The smell of wine on his breath makes me sick. I shove his hands off my shoulders and step away, trying to clear my head.
Cinna comes over and puts his arm around me. "He's right, Katniss."
I don't know what to think. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid."
"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.
"She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, tossing away a bloody piece of the urn.
My cheeks burn again at the thought of Gale. "I don't have a boyfriend."
"Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?" The words are sinking in. My anger fading. I'm torn now between thinking I've been used and thinking I've been given an edge. Haymitch is right. I survived my interview, but what was I really? A silly girl spinning in a sparkling, dress. Giggling. The only moment of any substance I hail was when I talked about Prim.
Compare that with Thresh, his silent, deadly power, and I'm forgettable. Silly and sparkly and forgettable.
No, not entirely forgettable, I have my eleven in training.
But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers.
And iftheaudience really thinks we're in love ... I remember howstrongly they responded to his confession. Star-crossed lovers. Haymitch is right, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol. Suddenly I'm worried that I didn't react properly.
"After he said he loved me, did you thinkI could be in love with him, too?" I ask.
"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoidedlooking at the cameras, the blush."
They others chime in, agreeing.
"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," says Haymitch.
I'm embarrassed about my reaction. I force myself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you."
"Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "Although it's technically illegal."
"Are your hands okay?" I ask. "They'll be all right," he says.
In the silence that follows, delicious smells of our dinner waft in from the dining room. "Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch. We all follow him to the table and take our places. But then Peeta is bleeding too heavily, and Portia leads him off for medical treatment. We start the cream and rose-petal soup without them. By the time we've finished, they're back. Peeta's hands are wrapped in bandages. I can't help feeling guilty. Tomorrow we will be in the arena.
He has done me a favor and I have answered with an injury. Will I never stop owing him?
After dinner, we watch the replay in the sitting room.
I seem frilly and shallow, twirling and giggling in my dress, although the others assure me I am charming.
Peeta actually is charming and then utterly winning as the boy in love.Andthere I am, blushing and confused, madebeautiful by Cinna's hands, desirable by Peeta's confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.
When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls on the room. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don't start until ten because so many of the Capitol residents rise late. But Peeta and I must make an early start. There is no telling how far we will travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year's Games.
I know Haymitch and Effie will not be going with us.
As soon as they leave here, they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up our sponsors, working out a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Cinna and Portia will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be launched into the arena. Still final good-byes must be said here.
Effie takes both of us by the hand and, with actual tears in her eyes, wishes us well. Thanks us for being the best tributes it has ever been her privilege to sponsor. And then, because it's Effie and she's apparently required by law to say something awful, she adds "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!" Then she kisses us each on the cheek and hurries out, overcome with either the emotional parting or the possible improvement of her fortunes.
Haymitch crosses his arms and looks us both over.
"Any final words of advice?" asks Peeta.
"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there.