Written for AO3 Hunger Games Holiday Fic Exchange. Prompt was generously provided by Prisspanem based around the Colin Firth story line in the film 'Love Actually'.

A million thanks to Solasvioletta for her unwavering support and heard work as beta. Thank you Tiffodair and Marquis des Agnes for reading and commenting on this fic. I appreciate all of you!

Also submitted for In a Rather Festive Arena: The Holiday Games (Competition).

All Italian words and phrases are translated in italics unless the context clearly conveys the meaning.

Love has mute words, more transparent than the river

- Isabel Allende, The Island Beneath the Sea

Chapter 1 - Consapevolezza (Awareness)

"Damn. I'm going to be late." He huffed as he dug the respectable Burberry tie that Delly had given him last Christmas out of the back of the closet. He hated jackets and ties – he had no use for them except for weddings and funerals. Luckily, he was enduring the noose of silky death for the sake of his good friend, Thresh, and his marriage to his long-time girlfriend, Rue.

"Peeta Mellark! It's only around the corner. If you leave now, you'll be in plenty of time."

Delly sniffled dramatically after every third syllable. She was right of course. Saint Anthony's was just a brisk walk around the city block from them. Living in Soho provided distinct advantages, which included being a stone's throw away from one of the most coveted wedding locales in the City. Delly had gone to great lengths to buy the perfect Prada outfit for today's nuptials in part because of its revered location, only to be derailed by the sudden onset of a vicious flu. Her button-nose was red with being rubbed by tissues, her soft blue eyes droopy and watery. When she woke that morning to tell Peeta she would have to sit out the wedding, she had been appropriately devastated and even burst into tears. "I'll have to wait until at least New Year's Eve to wear that dress now!" Peeta had dutifully comforted her, reminding her over and over of how absolutely beautiful she was, runny nose and all.

"I'm horrible to look at but you are positively dashing…" she smiled her most lascivious grin from where she watched him dress. Stretched out on the bed in only a tank top and tiny shorts, her thick, blond curls mussed into a just-fucked mess on her head, he resisted the urge to cancel his own appearance and fulfill the promise in her lustful gaze, flu be damned. As it was, he tore his eyes away from the round, firm breasts straining against the thin cotton of her tank and clumsily knotted his neck-tie. He was chagrined to catch a smudge of oil paint on his wrist and debated whether to try to remove the spot or not. One glance at the mantle clock cured him of his fastidiousness – everyone knew he was an artist, a successful commission and public works artist at that - so it stood to reason that he would sometimes appear in public functions with the tell-tale marks of his profession.

Grabbing his scarf, he paused before the bed and gently put his hands on each side of Delly's face.

"Say the word, and I'll stay. This is your absolute last chance." He whispered before giving her a kiss that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"If you don't leave now, you really will miss the ceremony!" She said with vehemence. "I'll be here when you get back…"

"Did I tell you that I love you?" he said.

"At least 12 times in the last hour. Now go!" she said with playful impatience.

Peeta practically sprinted out the bedroom, returning not two seconds later. "You know I love you, right?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Peeta! Are you going to show up in time for their first born?" she laughed.

"Okay, fine. I'm leaving. Call me if you need anything." He tossed out before carefully locking the door of his brownstone apartment.

XXXXX

Peeta managed to find a good seat in a pew towards the middle, which meant he wouldn't have to squint to see the bride and groom. Thresh Peterson greeted him with the air of polite distractedness that people often have when they are so nervous, they rely on their automated responses to survive. After mingling for several minutes, the ceremony got underway. Thresh's best man, Finnick Odair, was straightening his tie, clearly trying to keep a fidgeting groom from leaping out of his very expensive suit. And yet, when all heads turned towards the petite bride, the groom went utterly and completely still, as if all his vexation had melted into the catacombs of the old church. Rue Desir, the future Mrs. Peterson, was a vision and Peeta felt himself getting almost teary-eyed at the naked admiration on Thresh's face for the radiant beauty of his bride.

As he watched, Peeta could not help but wonder what Delly would look like in a dress of soft lace and pearls like that of Rue's. They'd been together for two years and his mother, in particular, was fond of pointing out that no one was getting younger and it would be of great satisfaction to his poor widowed mother to see his grandchildren underfoot. He certainly loved Delly and she complimented his personality well. She was a trade advisor to Merryll Lynch and advancing in her career. And she was a demon in the sack. Peeta's mind drifted from the ceremony to her naked body beneath him, her insatiable appetite. The last time she found him shirtless in his loft, working on a canvass, she'd left him walking crooked for two days. He chuckled to himself. He could give mom the wedding but he would hold off on the baby-making for now.

When the ceremony ended, he was prepared to wait patiently for his turn to congratulate the couple when Finnick grabbed his arm and tugged him off to the side.

"Hey, doc!" Peeta laughed. "Now I lost my place in line.

"You're with the best man! We'll just skip the que." Finnick's smiled his bright, Irish smile and it suddenly seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world. "Anyway, where's Delly?"

"Ah, you know, she got the flu and had to miss the ceremony. She was damned sorry to have to sit this one out.

"Bullocks. Sorry, mate. She's a sickly one, that Delly. Missed the Guy Fawkes Party last month, too, didn't she? You should give her my grandmother's vitamin brew. I haven't gotten sick in 8 years." He laughed.

"Yeah, I know Nanna Odair's cooking. Man, I'm still convinced her 'secret ingredient' is anti-freeze.

They laughed heartily at Nanna's famously bad cooking, "Put hair on your chest too, it will!" Finnick suddenly became nervous. "You know, all these weddings, our school mates tying the noose of matrimony, yoking themselves to the women of their lives…" He glanced over at Annie Cresta, who was standing near Rue, her shiny auburn hair positively resplendent against the periwinkle bridesmaid's dress.

"Like farm mules, Finn. I get it."

"Right." He dropped his voice and leaned into Peeta. "Well, I picked up a ring for Annie this week." Finnick couldn't bring himself to look into his friend's deep blue eyes and it endeared him to Peeta all over again that his loud, boisterous friend was suddenly shy and insecure.

"What did you say? Are you going to ask her to marry you? " Exclaimed Peeta, grabbing Finnick and giving him a sincere hug as he slapped his back. He'd known Finnick since his days at NYU, when he was just a recent émigré and medical student from Ireland, his father a surgeon at the University Medical Center. He also knew that Annie, a 2nd generation Irish girl from Brooklyn, daughter of a fish seller down at the pier, was the only girl he'd ever loved. Peeta knew it when the scholarship kid showed up every day to their Human Anthropology class smelling like fish and seaweed and Finn sat right next to her when everyone else gave her wide berth. When the other girls from good families and expensive prep schools twittered cattily about it, Finnick famously stood on a table in the student center and cried out "Have you ever known a pearl not to smell like the sea, ye daft cows?" effectively earning Annie's unwavering affection and Peeta's admiration ever since.

"Well played, you crazy beast! Annie's a great girl." Peeta smiled sincerely.

"The best of the lot, I'll tell you. That girl's given me her whole heart and I aim to keep it safe. And we aren't having one of these reserved little weddings like my Moorish friend over there." He tossed his head in Thresh's direction, using the nickname that he'd had ever since performing Othello at the 92nd Street Y during his graduate studies. "No, we're going to have 90 bridesmaids and groomsmen. The Queen Mother herself will be shamed by it!" Peeta shook his head, laughing at his friend. "You and Delly will be part of the troop, won't you?"

"You can count on it, Finn. Delly and I would be honored to be in the wedding party. Whose idea was it anyway to have such a large retinue?" I teased, knowing full well that Annie was far too humble to accept such a plan.

"Well, mine. I haven't asked Annie yet. I'm doing it tonight after the reception." His fidgeting became almost distracting at this point.

"I have no doubt she'll say yes. You've been living together for years already." Peeta had a sudden inspiration. "I know exactly what your wedding gift will be also. I've got to go tell Delly the news. I wanted to check in on her anyway before going to the reception." At that, Finnick walked him over to Thresh and Rue. She'd been crying and Annie was straightening out her make-up as best she could. Peeta hugged his friend and his new bride, his own heart lurching at the idea that sometime next year, this could be him playing the sentimental sod with Delly at the church's door.

"I'm just popping over to check on Delly. I'll meet you at the Alger House in about thirty minutes?" he called out to Finnick and Annie.

"Sure thing, Peet!" he waved as Annie pulled him along towards the photographer.

There was a bounce in Peeta's step as he whistled along the city street, pausing to buy a carnation from old Sammy's flower cart. Delly preferred roses and orchids but he loved old Sammy and sometimes, he just needed to bring her something to mark the fact that he'd been thinking about her the whole day. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, thinking of Delly in a white dress, imagining himself tearing the garter from her leg with his teeth. He was so caught up with his randy day dream he didn't hear the noises until it was too late, even when he tripped over the clothes that lay strewn along the corridor. Peeta paused, his heart pounding, every kind of scenario going through his head but the one he eventually found, the image of his naked brother, Rye, behind his equally compromised future bride-to-be, who was on all fours, mewling like a rabid cat. His brother, in his bed, in his house with his girl. Crushing the red carnation in his fist, his first instinct was to grab each of them by the hair and shove both of their heads into the spaces of the wrought-iron head board.

Instead, Peeta fled into the bathroom, the sound of his retching mixed with the screams behind him; the fetid sounds of his life falling apart.