#milliesfishes

When Coriolanus had started to court you, he’d exhibited certain behaviors you’d taken note of. Some of them were regular things, but one stood out above all others.

He was possessive. One of his hands was always on your waist, or your thigh, wherever he could reach, wherever was appropriate for the setting. Whenever you were speaking with anyone at the events the two of you attended, especially if it was a man, he kept close watch. His gaze was sharp, piercing, and anyone could feel it on them even if they weren’t looking in his direction.

Every touch, every hint of protectiveness swam through your head as you laid next to him, back against his chest as he held you like a doll.

Sleep was not your friend that night.

Your mind was fully focused on the hand he’d put over you, how it had slid under your nightdress, resting on the skin of your hip, and your emotions ran wild, swirling around until sunrise when you finally landed on one. Anger.

The audacity he had to make plans to meet another woman for something so glaringly carnal and then come back to you, his obedient little wife, like nothing had happened. Your hand gripped the pillow under your head, feeling like you could tear it in half. The black nightdress you’d picked up felt like sandpaper on your skin.

Sitting up slightly, you looked over at him. The most powerful man in Panem, fast asleep, so vulnerable, so…human. His blond hair was a little messy, his breathing soft. Even now, he was annoyingly perfect. 

Suddenly, as your mind wandered, it struck you that you had no idea how long he’d been seeing her. You knew it’d been at least once because he’d mentioned last time. This could have been years in the making, and you were just too naive, too stupid to see it. Hell, it could’ve started long before he’d begun courting you, and you’d been none the wiser. You hardly knew anything of his past, except what his being in the public eye afforded you.

The hand on your hip was heavy, like a weight, and you glared down at it. In the past, you would’ve allowed it, not wanting to wake him. Maybe you’d have even enjoyed the feeling.

But this was not the past. 

In one motion, you shoved his hand off you, tugging your nightdress down and moving as far away from him as you could on the bed. You pulled the pillow out from under your head and put it firmly between the two of you, your back to him. It was a small act of rebellion, but it was all you had right now.

When morning came and the sunlight spilled through the windows between the wine red curtains, he’d awaken and wonder why he wasn’t holding you anymore. But he wouldn’t think much of it, likely figuring you’d shifted around in the night. He’d be confused, but it wouldn’t affect more than a few minutes of his waking mind.

It was all you had right now.

Several hours later, Coriolanus was gone for the day, and you tried to occupy yourself. It was not an easy task. It felt pathetic waiting around for him to get home, but you didn’t know what else to do.

Wandering into the closet you shared, you ventured over to his side, running your hands over his shirts and jackets, inhaling his scent. You’d never explored his things before, keeping to your dresses and heels. He’d never outright told you not to do this, but you assumed he didn’t necessarily want you to. 

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. It was the least you could do after what he knew hurt you.

You took a shirt off its hanger, pressing the fabric to your nose. Men’s cologne, roses. That was him. When you put it back on the hanger, you made sure it was a little less neat than before.

Now you were at his jackets, and you took a red one off the hanger, noting the pants it matched on a shelf, crisply folded. Going over to the floor length mirror, you pulled it on, smoothing it over your body. You were still wearing the black nightdress from the night before.

Wearing his clothes felt strange, but you liked it. It was…powerful. You put your hands in the pockets, turning to look at yourself from a new angle, when you felt a loose scrap of fabric. Lace.

Your eyes widened, a feeling of dread taking over as you hastily pulled it out. A stark black pair of panties, ones that did not belong to you.

Mind racing, you thought back to the last time he’d worn this jacket. A month ago, a fundraiser you’d attended. You remembered that night because he’d been unusually affectionate, pressing a kiss to your forehead when you’d leave to talk to a friend, his arm around your waist holding you close when he was speaking with a senator you couldn’t remember the name of. You’d felt…well, not loved, but cared for. Like maybe, just maybe this could be more.

But evidently he’d gone straight to her afterwards.

The staff of the mansion was discreet, and they wouldn’t dare ask questions if they found a pair of panties in his pocket. They’d have likely just put them right back where they found them after the jacket had been cleaned.

As all this hit you, your face crumpled, and you knelt on the floor of the closet, still holding the panties, and cried softly. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. You didn’t know why you were surprised he was stepping out on you, but it was the fact that he’d made you think he cared about you, and allowed yourself to care back. 

You were just another pawn in his game. 

Men like Coriolanus wanted to be adored, without risking their own necks. Let everyone else feel, be vulnerable, devote themselves. On some level you had known that before, but now…now it was glaringly obvious.

As was what you had to do. 

You wiped your tears and took off the jacket, hanging it up right where he’d see it when he walked in. The panties were still bunched in your fist as you stalked out of the closet, heading for the bathroom. A plan was hatching in your mind, and you gritted your teeth, your expression dark. 

Tossing the panties on the counter, you pulled out your curling iron and plugged it in. As you waited for it to heat up, you got out a washcloth, twisting it in your hands. It was your wedding anniversary today, so you knew for sure he’d be home tonight. That’s why he can’t meet her tonight-

Shut up, you told yourself, fanning a hand over the curling iron, making sure it was hot. You picked it up, inhaling softly. There was a moment of hesitation. Was it worth it?

Then you thought of the way your heart had fluttered when he pressed his lips to your temple, the way you’d smiled sweetly at him when he told you that you looked beautiful on his arm…

You shoved the washcloth into your mouth and brought the curling iron to your neck, pressing it down hard.

Perfection is attainable, you thought as you sat at the dining table, across from your usual spot. His place was set at the head, and you were often situated to his left. But tonight you’d requested you sit to the right, a subtle change that’d unconsciously put him on edge.

You looked ravishing, in a dress with a deep neckline, thin straps, and hardly any back. Deep red. His signature color. One you hadn’t dared to wear before. There was a rose between your fingers, and you were twisting it, eyes on the entrance to the dining room.

At last, he appeared, as handsome as ever, his face serene. There was little reaction to the sight of you, but it was there, and you relished in it.

“Dove,” he greeted, coming closer. You made no move to stand and welcome him as you usually did, instead looking up at him innocently, the end of the short stem of the rose in your mouth.

He sat in his chair, eyes on you. “Your dress…”

“Oh?” You looked down at yourself as if it were nothing. “I found it in the back of the closet. I know you usually like me in black…” you let that statement hang in the air for a moment. “...but it’s a special occasion.”

Coriolanus watched you, something you couldn’t pinpoint in his eyes. “I was only going to say you look lovely.”

You merely smiled at the compliment, setting the rose down in front of you, your hand beside it. He picked it up, his elbow on the table, kissing your fingers. “Happy anniversary, dove.”

Hating the little flutter your heart gave, you kept your eyes on him, a little smile on your face as you brushed your hair behind your shoulder with your free hand.

Immediately his eyes caught it, his expression growing cold.

The dark burn mark on your neck, bruising and almost looking like…

You looked innocently at him, taking note of the change in his face. “Dearest…?”

His grip on your hand was tighter. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

Frowning, you kept your expression light, pretending not to know. “I don’t-”

“Your neck,” he hissed. “What the hell is that?”

You didn’t respond, only looked at him, your eyes blank like you had a secret. His silence was furious, and yet internally you were having a laugh. Cheaters are always paranoid that their partners are cheating. This was something you'd known when you burned your neck earlier, and the seed you’d planted was in full bloom. “Curling iron accident.”

You’d made sure to only slightly curl the ends of your long hair, enough that what you said was plausible, but not entirely believable. His thoughts were almost visible on his face. “You expect me to believe you burned yourself?”

“You can ask Lisa,” you said, referring to one of the maids. “I rang for her to bring me ointment.” This was true, you’d called her in tears, showing her the mark. She’d applied enough medicine to stop the pain, but nothing except time would make the mark completely go away.

But you knew how his mind worked. He knew maids could be bribed, and pain could be fabricated. And you’d orchestrated it so it’d be frustrating for him to get to the bottom of this, because he already was at the bottom. His paranoia was almost too easy to manipulate.

“If I find out you’ve been with another man…” Coriolanus’ voice was quiet, the tone change making his words lethal. 

You leaned forward, pulling your hand from his grasp. “And what if I am?”

His cold expression betrayed some surprise as you stood up, looking like a goddess with your hair spilling over your shoulders. In his usual color preference, you looked powerful, dangerously beautiful. “It’s hard to tell, Coriolanus. You work long hours. Spend a lot of time away. Maybe…just maybe, I could’ve gotten lonely. Maybe I could’ve needed someone to keep your side of the bed warm…”

In an instant, he stood, pinning your hands to the table and leaning over you, his hot breath in your face. You kept your expression calm, looking into his eyes boldly. He glared at you. “You wouldn’t dare-”

“You’re right,” you cut him off. “I wouldn’t. That mark on my neck is just a burn...” He must’ve thought you were a good actress, but not good enough that he couldn’t see through you. It was almost funny how easy he could be convinced. It’d hardly taken any effort at all. 

You wrenched one of your hands out of his grasp, taking his hand and sliding it up so his fingers were hooked on the slit of your dress, dragging it up and over toward your belly so the panties you were wearing were on full display. Black, lacy ones. 

His eyes widened as he recognized them, and you stared at him, expression hard. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes rose slowly to meet yours. You said nothing, shoving his hand away, your dress falling back over your legs. “...care to tell me what these are?”

Coriolanus’ blue eyes pierced yours, and you didn’t let yourself be intimidated by him. He was the president of Panem…but he was still just a man.

“You know,” he said simply, eyes searching yours.

You only stared at him.

He exhaled, biting his tongue and looking away for a moment. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t see why that matters,” you said, folding your arms across your chest, your chin held high.

His expression was firm, but he nodded curtly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Silence.

Coriolanus kept his eyes on you. “I never meant to hurt you, dove-”

“Don’t call me that,” you said softly, sharply.

He exhaled through his nose, a sure sign he was angry. “You had to know this would happen at some point. This was an arranged marriage for-”

You interrupted him again. “It’d be one thing if you’d always been cold. If you’d kept your distance and stayed far away from me. But you convinced me that you cared about me. You made me look stupid.” Your eyes bored into his.

He was silent, still glaring at you, but it had weakened. The words hit him exactly where you’d wanted them to. 

You stood up straight, stepping away from him. “I’ll be staying in another room from now on, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to move my things.” You’d already enlisted Lisa to help move most of them earlier, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Absolutely not,” Coriolanus grabbed your wrist. “I can tolerate your anger, but separate beds will not be suffered. Or did you forget your vows-?”

“Which you already broke,” you pulled yourself away from him, turning your back, giving him one last look at you in the dress. “I think sleeping in a different bed will be fine.”

He wasn’t used to being interrupted this much, and he stood in silence as you walked away. Just before you got to the doorway, you reached up, sliding the panties down your legs, turning and throwing them in his direction. “Here. I bet she’s missing these.”

And with that, you left your husband in silence, the last hours of your wedding anniversary lost to the aftermath of his infidelity.

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The first time you’d gone out since you were engaged, Coriolanus gave you a rose.

It was one of his family’s special ones. You knew it was special, knew the flower was the Snow family’s signature. This gesture was almost more significant than the ring.

As you’d reached for it, your thumb had snagged on one of the thorns, a red pearl of blood blooming from the skin. He’d been a gentleman about it of course, snatching a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressing it to your finger. As he’d held your bleeding hand in his warm one, those ice blue eyes concerned and, so you’d thought, caring, you’d nearly swooned.

Little had you known, it wasn’t the last time you’d be cut by something of Coriolanus Snow’s.

When you woke up the morning after the gala, he wasn’t there. There was a warm spot in the bed next to you, and you rolled over into it, burying your face in his pillow and inhaling his scent. Sometime last night, he’d taken your dress off, and now you were in one of his shirts, no buttons done. Your underwear was the same color as it, white and lacy.

Immediately, the crush of feelings from the night before overwhelmed you, and you hugged his pillow to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut, legs drawing to your chest. Tears filled your eyes as you recalled all that had happened. 

The events of the night flooded your mind like a tidal wave, washing back and forth, replaying, uncovering new details each time. Him carrying you up the stairs. Taking your dress off. Kissing your forehead and telling you to sleep.

Each new facet of information confused you. He was gentle last night. Like he cared about you. The cold, uncaring president of Panem had brushed his fingers over your cheek and told you to stay with him for the night. He’d seemed worried.

Before you’d found out about his infidelity, you’d thought he liked you.

Afterward you were convinced he hated you.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

The complex mind of Coriolanus Snow was an enigma you’d never tried to untangle before because you’d never had to. Now it felt impossibly necessary. He’d cheated on you. He’d hurt you. But last night it’d been like he cared about you, been sorry for how you felt because of him.

It was all a wildfire of tangled contradictions.

A crush of feelings overwhelmed you, and you stayed curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, his pillow hugged tightly to your chest. Your eyes were screwed shut, a pitiful attempt to keep the tears from falling.

There were soft footsteps, and then a weight on the bed next to you. A warm hand placed itself on your thigh, rubbing it soothingly. You inhaled softly, settling into the spot and trying to suppress whatever feelings arose with his touch.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes, looking up at him. The corners of his lips turned up, just slightly, but you saw it.

You searched his eyes, not even sure what you were looking for anymore. He kept his hand on your thigh, the weight of it comforting to you.

Coriolanus’ hair was damp. He was shirtless and it was clear he’d just showered. He smelled like soap, clean and perfect. You knew you looked a mess, with your curly hair and dried tear tracks staining your cheeks. But the way he looked at you, one would never know that.

You sighed softly and looked away, one of your supposedly withheld tears sliding down your cheek. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, reaching out to catch the tear on his finger, pushing it away.

You tried to look away, but he pulled you into him before you could protest, pressing your face to his shoulder. Weakened from your internal emotional fight, you clung to him, his arms the only solace available.

Coriolanus stroked your hair, his fingers roving over your messy curls. “I like your hair like this,” he mumbled after a long beat of silence. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t respond, face still buried into him. He was so warm, his skin slightly damp from his shower. It was strange to be so casually held by him after everything. But despite your trying to deny it, you’d missed him. 

“Wear it like this for me more often?” Coriolanus asked quietly, thumb rubbing over your hairline.

Silence.

Sitting up from him, you buried your face in your hands, the pure feeling in you more overwhelming than you could say. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, reaching for you, but you shook your head and he stopped.

“What happened last night,” you inhaled softly, your voice small. “Can never happen again.”

“Which part?” he questioned, his face even.

“Any of it,” you said, removing your hands from your face. “The controlling, the secrets, how vulnerable-” you cut yourself off, realizing you’d gone too far. “None of it.”

“I never meant for you to see me with her,” he said plainly. Coriolanus firmly grasped your hand in his. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Then what was it?” you asked frustratedly. 

“I ended it,” he said firmly, voice hardened, but not toward you. 

Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting. An ocean crashed in your ears as you looked at him, trying to find even a hint of a lie in his eyes, but there was none.

He continued. “The day after our anniversary I was…” he trailed off, wincing a little at the thought. “I was supposed to meet her. But I didn’t. Last night she confronted me and I told her it was over.”

A confusing mix of emotions were released upon you. Anger at the situation, at him for ever stooping so low and thinking it wouldn’t affect you. Guilt, because in a way, you felt as though you were betraying yourself by hearing him out. Relief because he had ended it, at least somewhat of his own volition.

You brought your hand to your forehead, covering your face. “You…”

“It’s over sweetheart,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “I promise it’s all over.”

“You’ve withheld the truth before,” you said quietly, moving your hand away and looking at him. “How do I know…how do I know it’s true?”

Coriolanus inhaled softly, looking at you, his gaze intense, passionate. “I could never begin to tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t do this to hurt you. Foolishly I didn’t even think it would affect you.”

You just watched him as he attempted to explain, eyes soft.

“I approached her,” he admitted, looking down only briefly before he set his eyes on you again. “She was more than amenable. It seems her marriage with the senator isn’t what she’d hoped.”

“How long?” you asked, your voice even, face somber.

“Two months ago,” he said honestly. 

Closing your eyes, you nodded, head bowing as you processed the information. Two months…not as bad as some of your suspicions, but it still stung nonetheless.

“You were…right last night,” he admitted, and you could hear that it was hard for him to say. “There was too much at my disposal, and I didn’t resist the temptation.” He turned your head to face him with his hand, tilting your chin up, and you did not resist, opening your eyes. “I know I did something awful, and worst of all, I hurt you, sweetheart. I am the most sorry about that.”

It was all too much. His apology, his touch, the earnestness in which he did it. Because you didn’t know any better, you turned back into him, breathing softly against his chest. Coriolanus moved so his back was against the headboard, and he held you close to him, your head tucked under his chin. His parted thighs cradled your body between them, pressed nice and close. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Therein laid the danger.

The rest of that day was spent in and out of bed, but mostly in.

You didn’t stray far from his arms, only getting up to eat and shower. It was like a cloud had come over you, and the confusing emotions from earlier played a big part in it.

He’d apologized, which was a step. But you were hardly concerned with forgiving him. The main worry on your mind was the stupid, unreasonable, uncontrollable feeling inside you that you’d thought you’d suppressed. It killed you inside that even though he’d hurt you, you needed him, wanted him even.

These were the things you struggled with until the next day, when something you’d seen concerned you, and you were forced to have a real conversation with him.

You were standing in Coriolanus’ study, a bevy of newspapers and magazines spread out before you. All of them carried a headline bearing the same news: that you were pregnant.

Just as you’d feared, the pictures from the gala, taken from unflattering angles, zoomed in on your husband’s hand around your waist and covering your stomach, holding you in what must have looked like a protective pose.

Coriolanus was sitting behind his desk, expression firm, hands clasped and covering his mouth. He lowered them to his lap. “They’re just rumors.” He gave you a pointed look. “Right?”

You nodded assuredly. “Right. But what about this one?” The magazine you showed him was a slightly smaller one, opened to a page with a title: “PRESIDENT SNOW CHEATING?”

Coriolanus reached for it and quickly read the story, a brief narrative about how someone had seen him with a mysterious woman at the gala. He looked up at you. “Well, at least it’s not in the main papers.”

“But it’s there,” you pressed, taking the magazine back. “And it’s true. And we both know that the true stories always end up in the bigger headlines eventually. This could ruin everything.”

He nodded, finally seeing your point. The image he’d built up- a loyal husband, dutiful politician- could be tarnished if anyone asked the right people and found out he’d slept with the wife of someone below him.

Coriolanus lifted his chin, studying you for a moment. His eyes held something you didn’t recognize. “What do you think we should do?”

You were surprised. He was asking you what he thought they should do? Biting on your lip, you looked away for a second, mind working fast.

Looking back up at him, you said, “What if…” you trailed off, nervous he’d shoot it down. He noticed.

“This story affects you more than anybody,” Coriolanus stood up, coming around to lean against the front of the desk, closer to you. He folded his arms, nodding encouragingly at you. “We’ll put out whatever story you come up with.”

Nodding back, you took in a breath before speaking. “What if we played on this-” you gestured at all the pregnancy headlines. “-and said I had a miscarriage?”

He was quiet.

You continued, a little shakily. “It’ll garner sympathy from the public and seemingly confirm this ‘self found’ story with an official statement.”

Coriolanus nodded again, curtly. “We’ll put out a statement right away. It’ll be in all the headlines by tomorrow.”

Eyes a little wide, you were slightly surprised he’d agreed. Coriolanus was concerned with his image above all else, and he’d trusted you to come up with something benefitting it- and liked the idea you had.

“Okay,” your voice was small, and you looked down again. “If that’s all?”

“There’s another gala in a fortnight,” he said, eyes still on you, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on the desk. “We’ll have to play the part. And there’ll probably be questions.”

“I can handle that,” you said reassuringly. “It’s not any different…” 

He understood what you meant when you trailed off. It wasn’t any different from pretending they were in love for the public. This was just one more thing. “Of course.”

You stood quietly in front of him, fidgeting with your hands. He looked tired, running a hand through his hair. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and his tie was loosened. Evidently even without news of the headlines it’d been a rough day. You felt a twinge of sympathy, and then your body acted before you did.

Moving forward, you wrapped your arms around his middle, head pressed against his chest. Immediately he brought you closer to him, pressing your little body into him. You sighed as he did, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry this got out, sweetheart,” Coriolanus murmured against you, holding you tight. 

This was the second apology in two days, and it sent a spark of hope straight into you. 

“It’s okay,” you said softly, lifting your head from his chest and looking up at him. “It’s easily fixed.”

“Still,” he breathed, looking concerned. “This on top of everything…”

“I know.” You laid your head back on his chest. “But it’ll be okay. We’re nothing if not good liars.”

There was a pause, and then he breathed a laugh, kissing your head again. “I’m trying not to be.”

PANEM’S PRINCESS SUFFERS A MISCARRIAGE

It seems things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows with our president and first lady. A statement was put out this morning by the official staff stating that the beloved wife of President Coriolanus Snow suffered a miscarriage early this week. In the statement they ask for privacy on the issue, but will continue to appear at select public events while they navigate this tragedy.

The gala was very nearly torture.

An endless sea of sympathies and unsolicited advice showered over you, all while clinging to your husband’s arm the way you thought a woman who’d had a miscarriage would. And indeed they believed it.

Although you knew the ruse was for the best, it was an exhausting act. Coriolanus kept his regular stone-faced facade, but you knew he was weary of it too. He kept his arm tight around your waist, pressing the occasional kiss to your hairline, seemingly not only for your comfort, but for his as well.

In order to give credit to the story you’d put out, the two of you spent weeks in solitude. You weren’t allowed to go out with your friends or attend parties. Coriolanus was able to work from home, so he was occupied, but you were utterly alone. 

The time ate away at you as if it were years and not weeks. The distance from your husband swallowed any affection he’d born toward you beforehand. You were still sleeping in a separate bedroom, not yet ready to take that step again.

Once again, you were painfully reminded that Coriolanus was all you had. When you’d married him, your family had all but forgotten you, except when they needed your husband’s connections. You had little in the way of friends. With nobody else to turn to, you had been forced to make him your everything. And now you both wanted and didn’t want that, so the only solution was distance.

At dinner every night, you drew into yourself, hardly noticing him across from you. It didn’t matter anyways. He was always reading something. You could tell he was stressed, and many times when you’d walked by his office you heard hushed, urgent conversations. 

But one night when you were nearly finished with your meal, he looked up, noticing your blank stare. “Is everything well, sweetheart?”

Automatically you nodded. “Of course. I’m just…tired.”

There was no fooling him. “Tell me.”

You shook your head. “It’s not important. You’re so busy-”

“Sweetheart-” Coriolanus reached over and took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “-please.”

Inhaling once, you looked down at your mostly empty plate. “I…it’s just been…lonely around here.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re lonely?”

You froze, unsure if it had been a mistake to tell him. “I-”

Coriolanus shook his head, putting an end to your objections. “I apologize sweetheart. I’ve been too preoccupied with work to notice.” He ran a hand down his face, looking stressed. “Things have been tense. Actions will need to be taken that…it doesn’t matter. I’ve neglected you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy…I’m sorry I even brought it up-”

“No, it’s not okay,” he said quietly, meeting your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

A few mornings later, you walked into your room to find the prettiest black cat curled up on a red pillow on your bed. You gasped and moved forward to it immediately. “Hi,” you breathed, petting it gently. The cat lifted its head into your hand, purring, and you smiled.

There was a note on the bed, and you picked it up.

I never want you to feel alone.

-CS

There was a red ribbon around the cat’s neck, and when you inspected it closely, you could see the name “Willow” embroidered on it in gold. A smile spread across your face, and you laughed a little, delighted by the surprise. You picked up the cat and held him close, your heart fluttering.

He cares. It felt stupid to be this excited over the fact that he’d noticed your troubles, but you couldn’t help it. The signs of his affection were becoming more apparent, and it couldn’t be denied. 

Your husband had hurt you to a degree you hadn’t thought possible. It was hard to forget that, everytime you looked at him or thought of him.

But he was sorry. He’d apologized, hadn’t demanded that you immediately come back to him or forgive him like you thought he would’ve. The only question was why?

Willow was your companion for the rest of the day, purring contentedly beside you as you read and occupied yourself. The cat reminded you of the one you’d had in your childhood, and you wondered if Coriolanus had known about it. 

That evening, you were a little late to dinner, having made sure Willow was settled before you went downstairs. You descended with a smile on your face, ready to thank Coriolanus for the gift. He was so thoughtful, so caring towards you.

When you entered the dining room, you were greeted with an unexpected sight. Your husband was sitting at his usual place, and another man was standing beside him, a bottle in his hand. He was saying something to Coriolanus in hushed tones, and he was nodding. The man exited the room and left the bottle beside your husband, who finally looked up at you.

He smiled tightly. “Sweetheart. Come sit-”

“Who was that?” you asked in suspicion, making your way over to him.

Coriolanus’ expression was even. “Just someone who’s helping me.”

Immediately suspicious, you pressed. “Helping you with what?” You were standing closer to him now, eyeing the uncapped bottle on the table.

He saw you looking at it and reached for it, but you were quicker, snatching it up and reading the label.

There was a beat of silence as it sunk in. Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you looked at him, panic flooding your body. “Poison?”

Coriolanus sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It sounds worse than it is.”

“Then tell me,” you demanded, worry in your face. “Why the hell are you using poison?”

“It’s been suspected that my enemies will try to use it against me,” Coriolanus explained calmly. “It’s being inducted slowly into my food so my immune system will get used to it”

The beat of your heart grew quicker as you fixed your horrified gaze on him. “Of all the stupid, paranoid things to do…it could kill you!”

“It won’t kill me, sweetheart,” he kept his tone even, standing up and trying to calm you down. “The situation is under control-”

“There’s no way to control poison,” you scoffed, looking down at the bottle. “You do all these awful things for yourself and don’t even think about how they’ll affect anyone- how they’ll affect me.”

His gaze softened, and he reached for you, hands on your shoulders. “I promise, this isn’t going to end badly. Please, sit and we can talk about this.”

You saw that yelling at him wasn’t going to make him see it your way. So you took a deep breath, thinking through your actions. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, hand on your back as he tried to lead you to sit down. “Now-”

In a swift action, you lifted the bottle to your lips, the poison burning your throat as it went down. Coriolanus’ face fell in shock, and he knocked it out of your hand before you could drink the whole thing, glass shattering on the floor. He called your name in burning tones.

The effects were fast acting, and your legs weakened, your husband catching you, kneeling on the floor and cradling you in his arms as he yelled for help while looking more panicked than you’d ever seen him. You saw black spots before your eyes, and the only thing in your line of blurry vision was him. 

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he said urgently, clasping you close to him. He looked terrified. “Please…don’t…don’t go…” 

You were too feeble to respond, and in the background you heard quickened footsteps, and voices. Coriolanus looked up, shouting something you couldn’t make out and then turning back to you, pressing your cheek to his chest and lips to the clammy skin of your forehead. “Stay here…eyes open for me, come on…”

But the weakness overtook you, and blackness enveloped your vision. The last thing you heard was his voice, calling your name over and over again.

“...starting to wake up…”

“...lucky the antidote was on hand…”

“...a few days, at the most…”

You opened your eyes groggily, your senses starting to awaken as well. There was a warmth pressed against your side and fur under your left hand. Willow.

There was another hand in yours, squeezing it, the cool of a ring relief on your hot skin. You blinked, trying to sit up, but a gentle arm held you down.

“Don’t, you need to rest,” your husband murmured, and you turned your head to the side, able to make him out, his worried expression. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “Just stay down.”

“How long have I-” you asked, your voice scratchy from not being used. 

“Two days,” Coriolanus said, getting up from his chair and kneeling beside you, still holding your hand. “You scared me, sweetheart, never ever do anything like that again.”

“You were going to kill yourself,” you said softly, trying to sit up again, looking at Willow curled up at your side. “And you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No angel, I wasn’t,” he said, still sounding frustrated. “It was all under control. You just drank it-”

“I don’t care how under control you thought it was,” you protested, albeit still a little weakly. “I couldn’t let you…couldn’t…” Your head was spinning, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Coriolanus sat on the side of the bed, trying to make you lie back down. 

“No,” you tried, struggling deficiently. “You…I couldn’t…”

“I know sweet girl, I know,” he murmured, sitting against the headboard and moving his hand to the back of your head so your face was against his chest. “Just rest.” You gave up, closing your eyes as you leaned against him. It just felt so nice being in his arms. “I’m not going to sleep.”

“That’s fine,” he said softly, both his arms around you, Willow getting up to lie across your lap. “Just rest.”

You stayed like that for quite awhile, until your dizziness passed, and you were able to sit up and look at him. Settling a little more into him, you took your hand in his, playing with the fingers, twisting the rings. Then finally, you whispered, “I’m sorry…for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“I didn’t want you to do it,” you murmured, looking up at him. “You were going to hurt yourself.”

“I know,” Coriolanus lifted your hand, kissing your fingers and keeping it clasped in his. “I understand.”

“So you won’t do it again?” you asked with wide innocent eyes.

He paused, looking down at you, his face seeming to soften. Then, a hint of a smile. “No, sweetheart. I won’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, you leaned against him again. Then you spoke again. “You were that worried about me?”

“Of course I was,” he muttered against your head. “You’re my wife.”

“We both know this isn’t what it was,” you whispered, hand running up and down his chest. “This isn’t…how you would have acted before…everything.”

Coriolanus was quiet. Then he nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “You’re right.”

“So what changed?” you asked, looking up at him.

He just looked at you for a moment, and in his gaze you saw a thousand things. But most of all, you saw something you yourself had struggled with all this time.

“When you threatened to leave that night,” he started, his thumb tracing your hand. “It made me realize a lot of things.”

You nodded, watching him try to formulate what he wanted to say.

“I took a wife for the image,” Coriolanus admitted, looking down at your joined hands. “You knew that. I vowed a long time ago that I’d never fall in love because it weakened me. I’ve been burned by it before, and I couldn’t let it happen again.”

He was the vulnerable one now. You’d heard whispers of his past before he’d courted you, but never dared to ask. And even now you knew you wouldn’t press further than what he’d tell you. Past was passed. 

“I didn’t expect it to happen again. I avoided it, thought I’d marry someone I disliked, hated even,” he continued. “But then there was you. You were perfect, and I thought I could resist it. I tried everything I could think of. Even…” he took a deep breath. “Even sleeping with another woman, so I could convince myself I didn’t care.”

The pieces clicked into place, and your eyes widened a bit. “That’s why you did it?”

Coriolanus nodded gravely. “But when I saw how much it hurt you I couldn’t anymore. So I told her it was over. Kept my distance from you for the past few weeks because I knew if we were too close I’d risk falling in deeper. It was about control.”

Everything he was saying was shocking you to the bone. He had cared about you all this time? He just hadn’t wanted to admit it?

“When you drank that poison,” he said quietly. “It threw my entire world off its axis. I was terrified I would lose you. And I realized…I wanted you to know how I felt. Before you woke up I was worried you would die without knowing.”

“Knowing what?” you asked softly, even though you already knew.

“That I love you.”

Your eyes were soft, but held disbelief. He loved you. And you knew in your heart it wasn’t another trick, another mind game he was using on you..

“You love me,” you repeated, squeezing his hand. 

“I love you,” he affirmed.

You felt it bubbling up inside you, the words, the emotions, and finally you didn’t fight it, looking into his eyes as you said it. “I love you too.”

He brought his hand to your face, his expression so sincere you were worried it wasn’t real. But it was, you knew it was. “You’re not just saying it because I said it?”

You couldn’t help your smile. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in Panem, was worried a woman didn’t mean it when she said she loved him. “I love you,” you leaned in and kissed him softly, the first real kiss you’d ever had. “I love you.”

He pulled your head back and kissed you as if he’d been waiting forever for it, as if everything he’d been holding back was free now. Your head was spinning, not from the lingering effects of the poison, but from the butterflies that you didn’t bother quelling.

You both pulled back, and you smiled softly. He held you close, more tender than ever before. 

“This sounds pretty bad out of context,” you murmured, snuggling against him. "But I'm glad I caught you."

Coriolanus smiled, that rare genuine smile you had a feeling would be directed at you a lot more now. “I’m glad too.”

It’s a strange thing to find out that someone you’re not supposed to love cheated on you.

This is a fact you found to be true one night as you wandered the halls of the mansion you inhabited with your husband, the president of Panem. The beautiful, tortured, powerful Coriolanus Snow. A match made in heaven, as your father proclaimed when he told you after your graduation from the university. Somehow, the fact that he’d let you finish school, knowing you’d only be married off afterward made it worse.

But as Coriolanus began to court you, suddenly it wasn’t a horrible idea. He was young, and very handsome, a far cry from the men some of your girlfriends had been forced to marry. Old, balding men with more money than yellowing teeth, and horribly old-fashioned demeanors. 

Coriolanus was just as wealthy, thanks to his former Gamemaker position, and the only thing paler than his perfect blond hair was his full mouth of teeth. As for his demeanor, well, he was cold, lightly controlling (typical of a man in the Capitol), but he’d charmed you right down the aisle after all so how bad was it really?

Marriage wasn’t the storybook romance you’d fantasized about in your youth, but it was fine enough, and besides, you’d left those daydreams in the past. You never wanted for anything, were at the height of society, admired and beloved by all, especially now that he was president. The two of you made a beautiful couple, and you were free to do as you pleased, your only obligations being typical marital duty when he requested so and attending the various events his presidency demanded from him on his arm, the perfect little wife.

Even though this was an arranged marriage, and you knew he didn’t love you per se, you knew he was at least fond of you. Through the little smiles he offered you when you’d say something particularly sweet or funny, and the gifts he lavished you with, and the fact that he insisted you slept in the same bed, he showed you. And little by little, you came to like him. You looked forward to eating with him every morning and evening, even came to enjoy his touch, the little ways he gave himself to you as a husband. He treated you with respect, and you gave him what he wanted. Your body, your devotion, your image. 

All in all, after almost three years of marriage, you were content.

Until one night, when you were walking down the hallway where his office was, planning on asking him when he was coming to bed. It was getting late, and you’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he got some sleep. Besides, you missed having his warm body beside yours as you fell asleep.

Bare feet padding down the hallway, clad in a silk dressing gown, you crept toward the door. He was talking to someone on the phone, and you smiled softly. That was Coriolanus, always working. Devoted to his career, his life’s work.

You pressed your ear to the door, wondering if he was wrapping up the conversation so you could walk through the door and see him. As you did, you caught the middle of a sentence.

“...told you not to call me here, dove,” he said quietly, almost urgently.

The weight of it hit you like a punch. Dove. That was his pet name for you. Your eyes widened, and your vision blurred, the room seeming to tilt. Dovedovedovedove.

Who was he talking to?

Ear pressed to the door, you tried to make out the conversation. Maybe it’d been some kind of sick Freudian slip, a mistake.

“...I know, I know,” he said in hushed tones, voice cold. “No, not tomorrow, it’s my wife and I’s anniversary. The next morning. I’ll come to you.” He paused. “Wear the black one from last time, dove. You looked so pretty for me.” The last part was said quieter than the others.

The rest of the conversation was lost to you. Your knees felt weak, and you slid down the wall, heart pounding in your ears, arms folding automatically around yourself. Dove.

Another woman.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, and you didn’t know how long you sat there, leaning against the door. For some reason, you felt like crying. Even though you weren’t supposed to love him, it still hit like a slap across the face. For a moment, you wished he would open the door and find you there, and know you’d heard enough to know what he’d done.

But he didn’t. You could hear papers shuffling around, and eventually you stood up, your thoughts still static, and ran quietly back up to your shared bedroom, suddenly not wanting him to know that you knew.

Shutting the door behind you, you scrambled to come to a conclusion. Why was he doing this? Were you not good enough? Didn’t you give him enough?

In this haze, seeing this as the only possible reason, you tore off your dressing gown, running to the closet and digging through a drawer until you found a pretty lacy little nightdress, one he’d gotten for you. In black, he said he wanted her in black.

You pulled it on, hurriedly going to the vanity and adjusting your appearance, smoothing your hair, making sure you were perfect. The black lace stood out against your skin. Your hair was luscious and soft, neatly brushed out. You looked angelic, the picture of beauty.

Quickly, picked up a little bottle, spraying the perfume you knew he liked on your wrists and neck. Does he get her this scent too?

Hazily, you stepped out and went to a chair close to the bed and picked up one of your books just to give yourself some kind of distraction. Your mind raced, a thousand unhelpful thoughts piercing your soul. Maybe if I was prettier…I can be prettier…maybe if I smiled more…maybe if I’m pretty for him right now, he won’t go to her…maybe he’ll forget…

At last, Coriolanus opened the bedroom door, shutting it behind him. The white sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and you felt a little flutter at the sight, sitting up straight so he’d notice you…

He barely gave you a glance, going around to his side of the bed, pulling his tie off and tossing it on the chair beside his bed. He kicked his shoes off and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off, and it went the same way as the tie, as well as his pants. 

You stood up, putting your book down, and slowly got under the covers, letting the hem of your nightdress slide up your thigh. He pulled back the covers, getting in and resting his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. You moved a little closer to him, one strap of your nightdress falling off your shoulder. Nothing.

Reaching over, closer to him, you ran your hand up his arm soothingly. When he’d had a tense day at work, this usually worked, but now he didn’t respond. You moved closer, running your hand up his chest. His eyes turned to you, but they were void of any emotion. Biting your lip, you tried a sweet little smile. 

Coriolanus’ hand moved to yours on his chest, and he moved it off, giving it a little pat. His hand went back to its spot on his stomach. “Not tonight, dove.” Your husband’s words were cold, final. Dove.

Another pang went through your chest, and you moved back a little, feeling like you were free falling. Hedoesntwantyou.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you bit your lip harder, not wanting to cry in front of him. You felt ridiculous, all dolled up in your little nightdress, thinking if you were prettier he would stop cheating.

Turning to the side, facing away from him, you stared at the wall, trying to pretend to be asleep. Not that he’d notice anyways.

You eventually closed your eyes, feeling like the loneliest person in the world, even though there was a man who supposedly cared about you lying there beside you. Knees tucked up toward your chest, covers around your hips, you tried to sleep, tried to act like you didn’t know what you knew. 

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt him turn over, a hand coming over your waist, pulling you closer. It took everything in you not to push it away. Why should he get to hold you? Why should he get to walk out of one woman’s arms into another’s?

The last thought you had before you fell asleep was about how warm his hand was, and how it felt wrong that it belonged to such a cold man.

Next part

An outlaw’s life kept Billy away from home often, for long, long days until he’d come home to you all tired and missing you so bad it drove him insane. You’d be swaddled in his sheets, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, your hair spread across the pillow as you slept, the covers in your fist clenched to your chest.

This was the sight that greeted him on a Friday night that wasn’t particularly special for any reason, but seeing you this way made it perfect instantly. His girl, his pretty girl fast asleep in his bed, looking so deliciously his.

Billy pulled off his work clothes, replacing them with his pajamas. He pulled back the covers just slightly on the side you were sleeping, his side, nudging you over like he did every night. He slid an arm under your side and held you close, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. 

You stirred, humming as you woke, and he breathed out softly, half annoyed he’d woken you and half happy for the same reason. “You awake baby? ‘M sorry,” he murmured, his big hands creeping under the hem of his shirt you were wearing so he could splay his fingers out over your skin.

“You’re back.” You turned in his arms, smiling sleepily and opening your eyes.

“Go back to sleep baby.” His lips landed on your forehead, holding them there for a moment.

Shaking your head, you said, “Uh uh, I wanted to wait up for you. I fell asleep though.”

Billy couldn’t help his smile, and he brushed his thumb back and forth across your cheek. “My girl waitin’ up f’ me? How’d I get so lucky?”

“I missed you today,” you said, tilting your head up toward him. “Missed you lots.”

“Me too baby, me too,” he said, nudging another kiss onto your forehead. “I was wantin’ to come home all day, just leave the boys behind and come hold my pretty girl.”

Giggling, you looked up into his eyes. “I’m lucky you spoil me at the end of every day or else I’d be a real unhappy girl.”

He took you in, all cozy nestled against his cotton sheets that you made look like satin, settled against his covers. “‘Course I spoil my sweet baby, who wouldn’t?” Billy pulled your chin up, pressing a little kiss to your lips, nibbling gently on your bottom lip before pulling away. You pushed the blankets back so you could cuddle him closer, and he sighed. “Look atcha’, so damn cute in my shirt.”

“I like wearing them,” you murmured. “Especially when you’re gone.”

“Ya miss me that much, huh baby?” Billy smiled.

“Miss you, miss your kisses.” You smiled as he pressed his lips anywhere on your face he could reach, his stubble rubbing against your skin. “Even if they’re all scratchy.”

“Don’t like a little scruff?” he ran his fingers over his chin, feeling it. “Guess I could use a shave…”

“No don’t,” You put your hands on his cheeks, feeling it. “I love it.”

He smirked and pressed more kisses to your cheeks, stubble prickling your soft skin. “Knew ya liked a man’s kiss, yeah sweetheart? All rough on your pretty face?”

You giggled as he caught your lips again, kissing him back softly. “They feel nice.”

“Ahhh I missed this today,” Billy murmured, shifting you in his arms so your back was against his chest. He pressed his cheek to yours, leaning his head on you. “Snugglin’ ya, kissin’ ya…” One of his hands came up to your collarbone, tracing shapes there. “Lovin’ on ya…”

“You spoil me,” you repeated, feeling like a princess all cuddled into his arms. 

“Hmm, I dunno,” he rested his chin on top of your head for a second, looking down at you, eyes roving over the way his shirt had ridden up your thighs. “Pretty woman…in my bed…yeah I’m spoiled too.”

You nuzzled yourself against him. “I’m just loving on you, like you’re doing.”

“Are you lovin’ on me or lovin’ me on you?” he teased, and you squealed lightly, burying your face in his chest, much to his delight.

“C’mon baby,” he cooed at you. “Lemme see that pretty face again. Please? Wanna get a better look at my girl.”

“You look at me all the time,” you said against his chest, and he chuckled.

“Doesn’t matter. Lemme look at ya all nice ‘n slow ‘kay?” He tilted your head up, and you reluctantly looked at him

“Atta girl,” he breathed, looking over you. “There’s my girl…there’s my baby. Won’t ya turn a little?”

You moved away from him, settling on your side so he could look at you fully as he requested. You gave him a look of mock annoyance after a few seconds. “Done yet? I wanna cuddle.”

He grinned. “C’mon…I have ya in my bed and that’s all I get?” Billy stretched his arms back out for you. “Why don’t you c’mere and gimme a kiss?”

You snuggled back up to him happily, pressing a light dutiful kiss to his nose. He chuckled. “Not that kinda kiss, honey. Gimme a real one now, like a good girl.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you leaned in, hovering your lips over his. He smiled, hands going to your hips and pulling you closer. “Quit teasing me, you…” Billy laughed and brought his lips to yours, kissing you softly, lingeringly. You kissed him back with equal fervor.

“Better?” you asked, pulling back a little. 

“Much better darlin’, much better,” Billy brought his hands around, hugging you to him, with a playful grip on your bottom.

“Mm!” you moved his hands away from there, snuggling back into him. 

“Aw c’mon baby,” he grazed his lips over your hairline, his hands moving back. “Just tryna love on my pretty girl reaall good…”

You couldn’t help your smile, and you shook your head, too comfortable in the cradle of his arms to care anymore. “You keep me too cozy to really complain if you get a little handsy.”

Billy laughed, holding her close. “What can I say? I gotta pretty little thing all snug in my bed…’s hard not to be.”

Smiling contentedly, you pressed your face into his chest. “I love you,” you murmured, smiling softly. “This is everything I’ve dreamed of.”

“Bein’ in an outlaw’s bed is everything ya dreamed of?” Billy smirked lovingly.

“I have a handsome man who loved me enough to marry me,” you corrected. “And I love him back.”

“I’m terribly grateful to love ya too, baby,” Billy kissed the top of your head. “Never thought I’d have me a wife but the one I found…oh boy is she a treasure.”

You smiled softly, looking at his hands as they shifted at your midsection, over your stomach. As your thoughts wandered, images of rounded bellies and babies with rosy cheeks and Billy’s blue eyes danced in front of your eyes. It was a vision that had haunted you for months now.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” your husband murmured, lips nudging against your neck. “Ya look happy darlin’.”

“Having babies,” you said dreamily, looking up at him. 

Billy smiled. “Havin’ babies, huh? My little one havin’ another little thing?”

“Mhmm,” you murmured, playing with his hand on your tummy.

“Ya wanna make babies with me,” he whispered against your temple. “Hmm…we could y’know. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

You frowned adorably, a little panic rising inside you. “Not right now?”

Billy shook his head, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “We wanna wait…wait ‘till you’re a little bit bigger sweet thing. Then we’ll put a baby in your belly.”

“Bigger?” your cute frown grew deeper. What did that have to do with anything?

“You’re just so little, darlin’,” he said, brushing a hand over your face. “Don’t want the baby to hurt ya. But once ya get a little bigger, then we can put a baby riiight here…” he rubbed your tummy. “Cause you’re gonna be a good little mama…”

“But I want your baby now,” you pouted, and he chuckled. 

“I know sweetheart, I know. But we gotta wait so it won’t hurt ya.” He smirked. “And then after that, we’re gonna put lots and lots of babies in your belly…” Billy kissed her cheeks teasingly. “Over ‘n over…”

You giggled, shifting comfortably on his bed, looking cozy and sweet wrapped in his arms. He held you close, like a teddy bear. “You’re gonna be real good at makin’ babies…real good…”

“I wanna make babies now,” you reached up, kissing his cheek.

“My girl wants to play house with me, huh?” Billy ran his fingers through your hair. “You wanna baby ‘n everything.”

“I want a baby that looks just like you,” you studied his features, smiling sweetly.

“Do ya?” Billy pondered this for a minute, one hand squeezing your hip. “Well the baby’s comin’ outta you, ain’t it? So it’s gonna be pretty ‘n cute like you.”

“Uh uh, I want it to look like you,” you insisted, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Gonna be a cute little thing either way, all my genes comin’ outta you,” Billy pressed kisses to your temple. “Can’t wait for you to have a belly fulla’ my baby.”

“So give me a baby now,” you whined as he kissed across your face gently.

“We gotta wait, little one,” he squeezed you against him. “If I make a baby in ya too soon it’ll hurt ya. I heard too many things about little women like you havin’ problems, baby.”

“It won’t hurt me,” you said earnestly. “I’m…I’m scared what’ll happen if we wait. What’ll happen if we don’t do it right now.”

Billy frowned, holding your head against his chest. You’d never told him anything like this before. “What’re ya scared of sweet girl?”

“My mama…” you started, your voice growing soft. “My mama had trouble getting a baby in her belly. And she waited too long and she died having me.”

The reason you wanted to do it now washed over him, and he held you a little tighter. “Oh baby,” he mumbled. “Just cause it happened to your mama don’t mean it’ll happen to you.”

“I don’t wanna risk it,” you said softly. “I want to give you a baby more than anything in the whole world. And we might lose our chance.”

“Your body’s not ready yet, my love,” Billy said softly. “Just a few more pounds and a little patience is all I ask.” He was being sweet, and you were grateful for that. But your want to give him a baby triumphed that.

“That could take years to make it stick,” you sat up in bed, looking down at him. He sat up with you, looking concerned. You were making a compelling argument.

“Baby…” he was close to being swayed. He wanted to give you whatever you wanted, after all. “The baby might have trouble comin’ outta ya…” he stroked the side of your face. “You’re just so little…”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you moved closer to him, looking into his eyes earnestly. Now Billy could see that this was more than just talking and teasing about having babies. You wanted this, you’d wanted this a long time.

His other hand came up to your face, and you moved into his lap, straddling him. “Please Billy,” you pleaded quietly. “Please…” You took his face in your hands and kissed each cheek. “I want to give you a baby. I don’t care what it takes.”

Your earnesty moved him, and his hands came to your thighs, holding you there. You were determined, brave and reckless to want his baby this badly. So he would give in. You were his girl, his angel, and you always got what you wanted.

“Damn it sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing you softly. You wrapped yourself around him, and he held you by the hips, his lips traveling down your neck and fixing themselves to your collarbone, breathing in your sweet scent.

The two of you made love twice that night, and continued to do it every morning and evening after that. About two months or so into your endeavors, you eagerly awaited to see if your monthly would come, hoping and praying it wouldn’t. Billy hurried home every day for a week to see if you’d gotten it or not, both of your excitement growing every day you didn’t.

Until one day when he came home to you in tears, sitting on the floor of the bedroom. Immediately he rushed over, taking you in his arms. “What’s the matter darlin’?”

“I got it today,” you sniffled, as you burrowed into him, shifting uncomfortably, feeling the rag you’d stuffed into your panties soak with your womanly blood.

“Oh, baby,” Billy murmured, kissing the top of your head. “’m sorry, sweetie.”

A full two months of lovemaking turned out to be fruitless…no baby yet in your little belly.

“We’ll try ‘gain next month, sweetheart,” he promised, cradling you in his arms. “It’ll happen, just gotta be patient.”

But it didn’t happen the next month. Or the month after that. It began to take a toll on the both of them, the waiting and disappointment. You tried not to get discouraged, but it was so hard. Billy was an angel, always holding you as you cried, promising it’d happen soon, the two of you just had to wait. 

One time after you’d made love for the night, Billy came back from the washroom to find you with your back on the mattress, feet propped up against the wall. He couldn’t help his laugh. “Baby…whatcha doin’?”

“Making it take in me,” you responded, tapping your heels against the wall as if that’d make his spend glue to your insides.

“Oh really?” Billy sat on the bed with you, resting his chin on your tummy. “I dunno darlin’, that don’t seem right.”

You shushed him. “It’s gonna work.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your tummy. “Darlin’.” Another kiss. “That ain’t gonna do a thing for gettin’ a baby in ya.”

“Just lemme try,” you insisted.

Billy chuckled, shaking his head at his girl’s antics. “Alright, alright.” Another kiss to your tummy. “You give it your best shot.”

When you continued to do it every night after that, Billy would always smile and give you a kiss, lying down beside you and putting his hand over your tummy, willing a baby to grow.

But your efforts continued to wield no results.

Until one day, when you heard the familiar sound of Billy’s boots against the wooden floor, and you sprang up, running out to him and jumping into his arms, legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Woah there!” Billy stumbled backwards, catching you easily even though you surprised him. “Easy, easy girl. Where’s the fire?”

You said nothing, just took one of his hands off you and pressed it to your tummy, your smile radiant. His eyes widened, fingers spreading out over your midsection. “Baby…?”

Pressing yourself close to him, your face buried in his neck, you murmured, “You’re gonna be a daddy.”

He laughed joyfully and spun you around once, grabbing your jaw between his fingers and kissing you softly, sweetly. “I’m gonna be a daddy.”

You hugged him tightly, and he nosed little kisses into your hair, tucking you into him and marveling at his girl, his beautiful girl carrying his child.

As the weeks passed and your belly grew, Billy grew more clingy toward you, which you hadn’t even thought was possible. He’d come home at earlier times from riding with the gang, claiming “They can survive without me, they know my girl’s growin’ our baby at home.”

Your figure, although remaining petite, filled out a little as your body made accommodations for the little life inside you, and Billy loved it. Your breasts were bigger, your waist curvier. You were nearly goddess-like in his opinion. You, on the other hand, grew more insecure as your body changed.

“I’ve gained so much weight,” you pouted as you stood at the mirror, smoothing your dress over your belly. 

Billy came over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, holding your baby-filled tummy. “Whatcha mean, darlin’?”

“Look at me,” you sighed frustratedly, hands coming up to your chest. “My breasts are bigger now.”

“Mm, don’t I know it,” he murmured, pressing little kisses along your shoulder and up your neck.

“Billy,” you pouted, trying to be serious. “They’re so heavy now. Hurts.”

“Ohhh my poor baby,” he said against your neck, pulling you backwards to sit on the bed, on his lap. You folded your arms over yourself, frowning adorably. “If it helps, I think you’re beautiful right now.”

You smiled just slightly, but he noticed, keeping his arms around you and whispering sweet things into your skin. “Just knew you’d be pretty as a peach carryin’ my child.”

A little laugh escaped you at that, and you leaned back into him briefly, before sitting up again. “I can’t sit on your lap, I’m too heavy now.”

Billy gave you a look, tugging you back so you were fully against him. “Baby…you got nothin’ to worry about, yeah? You’re still a cute little thing.”

“I’ve gained so much weight,” you whined, shifting in his lap.

“Well…” Billy trailed off, looking at you, his hands moving over your belly. “Cuteness adds a couple pounds I s’pose.” He kissed your cheek and with his lips still against you, said, “Your body’s growin’ a baby, honey. It’s bound to happen.”

“I just wanna be pretty for you still,” you turned sideways in his lap to look at him. 

Billy chuckled, his hand on the side of your face, thumb running over your cheekbone. “That ain’t nothin’ to worry about little one. You’re prettier now ‘n the day I met you, swear on m’ life.”

That coaxed a real smile out of you, and you nuzzled against him, content with how sweet he was being to you.

Unfortunately, the little weight you’d gained seemed to be the last of it.

As you got closer to delivery, your body began to change more, and not for the better. You started to lose weight, and your skin grew pale. Every day you became weaker, and it worried Billy beyond belief. 

But despite all this, you were happy. You were always smiling for him, always commenting on how the baby was doing, whether it was kicking or not. He played along with you, pretending that you weren’t getting worse because he knew it’d upset you if he commented on it.

As you got into your eighth month, you were practically bedridden, weaker than Billy had ever seen you. He fretted lightly, not wanting to worry you too much, but the concern was building up inside him. 

On a rainy evening, you were resting beside him, his head by your chest, close to your belly. One of your hands was resting there, the other in his hair, playing with it a little. You’d been having cramps all day, which you’d been told were common in the last little bit, so Billy had insisted you rest. He was silent, nuzzled into your side. You looked down at him. “You alright?”

Billy breathed in softly, sitting up and moving so that he was against the headboard, gently nudging you so your body was nestled against his. He looked down at you, face serious. “I’m worried about you.”

Your brow furrowed, and you tilted your head to look at him. “Why?”

“Why?” Billy asked in disbelief. “Baby. Look atcha. You’re losing weight, you’re so weak…”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to sit up, but your belly made it hard. 

“You’re not though,” he rubbed his thumb over your shoulder. “You’re so pale…’n weak…” Billy trailed off, looking pained. He shook his head as he looked at you, his eyes sad. “My girl…my beautiful girl…” he mumbled, his fear growing by the minute. “You’re not okay at all.”

“I’m happy,” you said softly, touching his hand and squeezing it. “I’m so happy. I’ve got your baby inside me and that’s all I ever wanted.”

“But you’re not well sweetheart,” he murmured. Billy pressed his lips to your hair, his hand running up and down your arm. “Baby’s takin’ a lot outta you, ain’t she?”

“Don’t blame her,” you whispered, your eyes wide, hand resting protectively over your swollen belly.

“I ain’t blaming her honey,” he murmured, shaking his head, his hand coming to cover yours. “She’s a baby, she’s doin’ what babies do and she’s takin’ everything she needs to grow…but that still means you’re sufferin’ for it.” Billy brought a hand to her face, thumb running down her cheek. “She’s takin’ too much outta ya.”

“Billy it’s fine,” you tried to insist, shifting so you could sit up a little.

“Stay down sweetheart,” he murmured, keeping his hand over hers. “And no, it ain’t fine. My girl…my girl’s fadin’ away…” He looked emotional, looking down and squeezing your hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you squeezed his hand back. “It’s just…this is just what happens in the last months.”

“Not like this,” Billy murmured, shaking his head and bringing his hand to your face, his thumb running over your cheek, eyes searching yours as if he were going to lose you. “Even I know this ain’t regular…”

“No, I have to be fine,” you insisted, looking at him. “I have to be fine for the other babies we have.”

“Other babies?” Billy frowned, thumb still brushing the side of your face. “Sweetheart, ya can’t honestly be thinkin’ about other babies?”

“Why not?” you asked, eyes growing wide as you tried to make out if he was serious. 

His other hand came to your other cheek, and he held your face between his hands, looking earnest. “My love…at this rate, the way things are goin’...we’re not gonna be havin’ any more babies.” He was reluctant to tell her, she could tell.

Your face dropped, and your hand fell into your lap, out of his. “You can’t mean that.”

“Sweetheart,” he started, picking your hand up again. “Look at yourself. Look how weak ya are…how thin…we can’t have you gettin’ worse with each baby. This…” Billy took a deep breath. “This is the last one.”

Your heart beat faster at his words, and you looked down, shaking your head. “No, no.”

“No more babies after this one,” he said softly, lifting your chin with his hand. “I can’t let this happen again, gotta protect you. Shouldn’t have gotten ya pregnant so early anyways.”

Eyes filling with tears, you sniffled. “I wanted you to get me pregnant, I-”

“I know,” he murmured, thumb over your cheek once again. “I know. But I should have known better, should have known your body wasn’t ready.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” you whispered. 

“It’s for me to know,” he said, his eyes intense but loving as he looked into yours. “And I should have known.”

“Don’t-” you cut yourself off as a cramp overtook you, pain shooting through your body. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe and smoothing your hand over your belly. 

Billy was alert immediately, looking at you worriedly. “Sweetheart? What’s the matter?”

You gritted your teeth, the pain subsiding slightly and then coming back. This felt different from the cramps, it felt…

“Billy, you gotta get the midwife,” you got out, trying to breathe. “Something’s wrong…something’s-”

A new wave of hurt cut you off again and a little noise wrenched itself from your throat.

“Baby-”

“Please, go!” you said urgently, hands over your belly as your body was wracked with pain.

Billy didn’t waste any time, getting up and looking for his boots. He tugged them on, finding his hat and then coming back to you, taking your face in his hands. “You gotta breathe for me angel, yeah?” He kissed your forehead softly, then your nose, giving you a little smile, trying to reassure you, even though he looked concerned. “I’ll be back real soon, promise. Everything’s gonna be alright.” He pressed one more kiss to the top of your head and then he was gone, leaving you to suffer alone.

You didn’t know how much time passed, the pain being your only way of measuring it. It was searing, a biting flower blooming from your core. Praying endlessly that the baby was okay, your body twisted on the bed, trying to find relief from the limitless agony.

Finally, you heard footsteps, and then Billy was in the doorway like a saint after a storm. You cried from relief, and he hurried to you, sitting beside you and brushing hair off your sweaty face, promising it was going to be okay.

The midwife, younger than you’d expected but a source of comfort nonetheless, got to work immediately, pushing your nightdress up and examining you. She looked up after a moment. “How far along?”

“Eight months,” you managed, another bolt of pain hitting you. Billy let you squeeze his hand as hard as you wanted, not wincing once. 

After a little more inspection, the midwife nodded, looking at Billy, then you again. She carefully moved your legs so they were bent and spread. “Alright sweet girl, brace yourself. This baby’s comin’ out real soon.” 

You whimpered, and Billy squeezed your hand. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. Promise, alright. ‘M right here.”

The labor was long, and you suffered through it, pushing the best you could. But your body only grew weaker as time went on, and you knew it wasn’t working, what you were doing. Everything was blurred- every one of your senses except the pain.

You heard the midwife say something to Billy, and he nodded, squeezing your hand once before letting go. Immediately, you made a noise of protest, reaching for him.

He tried to soothe you as he sat up on the bed with you, his thumb running over your cheek comfortingly. “‘M not going anywhere baby, just movin’ so we can make things easier for ya.” Billy eased his arm under you, gently lifting you to sit up. You whimpered at how uncomfortable it was, but he kissed your temple. “I know, I know. But this is gonna make it better. Baby’s gonna come out easier like this.” He positioned himself so you were between his legs, leaning back against his chest. 

In this new position, your body’s instincts took over, working to get the baby out of you. Billy’s arms were wrapped around your collarbone, careful not to touch your belly, and one of your hands gripped around him, the other holding his forearm.

“C’mon sweetheart, you can do it,” he murmured against your skin. Your body was tired, making it harder and harder to push the baby out, but you tried, knowing you had no choice.

“Is she comin’ out? Can you see her?” you gasped, chest heaving as you tried pushing again.

“Almost baby, almost,” he muttered like a mantra. “You’re so close.”

And then suddenly it was over. You felt the pain lift just a little, and then you knew the baby was out. Weakened from exhaustion, you collapsed against Billy, who held you close, carefully, kissing your head and whispering things to you. “You did it sweetheart, ’s all over, you’re alright. You’re alright.”

You were too tired to respond, closing your eyes briefly and trying to forget the pain of the last hours. When Billy’s body stiffened, you didn’t notice, face buried in him as you tried to recover.

Then you remembered your baby, and you tried to sit up, using him as support. “Billy…I wanna hold her.”

His voice was so quiet it was almost far away. “Just stay here sweetheart, rest a little while.”

“No, I wanna see her,” you tried again, but he pushed your face into his shoulder.

“No baby, y’ don’t wanna see.” His voice had a protective edge to it, but you stubbornly pushed his hand away, turning to see the baby in the midwife’s arms.

She was perfect, so little…so pale. Not moving.

Your heart dropped, and your lips parted slightly as you realized what had happened. Billy was gently trying to get you to rest against him again, but you refused, unable to tear your eyes away.

The midwife’s face was somber, and she handed the baby over to Billy, who held her with one arm. “Hold her for a bit…I’m so sorry.” She left the room.

Billy held her gently, keeping his other arm around you. He looked from the baby’s face to yours, looking panicked. “Sweetheart, I-”

You shook your head, reaching out and touching your daughter’s face gently, tracing a hand down her cheek. The silence in the room was palpable.

“She’s so beautiful,”  you finally whispered, gaze drawn to her like a magnet. 

“She is,” Billy said softly, and you could hear the tears in his voice.

Staring down at your lifeless baby girl, you took her from Billy, holding her close, the dark curtain of mourning shutting around you. You imagined the life she could have had, how much you would have loved her, how much you did love her.

Finally, you kissed her tiny forehead, whispering, “I’m sorry sweetheart.” Then, seeing the midwife re-enter the room, you relinquished your daughter to be taken to the grave.

Billy watched all this with silent tears running down his cheeks, but you paid him no mind until the midwife had taken your daughter away, and that was when you broke.

You turned into him, fresh tears falling fast, and he sheltered you in his arms, his nose buried in your hair. “She…she…”

“I know,” he murmured tearfully. “I know.”

The two of you were back where you started, holding each other tightly, but this time shrouded in grief.

Whoever said a house divided against itself cannot stand was wrong. It can, but it’s not an easy house to live in. It’s only when someone sets fire to the house that it falls.

As you avoided him the next couple of weeks, you half hoped he missed you, but decided not to give it too much thought. He didn’t deserve that. The silent treatment, although childish, weaned results in your previous experience.

The day he was supposed to meet her came and went, and you were restless for all of your waking hours. Part of you wanted to confront him, the other, more stubborn part said to leave it. You’d made your statement. If he wanted you back then he’d have to make the first move.

It was peaceful existing outside his constant gaze. Having the whole bed to yourself was nice too. You didn’t have to curate what you wore to sleep, didn’t have to constantly make sure your expressions were pleasing to him.

Although you kind of missed his warm body next to yours. His hands reaching out in the night, making you feel wanted…

No. He didn’t want you. He wanted everything. He thought he could have everything. But as long as you were distant, he couldn’t.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how to continue from here. What does one do after they confront their husband about his cheating? It wasn’t like your mother had warned you about this. So you stayed quiet and stayed away. 

As long as you were able to, at least.

There was a gala tonight, a big one, and even though you weren’t exactly on speaking terms, you knew it’d be bad for your image if you didn’t go together. It’d be the same as all these parties were, drinks and chatting mindlessly, pictures taken of you and Coriolanus together looking like the beautiful couple you pretended to be.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have some fun with it. 

So when you descended the stairs that night in a deep burgundy dress so red it was almost black, you held back a smirk at the look on your husband’s face. He was in his red suit, that red suit, the one you’d debated stuffing a pair of your panties into the pocket of, but decided against.

The dress was silk, falling off your shoulders with a high slit up the side that wasn’t visible until you walked. Your hair was curly, in its natural state, a way you hadn’t dared wear in front of him before. It was messy, but pretty, and you felt more yourself than you had in ages.

Coriolanus’ face was even, but his eyes betrayed him. They widened slightly, and that little mark of hunger flickered in his irises, just as you’d hoped. His eyes traveled from your legs to your waist, and landed on your hair. “I requested that you wear white.”

You stopped at the second to last step on the staircase. “Your request has been submitted.”

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. You knew his possessive side was taking over, seeing you in the color he loved so much. Gracefully, you reached the bottom, and you both walked silently to the waiting car outside. 

The ride was quiet, and you kept your eyes out the window, watching the trees and buildings pass you by. Your posture was perfect, your face void of any emotion. You were calm, but he didn’t know that, and it was delicious.

Coriolanus watched you shamelessly, but you did not once turn your head to look at him. 

Once you arrived at the event at someone’s mansion, Coriolanus stepped out of the car, giving you a hand to help you out, and you took it, your hand sliding up to the crook of his arm. You made sure your face was set in a gracious smile. The president and his perfect wife. Your dress would certainly make headlines. You’d never worn anything this bold before, usually sticking to soft, light colors.

There were photographers everywhere, and you made sure to look up at Coriolanus lovingly, your stupid, foolish heart melting when you found he was looking at you the same way. It’s not real, you had to remind yourself. It. Isn’t. Real.

But oh…he was so handsome. And the way he held your hand in the cradle of his arm, made sure you didn’t trip over your dress as you went up the stairs…you hated yourself for the feelings coursing through you. He cheated on you.

As you entered the party, you struggled to put your emotions back in their box. Coriolanus wound his arm around your waist, signaling that you should stay close to him, but you ignored it, taking a glass of champagne and moving toward where some of the other wives had gathered.

Your husband caught you around the waist again, his fingers digging into your side. “Right by me, dove.” Coriolanus’ expression was firm, and his eyes bored a hole into you. 

Tilting your head as your eyebrows raised, you took a sip of your drink. “I want to say hello. Be a good First Lady.”

“You can do that by keeping by my side,” he said coldly. His voice lowered so only you could hear. “I don’t care what you think you know, we have an image to maintain.”

“I don’t need you to tell me about image,” you said in a sharp whisper. “That's all we are.”

With that, you jerked yourself away, and this time you were too fast to stop him.

Talking with the other wives went exactly how you thought. Mindless gossip, compliments on your dress, tentative tactics on their part to try and figure out what went on behind the walls of the president’s mansion. You’d always enjoyed playing with them, giving them just enough ‘information’, but still keeping the secrecy that kept them interested. That was your job- to be interesting. To be an extension of Coriolanus, but better. Charming, beautiful, sweet.

Eventually, you tired of them, and returned to him, another champagne glass in hand. You would’ve had to eventually, and you wanted it to be on your own terms. He was speaking with a senator and his dark haired wife. As you approached them, he twined his arm back around your waist, greeting you with a dutiful kiss to your hairline, his eyes still on the senator as he rambled about district funding. 

You smiled at his wife, knowing you’d have to engage in conversation with her while the men did. She smiled back, studying you, her careful eyes catching on your neck, on the burn mark that hadn’t fully healed yet. Your hair had been covering it up so far, but apparently on your walk over, it’d moved aside. 

The dark haired woman frowned, and she looked at you, curiosity thinly veiled by feigned concern. “Whatever happened to your neck? It looks painful.”

The conversation between the two men halted, and they both looked at you. You allowed an innocent expression to take over your face, and you moved your hair modestly so the mark was covered again. “Oh…Coriolanus got a bit carried away is all,” you said, looking up at him with a sweet smile, your hand on the back of his shoulder. “Right, dearest?”

His mouth was firmly set as he looked down at you, eyes were hard. He’d had about enough of your behavior, and you could see it. But instead of yelling at you or gripping your waist tighter, he smirked.

 Then he took your glass away. “That’s enough for you I think.” The senator laughed, and your husband drank the little champagne that was left. 

You just watched him, your smile fading a bit. In a single motion, he’d taken the power back, made you look like a fool. Your cheeks flushed a bit, and you forced a smile onto your face, succumbing to his grip.

 The next hour was a parade of pointless small talk and stillness on your part. This felt unfamiliar- you were usually sweet and chatty with all those you greeted, charming even the frostiest of figures. 

This trait had always been a part of you, ever since you’d been inducted into Capitol society. Quickly, you’d learned you liked it when people liked you, and over the years, your charm had developed naturally. You suspected it was what drew him to you initially. The two of you had met at one of these types of parties after all.

When you and Coriolanus debuted your engagement, society had been no less than thrilled. Their beautiful effervescent debutante paired with the handsome up and coming politician. And when he’d become president within your first year of marriage, well, it was a supernova. The tabloids had dubbed you “Panem’s Princess” because of it. 

You thought of that girl as you smiled listlessly at passerby, nodding along with whatever Coriolanus was saying, mourning the innocence you’d lost. That girl felt like a character in a book now, relatable, but far beyond your grasp. She’d been so hopeful, and he’d torn it all down.

Coriolanus squeezed your side briefly, and you smiled a little brighter, nodding at the man he was talking to like you’d been paying attention, hoping your demeanor wasn’t too noticeable.

Oh, who were you kidding? The papers would have a field day with this. They followed your every move at public events. Looking down at where Coriolanus’ hand was situated, slightly over your tummy, you could hear the headlines. FIRST LADY EXPECTED TO EXPECT! PANEM’S PRINCESS PREGNANT? 

Not that it really mattered, you supposed. The rumors would die down. Your marriage wouldn’t.

Your husband excused himself with a whisper and a squeeze to your waist, and you didn’t watch him leave, not really caring in the moment where he went. Immediately, you were accosted by another wife, admonishing compliments on your dress. 

“I’ve never seen you match with President Snow,” she said, smiling brightly. “Trying something new?”

You nodded, smiling back warmly. Panem’s Princess. “To be honest, it was a complete accident. But I wasn’t about to change.”

She laughed. “The two of you are so sweet. The entire country’s jealous of your relationship.”

Smile fading a bit, you excused yourself, apologizing to her as you did. The innocent comment opened the box of feelings you’d tried to kick aside. Pretending was agony. How was it going to get easier, acting like he loved you?

You stumbled into the hallway, darting just around a nearby corner for a moment of privacy, your back against the wall, the coolness of it breathing a little life into you. Breathing ragged, you rested your head against the wall, trying to regain your calm but it proved difficult.

If he’d truly never cared about you, this must have come easily. Jealousy overwhelmed you at the thought. As your mind wandered to the future, you were overwhelmed by the idea of thousands more of these events. Was it going to be this agonizing every time? This would be unbearable.

Thinking of before, you tried to come to a conclusion. Maybe you could be done avoiding him now. Surely he’d learned his lesson. You could move past this, learn to forgive him. Maybe, just maybe, if you allowed yourself to care about him again, it would be easier. It could be like before.

You’d decided to talk to him when you got home, when you heard voices around the corner, by where the door to the party was. It was Coriolanus, you realized. Curious, you listened closer, moving a little bit to the side to have a better vantage. That was him all right. Authoritative, but soft enough that you couldn’t really hear what he was saying. And then someone else started talking. A woman.

Immediately, you moved around the corner to see them, keeping yourself in the shadows. If he looked up, he’d see you, but his eyes were focused on the woman in front of him. The dark haired woman.

It was the senator’s wife. Them being alone together wasn’t enough to suspect anything. But the way he was looking at her.

Your eyes widened as you realized it. It’s her. 

Coriolanus tilted her chin up as he said something quietly. His face was hardened, and he nodded once at her response. Then she went back into the party, leaving him alone. You forgot you were in a spot where he’d see you, frozen in place. Then he looked up, his sharp blue eyes piercing you.

The two of you were locked there, staring at each other for what felt like forever. Then, without even realizing it, you moved toward him, anger making you faster.

Your hand moved of its own volition, yanking his collar so his face was close to yours. “What the fuck was that?”

He made no move to stop you. “Calm down, dove-”

The pet name only angered you further, and you pulled harder. “You were four feet from the door. Discretion isn’t your strong point, is it?”

Coriolanus pulled your hand off his collar, gripping it and suffocating your fingers. “You don’t know what you saw.”

“Save it,” you hissed, trying to pull your hand away. “Save it for her. She’s still under your spell.”

Your hand was freed, and you went back into the party, fury numbing you, objectives unclear. In a haze, you glided to her husband, greeting him sweetly. He excused himself from whom he was previously speaking immediately as you worked your charm on him, smiling brightly and laughing. 

Then you touched his arm, moving just slightly closer. Enough for him to notice, enough for him to notice, but not enough for a nosy reporter to sell it into a story.

The senator looked pleased, and he gave you a tentative smile, opening his mouth to say something-

An arm claimed your waist for the millionth time tonight, and you were pulled into your husband’s chest, his other hand on the back of your neck, forcing your face to rest against his shoulder, hiding you from the world. The cool of his wedding ring was pressed against your skin

“Apologies, Senator,” Coriolanus said smoothly. “It seems my wife didn’t slow down on the champagne.”

You heard a faint chuckle, and then Coriolanus dropped his lips to the top of your head, hand smoothing over your curls. Since you hardly ever wore your hair like this, you knew he’d been dying to touch it all night.

The senator must have left, because he leaned down and whispered, “We’re leaving. Now.”

The walk back to the car was a blur as he pulled you through the crowd, and you kept up as gracefully as you could, hurrying down the stairs and nearly tripping over your dress. The second the door was shut, he turned to you, his face furious. “The next man you touch dies.”

You slapped him, an instant response. His face was unmoving, his glare stronger now. The anger simmered in both of you. 

“Try not to hurt yourself,” you spat, your other hand balling into a fist, nails digging into your palm.

His hands were around your wrists in a flash. “You are mine. After everything I’ve given you, everything-”

“What about what I’ve given you?” you retorted, your hair falling forward over your shoulders as you looked up at him. “You really think you could’ve done anything without my image? I’m Panem’s Princess. Without me you’re just a man who got lucky.”

“Don’t you go there,” he said coolly, gripping your wrists tighter. But you could tell your words had gotten to him, hit him right in the ego.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You leaned closer to him. “You know as well as I do that you’re well liked. But I’m adored. You’re too caught up in your own image to realize I’m helping you more than you ever did me.”

The car stopped in front of the mansion, and you got out, pulling your wrists away, kicking off your shoes and picking them up, walking up the stairs, not caring if he followed but knowing he would.

As the door shut behind the both of you, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back to face him. “Tonight had better be an anomaly. You show up in this dress, flirt with someone beneath me and think you can get away with it?”

“I could say the exact same thing to you,” you scoffed, almost laughing. “Everyone thinks you’re something to be afraid of, but all I see is a little boy who thinks he can have it all.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset by any of this,” he said frustratedly, and you scoffed again, looking away in disbelief. “You knew the terms of this marriage. It’s not like I hurt you.”

You were silent, staring at him, waiting for him to figure it out. It took him one minute, and it was one minute longer than you’d have liked. His face fell slightly as he realized, his eyes widening slightly. “You…you…”

There were hot tears in your eyes, and you cursed yourself for it. Stupid, stupid feelings. Stupid, beautiful man.

“I thought…you cared about me,” you said, your voice only breaking a little, holding strong. “Not loved. Cared. And I was wrong. So wrong.”

Coriolanus shook his head and released your wrists, stepping toward you a little. “I do care about you…”

You shook your head, looking up at him, a single cursed tear falling down your cheek. “I don’t know if you care about anyone. Not me, not her, nobody. You’re the king of everything…” you spread your arms out wide for a second, letting them fall to your sides. “But being at the top isn’t what you thought it’d be.”

He kept quiet for once.

Closing your eyes, you brought a hand to your brow, trying to breathe steadily. All the emotion and panic from the night was encircling you, backing you into a tighter and tighter spot. 

Seeing him with her…his hand on her chin…how many times has he seen her since…I don’t want him…I want him…he cheated…

Your legs grew weak, and you dropped your shoes, collapsing to your knees, chest heaving and ears ringing. Your nails dug into your palms, trying to capture the tension there, but failing. He was on the ground next to you in an instant, hand on your back. You shook your head, trying to push him away. “Don’t…please don’t…”

Coriolanus ignored you, hand rubbing your back, trying to soothe you through it. He said your name softly, and you shook your head again. “Please go…”

You were trying to stay angry, trying to keep yourself the confident, intimidating woman he’d seen all night…but it’d all broken you down. Despite it all, despite the cheating and lying, you cared. You cared too much. It was worthless to pretend, too exhausting to have any kind of facade. And so you fell…fell back into his arms where you’d begun. 

He held you close to his chest, his hand pressing your head to him, your ear right over his heart. The steady beating of it calmed you, and you clung to him, gasping for air. Coriolanus dug his nose into your hair, taking in deep breaths that encouraged you to do the same. His thumb rubbed the space between your ear and your hair, his other arm secured protectively around you.

Gradually your breathing became regular again, but you still held tight to him. He was all you had right now. 

“Stay with me tonight love,” he murmured, staying perfectly still as you rested against him. “You never have to again. But…”

“I hate you,” you breathed shakily.

“I know, love,” he nudged his nose against your head. “I know. Stay with me.”

“If you ever do this again I’ll leave you,” you vowed softly, meaning it. “I’ll leave you…and you’ll never find me…”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he muttered, and you felt his ring against your skin again. “Stay with me tonight love.”

Love. You were too exhausted to argue, and you just slumped against him, letting him hold you close.

Half of your brain screamed at you to pull yourself away, to stand firm, to divide the house between you even further, make it crumble. But the softer part felt how gently he held you, how he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, hoisting you into his arms as he stood up, carrying you up the stairs.

He cheated, he cheated, hecheatedhecheatedhecheated.

His bed was so familiar, and you’d missed it. Missed his scent surrounding you, his arms around you as you drifted off. 

He cheated.

Does he regret it?

Does it matter?

Lovelovelovelove.

A house set on fire cannot stand.

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