Hey guys! Before I start, I have four things to say:

First off, thank you very much to Funkypurplehino for pointing out my errors with the rooms, and for the new paragraph per speaker. I had typed it up on various devices, so formatting had gotten a bit lost in the process, but I will pay more attention to that from here on out. I have edited the previous chapter a bit to keep it consistent. Thanks again!

Second, here's a link to a dress that I would like for you to keep in mind before reading. You don't have to, but I think it could help you envision the story a bit closer to what I'm aiming for:

go to: www. quizclothing (dot) co (dot) uk

and add: /images/ac_product_images/product_image_data/resizeandpad:700:700/130330

Third, I took a few sections directly out of Catching Fire, Chapter 15.

Lastly, do you guys think I should get a beta? Even where re-reading it myself, I noticed some silly mistakes that I left out in editing. I plan to make this story long, so would anyone recommend it? Do any of you have any recommendations for a good beta? I'm a bit shady on this process, haha.

Anyway, on to the story!

Later, at the area where all the tributes meet to get into their carriages, I finally see the outfits. I'm blown away. They are phenomenal. They are beautiful. They are perfect. I literally cannot speak as I look at the outfits in front of me.

Cinna has gone for a 21st century type of look, very vintage-inspired. Aaron is wearing a suit. It is very clean-cut, sharp, classy, and masculine. It is unlike the suits today, with broader shoulders and a more cinched waist, making Aaron look a lot more muscular and healthy than he really is. It is, of course, coal black, except for his shirt underneath, which is a deep grey. Cinna says that it is called a single-breasted suit. Whatever it is, it looks great. I hadn't realized how handsome Aaron is until now. After a good haircut and a proper wash with the stylists, even with nearly no makeup, he looks very attractive. This will be great for sponsors. I almost flinch, thinking of how slowly, I am starting to regard the opinions of the sponsors and the games as something very important. I don't want to become Haymitch.

Elena looks phenomenal. Her dress is coal black as well. It stops at a few inches above her knees, making her look long-legged and beautiful but not like a tramp. The dress is somewhat fitted, and has a neckline like the top of a heart. It is sort of a strapless dress, but it has sheer sleeves, too. They are beautiful. The sleeves look like they are covered in a fine layer of coal dust. It surprises me that something that looks so ugly all over everything in District 12 look so pretty on a dress. Her makeup is something that my prep team has done one me before, only Elena has various shades of deep, smoldering grays and blacks. I think they called it a smoky eye, and it was very popular during the late 20th and early 21st century. It looked stunning on her, with her dark skin and grey Seam eyes. Both of their outfits are radiating, like burning coal. Cinna and Portia have really outdone themselves this year.

Peeta and Haymitch walk in, but they don't see me yet, as I am behind the carriage, listening to Cinna explain Elena's 'Hollywood Waves."

I hear Peeta gasp at our tributes' outfits tonight. He starts going on about how amazing it is, and how perfect everything will be. Haymitch mutters something that sounds like, "Not bad." This is when Peeta sees me, and I see his eyes light up right away. I think I blush. He doesn't look too bad himself. The stylists were responsible for the mentors this year as well, and we all somewhat match. Peeta and Haymitch are wearing suits in similar cuts to that of Aaron's, but they are grey, resemble tuxedos a bit more, and aren't radiating. Peeta's shirt is red, to match my dress. Still, I have to admit that my boys look good. I'm wearing a loose, floor-length, one-shouldered dress. I look much older in it than I did last year. I look very grown up, and very serious, which is exactly what I need, being the youngest mentor here, along with Peeta. Our whole group looks amazing, though, even compared to some of the other Districts' outfits.

With a few wishes of good luck, and a reminder not to slouch from Effie, we head up to the balcony for all the mentors, stylists, and the like to sit and watch the procession in. Peeta holds my hand the whole time, and I am thankful to have him there.

"You look beautiful, Katniss," he tells me. I mumble out a thank you, and I feel my cheeks getting hot. I have been blushing way too much as of late.

There is still a good hour before it actually begins, but we are the last to arrive. Haymitch pulls Peeta and me to the side.

"Listen." He says, "There is going to be a whole parade of sponsors here, so I want you to be nice." He gives me a pointed look as he says this. "These people are going to give their money to someone, and you want it to be Elena and Aaron. You want one of them to win, then you will be pleasant. You will be polite. You will convince these people that District 12 will have a winner this year. You will make friends, you will not roll your eyes at them, and you will not give any of them a reason to dislike you. They gossip amongst each other, and if you do even one thing wrong to even one of these people, then we are done. Then we are sending those two off to their deaths. Now go."

With that, Peeta and I are swept into the crowd of wealthy Capitol citizens, each one a potential sponsor for District 12. I make small talk with a lot of them, and I talk to them about shoes, jewelry, my dresses, their dresses, and the wedding. It seems, with Peeta and I getting married soon, everyone is rushing to us. What is the theme? Which dress is my favorite? Am I nervous? Who will be attending? What kind of cake are we having? It goes on and on. It is a topic that is somewhat easy to discuss, though, after doing it for so long. Haymitch is at the bar in the back with some of the men, discussing who-knows-what and exchanging stories. Peeta, of course, has everyone wrapped around his finger. He tells stories of cakes and cookies, dates we never went on, and tells jokes so witty that I even laugh a little.

After a while, I am overwhelmed, and I need to sit down. As I'm taking a breath on a couch, someone plomps down next to me. My hunter's instincts go into high gear, and I almost snapped his neck before I realized who it was.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met.

"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually, although I'm feeling uncomfortable with his closeness.

"Want a sugar cube?" he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got plenty of it, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident—which may be the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena—it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days, the crown was his.

The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since.

Because of his youth, they couldn't really touch him for the first year or two. But ever since he turned sixteen, he's spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him. No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he'll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, but he never stays, and once he's gone he never comes back.

I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose.

"You're absolutely amazing in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy. But for some reason all I can think of is old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman.

"I outgrew them," I say.

Finnick takes the hem of my dress and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?" I say.

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

For some stupid reason, I blush again, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Peeta is coming. We wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea, now do we?" He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth, winks, and saunters off.

What did Finnick Odair want?" Peeta asks.

I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure. Especially you," I say.

"Oh. And why especially me?" he says with a smile.

"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," I say with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."

"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "Shall we?" He holds out a hand and we head to our seats to watch the procession.

The ceremony went amazingly well! We literally had a line of Capitol people wanting to sponsor District 12, and it's only been the first day. Almost everyone there was 18 and older, except for a 16-year-old girl from District 3, and a 15-year-old boy from District 9. We weren't dealing with children this year, but we were still pretty well off.

After the ceremony, everyone but Cinna, who was still graciously accepting complements and scheduling appointments, and Haymitch, who said he'd stay behind to handle the sponsors.

Once we get back to our room, and I know that Elena's not lurking about, I embrace Peeta. Everything has been so stressful lately, and it feels good to be in his warm, comforting arms. It feels good to do it with no one around, no cameras, and no expectations on us to be the perfect happy couple that we're pretending to be. While I'm sure Peeta's not exactly devastated by the arrangement, and I know that he does love me, we are pretending. Sometimes, though, it's really nice not to pretend, not to think about what I'm doing, or what will happen. Sometimes, it's nice to give Peeta what he wants all on my own, without the weight and judgment of President Snow and the Capitol on my shoulders to make everything right. And sometimes, I want it, too.

Tentatively, I kiss Peeta, as he is still a little surprised by the hug. Slowly, he kisses back.

"Stay?" I ask him. He nods slowly, still unsure of what has gotten into me. I don't know myself. All I know is that with Aaron and Elena going into the arena soon, President Snow still wanting my neck (even though he told me that I did a wonderful job convincing Panem that Peeta and I are in love during the Victory Tour), and my upcoming wedding, I need Peeta here.