Chapter Eleven
As exhausted as I am from last night's escapades, Azurealyn, Sera and Bane are making it surprisingly difficult to sleep through this makeover process. They started by waxing my whole body, which no one in their right mind could sleep through, followed by spray tanning my skin to a subtle bronzed glow. Then they began filing and painting my nails, during which I might have nodded off here and there if it weren't for Sera's obnoxiously high pitched cackle.
As I sit in the black leather chair in front of a silver mirror outlined by bright fluorescent lights, I begin to doubt my prep team's ability to make me look gorgeous for tonight's interview. It doesn't help that I have a gnarly black eye they need to figure out how to hide.
"What on earth happened to you?" Azurealyn gasps as she preps my face for makeup.
"Well, a psychopath decided to use my face as a punching bag," I say sarcastically. Azurealyn's mouth drops open in shock. This surprises me, considering they watch the Games every year and applaud when two tributes bludgeon each other to death. Perhaps they're not used to seeing it up close and personal.
"At least you can get him back in the arena." Sera chimes in, painting white lines on the tips of my toenails. Oh, I fully intend to.
"I can't wait to see that play out," Bane adds, his gentle fingers artfully arranging my curled hair into a low bun, leaving a few pieces out to frame my face.
"You should've asked an Avox to get you something to help with this bruise." Azurealyn chastises me. It doesn't hurt, so I didn't feel the need. Sera starts slathering lotion on my legs that slightly tingles.
"I will do that tonight," I promise, closing my eyes as Azurealyn starts painting my face. The soft strokes from the brush and the lull in conversation provide a brief moment of peace. I let myself drift off, savoring these moments of calm before I need to get dressed.
"Amara, you look like a goddess. Truly, I have outdone myself this time," Azurealyn gushes, admiring her work as she looks me over. I open my eyes and stifle a gasp. Azurealyn has completely transformed my face. The eyeshadow is a delicate shade, with brown eyeliner angled just past my eyes, creating a sultry expression. My lashes cast shadows on my high cheekbones, which look as though they were carved from stone. A light pink blush glows on the apples of my cheeks, while a subtle shimmer highlights all the right places. My striking green eyes stare back at me, flawless and captivating. The bruise is completely concealed under the makeup.
"I'm speechless, I look…beautiful," I whisper. Bane turns me slightly in my chair and hands me a hand mirror, positioning it so I can see the back of my head. My brown hair is gathered in a low bun, with tiny braids weaving in and out of the hairstyle. The pieces left out have been lightly curled, framing my face perfectly.
"One more finishing touch!" Sera trills, popping out of the dressing room. She hands Bane a small crown that glints in the light. It's white gold with millions of tiny diamonds embedded in the band. The diamonds rise in some places, giving the illusion I am wearing a glittering piece of coral on my head. It's stunning.
"Am I allowed to wear a crown?" I question, doubt lacing my voice. Wouldn't that be a little presumptuous? The other tributes already want to wring my neck; I'm sure this won't help my case.
"Why wouldn't you be? It's not like we've stolen the real one," Bane chuckles as he carefully places the crown on my head, tucking it securely into my hair. The weight of the crown will take me some time to get used to. He holds out his hand and helps me to my feet.
Silvarius makes her appearance for the first time tonight, and she's definitely dressed to impress. Her gown is made of a sparkling fabric that nearly blinds me. It's a long sleeved, figure-hugging gown that gives the illusion she is covered in diamond dust. Her silver hair is curled and draped over her shoulder, the thin metal braids she usually wears–removed. Those sharp steel eyes appraise me, a small smile lifting her lips.
"You look absolutely stunning," Silvarius compliments me, while Azurealyn saunters out of the closet with my dress in hand. Bane slides off my robe, as Silvarius carefully helps me step into my dress. It's safe to say I've gotten over my aversion to being nude in front of strangers.
Bane zips up the back of my dress, and when I look into the mirror, I freeze in place. I stand tall, thanks to the heels Sera has given me. My dress is the exact same as Silvarius', except mine is champagne-colored. The fabric clings to me like liquid gold, making me appear fluid and graceful. With the crown perched elegantly on my head, I look like a true Victor. Tears threaten to pool in my eyes, but I quickly compose myself, not wanting to ruin all the hard work my prep team has put into me.
A light knock sounds at the door, and in walks Finnick, dressed in a deep maroon suit. His unruly hair is tamed with gel, slicked back into a polished style. He stops short when he spots me, his eyes widening in surprise and admiration. Althea follows him shortly after, her gaze quickly shifting to me as well.
"You look…" Finnick trails off, at a loss for words. His sea-green gaze assesses me from head to toe, lingering on the crown.
"Like a Victor," Althea finishes for him. Her eyes grow misty as she takes my hand in both of hers. Squeezing lightly, she smiles with pride. This is the last night we all have together, our little family coming to an abrupt end. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel sad as well. Finnick stands behind Althea, still looking me over silently.
"Silvarius, I am blown away. What you create is truly art," Althea commends my stylist. Silvarius smiles softly, accepting the compliment humbly. "Of course, the prep team has done a fantastic job as well. I was worried about that shiner she's got, but you can't even tell!" Althea gushes, inching closer to examine my eye from different angles. Finnick steps closer, his gaze fixed on the crown.
"Are you nervous?" he asks, his eyes meeting mine. My heart suddenly aches at the thought of not having Finnick to mentor me anymore. He's been an anchor, a constant in the whirlwind of the past week.
"I wasn't until you brought it up!" I hiss, the familiar tendrils of anxiety creeping into my chest. What if I say something stupid? The entirety of Panem will be watching me. I try not to focus on that, because if I do, I might just collapse.
"You will do just fine. You killed it when we rehearsed; just imagine that I'm the one asking you the questions," he says, half-smiling. I return his smile and take a deep breath. I trust Finnick, and I know he has prepared me well. Besides, my true performance will be in the arena. He holds out his arm, and I link mine through his, as he guides me steadily out to the lobby.
We meet up with Wesley's prep team and stylist in front of the elevator. Still linked with Finnick, I glide easily down the treacherous stairs, confident I won't tumble. Wesley is standing patiently by the silver elevator doors, his gaze intense as he drinks in my appearance.
Wesley is dressed in a deep metallic bronze suit that shines ever so subtly in the light, his thick hair gelled back. His face is freshly shaven, and his arched eyebrows are perfectly shaped. His muscular frame is obvious through his fancy suit, though it could also be because I've seen him naked.
"What a heartbreaker you are, Miss Hale," Wesley whispers in my ear, wrapping a protective arm around my waist.
"I could say the same to you," I whisper back, feeling a thrill as his eyes roam over me again. His hand travels south to cup my behind.
"I love you in this dress, but I can't wait to get you out of it," he flirts, his ice-blue eyes clinging to my figure. I flush, thoughts of what awaits after the interviews making my heart race.
We shuffle into the elevator, the space tight for all of us. Wesley positions me in front of him, making room for everyone. He rests his hands on my hips, and as we descend to the ground floor, he pulls me back against him, his groin pressing into me. I can feel how much he appreciates me in this dress, and I immediately feel like I have combusted into flames.
When the doors slide open, the tributes are being lined up in single file, according to their District. The interviews take place on a constructed stage in front of the Training Center. At least I won't have to walk far in these heels. We all sit in chairs in a semi circle on stage, with two chairs and an end table in the middle. The stage buzzes with activity, as people adjust lights and cameras, coordinating with each other on headsets.
As we take our seats, I spot Zane dressed in a blood-red suit, and Inara in a practically see-through gown. I'm not surprised by her angle; she's clearly playing up her sex appeal. I'm sure many sponsors will cater to her, hoping to be with her if she wins. Zane makes eye contact with me, his eyes flitting to the crown on my head. He grinds his teeth and flares his nostrils. I involuntarily smirk at him. He gets so worked up; hopefully, he has a heart attack and would take care of one of my problems.
Wesley takes my hand and helps me lower myself into my chair. I'm a couple of chairs down from them, but I see Evander dressed in a simple emerald suit, much like the one Finnick wore for our chariot ride. Lira is in a matching deep emerald knee-length dress, with gold 'tattoos' of snakes curling around her legs. The intricate artwork on her legs must have taken her prep team hours to draw. They both look stunning and are sure to gather a large amount of sponsors.
Sitting next to Wesley is Faelina, the young female from District 5, dressed in a pure white frilly dress. Her partner, Caelum, sits next to her. Both excelled in training, leaving me with no doubt they'll handle themselves well in the arena.
I glance down the line of us, and spot June, the twelve-year-old from District 10. She looks small and innocent. I draw in a breath, trying to push away thoughts of what awaits us tomorrow. The unsettling thoughts still linger, and I quickly divert my attention elsewhere.
Turning my gaze to the crowd, I notice a platform for the stylists and mentors in front of the stage. Camera crews occupy platforms scattered throughout the stands, and to the right, in a balcony, sit the Gamemakers. I feel a fleeting sense of gratitude toward them for giving Zane such a low score.
Suddenly, Caesar Flickerman pops onto the stage, looking strangely youthful despite his twenty years hosting the Games. His hair and features have been dyed a brilliant golden hue. Dressed in his signature midnight blue suit adorned with twinkling bulbs that resemble stars, he gazes at us with a big smile and waves before taking his seat. A countdown begins, and as a spotlight illuminates him, we are live.
Caesar begins by warming up the crowd with a series of jokes, most of which fly over my head. He calls Inara's name first, and her gaze snaps to Wesley as she struts past. I glance over, relieved to find Wesley's eyes fixed solely on me. He smiles, resting his arm casually on the back of my chair. I focus on Inara's interview, bemused that she can sit in front of the entire nation with her breasts showing through her dress.
"What is your strategy for winning the Games?" Caesar asks, his curiosity feigned. I can't help but think snarkily, Probably by trying to seduce everyone to death.
"I am going to slaughter as many weaklings as I can at the Cornucopia. It really will be a piece of cake, Caesar," Inara sneers, exuding overconfidence. I roll my eyes, as some people in the audience cheer.
"That sounds as good a plan as any!" Caesar beams. I have to admit, the enigmatic host has a knack for turning any interview into a hit. He puts nervous tributes at ease and transforms lackluster interviews into captivating ones.
When Zane is called up, His eyes immediately find mine, burning into them as if trying to pierce through. Wesley's hand tightens on my chair, his mouth hardening into a straight line, his eyes blazing with restrained anger.
"Zane Marwood, how are you doing this fine night?" Caesar begins smoothly, "I understand you have had some trouble with a certain tribute?"
"The only trouble there is, is the trouble she's going to receive tomorrow morning," Zane grins villainously, a malevolent glint in his eye. A shiver runs down my spine, unnerved by the coldness in his expression.
"Due to this incident, you received a low score, is there anything you wish to say to the sponsors?" Caesar questions, scanning the audience.
"I didn't get my score based on my skills. If that were the case I would have gotten a twelve, easily. If you put your faith in me, I will make you proud," Zane promises, placing a fist over his heart. I want to vomit watching this, yet the crowd seems to lap it up eagerly.
Lira's interview follows, going smoothly with Caesar focusing on her family back home, and her impressive sword-fighting skills. She projects confidence, unlike the nerves that wrack my body. Evander's interview, on the other hand, is a struggle to sit through. He gives Caesar one word answers and doesn't elaborate on any of them.
Soon, it's my turn to grace the stage. With a quick glance to the stylists' platform, I catch Silvarius admiring her work, softly applauding along with the crowd. I approach Caesar, shaking his hand firmly before taking my seat opposite him, crossing my legs elegantly and ensuring my posture is impeccable, like Althea has instructed me.
"Amara, the fierce and brave warrior from District 4! You look absolutely lovely tonight!" Caesar exclaims, rousing cheers from the audience.
"Thank you, Caesar. That makes two of us," I reply, earning a wide smile from him, and whistles from the crowd.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting with me, Miss Hale!" Caesar jokes, his smile radiant against his golden lipstick. The atmosphere shifts as he turns serious. "Now, we all saw you volunteer for that girl. Was she someone to you?"
"Annie and I didn't know each other personally, but I sensed her fear. I felt compelled to protect her," I answer, the room falling silent as everyone listens intently. Glancing out, I see Finnick smiling, offering silent encouragement that eases my nerves.
"What a generous heart you have. Will that be a problem in the arena?" Caesar probes, raising a golden eyebrow. His question catches me off guard; my heart is already a liability, especially with the reason seated twenty feet behind me. will most definitely be a problem, and the reason being seated twenty feet behind me. My throat tightens, feeling Wesley's eyes on me. I look over at Finnick, finding his supportive gaze pulling me back into focus.
"I came here to win, and that's exactly what I will do," I practically choke out.
"Is there anyone special back home you are fighting for? A gorgeous girl such as yourself must have tons of suitors," Caesar shifts the conversation, smiling warmly at me.
"I do have someone very special to me," I respond honestly, sparking intrigue from the crowd. Finnick shifts uncomfortably, undoubtedly wondering where my answer will lead.
"And who might this lucky person be?" Caesar leans in eagerly, the audience holding its breath.
"A lady never kisses and tells," I quip softly, a gentle smile on my lips. Caesar chuckles heartily, slapping his knee in amusement.
"That's true indeed, my dear!" Caesar laughs. "I can't help but notice the crown you're wearing tonight. Is that a sign of things to come?" he asks, glancing at the clock behind the camera crew. I have a minute and a half left.
"I certainly hope so! After all, I have someone special waiting for me," I reply, though my heart is sinking. I will never make it back to Welsey, whether that's because I'm dead or because he is, but hopefully because we both are.
"With a score of ten, I'm sure you will! Your training performance was exceptional, and we're all eager to see your skills in action! " Caesar praises, prompting loud cheers from the crowd.
"Now that's a promise I intend to keep," I smirk playfully, glancing out into the crowd.
"I am sure I speak for everyone when I say this, but we are eagerly awaiting to see what you can do in that arena!" Caesar cheers, the audience echoing his enthusiasm. The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of my interview.
"That's all the time we have with the stunning Miss Hale, from District 4!" Caesar announces, taking my hand and raising my arm triumphantly. I look back to Finnick, who gives me a thumbs up, with a proud smile. Gracefully, I return to my seat, aware of Wesley's eyes on me but determined not to meet them. He stands as his name is called, shaking hands with Caesar before settling in his seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
"Wesley Greyson, tell me, how has the Capitol been treating you thus far?" Caesar asks him, smiling brightly.
"Oh, the Capitol has been treating me very well." Wesley responds, emphasizing 'very'. I blush deeply, knowing he's referencing our intimate time in the apartment.
"What has been your favorite part?" Caesar questions further, sitting back in his chair oblivious to the double meaning behind Wesley's words.
"The beds are extremely comfortable, and the showers are a dream," Wesley smiles, glancing into one of the cameras. I choke on my saliva, coughing as discreetly as I can into my elbow.
"Soak it all in now, because come tomorrow morning you won't have those in the arena!" Caesar jokes, the crowd laughing along.
"Oh, I fully intend to make use of the amenities tonight," Wesley says, smirking to himself. I flush from my hairline to my toes.
"Without giving too much away, what will your strategy be? A colossal figure like yours is surely an opponent to be rivaled with," Caesar asks him, gesturing to Wesley's frame which towers over Caesar, even while sitting.
"I think my plan is to let them come to me, and finish them off quickly and mercifully," he answers seriously. I know Wesley has trained so hard to be absolutely lethal, but he doesn't relish in it.
"I love that. Any family to go back home to?" Caesar inquires, shifting the topic to a more family-oriented one. I stiffen, knowing family is not something Wesley is comfortable talking about.
"My mother and father, and a few friends who will be ecstatic to see me again," Wesley answers, his voice steady, but with a hint of vulnerability.
"I'm sure they will! Any girlfriends to mention?" Caesar asks, his smile broadening, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.
"Just one," Wesley responds coolly. The crowd collectively 'Awws,' and my cheeks flush a deep crimson.
"Is there anything you would like to say to her, as she's watching us now?" Caesar probes, his smile widening, knowing the audience loves a good romance. Wesley's sponsors must be increasing by the second.
Wesley turns his gaze directly into the camera, his expression softening. "You are an incredible woman, a truly breathtaking creature. The short amount of time we have spent together has been the best moments in my entire life. I love you deeply," he says, his voice filled with emotion. His icy blue eyes seem to pierce through the screen, locking onto mine. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over.
The buzzer sounds and Wesley shakes Caesar's hand before returning to his seat. His eyes find mine instantly, a smile spreading across his face. Muy anxiety spikes, the urge to flee overwhelming. As he takes his seat next to me, his hand discreetly brushes along the outside of my thigh, sending a shiver down my spine. The connection between us is electric, and I struggle to maintain my neutral expression under the intense scrutiny of the cameras, and the Capitol's watchful eyes.
The rest of the interviews go smoothly, a mix of innocence and overconfidence. Some tributes project vulnerability, while others exude a misplaced bravado. I suspect the main action this year will be between Zane and me. Then there's Jaime, who boasts about his prowess with an axe, making disturbing comments about beheading everyone.
When District 12 finishes, the national anthem blares through the speakers. I rise with everyone else, bowing my head respectfully, my heart pounding. I can barely contain my eagerness to make a beeline for the elevators and be alone with Wesley. The crowd starts filing out, descending from the stands to mingle with the stylists and mentors, effectively clogging the area and making it nearly impossible to move at a reasonable pace.
As I scan the crowd, I spot Finnick and Althea chatting with potential sponsors. My eyes then flicker to Zane, who is ahead of us. His gaze locks onto mine, and the expression on his face is terrifying, his eyes burning with an unsettling focus. I instinctively step back, realizing with a jolt, Wesley is no longer behind me. Anxiety prickles at the edges of my mind as I make my way to the elevators. The crowd is chaotic, everyone piling up in front of the doors and shoving others aside. The oppressive press of bodies and the knowledge that Zane is lurking somewhere in the throng make my heart race. With no sign of Wesley, I decide to make a safe exit into the next open elevator.
As I step in, a chill runs through me. I sense someone behind me and turn to look. In a split second, I notice two things: Zane standing directly in front of me, his eyes filled with malevolent intent, and Wesley frantically shoving people aside, desperately trying to reach the elevator before the doors close. Zane's fist slams on the control panel, and the doors slide shut with a disconcerting finality. Now, it is just Zane and me in this small, confined space.