Chapter 25: My Husband on Fire

I almost refuse to go. I almost decide that risking a night in the stocks is preferable than being made to watch my husband, the man I love, paraded around the Capitol city like some kind of animal. But then, I remember that I promised Delly, and that as long as I have friends and family by my side, I might be able to get through it, but barely.

I hide my wedding ring in the pockets of my Reaping Dress as Mother and Prim and I walk down to the Square. I doubt Mother would notice the ring if it was on my finger, but I daren't take the risk. I can feel Prim watching me with far too much pity for my liking, but I don't snap at her.

We're some of the last to arrive. Off in a far corner, I see the Hawthornes huddled together. Gale and I lock eyes, and he nods once in solidarity. He looks like he absolutely does not want to be here, which has always been par for the course for him. At least, this year, he has a better excuse than sedition and sheer hatred. His wife is probably going to pop any day; Mother and Prim hurried over to the Hawthorne homestead as soon as I returned from making my trades. Bristel's contractions did turn out to be the Braxton-Hicks effect, but Mother warned Gale to be ready.

"Katty!"

By the light of the torches, I see Delly, Rye and Madge dashing up to me. My…. sister-in-law takes my hand. "Come on! We saved you a seat!"

I barely have time to beckon Prim into my side or turn to see Mother drifting up to Hazelle before the rest of my loved ones are dragging me along. "Where… where are we going?"

"Direct family of the tributes get reserved seating near the front, remember?" Rye snorts bitterly. I do remember that – it wasn't until after the Quell last year that I learned my cousin Isabella had tried to invite Mother, Prim and I, as family, to watch near the front. Her sister, Annabeth, refused. "Plus, guests, if you invite them. Aunt Rooba offered us tickets up front five years ago when Rafe was competing, but Mom refused."

She'll probably refuse even more vehemently to my sitting with them, I think darkly, as once again, my concealed and still fresh marital status reminds me, though this time with horror: the Witch is now my mother-in-law. And worse yet, she doesn't even know it. I half-consider spilling Peeta's and my secret to her once we get to the front, just to see if she might actually have a stroke and die on the spot. I quickly decide against it, rationalizing that one wonderful sister-in-law, and…. I glance to Rye – OK, decent brother-in-law can outweigh having the mother-in-law from Hell.

Like for the Victory Tour, stages are erected to house the immediate families of the tributes, and apparently any guests who are invited to sit with them. When we mount the steps to the stage at the right of the Square, my eyes quickly lock on the beady ones of Miriam Mellark amidst the folding chairs.

"Delly, dear! What's she doing here?!" Miriam glowers at me with pure hatred.

"I invited her, Mama," Delly replies, eyebrows raised, and I never thought I would ever witness happy-go-lucky Delly Cartwright sport what can only be described as a resting bitch face. The sight almost makes me laugh.

"I must agree, Mrs. Mellark," I hear a Peacekeeper officer, who steps forward to block our path, address Delly. "I'm sorry, but this stage is for family only."

"Plus invited guests, Officer," Madge speaks up from behind us.

"And besides…." Delly pats my shoulder. "She is family." If only Delly knew how literally true that statement is…. I feel my heart warm at her sticking up for me.

I make sure that at least Madge, Delly and Prim all separate me from Miriam, arms crossed, down the row of folding chairs. The Witch seems to relax a little bit upon catching sight of my sister, who at least could pass for a Merchant. I have to frown at the old hell-devil's hypocrisy, but also feel proud of myself that I thought to bring Prim along. If my baby sister can serve as a free pass into this family, at least for tonight's fesitivites, then so be it. Should Peeta come home alive, I don't know if I will be able to get away with using my sister as a human shield to advance up the aisle and marry my love legally before the District Justice of the Peace.

To my left, Rye claps me awkwardly on the shoulder. In the seat beyond him, I notice the Baker fidgeting, and my heart goes out to my new father-in-law. Craning around Rye, I smile at him softly.

"He's going to be all right," I whisper softly. The Baker sends me a tight, grim smile.

The Jumboscreen erected in front of the Justice Building becomes bright with color as the Seal of Panem appears on the screen. Next to me, I lace my fingers through those of Delly and squeeze. I feel my sister-in-law squeeze back, and we, the two new Mrs. Mellarks, watch as Caesar Flicerman and Claudius Templesmith begin their coverage of the Tribute Parade.

My husband and Devise Nightgrove won't be on until the very end, parked in the very last chariot. I wonder what motif their stylists will have them dressed up as. Until a couple years ago, just before Peeta and I got together, I would have been deeply concerned about the humiliation that would surely have come. But starting with the 74th Games, District 12 picked up a really good stylist, who thankfully moved away from dunking our tributes in coal dust and slapping miner helmets on them.

Last year, when my uncle and cousin Penelope were competing, they were both adorned with fiery accents. Perhaps my husband and his district partner will be given the same treatment. One can only hope. A good splash at the parade can lead to a head-start on sponsorships.

The roar of the crowd in City Circle swells uproariously as the first tributes rumble into sight along what is known as the Avenue of Tributes. The tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 – the Careers – are all 18, according to the stats that flash up onto the side of the screen. Compared to them, the kids from District 3 – smushed in between the favorites – look like babies. The boy is apparently 12; the girl only 13.

I find myself breathing a sigh of relief as the other chariots start rolling by. I don't think it was intentional, but the other district escorts seemed to get caught up in a habit of picking kids who are either young, short, or both. The only exception to this rule is a hulking boy from District 9. He's apparently 17, and looks like he could be a real threat; the Careers might even try to court him into their crowd.

The screams of the crowd now suddenly reach a fever-pitch, and my heart starts to hum in pleasure as I finally see him. My Peeta.

And…. ohhhh…. He is beautiful…. Stoic and deadly, standing straight as an arrow and looking over the crowd imperviously. Beside him, Devise is more nervous than her 15 years should suggest, waving shyly at the crowd. Fiery accents also lick up her clothes, making her glow in the darkness.

But it is the man I married who is getting the most attention between the two of them… and perhaps even out of the entire field.

"PEETA! PEETA!" The crowd chants lustily. Here is the kind of tribute they love!

Amidst the cacophony, I can hear girls and even some older women screaming shrilly like fans at a rock concert. This noise makes me bristle with protective jealousy; thinking my expression has more to do with nausea, Delly reaches for my hand.

"You OK, Katty?"

I give my sister-in-law the best smile I can manage. "Superb," I state dryly, even if I feel nothing of the kind.

Peeta's chariot pulls to a stop in the City Circle and President Snow comes out to deliver his address. As soon as it is over, the tributes are dismissed to their prep teams and the Training Center, and coverage ends for the night.

I stand shakily and grope about for Prim's hand, ready to leave before the Witch decides to start an altercation or something.

"You'll sit with us for the interviews, won't you?" Delly asks me.

"What about Miriam?"

"Don't care!" Delly snorts. Then, leaning in close, she whispers, "You're my brother-in-law's sweetheart, Katniss. That makes you family. You're entitled to sit with us."

I cup her cheek warmly, then hurry off the stage, tugging Primrose behind me so we can go in search of Mother.

Cameras aren't allowed within the Training Center while tributes train for the arena over the next three days, so there is no Mandatory Viewing in the Square for those three nights. I spend that time hunting with Vick in the woods, and trying not to think about what my husband is being put through. In the interim, Bristel Raydin Hawthorne finally gives birth to Doula, a darling baby girl. My mother and sister helped with the delivery. Prim seems to be comparing the duties she performed as a midwife as akin to a divine experience. It can be quite moving to witness the birth of a child, and I have to be happy for Prim that this has reaffirmed for her what she wants to do with her life. Should she and Rory Hawthorne get married one day, I know that between her work and his almost certain future in the mines, they will be able to live reasonably well.

In my hunts with Vick, I always make sure to bag at least one squirrel a day, which gives me an excuse to go down to the Bakery once a day. I miserably know who I won't find there, but the possibility of a conversation with Delly and even a teasing jab from Rye will do as a substitute for now.

It has to be just 'for now,' I think, as I approach the back loading dock on the fourth morning following the parade – the morning of the release of the Training Scores, followed immediately by the live interviews. Mandatory Viewing will start a little early in the Sqaure this evening, to accommodate for all the programming.

When the door gives way at my knock, I am surprised to find it is the Baker who answers it, a landline phone, the cord fully extended, cradled in the crook of his neck. The Bakery is one of the few Merchant business that can afford a landline phone connection, but I've never before experienced the intrigue of seeing Peeta or any of his family use it before to receive pastry orders.

"…. Thank you for being so encouraging to my boy. Please, please, do your best, Haymitch!" My eyes go huge: Haymitch Abernathy is calling him from the Capitol? The Baker and I lock eyes, and I almost dumbly hold up the squirrel by the tail.

"I… I could only get one today." My voice is hoarse, even to my own ears. The Baker's deep blue eyes – so much like his son's – brighten and he mouths something I can't quite discern (I don't read lips) before something Haymitch says makes him turn back to the phone. The Baker frowns, actually glances to me, then states:

"She's here."

I almost lunge for the receiver, and the Baker passes it to me.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart?"

"Haymitch?" My voice lilts into an emotional squeak. He might be a bastard, but it sure is good to hear his voice.

"Listen to me very carefully: obviously, I know all about what went down in the Justice Building. Peeta misses you something fierce. Some of the Avoxes have told me they've heard him moan your name in his sleep."

Tears are flowing freely down my cheeks in the knowledge that my husband misses me. "Can I talk to him?" I almost beg.

"He should be going in for his private session with the Gamemakers within the next hour, honey. Sorry. Wish I could. He told me to pass along however I needed to that he loves you. And that…. he'll see you soon." Haymitch's voice lowers to barely a whisper. "Your hubby's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, I'll give him that."

I laugh, and it turns into a sob. "Tell him I love him!" I plead, not caring that the Baker is still standing right there. He is periodically glancing up into the front of the shop, like he's keeping watch for Miriam.

"I'll be sure to do that," Haymitch rumbles low. "Stay strong, kid." I hear a click as the line goes dead.

I pass the receiver back to the Baker wordlessly. I may not have gotten a chance to talk to my husband directly, alone, but this means just as much to me. Without any prior discussion, the Baker and I melt into a hug.

And in his arms, I make an impulsive decision. Softly, I whisper in his ear: "Delly isn't the newest Mrs. Mellark."

Drawing back, the Baker's eyes are huge. He gets it instantly. I feel a brief twinge of second-guessing at letting him into the loop, but it's too late to turn back now. I can trust my father-in-law to keep our secret.

Eyes wet with emotion, the Baker cups my cheek, murmurs, "I am honored," then hurries back inside.

I sit next to the Baker – who now insists that I call him 'Dannel' (we both decided it was best that I refrain from calling him 'Papa' for now, to be safe) – that night to watch the returns of the Training Scores. Delly, Prim and Madge are all huddled near me; the Witch doesn't give me the time of day.

The scores themselves are predictable: all six Careers net either 9s or 10s. Husker, the giant from District 9, manages a 10, as well. Low to medium for the rest; Devise Nightgrove pulls a 6.

"And finally, we have Peeta Mellark, with a score of…." Caesar seems to be checking the paper like he can't quite believe what's written there. "….. 11."

11!

Delly and I leap to our feet, hugging each other and squealing. Just as abruptly as we started, we both stop, look at each other, then almost immediately resume again. Behind us, I can feel Danny smiling at his daughters by marriage happily; over Delly's shoulder, the Witch is rolling her eye. Never mind that her son got the top Training Score of the entire field!

We don't have time to catch our breath, aside from an hour of stretching, during which Peacekeepers patrol through the crowd with food and drink. Like we're at a sporting event…. and in a way, we are. Danny waves the officers off, and unwraps a treat he brought himself. My eyes light up.

"Cheese buns?"

"Your favorite, so I'm told." He breaks off a piece and shares it with me.

I only pay cursory attention to the Careers' interviews and Husker's, and pretty much tune out the rest (including Devise) once Caesar Flickerman begins his part of the night. My husband comes up onstage last of all, and I feel my still-sore cunt clinch with want at how his suitcoat hugs him in all the right places.

I smile with pride and allow myself to whisper, just for myself, "That's my husband." I think only Danny hears me, because he gives me a wink.

"Peeta Mellark, the best and most good-looking for last!" Caesar chortles, Peeta shaking his hand as though they've known each other forever. My husband seems perfectly at home kicking back in an easy studio chair, one leg crossed over the other as he and the host get right into it.

"Now, Peeta, what has been your favorite thing since arriving in the Capitol?"

"You have interesting showers," Peeta quips.

"Our showers…. OK…." Caesar's lips are pursed in amusement, and Peeta almost startles him by asking him a question.

"Tell me, Caesar: do I smell like roses?" When Caesar hesitates, Peeta eggs him on, "Take a whiff."

"I… I don't…. all right…." Caesar sniffs along the lining of Peeta's jacket.

"May I?" Peeta asks.

"Please," Caesar is fighting back a grin as Peeta also smells him. The men lock eyes and smile, listening to the audience howl while eating it up, and the host and the tribute taking turns sniffing each other quickly evolves into a bit. A few seats down from me, I can hear the Witch tsssk as she's shaking her head.

"Interesting showers…." She sounds mortified. "He'll be murdered in his bed!"

Pretty soon, though, the audience becomes impatient with idle chit-chat, and we hear a soft chanting of "Training Score! Training Score!"

"Peeta: your training score, I must say, was quite impressive. Care to explain?"

Peeta shakes his head with an almost apologetic smile. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"Lips – I'm glad you brought that up," Caesar moves right along like the refusal of juicy details doesn't bother him. "Because I think more than a few women are anxious to know an answer to this question: is there a special girl back home?"

"Nah, no, there isn't," Peeta chuckles.

"I don't believe him for a second! Look at that face!" Caesar waves his hand around my husband's bashful grin. "Peeta: tell me." He sounds like a lovable uncle.

I feel my heart start to pound as I watch Peeta run his tongue out over his bottom lip, pretending to think about it. Would he actually reveal everything? No, of course, he won't, I know him better than that. Our Toasting was just for us.

"Well, there is this one girl…. I've loved forever. I think she loves me too." There is a mix of cheers and agonized groans, depending on your sexual persuasion, from out in the audience. "No: I know she loves me too."

"Because she's told you?" Caesar presses.

"She has," Peeta allows guardedly. "We've kissed a few times. Reaping Kisses, things like that…."

"Reaping… Reaping Kiss? What is that?"

"Awww, it's just an old District 12 superstition," Peeta waves off. "If you kiss someone on Reaping Morning, legend has it you won't be picked. I kissed her this year, but…. I guess the…. good luck didn't work." A few people sigh piningly. "She – she visited me in the Justice Building, though. To say goodbye."

"Well, I'll tell you what, Peeta: you got out there… and you win this thing, and when you get home, I bet she'll say Yes if you ask her to marry you. Right, folks?" Cheers split the air.

Peeta chuckles. "Thanks, but…. I don't think I need to win for that to happen."

Caesar is utterly confused. I feel my heart clench. Oh no….

"Why not?"

"Because we're already married. We got married, in secret."

Caesar looks delighted by the melodrama of it. "Then, let's get you home to your wife, Peeta. And we wish you… all the best of luck. Peeta Mellark!"

I vaguely remember turning my head to see the Witch standing and screaming herself hoarse at the jumbo screen. I feel dizzy. Then, I feel someone catch me and hiss in my ear:

"Act natural. Let's go." And I allow Delly, Madge and Prim to sort of lead me off the stage, while I try to make it look like I'm exiting under my own power.

My cousin Isabella finds us in the crowd, and me and my girlfriends, along with Prim, huddle in the darkened corner of one alleyway.

As I've given myself time to process it, I manage to calm myself down from the ledge: Peeta revealed he is married, but he didn't disclose to whom. With the way he navigated the interview, I think he was trying to have it both ways, dancing up to the line without having to cross over. He must have finally decided to cross over… sort of, if for no other reason than to feel like he wasn't lying to me, or to himself.

I only let myself cry once I am sure my friends and I are all alone and well hidden. I feel puffy whiteness cloud my vision as yet another tissue is pressed against my eyelids. "Madge, stop it!" I admonish, trying not to sound too harsh.

"Hold still!" she commands. Leaning back, she inspects to see if my eyes are still puffy and red from weeping. "You're fine," she judges. "Can't even tell."

A shadowy figure, silhouetted by the streetlight, darts furtively into the alleyway.

"Rye!" Delly embraces her husband. My idiot brother-in-law looks truly worried. No, more than that – scared.

"Mom is…. I think she might actually be insane," he concludes. "I just slipped away from watching her accost random people. Literally anyone who has a daughter and getting in their face. She's demanding that 'the little slut' who stole her son away comes forward."

In the distance, we suddenly hear a shrill voice go up: "All right, who is it? Come on, I wanna know!" The raised tones fade away on the air after a moment, in the direction of the bakery. I wince.

"You don't think she suspects me?" After sitting up with her family onstage for two nights, I would at least expect that the wheels might start turning. That Miriam might begin to work it out. That she hasn't after nearly two years of dating can only be attributed to sheer dumb luck, at least on Peeta's and my part.

"My mom's so blind, she can't see past the edge of her nose!" Rye declares confidently. "If she does begin to wonder about you, Katniss, I don't think she'll allow herself to even go there. But what I wanna know is…." And he suddenly takes me by the shoulders, gives me a little shake. "Is it true?"

My eyes well up with fresh tears. "Yes!" I cry out.

Rye's rather biazarre sense of humor shines through just then, and he positively beams at me. Then he hugs me. "Snow's roses, I'd kiss you if I wasn't sure my brother would come back and slap the living daylights out of me!"

"Good call," Delly, his wife, snorts.

"If you actually manage to send my mom to an early grave from a stroke, I'll be your best friend forever!"

"Rye!" I laugh.

"We still have one problem:" Madge raises. "What do we do now?" She, Delly, Isabella, Prim, Rye and I all look at each other.

"No one else is to know," Rye declares. "This doesn't leave this alley."

"My mother will know by now," I gasp. At Rye's look, I tell him, "She…. she knew Peeta and I were seeing each other. And Rory Hawthorne too!"

"Rory Hawthorne?" Rye frowns.

"My boyfriend," Prim explains. "He won't say a word, though – I'll see to it!"

"Oh! – and your dad!"

"My dad knows?" Rye now looks a little ill, and I can't exactly blame him – poor Danny's now gonna have to resist his bitch of a wife wheedling that sensitive information out of him. "Snow's roses, Everdeen, how many people have you told?!"

I fold my arms with a scowl. "It's Katniss Mellark now," I sniff (I ignore how Rye satisfyingly indulges in the briefest of smirks). "And he's the only one – I sort of confided in him on a whim! The rest of you pretty much figured it out on your own!" Although he's right that I should probably feel just as concerned by the fact that at least eight or nine other people already know my secret – the more people who know, the less of a secret it is. And more chances that someone breaks and spills everything under pressure. But I trust that these people around me – my inner circle – will stay strong.

Rye seems less sure, as he exhales deeply out through his nose. "Fine. But if any one of you gets cornered alone by my mom, disavow everything. No matter how much she asks, no matter how hard she might push, deny, deny, deny…"

"Got it," I nod vigorously. "Deny, deny, deny."

Rye's final directive starts to sound an awful lot like 'Lie, lie, lie,' by the time Prim and I arrive home from the Square. When we get inside, I expect Mother to be upset with me for marrying without her present, or her blessing, but she doesn't say a word. She merely nods to me heavily – whether out of weariness or acceptance, I can't begin to say.

I fall onto my bed, crying. Tomorrow, my secret husband is going into the arena to fight for his life. Fight to come home to me, so our marriage doesn't die an early death. It still might, though, should Peeta come back alive and his mother gets her way. I can't help but wonder if she would root for her youngest son's death, just so she'll never have to deal with the fact that he openly defied her and married against her wishes. If she knew that he took as his wife someone he knew she wouldn't approve of, she might just hope for his demise, and then hunt me down and gut me as well.

Can Peeta's and my love see us through? It may take the whole rest of our lives – no matter what happens – to find out.