Author's Note: Happy birthday to one of my dearest friends, Miss Keela. I hope this lives up to your expectations, dearheart. And a HUGE thank you to chelzie for fixing my mistakes :)

Please note that this piece is based on the 2005 film "The Wedding Date." That being said, some of the dialogue is taken from the film, purely for comedic effect. I don't claim to own either TWD or THG.

I bite the corner of my lip. It would be so easy just to give in to the temptation, the desire… But where would that get me, other than lying on the couch feeling miserable in the morning? Damn. It would be nice to just let go and feel something for once. It's not like I really ever have fun anymore.

"You're such a tease," I murmur, still not entirely sure what I'm going to end up doing. "You lead me on and I give in every single time and then I wind up hating myself…" But my stomach tenses in anticipation and I know there was never another choice.

"Okay, fine, but this is the last time." I sigh deeply as I remove the last chocolate cupcake from the bakery box and sink my teeth into the decadent frosting. God, that's good. Maybe even better than the first three. I finish it off in record time and lick my fingers clean before taking a long drink of the red wine in my glass. I may have eaten four double chocolate cupcakes in less than an hour, but at least I still have half a bottle of wine left. I can exercise self-control sometimes.

Feeling guilty, I peek down at my stomach, barely visible through the frothy bubbles that swirl in the tub. "An extra mile tomorrow, Everdeen," I promise myself and drain the remainder of the poured wine.

Okay, so maybe it's a little ridiculous that I'm sitting in my bathtub eating cupcakes and reading Cosmo on a Friday night. But I've had a long, stressful week at the paper and I deserve an evening of self-indulgence.

With my foot, I jostle the hot water tap and relish the new warmth of the water by sinking even deeper. The rush of the running water fills my ears so completely that I barely register my phone pinging from its place on the ledge of the tub.

"Balls…" I groan and grasp for the towel so I can dry my hands off before answering. Normally, I wouldn't even bother, but I am the IT person on call this weekend and after all the problems with the server over the last week, I was probably very stupid to think I could have a night to myself.

It isn't the office, though—it's worse. It's my half-sister.

"Delly," I greet her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. She only ever calls me to remind me that the family is still in Seattle and it's only the other side of the country, not another continent for Christ's sake. It's not that I've forgotten… It's just that sometimes I really, really wish I could.

"Katniss!" she squeals so loudly that I jerk the phone away from my ear. "Katniss! Gale proposed!"

"Oh…" I'm vaguely aware that this isn't the appropriate response, but it's all I can come up with at this point. My sister is engaged… My younger, blonder, much perkier sister is engaged… And I'm sitting alone in my bathtub on a Friday night.

"Did you hear me?"

Like there was anyone on the Lower East Side who didn't.

"Gale proposed! I'm getting married and I wanted you to be the first to know!" She's off into near-hysteria once again.

"That's great," I fluster. "Oh my God!" I finally manage to form a coherent thought. My enthusiasm, however, is clearly forced.

"Oh, Kat…" she says, finally calming herself enough to speak clearly. "I'll tell you all about it later, but first I have to know—will you be my maid of honor?"

"Delly…" I sigh. "I just don't know…" I haven't seen her in almost two years. Surely one of her friends from back home would be a better choice? But she's asking me, and outright declining her just feels rude.

"Oh, please say yes! I can't imagine myself up there with anyone but you at my side. Please? Please?" She's quickly entering whining territory. I need to shut this down before she really gets going.

I take a deep breath. How can I deny my sister this? Or anything for that matter? "Of course I will be."

Delly squeals again but then stops just as suddenly as she started, her voice growing very, very solemn. "Oh, but… Thom…"

My pulse quickens as nerves clutch at my stomach. "What about Thom?"

"Well…" I can imagine Delly twisting a tendril of hair around her finger as she thinks. "He is Gale's best friend, after all…"

"So?" I ask, getting rather annoyed at her usual habit of beating around the bush. I'd rather she be screaming and direct than subdued and coy.

"So…" She drags the word out, another Delly trademark. "He'll probably want Thom to be the best man."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Of course. I definitely should have thought of that.

"Kat, if it makes you uncomfortable…" Her voice trails off and just like always, the guilt sets in immediately. There's no saying no to my younger sister.

"No," I supply before she can offer up my maid of honor status to our cousin Johanna. "No, it won't be a problem."

She shrieks again and tells me she has to go now because they have a hundred other people to call. I feign sadness, but I'm grateful. It's getting harder and harder to ignore the niggling headache that's taken root right between my eyes.

I sigh as I disconnect the call and toss my phone onto the plush bathmat. I reach for the half-empty bottle of red wine and pull out the cork. This time, though, I don't even bother with a glass.

I wake the next morning with a wicked red wine hangover and an ever bigger emotional one. I'm pretty sure this is exactly the opposite of how a normal person would feel about their sister getting engaged. I have to shake this feeling quickly. Before we'd disconnected last night, Delly promised to call me back this afternoon to discuss the details of her shower and bachelorette party, events that I, as her maid of honor, would be tasked with planning. But I decide that I'll give myself an hour before my 10:30 workout just to grovel.

With a sigh, I swing my legs out of bed and trudge into the kitchen where I seek out a stale package of Saltines and a can of ginger ale. Then, sipping slowly so as not to further upset my stomach, I plop down on the white rug in front of my bed and dig for the shoebox I know is just behind the dust ruffle. My fingers make purchase and I pull out the well-worn box.

I decided last night, in the senseless clarity that always seems to come with alcohol, that Delly isn't the person I'm upset with; it's Thom Fulton. And in a way, even that seems a little unfair. I mean, sure, he threw away our almost four-year relationship for practically no reason at all—at least, not one that I'm aware of—but he's still Gale's best friend, just like I'm still Delly's sister and we both have the right to be there for our friends' wedding… Even if it should be our own.

I stare at the shoebox for what seems like forever, trying to convince myself to open it, to just face the memories I've clung to for years, but before I can work up the strength my phone buzzes with a text from my best friend, Madge. She tells me she's leaving her apartment and that she'll meet me at the gym in fifteen minutes. I breathe an internal sigh of relief. As much as I seem to enjoy torturing myself, rehashing old memories is probably not the best thing to do first thing in the morning. I finish my breakfast of crackers and soda and dress in my favorite pair of yoga pants before grabbing a bottle of water and heading the three blocks to my gym.

I hold myself to the extra mile I'd sworn to last night, and after four excruciating miles on the elliptical, Madge and I head back to the locker room.

"Damn, Katniss, you were a on a mission today," she laughs as I mop the sweat from my face.

"I over-indulged last night…" I answer her, grateful that my cheeks are already red from exertion so she can't see me blush.

"Ooh." She taps my arm playfully. "That usually means I can skip my workout the next morning. You know that sex burns more calories than, like, anything else."

I shake my head. Madge's and my definition of over-indulgence seem to be completely different. "No, when I say over-indulge, I mean I ate my weight in double chocolate cupcakes and drank an entire bottle of wine."

She nods understandingly. "Sex still burns a shit-ton of calories…" Madge wiggles her blonde eyebrows at me and I can't help but laugh. She knows how long of a dry spell it's been for me and, like the perfect best friend, she refrains from commenting.

"Do you want to grab lunch?" I ask. The hangover and crackers burned off somewhere between miles two and three and now I'd practically kill for a double cheeseburger.

"Can't," she murmurs as she stuffs her towel in her gym bag and retrieves a bottle of water. "I have a prior engagement."

It doesn't surprise me. Madge is a serial dater. Truly, she almost has to be admired. Somehow, she always seems to have a string of men just waiting for her to call them up and ask them to dinner. "What's his name?" I ask teasingly as we step into the bright sun.

She grins wickedly. "I can't tell you."

I sigh dramatically. "Come on, you know I'm not getting any. I have to live vicariously through you!"

"It's not a date," she says stoically. "It's a source for an article I'm working on for the paper."

Madge is one of the few journalists at the newspaper I can stand to spend time with outside of work. She says it's because she works in features, which is like news, only way more fun. Any way you describe it, she always seems to be working on the most interesting pieces for the Arts and Leisure section.

I rack my brain trying to think of what they might have her working on now. There's a big music festival next month. Maybe she's meeting with one of the band members. "Musician?"

She shakes her head, sending her blonde ponytail flying around her head. "You won't guess, Katniss, trust me."

"Then tell me!" I implore. "Please? Don't make me lock you out of the server." Sometimes having power over the technology of the Big Apple's most influential paper is kind of nice.

"You're good." She narrows her blue eyes at me. "Okay, but I still can't tell you his name. I've promised him anonymity because his line of work is rather… Delicate."

"Mob boss?"

"I already told you, you won't guess!" Madge takes a swig of her water, solely, I'm sure, to drag out the tension a little. "He's a male escort."

I gasp. "A hooker? Like, a gigolo?"

"I think they prefer 'male escort' now, Kat." She laughs. "I thought it would be an interesting human interest piece and I happened to know a guy who knew a guy and now I have this interview."

We stop in front of my brick apartment building. There's no talking Madge out of a good story once she gets her mind set on it, so all I can do is wish her good luck. "Let me know how it goes?"

"Absolutely." Madge leans in for a hug. "And who knows? Maybe if he's really good looking, I'll slip you his number so you can break the drought."

"'Drought,' Madge? Jesus, it hasn't been that long."

"Sweetie, you probably have cobwebs down there." She winks at me. "Okay, I've got to run. Try not to shot-gun three seasons of Breaking Bad and a large stuffed-crust pizza tonight."

"Well, I won't make any promises." I grin at her as she waves over her shoulder and bounces down the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, by the time I shower, redress, and talk with Delly about plans for her parties, I'm still obsessing over that damn shoebox sitting on the thick rug in front of my bed. I could—and more to the point probably should—slide it back into its resting place without a second thought. But feigning excitement for my half-sister has been exhausting, so I order a large stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza (Madge be damned) and decide to flip through the box while I wait. I already feel like shit, so it's not like I have that much further to fall.

"All right, Everdeen," I steel myself as I remove the lid. "Just this once and then it's over."

I'd be lying if I said I was even a little proud that I still have a shoebox full of pictures, cards, and notes from my relationship with Thom. Even though it's been two years since I was unceremoniously dumped, throwing everything out feels way too final. Like maybe if I hang on to these keepsakes, he'll remember that he loved me once. Then there's the pesky little issue of the black velvet box I hold in my palm.

What are you supposed to do with old engagement rings anyway?

Clearly, if you're me, you shove them under your bed until you really need a reminder of just how awful your life is and then you pull it out, slip the absolutely perfect two-carat, princess-cut solitaire platinum setting on your left hand and weep openly because your younger half-sister is engaged and you haven't been on a date in six months.

Suddenly, an entirely new thought plagues my already addled brain. "Fuck!" I exclaim, slapping the wood floors in frustration. There's no way in hell I can show up to this wedding alone, not with Thom there looking fabulous. Despite my most ardent prayers, I highly doubt he's gained two hundred pounds and developed a nasty case of adult acne. Then there's my overbearing Aunt Effie, who will do nothing but weep about how I'll never find anyone if I just sit in my apartment all day long if I show up dateless.

Maybe there's hope. Delly informed me during our conversation that the wedding was officially set for June fifth, so that gives me six months to find someone to date. Surely I can't be single forever.

I think back to my earlier talk with Madge. Hey, if worse comes to worst, I suppose I can always hire a date. The thought is so ludicrous that my tears of anger, frustration, and sadness quickly give way to tears of hysterical laughter.

Six Months Later

It never fails—whenever I have a Saturday morning to myself, Aunt Effie calls before eight. Doesn't she realize that she's three hours behind me and that just because the sun is up on the east coast doesn't necessarily mean that I am? For a fleeting second, I seriously consider denying the call and going back to sleep, but I know my aunt and she'll just continue to call until I give in and answer, so I roll onto my side and answer the phone with a gruff hello.

"Katniss, darling," she trills. Delly definitely gets her perky disposition from our mother's and Effie's side of the family.

"Hi, Aunt Effie," I greet her, praying she can't hear the sleep still in my voice. Aunt Effie considers the day wasted if you aren't out and about by seven.

"Listen, you know that I hate to stick my nose in other people's business…"

I snort before I can stop myself. We all know that Effie's idea of fun is sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.

"…and Delly would never tell you this herself because she's far too sensitive for her own good…"

I brace myself. Surely this conversation won't end well.

"But she's worried about you."

I sigh. Delly has texted me practically every day, confirming that I'll be in Seattle in time for her wedding. It had been a chore, changing my plane ticket every time Delly or my aunt decided to add another party or gathering to the list. We'd eventually settled on a solid four days of wedding preparation. I'll be getting into SeaTac the evening the celebration—or torture session, as I prefer to call it—begins. Just in time for cocktails with the relatives.

"I'll be there," I repeat for what feels like the nine-thousandth time. "I've told Delly every day that I'll be there."

"Oh, no," Effie tuts. "It's not that you'll be here. It's that you'll be here alone."

Oh. That. So much for me finding a date over the last six months. In all fairness, work had gotten crazy with the implementation of a new server and I'd been working fifty hours a week almost non-stop since Delly first called to announce her engagement. However, there was also part of me that just really enjoys piling up on the couch in sweat pants for a Netflix marathon. I don't think anyone is worse off because of that… Except my clearly non-existent social life.

"She's just concerned," my aunt continues, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. "She doesn't want people to feel badly for you at her wedding."

So that's the real crux behind this. Delly's afraid that someone might take the attention away from her for five minutes to pity poor, plain, single Katniss. It might hurt my feelings if I weren't so incredibly pissed off.

I clear my throat. "Well, you can tell Delly that she has no reason to be concerned, because not only will I be there, but my date will be too."

I can practically see Aunt Effie's giant blue eyes light up. "Date? Katniss, you didn't tell us you were dating anyone!"

I flounder. That's because I'm not... But I can't admit my mistake now. Not when the entire family in Seattle is planning on sitting around and feeling sorry for me when I show up single to my sister's wedding where my ex-fiancé will walk me down the goddamn aisle.

"It's new," I say quickly. "I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't sure it would last… You know… But yeah. We'll be there. Me and my date. Tomorrow. Just as planned."

"How wonderful!" Effie squeals. "Okay, darling, I have to run, but love from me and Uncle Haymitch. And do call when you're on your way to the airport. Kiss, kiss!"

I can't even stutter out a goodbye before she disconnects the call. I grasp my phone tightly in my palm, desperately trying to figure out who I can convince to attend a wedding with me on twenty-four hours' notice. Madge is truly the only friend I have in New York, and even though I have no doubt that she loves me like a sister, I think asking her to pose as my date may be stretching the limits of our friendship just a little. Not to mention the rumors that would ignite amongst my gossip-loving family. Then… Madge… An idea roots in the back of my brain and it's just so ridiculous that I may be able to pull it off.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial Madge's number. She picks up on the second ring.

"Madge," I say, hoping she can hear the blind desperation in my voice. "I need a really, really big favor."

My alarm doesn't go off. Of fucking course on the day that I have to pack and fly out to Seattle for my sister's wedding, my alarm doesn't go off and I don't wake up until my voicemail pings harshly by my bed. Slack-jawed at how much time I've wasted—and a little nervous about how much I still have to do before catching my flight, I practically skip into the bathroom to brush my teeth, pressing play to listen to the message. Multi-tasking is a must this morning.

"Katniss, hi, this is Peeta Mellark," the voice says.

I nearly choke on the mouthful of foam. Okay, so I'd gotten desperate and called in a favor from Madge. I never actually thought he'd return my call…

"I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier, but I got your messages… All seven of them."

My cheeks color. I had been a little on the high-strung side after lying to my aunt. At least this guy's voice sounds nice. Deep, confident… My family will eat him up.

"I know you're nervous."

What is this guy, psychic?

"Don't be. This is what I do. Your family will think we're madly in love and your ex-fiancé will be sorry he ever left you. Trust me. Listen, I'm running a little late, so I'm sending a messenger to pick up my ticket. I'll see you at the airport. I can't wait to meet you."

The doorbell rings almost immediately after the voicemail signals the end of the message.

"Fuck!" I swear as I whip around and stub my toe on the edge of my vanity.

I throw on pants before rushing to open the door, and a sweaty bike messenger smiles. "Hi," he greets me.

"I'm so sorry," I say breathlessly, hoping that I don't have toothpaste smeared all over my chin. "I wasn't quite ready for you."

He shrugs and watches as I bend to collect the extra boarding pass from the side table by my door and shove it into an envelope. I'd lucked out in that there just so happened to be one seat left on my flight to Seattle. Of course, it also helps when you work on the personal IT systems of the airline manager. He even bumped my seats up to first class after I promised to install free software on his machine as soon as I returned from my trip.

Hastily, I scrawl Peeta Mellark's name on the front of the white envelope and reopen the door, holding the ticket out to the messenger. He grabs the other end of the envelope, but I can't seem to release my fingers.

"It's a plane ticket," I say, for reasons that I absolutely cannot explain. "For my date."

The messenger nods at me with wide eyes and I know he doesn't care. I just can't actually believe that I'm doing this, so for some reason, I have to explain every detail of my life.

He tugs on the envelope, but my grip remains tight. "You're going to have to let go," he says gently.

"You're going to have to help me," I reply helplessly, feeling that as long as I keep a finger on that ticket, I can still back out of this. I can still show up to Delly's wedding alone and just eat a giant bowl of crow.

But the bike messenger wraps his long fingers around mine and the envelope slides from my hand. He nods at me as he takes off down the hallway and I gulp. This is actually happening.

I slam the door shut and run into my bedroom. I haven't even started to pack.

Let me just say that under normal circumstances, I am a very calm flyer. Really. I've been doing it since I was small, so being a few miles above ground doesn't bother me anymore. But today, as I settle into seat 3A, I can't deny the knots that twist in my stomach. I'm sure it has more to do with my still absent date than the actual cross-country flight, so I have to find something to do until the mysterious Peeta Mellark shows up. I grab the emergency exit fold out from the seatback and bury my face in it.

The flight attendant laughs as she kneels next to me. "Your first flight?"

I shake my head. "My sister's getting married," I explain, because I still haven't quite gotten my mouth to stop betraying me, "And my ex is the best man. In case I chicken out, I want to know where all the exits are."

She smiles gently and hands me a flute of champagne. "Here. To relax you."

As soon as she turns her back, I down the drink and fiddle nervously with the glass. Then, because being a little buzzed for this flight might not be such a terrible thing, I follow her to trade my empty flute for a full one.

"I'm not normally this high-maintenance," I whisper harshly, tugging at my braid. "It's just that any second, my date is going to sit down in 3B and I need him to look really, really good today."

The petite flight attendant stretches onto her toes to peer over my shoulders and her eyes widen. "Well, hello, 3B…"

My stomach sinks and all the bubbles from the champagne flood my brain. I can barely keep my knees from shaking as I walk down the narrow aisle back to my seat. Peeta Mellark's back is turned to me, but his shoulders are broad underneath the black suit jacket and his blond hair is carefully combed. He's taller than me, but not by much, and his build is strong. He turns around and his eyes are so blue that I'm immediately reminded of how the Atlantic Ocean looks from thirty-thousand feet. It's no wonder he became a male escort—I can't imagine anyone this beautiful doing anything else.

"Hey," I greet him softly, still inwardly ogling him.

"Katniss." His voice is deep and sure. He practically oozes confidence. He grabs my hand lightly and leans forward to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. Then he stands back and allows me to pass in front of him to take my seat. As I sit down, he shrugs off his jacket and flings it carelessly across the arm rest. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner," he says apologetically. "I'm usually much more prompt. And I'm sorry we had to take the later flight; I know how much you must be looking forward to this."

I wave him off. "Work must be crazy." Silently, I pray that a hole will open under my feet and swallow me as soon as I realize exactly what I've said.

Peeta takes it in stride, though his impossibly blue eyes widen, and he relaxes back into his seat to listen to the safety instructions.

We're quiet during takeoff, and only speak when the flight attendant asks us what we want to drink. It's an awkward situation, one that I'm not entirely sure how to remedy. Luckily, Peeta Mellark, male escort, seems to be much more used to this kind of thing. Obviously.

"So tell me about your family," he says to me and then backpedals at what I'm sure has to be the look of pure horror that crosses my features. "Or not. Sometimes it's just nice to know what to expect."

Fair enough. Sending Peeta into the lion's den known as my family unprepared might lead to disaster anyway. "Hmm. Well, I guess it's only fair to warn you…" I sigh. I had been hoping to avoid this Pandora's Box of a conversation. "You know those families where everyone's crazy, but at the end of the day you're all family so you come together and love one another and everything's all right?"

He nods pensively as he takes a long sip of his Jack and Coke.

"Mine's not like that."

Peeta snorts into his drink and looks at me quizzically. "Really?"

I shrug. "I love my uncle. But he married in so he's not really family… More like a hostage," I add as an afterthought. And then, to hold off the question I know is coming, I launch into the short version of my convoluted family history. "My mother's sister and her husband took in my sister and I after our parents died."

"I'm so sorry," he says. I've heard it so many times since my parents' untimely death that I thought it wouldn't affect me anymore. But then Peeta grabs my hand and squeezes gently and I feel a small rush of sadness that Delly's father won't be there to walk her down the aisle.

I shake him off. "It's fine. It was a really long time ago. And they took good care of us, gave us whatever we wanted, so it wasn't a bad childhood." I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. "I'm sorry," I add sheepishly. "I didn't sleep well last night, between worrying about today and worrying about you…"

He chuckles. "You worried about me?"

"I worried more about facing my family without the date I promised them…"

Peeta leans in close to me and plants another kiss on my cheek. "Stop worrying. Everything will be fine."

I smile up at him, curious to know how a complete stranger can make me feel so at ease. "Would it be rude if I took a nap?"

"Not at all." He smiles down at me.

With a sigh, I rest my head against the window and am quickly met with sleep.

"Katniss…" Someone nudges me lightly as he whispers my name. It must be Thom. I haven't welcomed another man into my bed since…

Thinking of Thom snaps me out of my reverie and I'm mortified when I realize that it was Peeta, my date for hire, who woke me. It also appears that I've drooled all over his starched white shirt. Shit.

I sit up straight and wipe my mouth, embarrassed that I slept on his shoulder when I barely know him, and mortified that I even bothered calling him in the first place. Am I really so desperate to escape my family's criticism that I'm willing to pay a man to pretend to be interested in me?

Then he smiles. "Good evening, sunshine."

Goddamn, he's pretty. At least his looks will keep Aunt Effie happy for the time being. I smile coyly. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugs and I begin to wonder if anything shakes him. "I was going to change when we landed anyway."

"Me too." I stretch my back and look around. "Are we getting close?"

"About ten minutes out."

"Perfect," I respond. When I pull out my compact to retouch my makeup, my thick, dark hair is wild around the crown of my head and my cheeks color. Just get through this week, Katniss, I remind myself, and then you never have to see him again.

I'm eternally grateful for the large bathroom stalls at SeaTac, because I'm able to change into my chosen outfit for Delly's first party. I study my reflection in the mirror. My hair now looks fine after a little water and a quick rebraid. My aunt won't be too thrilled that I've chosen to wear my hair back tonight, but she's also royally pissed that I waited until today to fly out. She'll get over it. It was the easiest thing for me… And my date.

I'm not crazy about the dress I've chosen for today, but it was our mother's and it's made from a delicate, light blue fabric that accentuates the gray of my eyes. Besides, no one will be paying much attention to me anyway. No one ever does as long as Delly is in the room.

I take one final glance in the mirror before retrieving my carry-on from the counter and walking out of the restroom to meet Peeta. We trade duties guarding the piles of luggage—mostly mine, I'm embarrassed to admit—and he steps into the men's room to change his suit. He takes much less time than I did—of course, he also has a lot less hair to deal with—and rejoins me in the terminal as I send a short text to Effie and Delly letting them know we've arrived safely and are en route to the house.

"Ready?" Peeta says as he grabs the bar of the luggage cart.

I nod and look up at him, but immediately balk. "Oh, no." He's changed into a light gray suit with a cornflower blue starched shirt underneath. His dark gray tie contrasts nicely and I'll be the first to admit that he looks absolutely delicious. Together, however, we look a little… well… planned. "Peeta, please tell me you aren't wearing that to the party?"

He glances down. "I am. Is there something wrong?"

"No!" I respond quickly. "It's just that…" I sigh and gesture to my dress. "It looks like I took half of my dress and made you a shirt…"

"Ahh," he nods understandingly. "And you're afraid that your family will see us and think we're trying too hard."

When he says it, it doesn't make quite as much sense. "I just want us to look like we fit without—"

"Let me tell you a secret," he cuts me off and stops right in the middle of the walkway. An overweight redhead gives us an annoyed sigh as she waddles around us. "If you look people in the eye, they won't notice what you're wearing." Then, without another word, he continues toward the rental car booth.

With a huff, I grab the garment bag from my pile of luggage and storm off toward the nearest restroom. He may not be concerned with how my family perceives us, but I sure as hell do. And I'll be damned if I'm going to walk into that room matching my fake date. I settle on a strapless, deep red, knee-length dress and zip myself into it. I also shake my hair from my braid, pleased for once with the way the tendrils curl along my back.

From the way Peeta's jaw drops when I rejoin him in line, I can tell it was a good decision. He clears his throat, attempting to recover from his less-than-subtle gaping. "I like this one."

I shrug. "Yeah, well. If I'm going to feel like shit, I at least want to look good doing it."

He smiles. "Mission accomplished."

The closer we get to the out-of-the-way waterfront venue Delly chose for her welcome cocktail mixer, the tighter the knot in my stomach grows. Peeta rides silently in the passenger seat, watching the lush green of endless evergreens fly by. When we finally arrive, he steps around to my door to help me from the car and once again, I'm completely amazed at how relaxed he seems to be about this entire situation. I, on the other hand, feel like my skeleton has been replaced with thick iron bars. Every step I take up the stone path is stilted and I hold my back ramrod straight.

We're three feet from the door when I whirl around. "I'm not sure I can do this…" I put a hand to my head.

"You can't be sure of anything, but you still have to go in," Peeta responds softly and grasps my bare shoulders. "Clearly, we have a lot of warming up to do before show time, so just focus on me for a minute."

I nod and heave a deep sigh. I don't really have any other choice. We're here and he is the expert… Professional? I decide here and now not to think about it. This is a business transaction, nothing more.

I've just started to speak when his lips settle softly onto mine and he kisses me gently.

"Relax," he implores me in a whisper and his mouth finds mine again, this time hungrier and more urgent.

I surprise myself by responding with verve—I'd forgotten what it felt like to be really, truly kissed by someone who knows how… and boy, does Peeta know how to kiss. But I've already promised myself to stop thinking about that. Once I start focusing on how many pairs of lips his tongue has parted, I'm afraid that I won't be to continue with this plan and I'm too far in to back out now. I pull away from him and feel myself blush.

"Remember," he murmurs, tugging gently at my loose hair, "We're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

I nod solemnly. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."

He winks an impossibly blue eye at me before offering me his arm.

"We need a story!" I exclaim suddenly, and I absolutely hate myself because this is what we should have done on the plane in lieu of my extra-drooly nap. "Okay," I continue quickly, still grasping Peeta's arm as though he's a life-preserver in the vast ocean of my sister's life. "Okay, you're a therapist and we just started dating but you're already crazy about me."

Peeta nods, indicating that he's on board for this idea, no matter how ludicrous. Honestly, I'd just picked a random profession out of the air, but I'd opted for something I knew would impress Aunt Effie.

"Oh, that reminds me…" I stop walking and plunge my hand into the depths of my purse, fishing for the envelope I know is there. I finally find it and hand it over with a little more enthusiasm than is entirely necessary. Handing over this much money is something I feel I have to do quickly, lest I chicken out at the last minute. "It's all there," I assure him as he tucks the envelope into his jacket. "Count it."

He shakes his head. "Nah, I trust you."

"Just…" I bounce on the tips of my toes. "Count it. Please?" I sigh exasperatedly as he removes the thick envelope and flips through the stack of bills. I count along with him just to be sure he's counted correctly. The last thing I need is him thinking I owe him anything.

"Six thousand even," he confirms and places the envelope of money into his jacket. "All right. I'll cover expenses, but if you want to get intimate, we talk price before anything happens."

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, that won't be necessary. I find the idea of money for sex morally repugnant."

He cocks an eyebrow at me and it's almost like I'm back in my seat on the plane, embarrassing myself all over again.

"I'm sorry," I add quickly. "No offense." But the damage has already been done.

Peeta's eyes are cold as he grabs my hand and drapes my arm back over his. "Do me a favor and stop apologizing. It's unnecessary and a little annoying."

"Okay," I agree and I begin to wonder if I'll ever feel comfortable around Peeta. "Sorry." I realize my mistake immediately. Yeah… the comfort thing won't be happening any time soon.

Aunt Effie meets us just inside the door and I sigh. I had been hoping to have at least a moment to orient myself—and Peeta—to the room full of my relatives and family friends milling about. Not to mention Thom.

"Katniss!" She sweeps me into a tight hug, managing not to spill a drop of her martini only because the glass is half-empty. She must be taking this much harder than expected—usually Uncle Haymitch is the one with the drink in his hand.

"Doll, what happened to you?" she asks as she releases me. "We were expecting you an hour ago…" Effie's shrill voice trails off as she catches sight of Peeta standing behind me.

I thought we made fairly excellent time considering my wardrobe issues, the traffic from the airport, and the location of what has to be the most obscure venue in Washington State. And I do not like the way my aunt is studying Peeta…

"Oh, I see." She nods enthusiastically, like she's discovered the answer to a riddle. "You pulled over for quickie."

My cheeks color immediately. "Oh, my God… This is so not the time to be yourself…"

God bless Peeta. He really must have incredibly intuitive people skills… Or he's just seen a little bit of everything in his line of work. Whatever it is, he steps between my aunt and me and takes Effie's hand.

"Hi, I'm Peeta, the new guy." In a move that would seem ridiculous if it were anyone other than my debonair date, he raises Effie's hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

She practically melts. "It's a pleasure," she says sincerely, and for a moment I wonder if maybe she can act normally for the next few days. "Even though, you know, I didn't even know you existed until yesterday…"

Hope, unfortunately, has never really worked out for me.

"You know, in times like these, I find that a stiff drink usually helps." My uncle brandishes a highball glass full of his—and my—favorite gin. "Quick," he whispers with a wink. "Before your aunt sees."

I drain the glass in two gulps and step into his arms for a hug. Words can't describe how much I love my Uncle Haymitch. Somehow, although they are total opposites, he had found my aunt. He liked to say it was because someone somewhere knew I would need someone who understood me.

I was twelve and Delly eight when our mother and her father were hit by a drunk driver and killed. It's an awkward age already and I didn't know how to live in a world where my parents didn't.

We were lucky. We very easily could have been shuffled through the foster care system and never had the plethora of opportunities we were awarded. But my sweet, childless Aunt Effie and her stoic husband had welcomed my sister and I with open arms. He didn't have to love me the way he did, but something in our personalities just clicked and Uncle Haymitch quickly became one of my best friends.

He grabs the glass from my hand and pretends to take a sip as Effie approaches us. She tuts at him, but he widens his eyes at her now-empty martini glass and an entire unspoken conversation passes between them.

"Katniss!" Delly's voice is shrill enough to break glass—figuratively speaking, of course—and she swoops in on me with little warning, other than the stream of incessant chatter falling from her lips. "Kat, I'm getting married! Can you believe it?" She squeezes me tightly for a microsecond and then pushes me away, her gaze traveling up and down Peeta's long, lean body. "Hey, who's the hunk? Nice!" Then, before I can answer, someone else catches her attention and she's swept away in the stream of people here for her.

Aunt Effie pushes a glass of soda water into my hand and takes my elbow gently, leading me toward the front of the room. "Now listen, this wedding is a marathon, not a sprint. We have cocktails tonight, the bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow night, which of course, I have planned based on your specifications. Then there's the rehearsal dinner on Friday, and of course, the blessed event come Saturday. And since you have so foolishly left no time for jetlag, I need you to hydrate." She motions to the glass I'm clutching, waiting for a lull in the conversation. Sometimes I think that half the reason I'm so quiet is just because between Delly and Effie, there was never any time for me to talk.

"Well," she says, staring disapprovingly at the glass in my hand. "Drink!" And then she rushes off, surely to find someone else to chastise.

Haymitch sighs and twists the empty highball glass in his hand, making the ice tinkle against the sides. "I'd tell you she's not always like this, but I hate to lie to someone I've just met," he quips and then extends his hand to Peeta. "Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss's uncle."

"Peeta Mellark, Katniss's date." Peeta returns the handshake firmly and I know my uncle will be pleased about that if nothing else. "Can I get you a refill, sir?"

"Ahh!" His eyes light up and he passes the empty glass to Peeta.

"Katniss?" Peeta nods to my glass of water.

"Please make sure there's liquor in this when you come back…"

Peeta smiles at me and walks the short distance to the bar as Haymitch leans in close to me. "Where'd you find him, sweetheart?"

I smile wryly and decide to tell the truth. He'll never believe me anyhow. "The Yellow Pages."

"Hellooo!" My Aunt Effie has procured a fresh martini and a microphone from somewhere and she's standing at the front of the room with Gale's mother, Hazelle. Displeased with the volume, she taps the top of the mic until a shrill squeal of feedback peals throughout the room. If she didn't have everyone's attention before, she certainly does now.

"Oh, sweet Jesus…" I mutter. "Who gave that woman an amp?"

"Welcome, welcome!" She grins broadly and takes the time to scan the room, making eye contact with just enough people to make everyone feel included. Effie has always been a natural at the whole public relations thing. "We are so honored to have you all here to celebrate with us as we welcome Gale and the Hawthornes into our family." She shoots a saccharinely sweet smile over to Hazelle, takes a sip of her martini, and then launches into exactly what I was afraid of. "You know, it's funny, because we thought we'd be marrying Katniss off first and we got close once!"

I want to die. Where the hell is Peeta with my alcohol? I wish for telepathy in this moment so I could ask him to bring the entire bottle. I feel, rather than see, the gaze of everyone in the room on me. My cheeks must be the color of my dress.

"But as you all know," Effie continues, blissfully unaware of the embarrassment she's caused, "That crashed and burned, but we were able to get the deposit back, and so here we are—"

There's a sudden progression of chords from the back of the room and I just make out Thom's dark hair behind the raised lid of the grand piano.

Uncle Haymitch clears his throat as Peeta returns with our drinks, and immediately holds his fresh glass in the air. "To the bride and groom!"

Effie looks flustered for a few seconds and then she pats her hair. "Yes, well, back to our bride and groom to be. Gale…" My aunt raises her glass toward where Gale stands with Delly wrapped in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and she looks so exquisitely happy that for a moment, I am jealous that everyone has gathered to see my sister marry when it should have been me. I shake my head and take a long drink of the now gin-infused soda water. No time for a pity party, Katniss. Not today. Not this weekend.

"Gale," Effie continues, "We are so happy you fell in love with the girl next door, our sweet, sweet Delly."

My half-sister dabs at a tear that slips from the corner of her eye and Gale kisses her cheek firmly, a man completely in love.

"Congratulations," I say loudly, surprising even myself as I raise my glass and watch as the rest of the room follows suit and repeats my words.

"Congratulations."

Peeta catches my eye from the other side of Haymitch and nods ever so slightly.

"Thank you…" I mouth silently, not only for the liquor in my glass, but also for the moral support he's somehow supplying.

For six-thousand dollars, I'd expect nothing less.

Whether it's from the exhaustion, the fact that I haven't eaten much more than airline peanuts, or just because of the current rate at which I'm knocking back gin and tonics, I excuse myself to the restroom after my aunt's toast. There, I carefully touch up my lipstick, praying that I'm not yet drunk enough to smear it across my teeth, and adjust my breasts. I haven't talked to Thom yet and while I wouldn't exactly say I'm looking forward to it, I at least want to look my best.

As luck would have it, my ex-fiancé is waiting for me just outside the restroom. I suck in a deep breath and brace myself against the wall. "Thom," I say in what I hope is a careless and breezy tone.

"Hello… Catnip." At his use of his and Gale's nickname for me, I feel my resolve start to crumble and I allow him to pull me into a hug. His strong arms twine around my waist and he presses a kiss to my cheek. He still smells the same, like sandalwood and musk, and the vestiges of his aftershave linger on his cheeks. I close my eyes, completely satisfied with the way this is working out, practically ready to throw myself back onto his bed.

"Oh, my God!"

I jerk away from Thom and he looks at me like we're two teenagers that just got caught half-naked in the backseat of his car.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" Johanna Mason attacks me from the front, squeezing me tightly. "Brainless! Where the hell have you been all my life? I have gynecologists that call more often than you."

Thom takes a step back and rubs his jaw. He and Johanna were never close.

I look quizzically at her. "You have more than one gynecologist?"

She shrugs. "I play them against one another so they won't think I'm easy." My cousin spins around and grins wickedly at Thom. "Hello, asshole!" she greets him cheerfully. "Listen, since you dumped my cousin brutally and without cause, you won't mind if I just steal her away?" Johanna grabs my hand before Thom can stutter out a reply. "Thanks."

I'm more than a little tipsy and although I'm glad to see my favorite cousin, I'm also a little disappointed that she didn't let me have it out with Thom. "You didn't have to do that, Jo," I whine.

"Believe me," she answers, tapping on the shiny wood surface of the bar to catch the bartender's attention and motioning for two drinks. "I wasn't saving you from him, I was saving you from yourself."

I scoff. How ridiculous. I'd merely had the fleeting thought of finding myself back in bed with Thom. It wasn't like I was stripping in the hallway.

"You're too fucking nice, Katniss," she states matter-of-factly, in that way that makes you wonder if maybe Johanna can't read your mind a little.

I roll my eyes and take the proffered drink. But Johanna always seems to know everything about everyone so I can't help myself. "By the way, did he bring a date?"

She takes a long sip of her drink. "I see you did."

Following her gaze, I can see Peeta standing with Aunt Effie and a group of her friends. He must be charming the pants off of every single one of them. I've never seen so many older women fawning over a man my age before.

I shrug. "He's… nice. So about Thom…"

"Brainless." She smacks my head lightly. "Why waste one more millisecond of your life on that douche-lord when Mr. Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down is waiting for you across the room?" She practically licks her lips as she stares Peeta down. Then, because I suppose part of being a male escort is always knowing when to turn on the charm, he turns around and winks at me.

"Oh, Christ," Johanna moans. "I think I just came."

I snort into my glass as Delly waltzes up beside us. She's never been a huge drinker, but I can tell that the stress of this massive event is starting to wear on her. Her blue eyes are round and glassy and she stumbles a little as she hugs Johanna and me.

"You know what I love about all this?" Delly slurs.

"There's finally a reason for the world to revolve around you?" I say under my breath.

But Delly just throws back her head and giggles. "Exactly." Then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. "I'm so glad you're here, Katniss. I've missed you so much. By the way… What is your new hunky-dunky doing with your ex-fiancé?" Lazily, she points a finger in Peeta's direction and I see that she's right. My aunt and her friends have dissipated and Peeta is nursing a drink and talking quietly with Thom.

Johanna nods to me, indicating that I should take care of the situation before it escalates. She puts an arm around Delly, gently guiding her over to where Gale sits, surrounded by a few of his fraternity brothers.

Obviously I don't catch all of their conversation, but I hear enough to make me curious. Thom seems to be talking about someone that he's crazy about—in love with even—but she's here with another man. My stomach flutters involuntarily. I hadn't planned on rekindling my relationship with Thom over this weekend, but I suppose nothing's out of the question. I mean, there has to be a reason that the box full of mementos has been so important to me over the last few years? The ring still fits…

"There you are!" Peeta calls to me and extends an arm. "How are you?"

I press myself flush to his chest, immediately remembering the true reason of his presence here. Even if Thom is realizing what a colossal mistake he made by breaking off our engagement, I might as well have some fun with him before I declare all wounds healed. "Perfect. I'm all ginny."

"Hi, Katniss," Thom says brightly. "Hi."

"Oh, hi," I reply. And then, just for good measure, I kiss Peeta full on the mouth. It's probably a little more openly than I would normally, but the combination of liquor and exhaustion fuels my impulse and I want to see Thom uncomfortable, just for one minute of his life. "Peeta, I see you've met my ex."

Peeta's eyes widen in recognition and he nods. "I was just telling him how we met."

"Yes!" I force a laugh, but mentally I'm kicking myself. I thought of everything else? Why didn't I think that anyone would ask how Peeta and I met?

"The Knicks game?" Peeta implores me, his expression telling me to just trust him.

"Oh, right!"

Thom's brow furrows. "You hate sports…"

"I hate baseball," I clarify, referencing one of our last dates, a dismal game at SafeCo Field, where it rained through all nine innings and I developed a nasty case of bronchitis from staying out in the cold, wet air. Ever since then, baseball's come with bad memories.

"Well…" Thom flounders, wringing his hands. "I guess I should… go." And he does, leaving me pressed into Peeta's chest, snug, safe and warm.

It takes me a moment to realize that it's okay to disengage myself from him and even longer for me to actually do it. "He looks miserable," I say, just needing a way to steer the conversation toward something other than the proximity of Peeta's body to mine. "What were you talking about anyway?"

Peeta shrugs. "Mostly nothing. He's just a little drunk… But I think he's still crazy about you."

I shove him playfully as if to say that the last thing I care about is whether Thom still has feelings for me. I'd be a fool to say that I would decline if he asked me for coffee or dinner one night. I hate myself for thinking that, for even entertaining the possibility, and maybe even hoping for it.

Mostly, I hate the way Peeta looks at me with those bright blue eyes and sees right through me.

Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully the next update will come soon. Please feel free to message me here or at my Tumblr page (meggie-mellark)!