Chapter Text
We're in District 1 tonight, the final stop before the Capitol. Tomorrow, Peeta Mellark will propose to me on live television, and it's my idea. The safety of my family depends on convincing Snow of our love and subduing the unrest in the districts. The last two weeks have been endless ceremonies, parties, and sleepless nights. I can't wait until this is over, but I'm dreading what comes after.
Today has been a long day, and my shoes pinch my toes. Peeta and I recited our speeches, shook hands with high-ranking officials, sat down for a formal dinner, and smiled for official photos. After the first dance, Peeta and I were cut loose. We have about an hour until we're back on the train.
The ballroom in this Justice Building is one of the most lavish places I've ever seen. Thousands of candles illuminate the whole room in a soft, warm glow. Cream colored silk drapes the walls. Marble statues of naked men and women decorate entryways. A massive chandelier hangs from the center of the room, casting light over a painting that covers the entire ceiling. Floating people in robes are enshrouded in gold patterns. The floor is polished so well that I can almost see the ceiling's reflection in it.
Musicians play a delicate score with a piano, violins, and cellos on the far side of the room. Tables underneath a panoramic window are filled with food, desserts, and alcohol.
I'm wearing a yellow dress made of the softest silk satin I've ever touched. It's backless, but the neckline is modest, and the hem reaches my ankles. My hair is styled in an updo with a few loose curls framing my face. I wonder if Peeta likes it.
It's late in the evening, and most of the guests are drunk. Most of them are stuffing their faces or chatting among themselves. Peeta and I stand close together, tucked away in a corner, and I sip on my glass of non-alcoholic champagne.
Effie strictly opposes underage drinking. She doesn't need to worry about that; it's not a habit I plan on picking up. I ease my nightmares by inviting Peeta into my bed every night. It's selfish, and I should feel guilty about it, but I need him.
I look over at Peeta. He looks as beautiful as the paintings that hang on the walls. He's in a black tuxedo, and his blond hair is slicked back. He's looking up at the painted ceiling, wonderstruck by the beauty. His blue eyes are wide as he scans the different scenes. His lips are full and slightly parted, and they look so soft. I wonder what they would taste like.
I feel a heat form in my chest and run down my body. I've been fighting off thoughts like this for days. The emotional whiplash has been driving me insane, but my thoughts always lead back to Peeta.
I take a sip from my glass, but it goes down wrong, and I make a choking sound. Peeta notices and looks down at me with concern.
"Katniss, are you okay?" He asks softly, and he places a hand on my bare shoulder.
I ignore the way my skin prickles under his touch and nod.
"Just tired." I answer, and lean into his touch.
Peeta takes the hint and wraps his arm around my waist.
"I'm sure Effie will have us back on the train soon enough." He reassures me.
I sigh and lean my head on his shoulder.
"How do you think they did it?" I ask.
Peeta furrows his brow.
"Paint the ceiling." I clarify.
"Oh." Peeta looks up again. "Very slowly."
I roll my eyes, which makes Peeta laugh, and I can't help but smile too.
"I wish I could ask someone here, but-" Peeta gestures toward the drunk crowd.
"Maybe we can ask Effie tomorrow." I offer.
"Yeah. Tomorrow." Peeta says in a low voice.
I try to keep my face neutral. Of course, he's uneasy about tomorrow. I remember how he reacted when I suggested getting married. I wish we could talk privately, so I could explain how it's the only way we can save our families. But we're under surveillance, and I can't risk anyone overhearing us. I just hope he doesn't hate me forever.
I take a deep breath and sip from my glass.
"I need air," I say.
This has become somewhat of a code for us. It's my way of telling Peeta it's time to sneak away from the party. A method that guarantees someone will come looking and spread gossip about where they found us. Peeta doesn't miss a beat.
"There are bathrooms in the hall." He quickly scans the room. "Do you think anyone would miss us?"
"Not if we're careful."
I abandon my glass on the ledge of a table. Peeta takes my hand in his. My heart flutters as we weave through the crowd and exit through the double doors.
Noise from the ballroom instantly diminishes once we enter the empty hallway. It's just as heavily decorated as the ballroom, with more statues and paintings lining the walls. We go right and walk in the direction of the bathrooms.
Sometimes I use these little escapes to actually catch some fresh air, like in 4, but we were given specific instructions not to leave the building. I'm not sure why, but I'm not interested in finding out. I'm fantasizing about the hot shower I'm going to take on the train when Peeta speaks.
"I think some of these are of past District 1 Victors."
He pauses in front of a painting of a young man holding a mace.
It must be an older Victor because I don't recognize him, but the boy has a sharp, square jaw and short-cropped brown hair. A white robe is draped over his waist and torso, and he wears a gold crown made of leaves. He grips a mace in his right hand and a spear in the other. He isn't smiling, probably trying to convey strength or power, but his eyes give him away.
Anyone else would see a Victor. I see a scared child. I don't want to look at it anymore.
I tug on Peeta's arm and lead him further down the hall past the bathrooms. I push him into the wall behind a pillar as soon as we round the corner. I press my body close to his. Our faces are mere inches from each other, and I can feel his breath on my face.
Another part of the act: two lovers who can't keep their hands off each other. At least that's what I tell myself. All the kissing and nights on the train blur the line between what's real and not real.
All I know is that he's going to propose tomorrow, and I'm going to say yes. I know that I could do a lot worse. I know he keeps the nightmares away. I know he loves me, and I-
"Katniss." Peeta's eyes are pleading.
I stare right back and hope my eyes explain what I can't.
"I-" I try to start, but the words don't come. I can't focus. Not when one of his hands is on my waist, and the other is on my bare back.
"I know." Peeta says, and looks away quickly. He looks deflated, but his grip doesn't loosen.
He knows? Knows what? How scared I am? How much I need him? How much I wish I could uncross our stars?
I wrap my left arm around his neck and rest my right hand on his chest, and press my face into the nape of his neck, because I can't look at him when I make my request.
"Peeta. I want you to stay with me tonight." I whisper. "Come straight to my room."
Peeta inhales sharply. I'm worried he's going to say no, but then his grip on my waist tightens. I place a light kiss on his pulse point before lifting my head to look at him again. His eyes search mine. All I can think about is how good it feels to be pressed up against this wall with him.
"Are you sure?" He asks.
I push myself closer to him until my hips are flush with his. I'm delighted when I see how big his eyes get from the contact.
"Yes." I breathe.
I close the remaining space between us and kiss him. It takes Peeta a second to realize what's happening, but he recovers quickly and kisses me back. His lips are just as soft as I thought they would be.
I lose myself in the feeling. I focus on Peeta's hands, his hot breath on my mouth, and the small whimpers that escape his throat. I run my hand down his chest and pull at his clothes. Peeta spins us around and pins me to the wall without breaking our kiss.
More.
I want more. I can't think, I can't remember the last time I took a breath, but I don't care. I suck on his lower lip, and Peeta makes a noise I've never heard before. I want to hear it again. My hunger becomes more ravenous, so I slip my tongue into his mouth. Peeta's hand slips down my back and squeezes my ass through the fabric of my dress. I moan into his mouth and tug on his hair gently.
Peeta rolls his hips, and I feel something hard pressing into my thigh. I don't want to stop.
"Lovebirds!"
Peeta and I tear away from each other.
Haymitch stands a few feet away, looking far too sober and exasperated. I cover my mouth with my hand as if that could help hide what we were doing. Peeta runs his hand through his hair and tries to discreetly readjust himself.
"Effie says it's time to go." He pretends not to notice the state we're in and motions us to follow him.
My face feels hot, and I can't quite look Peeta in the eye. Wordlessly, he takes my hand again and leads me back to the ballroom.