeta-"
"I said okay," he repeats. Peeta takes his napkin from his lap, places it on his plate, and walks up to his room. I go to stand but Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Don't. The kid needs some time alone," Haymitch orders.
"I thought this is want he wanted anyway," I grumble without thinking, but I feel guilty the moment the words are out of my mouth and grateful Peeta wasn't here to hear them. Haymitch stares at me.
"Not like this. He wanted it to be real," Haymitch says before he gets up from the table and walks out the door. It's the most like a parent he's ever felt. He's certainly got the disappointed look down pat. I stare up the stairs at Peeta's door. I think Haymitch is right. Peeta wants to be alone. I go to my room instead.
I wonder what my mother will think of the engagement. My sister. Gale. But then my mind shifts to Peeta's family. I can't help but smile when I imagine his mother losing her mind. That might be the only good thing to come of this. That and saving Prim's life.
I wonder if Mr. Mellark will be happy.
I wonder if Peeta will be.
I stare at the wall joining our two rooms. I cross the room and sit with my back against the wall. It's as close to Peeta as I think I should get and as far as I'm willing to be.
When we arrive backstage, Haymitch presses a small, velvet box into Peeta's hand. They exchange a few quiet words. Peeta nods curtly and shoves the box in his pocket. Peeta hasn't looked at me since we got here. Haymitch takes the stage and we hear the crowd applaud and cheer. Haymitch has always been a favorite among the Capitol. What District 12 sees as grouchy and smelly and drunk, they see as clownish and silly and entertaining. Haymitch uses it to his advantage, manipulating them without notice. Peeta watches our mentor.
"Peeta," I whisper, but his eyes are glued on stage.
"It's not fair to be mad at me," I spit out.
"I'm not mad at you," he responds.
"Well it seems like –"
"I'm not mad at you," he repeats, refusing to face me.
"You can't even look at me," I insist. "I thought we were on the same page. Whatever it takes…" I don't say the rest of the sentence out loud. Whatever it takes to save our sister.
"We are," Peeta says harshly. "We are on the same page," he repeats, but softer this time. "But I didn't want to hurt you to do it. I will propose, I'll do this, but I'm not stupid. I know you never want to get married. And I know… whatever it is that's going on between us… It's not permanent. It's not the foundation of a lifetime together. You don't want that. And it's making me sick to do this to you when I know it's not what you'd choose. I feel like I'm forcing myself on you. I'm–" He finally meets my eyes and I've never seen him look so sincere. "I am so sorry, Katniss."
I feel like I've swallowed a stone because I can't breathe or talk or swallow or forms words.
The audience claps wildly as Haymitch wraps up his interview. It slams me out of Peeta's words and back here, in reality. The backstage area comes to life with the transition – cast and crew alike moving around us like a blur. Peeta and I stand there, staring at each other, not touching, eyes locked, frozen like a statue in the middle of a hectic square. The world around us is chaotic and loud but it feels like it's a million miles from us.
"I'm sorry," he says again. He knows me. He really, truly knows me. He's not just my district partner or my confidant or even my best friend. He knows me in a way no one has. In a way I've never let anyone know me.
"Just breathe," I whisper, but before he can say anything his prep team is dragging him away from me, making some last minute adjustments to his hair and makeup before we go on stage. I see Octavia and Venia descend, primping and preening, but we keep locking eyes from across the room, until our chins are forced toward makeup brushes and powder.
We hear Caesar's booming voice and Peeta flashes me one last look before he takes the stage. I make my entrance, as planned, and the audience loses it when Peeta dips me in for a kiss. We play the game. The audience gobbles it out of our hands. I think of District 8 and the people lying dead on the ground. I try even harder. When Peeta takes a knee and flashes a shining diamond, I act like the swooning schoolgirl I'm supposed to be. Caesar carefully choreographs the interview. I'm not sure if he knows, if he's in on it, if he's been ordered to sell our love story, but by the end of the interview I feel like maybe, for once, we did it right.
"Nice job, kids," Haymitch whispers as he claps our shoulders, joining us on stage. He turns to lead us off when suddenly the crowd goes from ecstatic to hysterical. A syrupy sweet scent drips across the stage like a fog descending down a mountain. My body freezes. I can feel him here – before I see his face or hear his voice - he's here. President Snow waves to the audience as he takes the stage and nods to a camera.
I envision punching him in the face with my obnoxiously gigantic ring. I imagine his blood on the stone, getting under the prongs. I imagine killing him here and now, and all of this finally being over.
Instead, I smile brightly and act star struck.
The president makes a joke about my mother being displeased with the engagement. The audience laughs and I pretend to laugh along, but even hearing her name in his mouth makes me want to strangle him with the silk kerchief wrapped around his thin, winding throat.
"Maybe this one won't call it off," Snow winks at Peeta as they banter back and forth. The audience claps and cheers. Snow offers us congratulations. When he shakes my hand he gives me a look that almost reads as approval, but I quickly realize it's not for me. He's pleased with himself, with the control he has over me.
On the car ride back, Haymitch tells us it was a good night. He repeats it over and over, trying to make it sink in.
"This was exactly what you needed going into the celebrations tomorrow," he reassures us. We sit in the car for a while, even after it's stopped at the entrance to the Tribute Center, idling in place. I can't process anymore tonight. I try to shove it from my brain.
"Night," I say as I pull myself from the car. I don't wait to hear Haymitch say it back.
We head inside the Tribute Center. I remove the unbearable heels Effie insisted I wear and carry them in my hand. The tile floor is cold against my feet, but at this point I'd rather be cold than unsteady. We ride the elevator in silence.
"It was good. I think Haymitch is right. I think it was good," Peeta says. I nod. We walk into our suite. Peeta stops in the kitchen and pours a tall glass of water and drinks. He hands me the glass and I finish it, setting it in the sink. We head upstairs to our rooms. Lingering at the top of the steps, I replay tonight's events over and over in my mind. Was it enough?
"Are you hungry? You didn't eat," Peeta asks. He stands next to me - giving me space, giving me time, giving me him if I want. This battle is not being fought alone.
I try to calm myself down. I need to focus. We have one more day here. One more day to convince Snow. I have enough fire and fury fuming inside me to scorch the earth, but when I look at Peeta's face – calm, caring, curious – I know I'm not alone. Peeta is good. He so inherently, undeniably good. At first it made me feel inferior, but now it grounds me. He grounds me. He knows who I am and he loves me anyway. He doesn't love an idea of me. He doesn't love the pretty girl my prep team turns me into. He loves the way I make my sister laugh. That I'm smart. He loves the scorched earth, fierce, angry parts of me, too.
He thinks I'm worth it. He makes me feel like maybe I am.
I think back to his words before we took the stage.
It's making me sick to do this to you when I know it's not what you'd choose. I'm so sorry, Katniss.
He's not sad for himself – handcuffed to a girl that will never love him back. He was sad for me.
"You okay?" Peeta asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I look up and see the gentle concern on his face, the encouraging gaze.
"I love you." The words slip out of my mouth so softly I'm not sure Peeta could even hear them over the pounding of my pulse in me ear.
"What? Did you just tell me you loved me?"
"Yes," I answer.
"Thanks, Katniss. But you don't have to say that just to make me feel better," he says lightly, shifting his weight. "You don't owe me that. You don't owe me anything."
I step forward and swallow. Peeta stares at me and he realizes I'm not kidding. He doesn't dare move or breathe or blink because he might wake up, because the moment might not be real. His eyes drop to mine. I look back at him, refusing to break even though everything in my head and heart and skin is telling me to run. My feet stay planted on the ground. Peeta's hand reaches up and he gently tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
I love him.
"I love you, too," he says.
I perch on my toes and bring my lips to his. The kiss is soft. Tentative. Things are different between us. We're engaged, yes, but that's a lie. We both know it. What's different is the truth. It changes things. It brings a certainty. Clarity. But neither of us know how to kiss when this is what it means. We're careful at first. Gentle. Quiet. Peeta's hand slides back into my hair and I whimper slightly against his lips. It's like a flood gate opens.
We crash together, slamming back against the door. I reach for the knob, twisting until it gives way. I don't even know whose room we're in as I stumble backwards, Peeta's steady arm on my lower back keeping me from toppling to the floor. He's still wearing his suit from earlier and my fingers move clumsily to unknot his tie as he lifts me effortlessly. We drop onto the bed, pulling and wanting and loving each other. The uncomfortably large diamond on my left hand clangs noisily against Peeta's belt buckle as I fumble trying to unstrap it. Peeta's hands drop to mine, slides the ring from my finger, and throws it across the room, not even bothering to look where it lands. In some way, it's the most perfect thing he's ever done.
His lips break from a kiss into a smile and our teeth bump as we both start to laugh. He sits up and leans back on his knees.
"I'll find it. Sorry, I'll find it," he says with a smile, tripping on his loose pants as he pulls himself from the bed. I lean over and turn on the light. The scene is very exposing. Peeta's tie is hanging loose around his neck, his shirt untucked and his fingers sliding closed the button on his pants. The strap from my dress is slung off my shoulder and my skin still feels like it's burning from Peeta's lips on my skin.
"Here. Easy," Peeta says, taking the ring from the floor and show-offishly sliding it back on my finger. He kneels in front of me on the floor, his blonde eyelashes focused on my hand. The air in the room pauses as if the space itself is holding its breath.
"I promise to keep you safe. You and your family," Peeta whispers. "This marriage, it doesn't have to be real. But I want you to know that, for me, it is a promise."
I remember watching him sleeping on the train home from our Games. I made a promise to him, too. I think we made vows to one another a long time ago. But when you mean it, vows don't need to be sworn aloud.
"Bed?" he says. I nod. He gives me a half grin, leaning up and kissing my forehead before standing.
Everything else is routine. We brush our teeth. We slip into night clothes. Peeta opens a window before dropping into bed.
Nothing's changed.
But everything is different.
And for once, that doesn't scare me.
