Well, nobody reviewed, and I am sad :( Here is the next chapter. Hope you like it!
Chapter 1
Eighteen years I've been living in this mansion. Eighteen years. It's hard to believe, but my reflection in the mirror reminds me of those years gone by. There are wrinkles around my eyes, and the skin sags a little in my cheeks. I've been told I'm still a striking woman, but certainly not the same woman as in my youth. Of course, I've also been offered some "improvements" numerous times, but I refuse. I like my imperfections. My hair is the same shade of red and my eyes are still a light blue, although they carry more wisdom and worry than before. Nothing else really matters to me.
Spring is in full bloom. I can feel it in the air. Winter was brutal with many freezing rains and blustery snows, but now the sun is rising warmer. The gardens are sprouting full of fragrant flowers in colors of green, yellow, white, and red. It should be a wonderful time of year. But with spring also comes the reapings and the Hunger Games.
I sit at the vanity, brushing my hair. The wood is a dark brown and smooth to the touch. It is delicate and yet strong, just like all the furniture in my room. Coriolanus and I shared the same bed for only a few months after our marriage. It was at that time, only a few weeks after my family had died, that I was told I could not have children. I fell into a deep depression and looked to my husband for support. But instead I found him in bed with another woman. This room has been my prison and my haven since then. The walls are shades of blue with dark mahogany panels, a white bed and sheer white curtains. It was made specifically for me for my love of water. Although I've never seen the ocean, I dream of it, and it's always been my escape.
There is a quiet knock on the door and Valeria, the Avox who has been my servant since I became Mrs. Snow, enters my room. She is pleasant and always wears a closed-lip smile. In a way, she reminds me of my mother.
"Good morning," I smile at her even though I know she cannot speak. "How are you?"
Valeria nods to let me know she is good and points down because breakfast is waiting in the kitchen downstairs. I thank her before heading out. Although I know I can get breakfast very easily in my room, I prefer to get out when I can. She is already hard at work making the bed and straightening up. It used to bother me to have someone cleaning up after me. Now, after so many years of it, I barely even think twice.
Breakfast is quiet with only servants around for company. They are all very nice, but it is only because I am the wife of the President. Coriolanus is nowhere to be found, which is not unusual. He takes most of his meals in his room, mostly, I think, to avoid seeing me.
The television flashes on. It is Caesar Flickerman, talking excitedly. "It's April 1st, and you know what that means, ladies and gentlemen. In only two weeks' time, we will be filming live from all over Panem for the reapings of the 74th Hunger Games! Be sure not to miss a minute!" His trademarked unnaturally white smile stretches across his ageless face, and then he is gone. The tv fades to black. I shake my head and finish eating.
After breakfast, I head out to the garden for a short walk. Around this time of year, my head always gets cluttered with too many thoughts. Besides the impending Hunger Games, it was in May that my family died so many years ago.
My days usually consist of boring and monotonous tasks. I write letters, I read books, I attend lunches and tea parties. Anything outside of the mansion I am forced to have an escort, and for the last eight years that escort has been Ian Sunderling. He is waiting for me as I walk back to the house, a scowl on his face.
"You failed to tell me you were leaving the premises, Mrs. Snow," Ian said, his voice rough. He wears the usual Peacekeeper uniform but with no helmet and a strip of red fabric crossing across his chest, the symbol of the President's personal guards. He is not much older than me, but years of working as a Peacekeeper in the districts aged him. Deep lines cross his brow and cheeks, along with a few scars. Only his eyes remain young. They are a dark green and constantly moving to take in everything around him. Although he can be quite overbearing at times, he is the only person I can talk to honestly and trust that he will do the same.
"Well, I did not leave the premises, Mr. Sunderling, so I was unaware that I needed your assistance," I replied, attempting to breeze past him into the house. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
"I hate to disagree with you, but you left the inside of the house. You know you must have an escort for the gardens. We have had that conversation on more than one occasion," Ian said, the sarcasm rich in his tone. I have to smile. It is considered treason to argue with any members of the presidential family, so as much as he doesn't like it, he must abide by the rules. In private, he doesn't watch his words so carefully.
"You're right," I sighed. "Forgive me for making such a deathly mistake as taking a walk to clear my head." I said it playfully, but Ian relaxed and stepped aside. He understands that April is a difficult month for me.
"Just don't let it happen again," he grumbled.
The rest of the day is spent getting ready. Tonight is the annual Spring Ball. Every year on April 1st, all the Capitol's wealthiest citizens and previous winners are invited to the mansion to start the month-long celebration of the Hunger Games. To be a tribute in the Games is heartbreaking, but to win is bliss. Winners become celebrities in the Capitol, and many come several times a year to mingle with the city's elite. This is one event few of them miss.
It's embarrassing to admit that it takes almost eight hours and a parade of stylists to even get a "natural" look for a lavish party, but it's true. First there is the deep scrub shower. Afterwards, a servant towel dries my hair while another one waxes every part of my body. Then I am moisturized from head to toe. My nails are painted. My makeup is done and my hair is curled and pulled up into a fancy style. Finally, my personal stylist, Kane, brings in a custom-made dress and helps me get in it. I only got a small bite to eat for lunch, and by the time Kane brings in my dress, my stomach is growling loudly. He complains about me not eating enough and having to lace up my gown tighter than usual, but I know I will eat more than my share at the feast tonight.
Finally, as darkness falls, I am ready and everyone leaves. I know I must meet my husband soon to go downstairs, but for now, I am alone. I always need the few minutes to prepare myself for seeing Coriolanus and for the act that we both put on. I know he no longer loves me, if he ever really did. He has a constant flow of Capitol women to fulfill his desires, and even when we pass in the mansion, he barely acknowledges me. I fear him, dislike him, but also don't know what I would do without him. So long have I been under his wing of watchfulness and protection that I convince myself I must love him. Because if I don't love him, then there is no more reason to stay. And, simply put, I don't have anywhere else to go.
Kane has dressed me beautifully, as always. My dress is a bright yellow with ruffles from the sleeves down to a low dip in the front. It cinched in my hips but then relaxed into a long and flowing skirt with a small train. My shoes are a small red heel, as I am completely hopeless in anything that is greater than half of inch off the ground. My hair sits a deep side part and pulled in a chignon on the side with some of the front left out and curled loosely. Red lips and shimmery eye shadow completed the look. Even without looking in the mirror, I know my picture will be on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow morning as the best dressed of the evening.
I sigh heavily and stare out the window. The bright lights of the city are mesmerizing. Cars are pulling through the circle driveway of the mansion, and sparkling women and stoic men step out. The party is starting.
A loud knock and Ian steps in. He is out of his uniform and instead dressed in a black and white tuxedo for tonight.
"Wow, you look beautiful," Ian said, his face in awe. He stands uncomfortably but looks quite handsome, despite the fact he obviously dressed himself.
"Well, thank you. You look very nice yourself." I laugh and go over to straighten his bowtie.
"Why does your husband make us wear these outfits for parties?" he asked.
"It's not an outfit, it's a tuxedo. And you know it's so you don't stand out so much," I answered, taking a step back and observing with a smile. "There you go."
"Thanks," Ian smirked, still uncomfortable. He seems to get more tense when I get close to him, so I take a few more steps back.
"I guess it must be time to go," I said, sitting in a chair close to the window, not anxious to see my husband.
Ian nodded. "The President will be here in a few minutes."
We sit there like that in silence, Ian standing by the door, me staring off into nothing in the chair, until a gentle melodious rap comes on the door. President Snow is the only person in the mansion who knocks but does not enter. He waits for someone to answer the door, which Ian does quickly. And then there he is in front of me. Not much of his original features are left as his search for eternal youth has led him to go under the knife numerous times. His lips are too puffy for his face. The black hair has turned to white. The brown eyes which used to be soulful and mysterious are now just cold and calculating. But I open my arms and greet him passionately. There is a white rose on the lapel of his expensive suit, meant to try to cover up the smell of blood from his mouth sores, but it does a terrible job, and instead I get the overpowering odor of both. He kisses me with a closed mouth and wraps me in a hug. Our act begins here. It is not necessary for Ian; he already knows our situation. But it gives us a bit of practice and warming up to each other before facing the prying eyes of Capitol citizens. Orli stands close by, Coriolanus' bodyguard. He is a sour, burly man with a penchant for smoking and cursing, but he's good at his job, and the only guard to last more than a few months watching over the President.
"My dear, you look ravishing," Coriolanus said, a smile creasing his stiff face.
"Thank you," I replied, returning his smile and staring into his eyes.
"Are you ready?" He reaches out his arm, and I place my arm through his.
"As always."
The crowd applauses as we enter, and we give them quite the show. We are holding hands, the glow on our faces supposedly with love for each other. We stay close to each other for a little while, greeting everyone. I laugh at all of his jokes, no matter how unfunny they are. We lean in close to each other and smile and kiss and take pictures like the happy couple we should be. Although I know it's only an act, the way he looks at me makes my heart beat a little faster. It seems so real. And it reminds me of when I was 18, newly engaged, and we would take long walks through the city at midnight when no one else was around, just to get away from everything and everybody. Oh, he could melt my heart with a single glance. He would stare into my eyes and say such sweet and wonderful things. I knew that nothing else mattered to him besides being there with me.
After making all the necessary rounds through the ballroom, the President and I split to go our separate ways. Ian follows me as I wind my way through the crowd back to the food and Orli goes with Coriolanus as he makes his way back to the Gamemakers' table.
The wealthiest women in the Capitol are also the most surgically altered and the loudest. They have never wanted for a piece of food and almost all of them are overweight if not obese. Their clothes are large and gaudy. I know I should be more like them as I was raised in the Capitol as well, but for some reason, they all disgust me. They are the fakest people I've ever met, inside and out. But I must be nice to them as their money helps support my husband and our country. So even as they disturb me while I'm trying to eat, I smile and nod enthusiastically to all their silly chatter.
There is a lot of talk about the Hunger Games…what the arena will look like, who the tributes will be, if any of them will ever be as handsome as Finnick Odair was and still is. All the women of the Capitol are in love with the winner of the 65th Hunger Games from District 4. I look over and can see him making the rounds with the wealthiest of the wealthy, kissing hands and cheeks, smiling in a boyish way to charm the women out of their money. I do not like Finnick Odair.
The party seems to drag on endlessly. It is early morning by now, and yet some of the guests are still drinking and eating and having fun. My eyelids are heavy, and as I sit alone at a long table, my head propped up on my hand, I wish I could just go to sleep. Coriolanus has long since disappeared, so it is up to me to entertain the remaining partiers, although I gave up pretending to care after they all got too drunk to notice. Ian was standing close by, but even he is starting to tire. He leans against the wall now, massaging his neck with his hands, his head tilted up.
I am startled when the chair scrapes next to me. My eyes snap to meet the sea green ones of Finnick. He sits down close to me, leaning in so his face is only inches from mine.
"So why is it that the most beautiful woman at the party is sitting all alone?" he asked. His breath wreaks of alcohol.
"Well, I see that you have been having a good time," I answered, crossing my arms across my chest.
"Yes, yes I have," Finnick laughed. "You know, I could give you a good time, too. The best night of your life, actually, if you let me."
He was so close he was practically whispering in my ear, his voice low, but a cocky smile plastered on his tanned face.
"You have had too much to drink, Mr. Odair, and I believe it would be a good idea for you to retire to bed before you make an even bigger fool of yourself," I replied, my voice as low as his but anger boiling just under the surface.
Finnick merely smiled more, however, and placed an arm around my shoulders. "I bet you have a lot of good secrets. That's the only form of payment I receive, you see. Secrets." His eyes lit up every time he said the word. Then he threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Or do you already have your list of chosen men like your husband has his women?"
I stood up quickly, my chair clattering to the floor. Several people looked over at me, but none were interested enough to pay much attention. Ian was at my side in an instant, a protective hand on my elbow, the other separating me and Finnick. It felt like a fire was burning underneath my skin and my face was red hot. How dare this man say such things? Of course I knew about the other women, but Finnick had absolutely no right to imply that I would do the same. And how did he even have knowledge of that to begin with?
"Party's over, Mr. Odair," Ian said, his tone even and unchanging.
"Yes, I was just getting ready to leave," Finnick said, standing slowly before sauntering unsteadily out of the ballroom.
Ian watched him until he was completely out of sight. I was still standing, shaking from the anger pulsing through my veins. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked, shifting his attention to me.
I take a minute to get my breathing under control. "Yes, I will be fine," I finally answered. "Please tell the President that I have gone to bed."
Ian nodded, his eyes full of questions and concerns, but he let me go without saying a word, walking several feet behind me to make sure I made it back to my room safely.