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His peers give their spouses something else, surely, when they turn twenty-one. Bottles of champagne, diamonds and silk dresses. Sex on a balcony overlooking the whole Capitol.
Coriolanus gives Lucy Gray a bathtub for her birthday. And a ring.
He nearly cried when he'd thought of the idea of giving it to her. The first thing she had said to him - half a decade ago, with hay in her hair and cow manure on the hem of her dress - had been how she'd been bathed in roses and buttermilk when she was a babe. Coriolanus wonders if Lucy Gray remembers it as vividly as he, how beautiful she had looked as she stepped out of the cattle car and into his arms.
The bathtub is porcelain, but the feet are ivory, lined with pure gold. She cries when she sees it.
Lucy Gray had insisted it was too much, but Coriolanus knows his girl better than that - anything to remind her of her Covey, here in the Capitol, meant more than anything else to her.
They miss their chance to soak in it, that morning when it's first brought into their bathroom. It's a shame they wake up late, necks bitten and hips aching. It takes longer to dress than normal, but it's a struggle to keep on schedule when Lucy Gray asks him to lace up her corset.
They have an appointment with the artist that's to be doing their rings. Rings that can't be torn from her finger, or taken from his. A wire-thin band of red around her third finger of her left hand, a half inch thick band of red around his.
Lucy Gray had insisted on his being blue - red and blue like blood and veins, like him and her and heart and soul.
The Covey, on principle, don't match - something she's insisted over and over again to him on all matters of subject. The dresses he picks for her are too pearly, not enough color, and Heavens, Coryo, you're killing me here! He picks out their jewelry - gold, for her, and in turn him - while she insists that gold doesn't match his skin tone.
It's something of a selfish thing, the reason he has the two of them match. They present a united front - the Snows, Mrs and Mr. And yet, it's even more than that, somehow - it's not enough to be one in the same. Coriolanus belongs to Lucy Gray and she belongs to him. Mind, body, spirit, soul - all of it.
It's part of the reason why he'd opted for less… traditional rings.
Rings can be stolen, pawned and sold - but unless Coriolanus wants to cut his finger off, he's hers until the end.
It's not as painful as he expected, the tattoo. The ring. But then again, hunger pains are hard to top.
The artist seems impressed by his tolerance, and by Lucy Gray's as well. They make a comment under their breath - something about Capitol snobs. Coriolanus grinds his teeth together and waits - until they put their needle down, waits until both he and Lucy Gray have their rings - to grab them by their frilly collar and hoist them off the ground.
Lucy Gray tugs at his elbow, pleading something but he can't hear her over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He lets the artist down with a snarl and a heavy warning to never return.
As Lucy Gray pulls him out of the room by the arm, he mutters to the Avox in charge of payment to pay them half - for the trouble they caused him and his wife.
Their first soak in her tub is one decorated by Coriolanus, the night of her birthday. Rose petals and a light, pinky dye that darkens the water enough that he can't see the bottom of the tub.
"If you could go anywhere, do anything, where would you go?" Lucy Gray asks.
They're pressed together as close as possible, skin on skin and rose petals scattered in the water around them. He's long since calmed from his earlier outburst - Lucy Gray always acted like a balm to his burning anger. Lucy Gray drags her fingers in the pink water, cupping her fingers and then letting the water fall between them.
"Can I go to the past?" Coriolanus says, watching as she plays in the water.
Lucy Gray is silent for a moment, and then she nods.
He takes a deep breath, leaning further back into the bathtub. Lucy Gray follows, back to his chest, and she follows his inhale with her own.
"Before Panem," Coriolanus begins quietly, "back when this was North America, and the rest of the world was... the world. Two hundred years ago, give or take, there was an era of art - the soul in its purest form, on canvas. It was called the Renaissance."
"You're such a romantic," Lucy Gray accuses. She rests her wet head on his shoulder, cranes her neck back to look at him.
For you, he allows, but doesn't say. "Libel," he accuses back, and she smiles happily.
Coriolanus' hand slips from the rim of the porcelain to lay atop her own, grazing her withered fingertips with his.
"But I wouldn't want to be in North America."
"Why not?" Lucy Gray asks, easing back into the crook of Coriolanus' arm without taking her eyes off him.
He hums, and threads his fingers through Lucy Gray's wet hair. "Panem has never been a peaceful country, even back then. The French Renaissance is about romance, the idea of living, and the naturality of life. In my interpretation, at least. North American Renaissance is all about wealth and status. The paintings that still exist from that time are outrageously pricey, and the material they're made of is considered much more expensive than what even the most talented French painters used. It's quite fascinating, really."
"Wealth and status," Lucy Gray echoes, tilting her head into Coriolanus' hand. "Sounds pretty appealing to 'ya, I'd think."
She's laughing with Coriolanus tugs on her hair in reprimand, and there's a smile on his lips as well. She's not wrong about that.
"There's more to life than money," Coriolanus says. His voice drops an octave, and he presses, "Something you've shown me all too well," into the crook of her neck.
Lucy Gray sighs happily, pressing further back into his chest. The pink water around them sloshes at the rim but doesn't spill over, nor is it getting cold yet. Money isn't all there is in life, but a heated tub certainly helps.
"I think I would go back to my Mama," Lucy Gray admits, "She had such a way with words. Sometimes, I wish I could just talk to her again, y'know? Now that I'm grown. She only knew me as a young'in."
They lapse into silence - Lucy Gray with her eyes closed and a little smile still on her lips, and Coriolanus watching the water pool around her.
"She'd be proud of the woman you are," Coriolanus says, softly. "I bet she is, when she's looking down on you."
Lucy Gray snaps her eyes open, lips parting around a short gasp. She pushes herself up, away from him - and the loss of her nearly makes him whine.
Coriolanus reaches out, desperate to drag her back to him but she turns on a dime, swinging her leg over his and coming to a rest on his thighs.
Lucy Gray looks like an angel in the candlelight - curls damp around her shoulders, her thin arms strung over his shoulders.
After a silence, Coriolanus smiles, twitching and more than a little delighted. "Hello," He breathes.
"Hi there," She whispers back, in the same breath as him.
"Comfortable?" Coriolanus asks, tensing his thighs and then dropping them, delighting in the little squeak Lucy Gray gives as she bounces. "You look so pretty on my lap, Lucy Gray."
It's a slip of tongue, really - the compliment was heavy on his mind, and he hadn't thought for a moment before saying it to her.
She giggles, again, clearly flattered as she slaps his chest. "You sure you ain't into that French stuff 'cus you wanna paint me, honey?"
Coriolanus sighs, and leans up to coax her lips onto his. "Oh, but my darling, I don't think there's enough paint on the market to paint your beauty accurately."
He's rewarded with a soft sigh from her lips and a rose-flavored kiss.
"You'll be the death of me, if you keep this sweetness up. I'll get a cavity." A hand finds hers, and he lifts it to his lips. Even her skin tastes like the rose petals in their bath.
"I'll find you the best dentist the Capitol has to offer. And remind you to brush your teeth, of course. Can't have you rotting, now can I?"
Lucy Gray sighs in exasperation, rolling her eyes fondly at him. "You're so..."
"So what?" Coriolanus teases, cocking a brow up at her.
She swoops down on him, her small chest pressing into his. "Stop talking," Lucy Gray demands, "and kiss me, for heaven's sake."
Coriolanus, of course, stops talking.