Effie lets us have our little break, but soon she's rushing us off to our prep teams again to get ready for the big interview tonight. I'm getting increasingly nervous because this will be our last chance to convince Snow of our relationship.
So when Remus asks about our future at the end of the hour long interview and Sawyer asks to say something, I prepare myself to put on an over-the-top performance and do my best to look believable. When he gets down on one knee and fumbles the ring, making the audience aww at his nervousness, he plays it off like he always does, but I can tell he's actually terrified. Still, he easily weaves a speech about how he never thought we would get to this moment, and how we were fated to be together and he's grateful I found him in that arena. That he'll love me forever and can't wait to have a future with me thanks to the generosity of the Capitol. And when he asks, "Willow Mellark, will you marry me?" I, of course, accept. Remus is beside himself, the audience is in hysterics, and shots of crowds around Panem show a country besotted with happiness.
President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He gives Sawyer an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers dig into my arms and his face smiling at me, I dare to raise my brows, asking him what my lips can't. Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving you my future, promising to marry Sawyer enough?
In answer, he gives me an almost imperceptible shake of my head.
But I'm still being watched by all of Panem, so I can't do anything but stand up straighter and try to look confident. And when the president suggests they hold the wedding in the Capitol, I happily agree pulling off girl-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch.
Remus Flickerman asks if the president has a date in mind.
"Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Willow's parents," says President Snow. The audience gives a big laugh and the president puts his arm around me. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty."
It was no secret that my parents have been doing their best to tamper down the romance between Sawyer and I for both of our benefits. During the interviews while we were still in the arena, they had told all of Panem I wasn't old enough for a boyfriend yet. They like Sawyer well enough, but they still think we're kids and too young to be involved in a romance as intense as they're trying to make it seem. And for that I was grateful. But I still play along.
"You'll probably have to pass a new law," I say with a giggle.
"If that's what it takes," says the president with conspiratorial good humor.
Oh the fun we two have together.
I'm able to hold it together until we get back to our penthouse to get ready for the party, but that's when the panic starts to kick in.
"I need to…I need too…" I look around, looking for a way out. I can't say anything here. They could be listening. He could be listening.
"Haymitch, Effie, I think we're going to get some fresh air," Sawyer says. He gently grabs my elbow and leads me somewhere, the elevator I think, but I'm so foggy that I'm not really paying attention. It's only when we're on the roof, near the gardens that I know we're somewhat safe to talk.
"Sawyer," I choke out. I'm struggling a bit to breathe. "It didn't work! Dani! He's going to hurt Dani!"
"Willow," Sawyer tries to get my attention but it's not working. "Willow, you need to breathe. Please, you're going to pass out," he says.
What will Snow do to us now? Has he already sent someone for my family? For Sawyers? Everything was clouding my brain.
Sawyer yanks me to him and wraps his arms so tight around me I had no choice but to pay attention to him. His heart pounds against mine and he's exaggerating his breathing. "Breathe."
So I do, inhaling and exhaling with him until I can think rationally again. "I'm fine," I say. "I'm fine." I pull back from him.
"Don't push me away," Sawyer says, hurt in his eyes.
I hadn't noticed that's what I was doing. Or maybe I had, but it wasn't on purpose. I'm just not used to dealing with things with someone else.
"I won't," I say. "But I don't know how to tell you everything that goes on in my head."
"You don't have to," he says. "Just let me be there for you."
"Deal," I tell him settling back into his arms.
"Dani will be okay. Let's go ask Haymitch if we can call them. Then you'll feel better," he says.
Of course! It hadn't crossed my mind that I could call them. More than ever, I was glad Sawyer and I are complete opposites.
"Let's go!" I grab his hand and run to the elevator.
Apparently I'm the only one who was being completely illogical because when we get back to the penthouse, Haymitch says, "I just got off the phone with your parents. They're all doing great."
"Wait, you already finished? Can I call them back?" I rush towards the phone but Haymitch grabs my arm to stop me.
"Hold your horses, sweetheart. You're not talking to them," he says.
"Why not? What's wrong?"
"Calm down. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to talk to them right now. You're not in the right headspace," Haymitch says. "Now go get ready."
The party, held in the banquet hall of President Snow's mansion, holds no equal. It's decorated extravagantly, the forty foot ceiling transformed into the night sky, and the stars look exactly like they do at home. About halfway between the floor and the ceiling, musicians float on white clouds, and I can't figure out how they've held them aloft. Traditional dining tables have been replaced with sofas and chairs, allowing people to mingle in comfort. There's a large tiles area in the center which serves as a dance floor and just a general area for people to gather and talk.
But the real star of the evening is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the wall. Everything you could imagine, and things you never even knew existed. I can't even name most of them but my appetite has returned, and after weeks of not feeling up to much eating, I'm famished.
"I want to taste everything in the room," I tell Sawyer.
He looks relieved that my attitude seems to have shifted. "Then you'd better pace yourself," he says.
"Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups, when I try a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkles with silver nuts and tiny black seeds. "I could just eat this all night!" I exclaim. But I don't. I weaken again at a clear green broth that I can only describe as tasting like springtime, and again with a sweet raspberry flavored pink soup.
As we sample as much as we can, faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken, kisses brushed on cheeks. Apparently my mockingjay pin has spawned a new fashion sensation, and I see it on belts, embroidered on clothing, and even tattooed in intimate places. Everyone wants to wear the winner's token, and I can only think about how nuts this must make President Snow, but what can he do? It has a different meaning here in the Capitol I suppose.
Sawyer and I make no attempt to mingle, but people continue to seek us out. I act delighted but I have no interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.
It's all so rich, that I take drinks any time they're offered. It helps to wash it all down and it helps to cleanse my palate and it tickles my tongue. Even on my one-bite-per-dish regiment, I fill up quickly, and Sawyer offers to share each dish so I can try more. After about ten tables, I'm stuffed and we've only sampled a small number of the dishes available. Plus, I'm starting to feel lightheaded and relaxed and it occurs to me there may have been something special in those drinks.
"Sawyer!" I throw my arms around him. "This is wonderful!"
"Are you feeling alright, Willow?" he asks.
I nod just as my prep team descends on us. They're so ecstatic to be here, I can barely make out what they're saying. Or maybe that's me.
"Why aren't you eating?" Augusina asks.
"I have been! I feel like a stuffed turkey," I giggle.
"Oh! Someone been drinking too much of the champagne," Tasten laughs.
"She has?" Sawyer looks at me. He looks cute when he's confused.
"They've been passing it out all night," Tasten says, pointing to one of the Avoxs walking around with a tray. I think I took one from him earlier.
"It tasted like sparkles," I tell him, hugging his waist. "Like the stars!"
"I think you might be right," Sawyer laughs.
"I wish I could eat more," I sigh, wistfully. "But I'm going to burst."
"Nobody lets that stop them!" Nepal says. The three of them lead us to a table holding tiny stemmed wine glasses filled with clear liquid. "Drink this!"
Sawyer picks one up and goes to take a sip but they freak out. "Not here!" They shriek.
"You have to do it over there," Augusina says, pointing to the doors leading to the bathrooms. "Or you'll get it all over the floor."
Sawyer looks at the glass again, putting it together. "You mean this will make me puke?"
My prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Tatsen. "Everyone does it, or how else would you have any fun and feast."
I hear what they're saying but my mind is hyperfocused on this being something expected of us and that it would mean I could eat more. I go to pick up one of the pretty little glasses, but Sawyer grabs my hand first. "Come on Willow. Let's go dance."
All I can do is wave goodbye at my prep team as he leads me through the crowd to the dance floor. Effie has taught us some of the basics, but the alcohol has made my memory a little fuzzy and I struggle to remember the steps, heavily relying on Sawyer to lead us around the dance floor. But I can tell he's distracted. The music is slow and dreamlike, so we don't have to move much, taking small steps in a circle.
"What's wrong?" I ask, not liking the frown on his face.
"You go along thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you-" he cuts himself off.
I completely understand. Because as all of these people gorge themselves, and then waste precious food just so they can eat more as a form of entertainment, I think about the kids in the seam who haven't eaten in so long they're emaciated. I mean, Sawyer didn't look much different from them when I first met him.
"Sawyer, they bring us here to fight to the death for their own amusement," I say. "Really, this is nothing by comparison."
"I know. I know that. It's just, sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where…I'm not sure what I'll do." He pauses, then whispers, "Maybe we were wrong, Willow."
"About what?" I ask.
"About trying to subdue things in the districts," he says.
I quickly turn my head from side to side, trying to make sure nobody heard us. But the camera crew are all distracted, and everyone else is too drunk or self involved to notice.
"Sorry," he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such talks.
"Save it for home," I tell him.
Portia walks over with a man who looks familiar, introducing him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Sawyer if he can steal me for a dance. Sawyer has recovered his camera face and good-naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached.
I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. In fact, I don't really want anything to do with any Gamemaker ever. Luckily, he seems to sense this though and holds me an almost arms length as we turn on the dance floor.
We chitchat a bit, about the party, the entertainment, the food, And then he makes a comment about staying away from the drinks. I don't get it, but then I realize he's the man who knocked over all the drinks when I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.
"Oh! You're the one who-" I laugh, remembering him jumping back, taking the entire table with him.
"Yes. And you'll be pleased to know I never recovered," he says.
I want to point out that all of the forty-six tributes will never recover either but I only say, "Good. So you're the head Gamemaker this year. That must be an honor."
"Between you and me, there weren't many takers for the job," he says. Yeah. Because the last guy ended up dead.
"Are you planning the next Games already?" I ask.
He nods, looking pleased. "To celebrate the new century of the Games, there are high expectations. We can't disappoint. You could say this is just as monumental as the first Games. Although I suppose it's kind of been in the works for years. Arenas aren't built in a day, you know. But shall we say, the flavor of the Games is being determined now. In fact, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says.
He pulls out his pocket watch, and flips it open, bringing it up between us. He checks the time and frowns. "I'll have to be going soon," he says, flipping it over so I can see it's face. "It starts at midnight."
"That seems a little late for-" I say but then something distracts me. Plutarch runs his thumb over the face of the watch, and just for a moment, an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed.
"That's very pretty," I say.
"Oh, it's more than pretty. It's one of a kind," he says. "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meeting is supposed to be a secret. But I thought it would be safe to tell you."
"Yes. Your secrets safe with me," I say.
As we shake hands, he gives a small bow, a common gesture here in the Capitol "Well I'll see you next summer at the Games. Best wishes on your engagement."
"Thank you," I say.