A second-class ticket on the Titanic cost approximately $1,834 in today's money. In the last chapter, Peeta paid for both his ticket and Katniss', for her old debts and also for their stay at the Hawthornes, which is almost all the money he had with him. Things aren't going to be easy from now on.

We walk quickly, anxious to get away from Gale and his neighborhood. For a while I can see that Peeta doesn't look at me in the eye, but I don't ask questions.

Now that we're alone, things don't seem so bright between us. Peeta doesn't look happy; most likely, he brought me with him because he didn't want to be alone, but now he can finally see the cost of it. I'm ashamed of what I made him lose: his country, his family, the chance of getting a job in New York and, finally, his money. In exchange he got a penniless, grumpy girl he doesn't even consider pretty. Finding an excuse to disappear from his sight and never come back would be the right thing to do, but he would probably think I was trying to avoid paying all the money I owe him. And it's so much money it'll take years to pay.

I must stay with him. I only wish he would talk to me; it frightens me not to know what he's thinking.

Suddenly, as if he could read my thoughts, Peeta lets out a sigh. My head turns to him.

"Is everything all right?" I ask, trying to sound light, secretly afraid he'll say he regrets losing his savings as a consequence of bringing me with him.

"I left almost all the money with Gale," he says with a frown, but then feels the need to elaborate. "I don't know what to do."

Something twists in my gut. I was right, then. He regrets losing his money for me.

"I may have been too hasty in my decision," I say, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I made you lose all your savings. I – I didn't think it well."

"Do you regret your choice?" he asks with a strange note in his voice. He looks away from me. "I can take you back, if that's what you want."

I shrug, heartbroken by the fact that he's willing to return me. "I don't think he'll give you your money back," I say, and he nods in agreement. "But he'll give you my part, I'll make sure of it. I'll find a way to pay my own debt and leave later. I can work for him for a while."

Peeta turns to me and shakes his head. He must think I'm absurd, but I'm not. I won't impose my presence on him if he changed his mind.

"I don't care about the money," he says. "I only ever wanted you."

I look at his serious face and his dejection at my possible departure makes me stifle a laugh. He looks so miserable and pathetic. He doesn't want me to go back and I don't want it either, so I lace our fingers and gaze steadily at him. "You have me, Peeta."

Peeta stares at our joined hands and seems hopeful at last. "I can't believe you left everything for this," he states apologetically. "I need to find a way to provide for us."

I shrug. I'm used to hunger and extreme poverty; that I dragged Peeta down with me is what's more concerning. "We're on the same boat," I try to reassure him, but as soon as the words leave my mouth I make a mental note not to say them ever again.

"You don't care that I have no means to support us?"

"No. We'll find jobs," I say. "And don't talk about taking me back ever again. You scared me."

Peeta looks at me in awe, doubtful, and then smiles. Generally, I wouldn't disclose my feelings so openly, but he's in need of reassurance and it makes me feel bold. Then he looks down, to our feet, and after a fleeting moment of silence I notice he has stopped walking.

"I want to apologize for my unacceptable behavior, both the conversation with my brothers and my obnoxious words when we disembarked," he declares. "You must know I despise myself for the things I said."

I shake my head, partly because I want to forget it and partly because I'm afraid to have this conversation. I don't want to know what part of it was real. "I don't care anymore. It's obvious to me now that you don't think I'm Gale's problem."

"But I want to explain," he holds my hand gently and gazes at me with sheepish eyes until I nod. "You must know nothing of that was true. It's obvious you didn't hear the whole conversation, because my brothers forced me to tell them the truth in the end."

I gasp, surprised. Of all things I expected to hear, this wasn't one of them. "They didn't believe you?"

"Of course not," says Peeta. "They knew I had fancied you all my life. Haven't you realized how they jested about us the whole journey?"

My mouth opens to speak, but no words come out; my breathing is failing all of a sudden. Is it even possible that they knew their brother wanted me? Most likely, yes. I remember the conversation with Rye on that night; how he pushed me to admit my feelings for Peeta, and the caring manner in which he called me his little sister. But all his life? No, it can't be. It's absurd. Peeta and I had never spoken to each other before the Titanic.

"Then why did you say those things?" I ask, my throat dry.

I wish I hadn't asked, because the answer will probably hurt.

However, while his hands are sweaty, his voice is so gentle it makes it hard to believe he'll say something hurtful. "I didn't want to compromise you. You were still trying to make up your mind and I wanted you to have the chance of choosing Gale if that was what you wanted. But they had caught us in a compromising moment, so I had to say something," he explains sheepishly. "I'm sorry I did everything wrong."

"I hated you for that," I say sternly, but my lips quirk in an understanding smile.

"And I almost lost you for that reason, didn't I?" he asks, remorseful. "I didn't know why you started avoiding me all of a sudden. I thought you were trying to let me down gently."

I grip his hands tighter. "I was trying to let you down, but not gently."

He nods slowly.

"About the things I said at the pier… They were unforgivable. I was angry and revolted –" he heaves a sigh, "I was an idiot. I hope you believe me when I say I wouldn't despise a beggar. I obviously don't despise you either. It was all about me and the way my life -"

"You're more than justified, Peeta, I was just being mean on that night. I was angry too," my cheeks burn in embarrassment for how petty I can be. I swallow hard. "I'm sorry for the things I said. What did I call you, a snob?"

He grins, I don't know if in relief or amusement. His eyes still show uncertainty, but it seems that a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "I think it was implied, yes, but you called me a phony."

Mortified, I chuckle and stand on my toes to kiss his nose. "I take it back. You're not a phony, Peeta Mellark. You're still my hero."

A slight blush covers his face, but he smiles brightly.

In the end, it's a good thing we had that exchange on that night at the pier. Without it, Peeta would never have known why I had rejected him; I wouldn't have witnessed his emotional reaction to my words and been moved by it, to the point I didn't need his explanation to decide to stay with him. I would have married Gale out of spite and my adorable boy with the bread would have been forever lost to me.

"On the ship… You said you would think about us. Does this mean you have decided to… You'll allow me to court you?" he asks tentatively.

"Is that what you want?" I ask him back. "I - I suppose we can do it."

The answer doesn't sound satisfying to me. I'm not sentimental, or perhaps I can't express my feelings too well, but Peeta lets out a gasp and seems deliriously happy. His stubble stings against my face as he presses his lips to mine very sweetly and whispers words of affection.

"I hope you're not displeased with me for having paid off your debt," he says, suddenly preoccupied. "I know you don't like it."

"It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, after the boy who gave me the bread," I say, and he grins widely at the implication. "But now I owe you instead."

Peeta sighs. "I hate that idea." I nod. He freed me; I would have done the same for him, but our bond is suffering from a power imbalance once again. He seems concerned about it. "Can you promise not to repay it with affection or good deeds this time? I want to know what's real and not real between us."

I know he's right. We need to be transparent with each other from this day on, since we have no one else to trust. "I promise I'll pay you in money."

He nods and smiles, satisfied for now. "What's the plan when we find Haymitch Abernathy?"

"I'm expecting that he'll help us find jobs, don't you?"

He agrees. In fact, I know my uncle will help Peeta, because Mr. Mellark was his friend. I still have doubts he'll want to have anything to do with me.

"Will you stay with him?" Peeta asks. His eyes are gentle and expectant.

I have no idea what Peeta is thinking, and I'm not sure what he wants for now. My wish is not to be separated from him, but I don't want to impose myself too soon, so I reply tentatively:

"I prefer to live with you. You're the only one I trust."

Peeta's face lights up in another grin. "That's what I want too. I want us to be together," he says earnestly. I smile vibrantly, because then we want the same thing.

We sit down on a wall, side by side, to let our feet rest. Pulling the envelope from his pocket, Peeta and I count the money twice to find out what kind of plans we can make. Our prospects are not good.

"I could sell the bakery," he says. "But it will take months or even years."

He doesn't look pleased with the idea, though. "That's not what you want," I deduce, and he acquiesces.

"I think we can rent a small house for one or two months with this money," he says. "I'll have to find work right away if we want to maintain it."

"Does your estimation include food costs?" I ask.

"No," Peeta replies, apparently tormented by the idea that he's failing me somehow.

"It's all right, Peeta," I reassure him. "We'll do whatever it takes. We can bake, Ill learn from you."

Peeta smiles and places his lips on mine. The action reminds of the loving kisses we shared last night. He seemed to be quite besotted with me then; I'm a fool for having doubted his feelings after that.

Suddenly self-conscious and realizing we're wasting time, I stand and help him get on his feet. We keep walking side by side, with our arms entangled, for another four blocks until we find the train station.

People on the streets look at us with surprise as Peeta asks them for directions. It's not only our foreign accent; we must indeed look strange - everyone wears hats and we don't, because we lost ours in the sinking. Fortunately our clothes are presentable, but my hair is disheveled from this morning, Peeta hasn't shaven and he doesn't have half a leg. I also don't see any grown woman with a braid like mine. After the first glance, though, no one seems to care, and they go about their business with their own thoughts and worries.

Arriving at the station makes us sigh in relief. It looks nothing like ours in Twelve City, as it is incredibly ornamented and full of life. There's a big line in which we wait to buy our two tickets to New Panem.

"How unfortunate," the stationmaster says when we reach him. "The last train departed three hours ago."

"When is the next one?" I ask in dismay.

"Monday at 9 a.m."

Peeta and I exchange a disappointed glance. Two days! We'll have to stay in New York for two days and two nights before we go to New Panem, where we have someone who we've never seen and may or may not be willing to help us. Everything is a gamble right now: the train tickets are moderately expensive and we still have to find lodgings for the night.

"We want two tickets, please," Peeta replies, resigned, and pays.

We fall on a bench, distraught and silent, watching other trains depart. "Everything is going wrong," I say at last.

"We'll be fine," Peeta reassures me, but I can see he's the first to doubt his own words.

We leave the station, walking in silence for a while. There are so many streetcars passing by and people getting into them; it's a pity we can't afford such a luxury now. My feet hurt; we sit on a bench, debating whether or not we should eat the food that Johanna stole from the breakfast table for us.

"I don't know," I say. "It's Gale's."

"We'll eat this, Katniss," Peeta replies. "I paid for the meals he gave us, remember? This is ours."

We both eat in silence, savoring every piece of food until the last crumb and sucking our fingers so that nothing goes to waste.

"Can I suggest something new?" he asks out of the blue. I nod, curious. "I'm thinking that we could share our finances."

"How would it work?"

"We'd forget all the debts and scores and simply share our money. Every penny we get belongs to both, and everything one owes is owed by both." He looks at me expectantly, afraid of a refusal.

"Both contributing to the same household, as married couples do?" I ask. Hearing him say it feels surreal, but it's a natural consequence of agreeing to live together.

"Yes, something like that."

I can only give him a faint smile. "I don't think it would be fair to you. My biggest concern right now is to feed Prim and my mother."

He doesn't seem discouraged; he looks oddly satisfied. "I'd be the lucky one with this arrangement; I don't have a family and it would give me one. Besides, I'm disabled. It will be easier for you to find a job than for me."

He stares at me innocently, but he knows he has won me over with his arguments.

"So we're family from now on," I say. "I like that."

"Good. I…" Peeta starts. His voice shakes a little. "I have plans for your mother and sister back in Twelve. Before we can bring them here."

I look at him, encouraging him to continue.

"I want them to move to my house over the bakery… And to work there, if it pleases them."

I'm shocked. My family knows nothing about baking, but it wouldn't be a problem, because Peeta's employees could teach them. Prim could work there for a few hours after school and on the weekend, and my mother used to be a good cook when my father was alive. They wouldn't have trouble fitting in with people in town; they are blonde, regal and well acquainted with the merchants. It could work.

"This is –" I try to speak, but my thoughts come so quickly I can't organize them in speech. "Oh, Peeta, that's too much to accept."

He smiles. "We agreed to be a family a couple of minutes ago."

I hide my face on Peeta's chest to hide my tears, amazed that he found a way to keep my family fed without having me overworking myself.

"I don't want you to worry about it. If you ever want us to go our separate ways, I'll still need someone to be there. I don't want the house to be empty," he whispers. "And it's only until we can bring them here. They'll never be hungry again."

"We can work entirely for us and our house," I say, wiping my eyes.

"That's the plan."

We watch people passing by for some time. We need to find a place to sleep, but we feel overwhelmed by everything that's happening to us and end up putting it off for hours.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wandering in the streets around the station. I can't stop staring at the incredibly detailed and ornate buildings of this city. In Twelve City the buildings are simple, practical, without a trace of beauty and the largest one must have four floors. Everything seems beautiful and classy here, in contrast.

Peeta thinks I should stay in a hotel for the night and he'll sleep in the street, but I won't allow it; we'll be together, always. Then, Peeta is of the opinion that we should stay somewhere decent, but not expensive, whereas I think we should stay in the cheapest place we find. We can't agree on anything but, as surprising as it may seem, we don't quarrel. I don't even get annoyed at him as I would with Gale.

We roam around the city, visiting hotels and asking for prices. We realize that renting a double bedroom is cheaper than renting two single ones, which is no problem for me. Peeta bargains everywhere and considerably lowers the prices, but everything is still too expensive. I want to try the cheapest lodgings of the city.

"We should pay more for safety and comfort," he says, tired and frustrated.

"Wouldn't it be better to have less comfort now and spend the money in our own house? We don't know when we'll find jobs."

He accepts my argument, although he's not happy about it.

We end up staying at the cheapest accommodation we find. It's a grubby place with poor hygiene and the floor full of something that appears to be red olives, but turns out to be an infestation of cockroaches. Peeta comments on that and offers the owner a fair price. The woman, Mrs. Coin, stares at us unimpressed, complaining that we're offering to pay much less than the other clients, but not sending us away.

"For that price we have a double bedroom in the attic," she says, expressionless. "Crane's girls don't go there because one of them was murdered by a client in that room. You can have it if you want."

I don't know who Crane's girls are, but the story irks me. Peeta seems embarrassed and outraged. "Thank you," he says, holding my hand to go away.

I stop him. "I won't mind it if I'm with you. Don't forget that we need this money."

Peeta shakes his head, defeated, and pays almost nothing for the two nights we'll be staying.

As we step inside and pass through the unadorned door, we get into a saloon. There's music, smoke, alcohol, men of all kinds and ages and some women with beautiful dresses and heavy makeup. I've never seen women like them; they speak loudly and seem willing to engage in improper behavior. These are Crane's girls, then. A dark-haired man sits in a corner taking payments from the men who take the girls upstairs. That must be Crane.

Men and women stare at us with interested looks and Peeta seems to become quite territorial about me. I don't mind it in the slightest – quite the opposite, I feel territorial about him as well. There's something shady about the women in the room; they behave in a seductive manner and I don't want them to talk to Peeta. So we hold each other tightly as we head to the public bathrooms.

Peeta waits for me at the door of the women's toilet while I clean my teeth and have a quick bath. Everything around me is so filthy it's disgusting, but I try to ignore it. I scrub the sweat and dirt away from me with soup, preparing my body in case something happens between Peeta and I tonight. I want to smell good when the time comes. After the bath, I put on my blue dress and try to comb my dripping wet hair with my hands.

"You don't expect it to work, do you?" a girl asks me. I notice her face resembles a fox. "Take this."

I look at what she's handing me. It's her hairbrush. "Thank you," I say with a small smile, and quickly comb my hair with it to give it back to her. She smiles timidly and joins the other three girls in front of the mirror. They apply makeup and give me looks of mockery while I braid my hair on the opposite side of room.

"Is this place turning into a nunnery?" one of them remarks, rolling her eyes.

"Don't be mean," the fox faced girl replies. "The girl may be backwards, but she's very pretty."

I don't know if the women think I'm stupid or they simply don't care, but they don't refrain from talking about me at a distance in which I can hear them. I pretend I'm not listening to the conversation; It won't do me any good to have a confrontation here.

"But who wears her hair like that?" a third girl says loudly. "How did she end up here?"

Two of them snort, but another replies. "She's with her husband. The one-legged blond."

"That one?" the first one snaps. "I knew he had to be too good to be a client."

"He'll come alone another night."

They laugh at that. My blood boils; I can almost trespass them with the fire in my eyes. How dare they say such things about Peeta? I leave the room hastily and find him waiting for me in the corridor. My feet rush in his direction and I grip his hand tightly. Those stupid girls. This isn't his place and he'll never come here alone.

"Are you all right?" he asks with a frown. I nod. "Do you want me to leave you in the room while I take my bath?"

"No," I reply. "I'll wait for you at the door as you did."

"Are you sure?" he asks, unconvinced. "Well, then stay here. If someone upsets you, you call my name, okay?" I nod again and he goes into the bathroom, still uneasy.

I try to ignore the flow of men that come in and out of the men's bathroom. Some of them are so drunk they can't stand, and others are respectful, but most of them eye me with odd smiles and hungry eyes.

"Hi, toots. I've never seen you around."

I take a look at the pot bellied man who's talking to me. I don't reply, hoping that if I ignore him he'll go away. "The cat ate your tongue, huh?" he asks with a laugh.

I take some steps away from him, trying to show I'm not interested, but he follows me and pulls my arm.

"Are you available now? I like it that you're bathed."

My heart is pounding violently in my chest. I push the man away from me, which seems to make him angry.

"Don't you play hard to get, you bearcat, you're just a cheap whore like the others."

I contemplate yelling for Peeta, but my voice is choked. I'm about to cry. Some men pass us by and laugh at the exchange.

I feel humiliated.

A man emerges from the bathroom and looks furious at what he sees. "What's the matter? Leave the girl alone," he says briskly. The harasser doesn't linger after that; he looks irate but doesn't seem to want to start a fight against another man.

My savior steps in front of me. "I'm Boggs. Was that man upsetting you?"

My hands fidget nervously, but I extend one to him. "I'm Katniss Everdeen," I reply, shaking his hand like a man. "I'm all right now."

Boggs frowns. "You shouldn't be alone here at this time of the night. Are you with family?"

"With my husband," I state simply. "I'm waiting for him, he's taking a bath."

"Well, Katniss, I can't stay here. My band is waiting for me to play the trumpet," he says apologetically, taking a glance at the pianist in the corner of the saloon.

"You belong to the band?" I ask, regretting immediately the inconvenient question. "Of course, Mr. Boggs, I understand."

Boggs, however, grins, pleased at my manifestation of interest. "Yes, I do. Do you want to sit with us while your husband gets ready?"

I look to the bathroom door, uneasy and unwilling to leave Peeta, but also fearing to stay alone. "Can you tell him, so that he doesn't worry? He's blond and has one leg only," I ask, embarrassed.

"Of course." Boggs gets inside the bathroom and emerges with a smile a couple of minutes later. "It's done. Come with me."

After we cross the saloon he presents me to his bandmates, Mitchell and Homes. Boggs' wife is there too, as are Homes' twin sisters. The women tell me about the place, which they hate with a passion. They tell me that Mrs. Coin's main business is to rent rooms and serve drinks. Some of the clients are families or travelers, of which the Star Squad - that's the band's name - is an example, but the most presentable street workers are also allowed to go into the place at night so that they bring more men to pay for rooms and drinks.

Before the band can start to play, Peeta shows up with his blond hair wet and slicked back. It's so beautiful. He appears to be extremely distressed until he finds me.

"We took good care of your wife," Boggs' wife tells him with a smile. "Now get her out of here."

We hold hands and wish them good night. I look around in awe of everything I'm witnessing while Peeta guides me to the staircase. We head upstairs through the creaky wooden stairs, and I'm stopped by someone holding me by the arm.

Turning back I see a short, emaciated man flashing me a toothless smile.

"How much is it for half an hour?" he asks, and points to Peeta. "I'll go after him."

I look at the man, speechless, disgusted. Peeta wraps one arm protectively around my waist and shoves the man away from me. "Don't you dare speak to my wife in that manner," he says, channeling the voice of a thug.

To his credit, the man looks devastated by the mistake and takes his hat down in guilt. "Forgive me, it was a mistake. I didn't mean to offend the lady."

We ignore his apologies and ascend the staircase in silence. As soon as we get into the room in the attic, Peeta locks the door.

I take a look at our bedroom. It's small, with the bulk of the space occupied by a double bed and a big window. It's disorderly and every piece of furniture is covered with a layer of dust. While my eyes wander around, looking for vestiges of a crime scene, Peeta sits on the bed, on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry I've put you in this situation," he says.

I sit by his side and take his face into my hands. "Peeta, this is not that bad."

His eyes refuse to look at me. "Did you understand what that man said?" he asks.

"Yes."

He shakes his head. "This isn't the kind of place where I wanted to bring you."

His tormented expression makes me feel heartbroken. He sees himself as responsible for us being here, even though it was my choice; he seems to believe it's his responsibility to provide and care for me, which is not. We agreed to be a family, to be equals. "What other option did we have? Stay with the Hawthornes?" I reason.

He grimaces. "Katniss, I heard the men talking about you in my bath. The things they said… God, I wanted to kill them with my bare hands. What does that say about me?" he asks with a fair amount of horror on his face.

It doesn't shock me at all; I had the same feeling of hatred when I heard the girls talking about Peeta. So, instead of the shocked reaction he clearly expects, I let out a chuckle.

"How can that be funny?" he asks, flabbergasted.

"It is very funny. It shows you care about me."

His gaze is steady. "Did you doubt it?"

"I doubted everything that came from you until this morning," I state. "Everything today has been a pleasant surprise."

Peeta smiles. "I feel the same. Even this morning, I couldn't believe you would come with me until it happened."

"I would never choose differently," I say, letting my hands slide to his shoulders. "Don't worry too much, I'm having a good time."

"Even in a place like this?"

"It could be under the bridge, I don't care."

He can't avoid flashing his dazzling grin. His smile looks so endearing, together with the blond curls that form as his hair dries, his handsome face and a few days' golden stubble that makes him look less of a boy and more of a man. My man, I remind myself. I hope he will be my husband soon.

My body seems to agree with that.

I get closer to him and press our lips together. The scent of his skin is too good, too exciting. He smells of soap and something entirely his. My kiss is returned sweetly and enthusiastically until we're lying on the bed, caressing each other's hair and looking fondly at one another.

All the while, the band's music fills the atmosphere of the room. A sudden awkwardness makes me feel painfully aware of everything surrounding us. I initiated this; this isn't the kind of behavior my family would approve, and what will Peeta think? He should be the one to make the moves, not me.

"This music is so exciting," I try to say casually. "I've never heard anything like it before."

Peeta smiles. "It's catchy, for sure."

"Do you dance?" I ask.

"I don't know how to. My mother forced me to dance with Delly Cartwright once when I was a boy, and then I swore I'd never do it again."

I laugh. "Why?"

He shrugs quietly. "It was boring."

"So I won't ask you to dance with me," I reply, almost disappointed but unwilling to show it. I used to dance with Prim at parties. Sometimes, Gale would offer to dance with me too. It was one of the few moments in which I allowed myself to have a good time.

"Please, do. Let me warn you, though, now it's too late to learn," he chuckles. "But I can stand, so that you pretend you're dancing with someone."

I pull him from the bed to a bench which supports his bad leg. He places his hands around my waist and I let mine rest on his shoulders, facing him with an ostensive scowl. "I'm dancing with someone, you know," I say, although I know he still struggles to see himself as a worthy person.

"So it seems," he chuckles. His eyes then gaze at me softly. "You lead me, miss."

I'm not much better than he is – it's my first time dancing a slow song, too. We don't twirl or dance around the room. Our feet barely leave the place, because I don't want to make Peeta lose his balance, but we have a good time regardless of that. I like it that he doesn't try to make it perfect. He's clumsy at first, but I hug him and guide him gently for a while. We sway at the melancholic and vibrating rhythm of Boggs' trumpet. The songs make me want to cry at first, changes to the point it makes me feel euphoric, only to drag me down again in the end. All the while, its alluring note never really leaves. I can relate to this feeling: the band is brilliant for capturing our life as it is.

When I realize it, Peeta is leading me. I open my eyes and look at the space that doesn't exist between our bodies. His hands meander firmly between the subtle curve of my waist and the small of my back, and it's surprisingly comfortable and pleasurable to have them commanding my body, showing me how to be in sync with his.

"You caught the rhythm,' I say, surprised.

"Are you sure I'm not making a fool of myself?" he asks, doubtful.

I shake my head, trying to sound casual, but saying something stupid instead. "You haven't even stepped on my feet."

Peeta bursts out laughing and lifts me off the floor, so that our faces are at the same level. We keep dancing. I put my arms around his neck to help my body support itself, but it becomes unnecessary when he puts his steady hands an inch under my buttocks.

I'm confused; while Peeta's grip on my body is possessive, as if he sees himself as my lover, he's being too careful not to cross certain limits. For instance, he doesn't touch any part of me that could compromise my honor.

I wonder if he does realize that I don't care about keeping that honor.

With this, the moment is lost. Peeta tells me how, before he lost his leg, he used to see me dancing with Prim at the town events, but never gathered the courage to ask me to dance with him.

I smile bittersweetly when I'm reminded of Prim. She's so far away from me, and the only photograph I had of her is lying now at the bottom of the Ocean. I must get another one soon.

Once the music becomes more up tempo it's impossible for Peeta to keep up with it. He kisses my forehead and sits on the bed. "Your circus attraction can only help you dance sad songs," he quips.

"You shouldn't be repeating it," I say firmly. "I hate Gale for calling you that."

His grimace interrupts the conversation. Peeta seems to be in pain. I sit down immediately, next to him.

"You don't seem well," I state.

"I am, I'm just tired."

I remember he walked many miles today in just one foot. If my feet hurt this much, his must be hurting badly. I kneel down to remove his shoe and sock and take a look at it. It's reddish. A small touch of my fingertips shows me how rough his foot is. I rub it softly to relieve the pain.

Peeta sighs deeply and lays his bed on a pillow. "That's good," he says. "My foot hurts so much today."

This upsets me. He shouldn't have been dancing if he was in such pain. "You should have told me you needed to rest," I scold him.

His face shows an endearing display of defiance. "I don't regret anything."

I shake my head sternly and keep rubbing his foot for a while until he sits down on the bed and extends his hands to me.

"Give me your feet," he commands. "They need it too."

He takes my boots and socks off and starts rubbing my feet one by one. It tickles at first, but after the first seconds it feels soothing and relaxing.

Then I wonder: if my two feet - which are used to walk lengthy distances in the woods - hurt this much, and Peeta only has one foot to support his whole weight, what about the place of his body that is supported by the crutch?

"Peeta, do you feel pain here?" I point to the hollow under his arm.

"Yes," he says hesitantly.

"Can I see it?"

He doesn't react at first, but then nods slowly. Helping him take his shirt away, I don't need to look twice to see a violent bruise.

"Peeta! When were you going to tell me about this?" I scold him. He flinches when I touch it. Worse than a bruise, it's a wound.

"I'll be fine. I just need some rest," he reassures me.

I could produce him an ointment if I had the resources. But in the city, without money, there's nothing I can do except to let it rest. I may know how to survive in the forest, but I don't think I would easily survive in New York City without Peeta.

It despairs me to have no means to help him feel better. I consider putting my lips there, and lick his wound, but I'm horrified at the thought. I may thrive in the woods, but it's unlike me to behave as an animal. My cheeks burn in embarrassment at the idea of sharing the thought; Peeta would run away for good. Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is to order him to rest.

We eat the last bits of bread Johanna gave us. I feel hungry, and by the growl in Peeta's stomach I know he is too, but we have avoided buying food so that we can save the money for later.

"Why would your mother make you dance with Delly Cartwright?" I ask, trying to distract him and eager to know more about the man I'm sharing a bed with.

"Because Delly wanted to dance and I was the closest to her age. Also because my mother wanted one of her sons to marry Delly one day."

"Oh. It was going to happen," I say, and my voice catches. "Graham loved her so much. I don't think I ever talked to him without the mention of her name."

Peeta chuckles, his voice catching too. "Mother was definitely pleased."

Suddenly he's frowning, his expression hardened, trying not to cry. He isn't ready to talk about his family, but he holds my hands and kisses my knuckles. "Back to the dance, I hated it because I had fantasized to dance with you on that day."

I laugh. "How old were you?"

"I don't know, seven or eight."

I stare at him, knowing very well it's impossible. "You're lying!" I exclaim. "There's no way you knew who I was at eight."

Peeta shrugs. "I decided I would marry you at five, when you sang at church for the first time."

"Are you serious?"

He blushes heavily and covers his face with his hands. "Yes."

"You can't be," I say playfully, pulling his hands from his face.

"I am," he chuckles. "But I thought I lost my chance when I started seeing you with Gale. And when I lost my leg I knew any chance I could have had was lost forever."

I fight to find my speech. I feel so stupid, but I manage to find words at last. "Look at where we are now."

He smiles and blushes. "I'm going to get dressed for bed," he says.

I reply something and Peeta goes to the other side of the bedroom, turning his back to me. He starts undressing himself, removing his suspenders and shirt first. I feel mortified when I realize I'm not supposed to look, so I face the opposite direction.

"Do you think this is all right?" he asks timidly, moments later.

I turn to look at him. He has removed his undergarments, which covered his chest, but kept the trousers. This means I'll sleep with a bare chested man with a trail of blonde hair disappearing into the one piece of clothing that still remains. It would tease me much less if he was completely naked. But we already slept together in the same way last night, when I slipped furtively into his bedroom, so I'm not seeing anything I haven't seen before.

"Yes," I reply. "It's all right for me."

It's my turn to get dressed, and Peeta looks away respectfully. I undress, get my nightgown from the bundle of clothes and put it on, then the robe covers the rest. The night is freezing, although Peeta doesn't seem to agree with me, judging by the cold wind that blows through the window. "You can look now," I say.

Peeta comes closer and starts preparing the bed for us to sleep. I help him: we turn down the bed linen and put the pillows together.

Finally in bed and in the dark, we're ill at ease. We hear new, unknown sounds of people in the other rooms. Instinct tells me those sounds are not very Christian. An uncomfortable silence lingers, and we don't touch as we did last night. We lie awkwardly, unaware of what to say, ashamed of each other for what we're hearing. Probably that's why Peeta isn't touching me; he must be feeling as mortified as I am.

I try to think of something to say, but my mind doesn't leave this room, this bed and the things that have been done in it.

"Do you think the girl was killed in this bed?" I ask, horror paralyzing me at the idea.

At my question, Peeta brings himself closer to hold me in his arms.

"Try not to think about it," he says. "Whatever happened here before, we're together. Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"Good. You know, I was thinking about the house we'll live in and I wonder how you want it to be."

He's lying. He made it up so that I would forget the spooky story Mrs. Coin told us. But it is difficult to answer his question. For all I care, we can live in a barrack. I only want to be under a roof, clean, in safety and with food. We don't need any luxury. Does Peeta expect me to decorate his house like a merchant girl?

"Something we can afford," I murmur at last, afraid my answer is inadequate.

"I know," he chuckles. "But what would you want if we had an income? A modest one."

He truly wants me to say something, and the first image that comes to my mind is of me, leaving the house in a spring morning and picking an apple before going to work.

"I always wanted to have fruit trees," I say.

He seems content with my answer. "All right, so we want a garden."

I blush, because a garden is an extra expense. "In the Seam we had a lot of outdoor space, even if it didn't belong to us. Forget the garden, it's expensive."

"No, I want the fruit trees," he says. "I think that we'll have an outdoor space; all houses I've seen in photographs of New Panem seem to have fences. At least the merchant part of it."

"Will we live in the merchant part?"

"We'll see," says Peeta. "Everyone I know lives in that part. Do you know anyone that came from the Seam?"

I don't think I do, so I shake my head. My mind goes back to the fence. "Are their fences white? I've seen it in books about America. I think it's beautiful."

He chuckles. "Fruit trees and a white picket fence, then. We can do that."

"I don't want to waste money on a fence," I explain. "I just think they are beautiful."

He sighs, tracing small circles on my skin with sparkling eyes. Maybe it's just the moonlight. "Of course. And what would you like to have indoors?"

It hasn't occurred to me that all things I've talked about belong to the outside, not to the house itself. My house in the Seam was so poor and small that I had absolutely no pleasure in being inside it. There was no food except for the things I brought, so I saw it only as a place to keep my family safe and to sleep.

"An oven," I hear myself saying.

Peeta laughs at that. "An oven?"

I shrug. "What's the point of living with a baker if we don't have an oven?"

Peeta chuckles and kisses my forehead. "We'll have our oven," he promises.

"And you?" I ask. "What do you want?"

After a moment of silence, he says:

"I like your ideas. I'll add a bed that doesn't squeak as much as this one."

"Perhaps we could start with a simple mattress, or a hay bale," I say, but I immediately regret my tendency to inflict my poverty on him. "What else do you want?"

"I've got my biggest luxury right here," he says, holding me and swirling his fingertips on my skin.

His answer makes me feel warm inside. I have everything I need too, with Peeta's solid form pressed up against me, our limbs entangled, our feet touching, his warmth spreading through the whole bed and making my body feel alive, slightly desperate. I feel guilty for the things I'm feeling and afraid that somehow he can decipher my private thoughts.