Chapter 8

We go back into the hotel and pay for a room. Peeta signs the register. The manager winks at Peeta when he hands him the key. "Hope you and the missus enjoy your stay."

Peeta frowns and picks up my bag as we climb the stairs to the second floor.

We locate the room assigned us. It's dim inside, lit only by an oil lamp set on a small side table beside the brass bed. On one wall is a low bureau. Above it hangs a small, round mirror. Atop it are a washbowl and a pitcher filled with water. A wooden chair sits against the opposite wall.

Peeta sets my bag on the floor next to the bureau. "I'll give you some privacy for a bit," he says, before turning and leaving the room.

I have no plans to change my clothing, but I remove my shoes, placing them out of the way under the bureau. I take off my petticoat and stuff it into my bag. I pull the pins from my hair to let my braid fall down my back. I unravel it, and massage my achy scalp. The bedsprings squeal as I sit down, propping myself up against the pillows. I find myself dozing off as I wait for Peeta to return.

A gentle knock awakens me. Half asleep, I hop from the bed and put my mouth close to the door.

"Who is it?"

Peeta calls out and I unbolt the door to let him in. His eyes grow big as he takes in my unbound hair, which hangs halfway down my back. I blush because I had fallen asleep before I could rebraid it.

I step back and sit on the edge of the bed. Peeta sits down in the chair that faces me. An awkward tension fills the room as I quickly form a loose plait that falls over my left shoulder. When I am done I grab a pillow, remove the top blanket from the bed, and hand it all to Peeta.

"Thanks. I'll sleep here." He sets the pillow and blanket on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Would it be all right if I open the window?"

"That would be fine."

He tugs it open. "You can turn out the light whenever you like Katniss."

He drops to the floor to lie down. I blow out the light, pull the sheet down on the bed, and crawl under it. A cool breeze blows through the open window and I shiver under the thin covering.

"Goodnight," Peeta says.

I wish him the same and turn onto my side, curling up into a ball to make myself warmer. I lie in bed willing sleep to come. My fingers trace the outline of my lips as I remember Peeta's kiss on the train. I think over the day that started with me sneaking away in despair and now leaves me in an altogether different state.

Eventually I drift off to sleep. A nightmare follows. However, instead of the usual dream where I see my parents' wagon tumble over on a steep road and fall down a ravine to the river below, tonight I find myself looking out the train window watching Peeta jump onto the side of a car and then fall off. I am banging on the glass as the train moves forward, as Peeta grows smaller and smaller in the distance. His loss overwhelms me. I cry out, loud and choking sobs.

I wake to squeaking springs and Peeta's arms around me. He calms me, wiping my tears away with his hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispers.

"No." My dream was about losing him. But now that he's here I'm all right.

He pulls his arms away. "As long as you're fine." The springs creak as he stands.

"Stay," I say without thinking.

He hesitates. "Are you sure Katniss?" His voice is hoarse with sleep.

"Yes."

"All right," he murmurs.

I scoot over on the mattress to make room, and roll onto my side facing away from him. He positions his body around my back, placing an arm over my waist. I relax into his warmth and again breathe in the aroma of cinnamon and dill.

"I haven't slept in a bed in a while," Peeta murmurs as he buries his face in the back of my hair.

As I'm drifting off to sleep I realize why his scent is so familiar. It smells like the bed sheets the first night I stayed at Delly's house. As I am pulled under into unconsciousness, it dawns on me that Rye put me in Peeta's room and kicked him out to sleep on the bakery floor. I've been sleeping in Peeta's bed ever since I arrived in Wyoming.

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When I wake in the morning, I have a delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with Peeta, until I realize that the arm draped over me, the warmth at my back is Peeta. My happiness turns into mortification. I remember having a nightmare and Peeta calming me. But then I let him stay with me in my bed. I invited him to stay.

It's all right. Nothing happened, I tell myself. But I am humiliated. What he will think of me now?

He's still asleep, snoring lightly. I gently ease my body from underneath his arm and slip off the bed. The springs of the bed's frame screech and wake Peeta from his slumber. He blinks a couple of times, and then sits up abruptly. The expression on his face indicates that he's clearly as embarrassed as I am.

"I need to use the toilet," I blurt out. I rush from the room in my stocking feet to go to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway. I lock myself inside and lean my back against the door, pressing my cool hands against my warm cheeks.

A mirror hangs above the small table that holds a washbasin. I glance at it to see my hair mussed and my face flushed. I take a deep breath and pour some water in the basin. I wet my hands and wash my face clean. I fix my hair by unbraiding it, finger-combing through it, rebraiding it, and then pulling the hairpins from my pocket and pinning up the thick braid.

After using the facilities, I smooth out my skirt, which clings to my body without my petticoat underneath. I take another deep breath and return to the room.

Peeta opens the door after my first knock. His hair is wet and it appears he tried to smooth it down with water from the pitcher on the bureau. But some curls refuse to stay down.

"Good morning," he greets me as I enter the room. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," I whisper, wondering if he will say anything about what happened last night. But thankfully he doesn't.

He pulls his watch out of his pocket and checks the time. "We should go downstairs and get breakfast."

"All right." I am relieved to get out of this confined space. I remove my shoes from under the bureau and sit in the chair to put them on. I remember my petticoat. "Could you step outside for a moment Peeta? I need to fix my skirt."

"Of course," he responds. "I'll wait outside the room for you."

As soon as he is gone, I pull my petticoat from my bag, put it on, and smooth my skirt down over it. Through the door I hear talking in the hallway. I go to the door to open it but it seems to be stuck. I yank on it again. It feels like someone is pulling on the knob from the other side holding it shut. I can clearly hear Peeta's voice so I bang on the door to get his attention. I rap for close to a minute before the door opens.

"It was stuck," I tell Peeta.

He licks his lips nervously.

"What's wrong?" I turn from Peeta to find a pair of sea green eyes meeting mine.

Oh no. Finnick Odair. What is he doing here in Laramie? I flash a panicked look to Peeta. Seeing Finnick makes me feel immoral about sharing a room with Peeta, never mind sharing a bed. But nothing happened, I remind myself.

Peeta reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "Katniss, it seems Finnick was our neighbor last night."

I flash a sickly smile toward the handsome man.

A twinkle appears in his eyes and a lecherous grin on his lips. "I hope you had a decent sleep," he says. "I heard you cry out in the middle of the night."

"It was a bad dream." I say.

Finnick smiles smugly, like it he doesn't believe my explanation. He even winks at Peeta.

I am on fire. An awkward tension fills the air.

"Finnick, can you keep a secret?" Peeta begins.

Finnick nods. "Of course," he purrs. A sly smile appears on his face, like he expects to hear Peeta recite a tawdry tale of debauchery.

"Katniss and I eloped."

Peeta raises my hand and kisses the back of it, throwing me an apologetic smile. I hide my face in his chest. Why would he tell Finnick we've wed? But I don't have to think much about it because I know why. Peeta is saving my reputation.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you two," Finnick says. The astonishment in his voice is evident.

Finnick extends his hand and Peeta's arm snakes around my body to shake it.

I pull my face back from Peeta's chest and smile weakly at Finnick.

"And a kiss for the bride of course," Finnick adds, tipping his head toward Peeta as if to get his permission.

Peeta nods, and Finnick bends down to kiss my cheek. Afterwards he puts his lips to my ear. "You could have done much better my dear," he whispers loudly.

I can't tell if Finnick means it to be a jest or if he is serious. But I defend Peeta soundly. "No, Finnick I don't think I could have."

I flash a quick smile at Peeta but the look in his eyes leaves me breathless. Weeks ago I saw something in Peeta's eyes that hinted at interest. But this look, well it's far more than that. Peeta Mellark is in love with me.

We follow Finnick downstairs to the dining room. Peeta's arm stays around my waist to keep up the act, but it feels less and less like an act to me. We sit down to the table that is heaped with platters of griddlecakes and sausages and stewed fruit. Several other hotel guests are already seated and eating.

A woman comes in and pours us hot coffee, and then tops it off with thick, frothy cream. Finnick stands to whisper into her ear. She grins, and then leaves the room.

We pile our plates with food. A few minutes later the woman returns with a tray holding an open bottle of champagne and several glasses.

She sets it down on the table next to Finnick and my stomach drops.

Finnick stands up to speak to everyone at the table. "My dear friends from Panem, Peeta and Katniss have gotten married. I'd like everyone to join me in a toast to the happy couple."

Peeta reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I throw him a nervous smile before accepting a glass from Finnick.

Once everyone has drunk to our lifelong happiness, Finnick asks Peeta if we're returning to Panem today.

"Yes. We have our tickets already."

"Wonderful," Finnick says. "I'm done with my business here so I'm returning too."

I groan inwardly. What are we going to do? We can't let this charade continue. We will have to tell Finnick the truth. Because it may look bad, but nothing happened that either of us needs to be ashamed about.

After we eat, Peeta leaves to retrieve my bag from the room. I am left alone with Finnick. Desperate to avoid discussion about my fake marriage, I ask him about his visit to Laramie.

"I was visiting my sweetheart Annie," he says. "She's a schoolteacher here in Laramie. I've been buying pencils for all her students."

I am astounded. Finnick has a sweetheart? I thought he was buying pencils as an excuse to flirt with me. How could I have been so very wrong? And if he didn't write the letters, who did?

We are sitting at the dining table when the manager comes over carrying the hotel register. He sets it down in front of us.

"Mitchell forgot to get your signature last night, Mr. Odair," the manager says.

Finnick snorts. "I got here late. I had to wake him up to get my key."

The manager frowns and hands Finnick a pen.

"I hadn't planned to stay an extra day but I missed Annie so much," Finnick tells me.

I watch Finnick as he writes. His signature is sloppy, not much better than a young child's. My eyes glance up the page and I note Peeta's signature. Peeta Mellark and wife.

I know he wrote it that way to protect me. To preserve my good name.

But a shiver runs down my spine as I continue to stare at it. I know that hand. Even though it is a small writing sample, Peeta's script with it loops and scrolls is exactly the same as the penmanship in the two letters that were shoved under the Mercantile door. I was completely wrong about their author. Peeta has been wooing me all along and I didn't see it.

Author's Note: The word "elope" can be traced back to 1338, when it was defined as a wife leaving her husband to run off with a lover. The meaning changed in the early 1800s to describe lovers who ran away to get married to each other, not to get away from a spouse.