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Effie Trinket was having an excellent morning. Which, in hindsight, should have been her first warning. The rink was quiet, her jumps were landing, her skates felt perfect. Even the reporters waiting outside had somehow managed to behave themselves. For once, everything was going according to plan. Naturally, that couldn't last.
— Don't look. — Cinna's voice echoed across the rink.
Effie immediately looked. — Oh, for heaven's sake.
The television mounted near the entrance was playing sports highlights. Specifically, hockey highlights. Specifically, Haymitch Abernathy.
— Why is he always yelling?
— Because hockey players communicate exclusively through violence.
— Cinna.
— What?
— Be serious.
— I am serious.
On screen, Haymitch was arguing with a referee. Again. The caption beneath him read: HAYMITCH ABERNATHY RETURNS TO COMMENTARY BOOTH FOR WINTER OLYMPICS
Effie groaned. — Wonderful.
— You're still mad about the interview?
— He called figure skating "ice ballet."
— It is ice ballet.
— Cinna!
— I'm on your side, ma chérie!
— Then act like it, for fucks sakes!
Cinna returned to adjusting the sleeve of her training jacket.
— For the record, I think he enjoys annoying you.
— Impossible.
— Why?
— Because he's impossible.
— That's not an answer.
Unfortunately, it wasn't. The rivalry had started three years ago. Nobody even remembered why anymore, one poorly phrased interview had become another. Then another. Then another. Now every sports outlet in the country treated them like sworn enemies. Last month alone: Haymitch had called figure skating "the only sport where glitter is considered equipment." Effie had responded by describing hockey as "aggressive ice gardening." The internet had lost its mind. Again.
— You're smiling.
Effie stopped immediately.
— I am not.
— You were.
— I wasn't.
— Effie.
— Cinna.
He sighed. The sigh of a man who had known her for fifteen years.
— You're impossible.
— That's funny, someone else says that too.
— Exactly my point.
Three hours later, Effie found herself seated inside the headquarters of the National Olympic Committee. Which was already suspicious, nothing good ever happened in conference rooms. The room was filled with athletes. Johanna Mason lounged across two chairs like she owned the building. Finnick Odair was somehow being photographed despite nobody officially taking pictures. Annie sat beside him, looking delighted by something only Finnick understood. Peeta Mellark was talking quietly with Katniss Everdeen near the coffee table. And Chaff appeared to be asleep. Effie respected that.
— Why are we here?
Johanna looked up from her phone. — If this is another anti-doping seminar, I'm leaving.
— You say that every year.
— One year I'll mean it.
A few people laughed. Then the doors opened. President Coin of the Olympic Committee entered. Immediately followed by several assistants. And one very familiar face. Effie froze. Across the room, Haymitch Abernathy froze too.
— Absolutely not.
His voice arrived at the exact same moment as hers. Johanna burst out laughing.
— Oh, this is going to be good.
Coin smiled. The smile of someone about to ruin multiple lives. — As part of this year's Winter Games promotion, we've selected two athletes to serve as ambassadors during the international media tour.
Nobody liked where this was going.
— These athletes will travel together for six weeks.
Johanna started recording. The traitor.
— They will participate in interviews, public appearances, charity events, and promotional campaigns.
Finnick immediately grinned. The other traitor.
Coin continued. — Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.
Silence. Complete silence. Then: — No.
Effie crossed her arms.
— Absolutely not.
Across the room, Haymitch looked equally horrified. — Find somebody else.
Johanna was laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair; Peeta looked delighted; Katniss looked exhausted already.
But Coin ignored everyone. — Congratulations.
— This feels less like congratulations and more like a threat.
— Euphemia.
— I'm just being honest.
Haymitch pointed across the room. — She started it.
— I haven't done anything.
— Yet.
— That's not how accusations work.
— It is with you.
Johanna finally gave up and leaned against Finnick's shoulder.
— Six weeks.
Finnick wiped tears from his eyes. — Six whole weeks.
— They're going to kill each other.
— Or kiss. — Annie nodded thoughtfully. — Probably kiss.
Nobody listened to them. Which was a mistake, because they were absolutely right.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
Three days later, the internet was having a collective breakdown again, Effie discovered this while sitting in the back of a car on the way to the airport.
— Read this one.
Johanna's voice came from the seat beside her.
— No.
— Read it.
— Absolutely not.
— It has eighty thousand likes.
Effie sighed, that was unfortunately enough to convince her.
Johanna handed over her phone.
The post read:
Haymitch and Effie have the exact energy of two people who got divorced in another universe.
Effie immediately gave the phone back.
— Ridiculous.
— It's kind of accurate.
— We have never been married.
— Not with that attitude.
Across the aisle, Finnick nearly choked on his coffee, Annie looked delighted, Peeta looked curious and Katniss looked like she regretted agreeing to this tour, which was fair. Most people regretted agreeing to this tour, the only person who seemed completely unbothered was Haymitch. He sat three rows ahead, headphones on, staring out the window.
Effie narrowed her eyes.
— Why does he get to sit over there?
— Because he saw you coming.
— That's not funny.
— It is a little funny.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The first interview took place in New York, unfortunately, because New York journalists had absolutely no respect for human dignity. The room was packed: cameras everywhere, reporters everywhere and microphones everywhere.
Effie smiled professionally, while Haymitch looked as though he would rather fight a bear.
The moderator welcomed everyone, introductions were made and questions began. Everything remained relatively normal for approximately six minutes.
Then a journalist raised her hand.
— Haymitch. Effie. The public has always been fascinated by your relationship.
Both immediately looked suspicious.
— What relationship?
The question came from both of them simultaneously.
Laughter erupted throughout the room.
The journalist looked thrilled.
— Would you consider yourselves friends?
— No.
— No.
Simultaneously again, and more laughter.
Finnick nearly fell out of his chair, Johanna - being the princess that she is - actually did.
— You're both impossible.
— Thank you.
— I wasn't complimenting you.
— Story of my life, Princess.
Effie froze.
The nickname slipped out so naturally that Haymitch didn't even seem to notice he'd said it, even though several reporters definitely noticed. The room practically vibrated with excitement.
Across the front row, Katniss buried her face in her hands.
— They're never going to shut up about that.
Peeta smiled.
— Probably not.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The articles appeared within the hour.
OLYMPIC RIVALS SHARE THE SAME BRAIN CELL
HAYMITCH ABERNATHY CALLS EFFIE TRINKET "PRINCESS"
WINTER SPORTS' FAVORITE FEUD CONTINUES
Effie hated all of them.
Naturally, she read every single one.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The next stop was Toronto, then Vancouver, then Oslo, then Stockholm. The tour became a blur of airports, hotels, interviews, and public appearances. By the second week, Effie had memorized Haymitch's coffee order. By the second week, Haymitch had memorized hers. Neither acknowledged this.
One morning in Sweden, a volunteer handed Effie the wrong drink. Before she could say anything, Haymitch looked up from his phone.
— That's not hers.
The volunteer blinked.
— Sorry?
— She drinks tea.
Effie stared.
Haymitch stared back.
A beat passed.
— What?
— Nothing.
— Then stop looking at me.
— You're impossible.
— There she is.
Johanna, who had witnessed the entire exchange, immediately added twenty dollars to a betting pool.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The problem, Effie decided, was that Haymitch was much easier to tolerate in private. Publicly, he was infuriating.
Privately...
Privately he carried snacks in his bag because Prim forgot to eat when she got nervous before competitions, he stayed after events to sign autographs for children, he remembered birthdays, names.
Little things.
The sort of things nobody bothered noticing, the sort of things he clearly hoped nobody would notice.
Effie noticed anyway, which was unfortunate. Because she had spent years convincing herself that Haymitch Abernathy was merely irritating, the evidence increasingly suggested otherwise.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
Their final event in Stockholm was a public skating exhibition. Athletes from multiple disciplines would perform demonstrations for fans: figure skating, nowboarding, speed skating and ice hockey. The arena was packed, thousands of spectators filled the seats.
Effie stood near the entrance tunnel waiting for her turn. Across the rink, television crews moved frantically between stations, music blasted through speakers, lights flashed overhead, people called her name. Asked questions, wanted photographs, autographs.
Everything at once.
For a moment, the entire arena seemed to close in around her: too bright, too loud, too much.
Effie inhaled slowly.
Then again.
Trying to steady herself, not letting anyone notice.
Unfortunately, someone did.
— Princess.
She looked up, Haymitch stood a few feet away, still in his team jacket watching her.
— You okay?
— Of course.
He didn't move, didn't look convinced at all.
— Right.
— What does that mean?
— Means you're doing that thing.
— What thing?
— The thing where you pretend everything's fine.
Effie opened her mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because the annoying part was that he wasn't wrong, not entirely.
For a second, neither spoke. The crowd roared somewhere beyond the tunnel.
Haymitch glanced toward the rink before looking back at her.
— Come on.
— What?
— We've got ten minutes.
— Until what?
— Until they need us.
He jerked his head toward a quieter hallway.
— Come hide from people for a while.
Effie stared.
— Are you suggesting we abandon our responsibilities?
— For eight minutes.
— That's outrageous.
— You coming or not?
Effie hesitated, then followed him. Entirely against her better judgment, of course.
And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, the noise felt a little easier to handle once he was walking beside her.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The hallway Haymitch led her to wasn't particularly impressive.
It was narrow, mostly empty, and seemed to exist solely for employees moving between different sections of the arena. Compared to the bright lights and constant noise of the exhibition, however, it felt wonderfully quiet.
Effie exhaled as soon as the heavy door closed behind them.
The difference was immediate.
The music became distant. The voices faded into a low murmur. For the first time in nearly an hour, nobody was asking her for a photograph, an interview, or a comment about the upcoming Games.
Haymitch leaned against the wall and took a sip of his coffee.
— Better?
Effie adjusted the sleeve of her jacket and pretended to consider the question.
— Marginally.
— That's the closest thing to a yes I'm getting, isn't it?
— Probably.
To her annoyance, he looked pleased.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Effie found herself studying the various posters hanging on the walls while Haymitch stared at something on his phone. The silence wasn't awkward, which surprised her. Over the years, she'd become accustomed to their interactions being observed by cameras, journalists, or entire audiences.
Being alone with him felt strangely different. More dangerous, somehow.
— Do you always do that?
Haymitch looked up.
— Do what?
— Disappear when things get overwhelming.
He laughed softly.
— Princess, I played professional hockey for twenty years. If I hadn't learned how to disappear occasionally, I'd be in prison.
Effie smiled despite herself.
— Fair point.
— What about you?
— What about me?
— You've been famous since you were seventeen. Surely you've got a hiding strategy.
Effie hesitated.
— Cinna.
— Cinna?
— Whenever events become unbearable, I find Cinna and make him listen to me complain.
— That explains a lot.
— It explains everything.
Haymitch nodded thoughtfully.
— Honestly, that's probably healthier than my method.
— Which is?
— Avoiding everyone until they leave me alone.
— Ah.
— It's worked for years.
— It sounds deeply concerning.
— That's because you're a figure skater.
— What does that mean?
— You people solve problems by talking about feelings.
Effie gasped.
— We absolutely do not.
— Princess.
— Fine. Sometimes.
— Exactly.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the sight caught her off guard.
She'd seen photographs of Haymitch smiling before, of course. Sports magazines loved publishing them whenever he won a championship or appeared at charity events.
Those smiles never looked real.
This one did.
For a brief moment, she understood why so many people liked him.
Then she remembered herself and immediately became suspicious.
— What?
Haymitch frowned.
— What what?
— You're smiling.
— Am I not allowed?
— Usually you're busy looking annoyed.
— Usually you're busy annoying me.
— That's incredibly rude.
— Yet accurate.
Effie rolled her eyes.
Some things never changed.
The strange thing was that she didn't entirely want them to.
A voice echoed through the hallway before she could think about that too carefully.
— There you are, fuckers.
Johanna appeared around the corner like a woman on a mission, which was always alarming.
Finnick followed a few steps behind, looking entirely too amused.
— We've been looking for you.
— Why?
— Because you're both supposed to be preparing for the exhibition.
Johanna crossed her arms dramatically.
— Instead, we find you hiding together in a secluded hallway.
— We are not hiding together.
— Sure.
— We aren't.
Finnick looked between them.
— If it helps, nobody believes that.
Effie groaned.
Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose.
— You're both insufferable.
— That's rich coming from you.
— We literally have a betting pool.
Silence.
Haymitch blinked.
— A what?
Johanna looked delighted.
Which was never a good sign.
— A betting pool.
— Johanna.
— Currently, Finnick has you two getting together before the Olympics.
— Annie picked after the Olympics.
— Prim thinks you're already secretly dating.
Effie nearly choked.
— Prim said what?
— She has surprisingly strong opinions.
— She's sixteen!
— And apparently very observant.
Haymitch looked horrified.
The arena loudspeaker suddenly crackled overhead, announcing that athletes should report to the ice.
Effie had never been so grateful for an interruption.
— Wonderful. We should go.
— Running away won't save you.
— Watch me.
She turned toward the door.
Unfortunately, her skate guard caught briefly against the floor.
It wasn't enough to make her fall, not even close, but it was enough to throw her off balance for a second. Before she could recover, a hand closed firmly around her elbow steadying her.
The entire movement lasted less than a second.
By the time she straightened, Haymitch had already let go.
— Careful.
For just a moment, genuine concern crossed his face. Not the teasing annoyance he usually directed at her, not the performative irritation journalists loved writing about. Actual concern.
Effie felt something strange flutter low in her stomach.
Something she very deliberately ignored.
— Thank you.
Haymitch nodded once.
Then, just as quickly, the moment vanished.
— Try not to break any national treasures before the Olympics.
— Was that a joke?
— Don't push it.
Effie smiled all the way back to the rink.
And for reasons she didn't entirely understand, she couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd reached for her before she'd even started falling.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The accident happened four days before the opening ceremony. Which, according to Effie, was extremely rude timing. According to her coach, it was a catastrophe. According to Cinna, it was a sign that she needed to stop tempting fate. And according to Haymitch, it was the worst thirty seconds of his entire year.
The morning had started normally enough: the Olympic Village buzzed with anticipation as athletes rushed between training sessions, interviews, and endless preparations. Every hallway seemed crowded with competitors carrying equipment bags, coaches carrying clipboards, and journalists searching desperately for stories.
Effie had spent most of the morning pretending she wasn't nervous, it wasn't entirely successful.
She was one of the favorites for gold, everyone knew it, which meant everyone expected perfection.
The pressure sat heavily on her shoulders, even when she smiled.
Especially when she smiled.
By the time she stepped onto the practice rink, the stands were already partially filled with reporters and photographers, nothing unusual.
Olympic training sessions always attracted attention.
Effie adjusted her gloves and pushed away from the boards.
The ice felt familiar beneath her blades, or the first twenty minutes, everything went perfectly. Her spins were clean, her footwork was sharp. Even her coach seemed pleased.
Then came the combination jump, one she'd landed hundreds of times. Thousands, probably, which was exactly why nobody saw it coming.
Her landing edge caught slightly wrong. Not much, just enough. One tiny mistake, one tiny shift in balance, the kind that happens in less than a second.
Suddenly the ice was rushing toward her.
The impact echoed through the rink.
A collective gasp rose from the spectators.
For a moment, everything stopped.
Effie remained motionless. on the ice. Not because she couldn't move, because she was trying to understand what had happened. Pain flared sharply through her shoulder, then her cheek. Warmth spread across her skin.
When she lifted a hand, it came away red.
Blood.
Wonderful, absolutely wonderful, the photographers would love that.
The arena erupted into motion, coaches rushed forward, medical staff appeared from seemingly nowhere. Someone called her name. Several people, actually. The noise blurred together, then another voice cut through all of it.
— Move.
Haymitch.
The crowd parted almost immediately.
Not because he asked politely, because he absolutely did not. Haymitch crossed the rink so quickly that one of the officials actually stumbled out of his path. By the time he reached her, the medical team was only a few steps behind.
— Effie.
She looked up, his face had gone pale. Not dramatically pale, not the kind people noticed, but the kind only someone paying attention would see.
— Hello.
His expression darkened.
— Hello?
— I was trying to lighten the mood.
— Don't.
Effie stared because suddenly it wasn't funny anymore, the concern in his voice was real.
Raw enough that it slipped past all his usual defenses.
A medic knelt beside her.
Questions followed: could she move her arm? Did she feel dizzy? Had she lost consciousness?
Effie answered automatically.
Meanwhile, Haymitch remained exactly where he was. Close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, that he seemed entirely uninterested in leaving.
— Sir-
One of the officials approached cautiously.
— We need space.
Haymitch didn't even look at him.
— Then stand somewhere else.
The official wisely retreated.
Effie nearly laughed.
Nearly.
Her shoulder hurt too much.
A few minutes later, the medical team finally helped her to her feet. The cut on her cheek wasn't that serious, neither was the shoulder. Painful, annoying, embarrassing. But not serious. The realization visibly relaxed everyone around her. Everyone except Haymitch.
He still looked furious.
— It wasn't my fault.
— I know.
— That's surprisingly reasonable.
— Don't start.
— Haymitch-
— Effie.
The use of her name stopped her: not Princess, not Trinket.
Effie.
The first time she'd heard him say it in years.
Maybe ever.
Before either could speak again, a familiar voice appeared behind them.
— She's fine, right?
Finnick, naturally. Annie followed immediately behind him, then Johanna.
Then Peeta.
Then Katniss.
Then Prim.
Apparently the entire Olympic delegation had decided to arrive at once.
— She's alive. — Johanna sounded disappointed.
— That's your opening statement?
— I was worried.
— No, you weren't.
— Fair.
Prim ignored all of them and immediately hugged Effie.
— You scared us.
Effie smiled.
— Sorry, duckface.
Across the group, Katniss glanced between Effie and Haymitch.
Then narrowed her eyes. Because Katniss only made that face when she'd noticed something.
— Hm.
Haymitch immediately looked suspicious.
— What?
— Nothing.
— Everdeen.
— Nothing.
Peeta looked equally interested, which was somehow worse, because Peeta never missed anything. An uncomfortable realization suddenly struck Effie. Every journalist in the building had just watched Haymitch sprint across an Olympic rink for her.
Oh no.
She turned toward the nearest camera, the camera operator smiled.
Oh no.
Shit.
Finnick followed her gaze then burst out laughing.
— You're both doomed.
— Odair-
— Completely doomed.
— Finnick.
— Social media is going to eat this alive.
Johanna immediately pulled out her phone.
— It's already happening.
Effie considered faking another injury. At least that would've been less embarrassing. Unfortunately for both of them, the internet had already decided that Haymitch Abernathy looked far too terrified for a man who was supposedly just annoyed by Effie Trinket.
And for the first time since this ridiculous tour had begun, neither of them seemed entirely capable of arguing otherwise.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
By the evening before the opening ceremony, the entire Olympic Village had reached a single conclusion: Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket were idiots.
The evidence was overwhelming, the problem was that neither of them seemed aware of it. or willing to admit it.
Effie spent most of the afternoon pretending not to read articles about herself. This would have been significantly more convincing if she hadn't been actively reading articles about herself. Unfortunately, every headline seemed determined to make her life difficult.
HAYMITCH ABERNATHY PANICS AFTER EFFIE TRINKET FALL
OLYMPIC RIVALS OR SOMETHING MORE?
THE LOOK THAT BROKE THE INTERNET
The photographs were even worse: one showed Haymitch kneeling beside her on the ice, his expression tight with concern. Another showed him following the medical team off the rink. A third showed him looking directly at her while she spoke to reporters afterward.
Effie closed her laptop.
Immediately reopened it.
Then closed it again.
— You're spiraling.
Cinna's voice came from the other side of the room.
— I am not.
— You reopened the same article three times.
— Scientific research.
— Right.
He didn't even look up from the costume he was adjusting.
— Just kiss him.
Effie nearly dropped her tea.
— CINNA.
— What?
— You can't just say things like that.
— Everyone else is.
— Everyone else is wrong.
— Sure.
The man had become unbearable.
Meanwhile, across the Village, Haymitch was suffering.
Not physically, but emotionally, which was somehow worse.
— You know what's funny?
— No.
— Nothing.
Finnick grinned.
— But this is.
Haymitch considered throwing him into a lake.
— Leave me alone.
— I would.
— Good.
— But Annie says you love her.
Haymitch stared.
Across the room, Annie waved cheerfully.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
— Annie.
— Yes?
— Stop helping him.
— No.
Finnick looked delighted.
Haymitch suddenly understood why some species ate their young.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
That evening, unable to tolerate another second of human interaction, Effie escaped to one of the quieter terraces overlooking the Olympic complex.
The city stretched beneath her in a sea of lights. Very cold, actually.
She wrapped her coat tighter around herself and leaned against the railing. Tomorrow she would skate, tomorrow years of training would come down to four minutes on the ice, tomorrow everything would change. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, she found herself thinking about someone else entirely.
— Thought I'd find you here.
Effie didn't turn immediately.
She recognized the voice.
Recognized it before he'd even finished speaking.
When she finally looked over her shoulder, Haymitch was standing near the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
For once, neither of them seemed interested in pretending.
— Are you stalking me?
— Maybe.
— That's concerning.
— Probably.
A smile tugged at her lips and he moved closer.
The silence settled comfortably between them.
Below, the city glittered. Above, the first stars had begun to appear.
— Nervous?
His question was quiet and Effie considered lying. Instead she sighed.
— A little.
— That's normal.
— Easy for you to say.
— No, actually.
He leaned against the railing beside her.
— The night before my first Olympics, I got so nervous I threw up behind a vending machine.
Effie stared.
— You're lying.
— I wish.
— Haymitch Abernathy.
— True story.
For a moment, she laughed, the tension in her chest loosened.
— You'll be fine tomorrow.
The certainty in his voice caught her attention.
— How do you know?
Haymitch looked at her, and suddenly she felt incapable of looking away.
— Because I've watched you work. I've watched you train. I've watched you skate exhausted, injured, jet-lagged, annoyed, and over-caffeinated. I've watched you spend six weeks pretending you're not carrying the entire weight of this competition on your shoulders.
Effie felt her breath catch.
— Haymitch-
— And you're still the best skater here.
The words settled between them.
Nobody had ever said it quite like that before. Not coaches, not journalists, not sponsors. Not even friends. Because none of them sounded as though they genuinely believed it. Haymitch did, he always did. The realization hit her all at once.
— You're staring.
His voice softened with amusement.
Effie smiled.
— So are you.
— Fair.
Neither moved.
The distance between them suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago. or perhaps it simply felt more noticeable.
Haymitch glanced down briefly.
Then back at her.
His expression changed.
— Effie.
— Yes?
For once, Haymitch looked uncertain. The sight was almost shocking. Then he laughed quietly and shook his head.
— You know what?
— What?
— Finnick's never letting me live this down.
Effie frowned.
— What are you talking about?
— This.
And before she could ask what that meant, he closed the remaining distance between them.
The kiss wasn't dramatic, there were no fireworks, no cheering crowds, no cinematic orchestra. Just two very stubborn people finally running out of excuses.
When they pulled apart, neither spoke for several seconds.
Mostly because both appeared mildly shocked by their own behavior.
Then:
— Well.
— Yeah.
— We probably should've done that sooner.
Haymitch laughed.
— Probably.
Effie smiled.
The nervousness she'd carried all day seemed lighter somehow.
— Good.
— Good?
— Because now I have something very important to do tomorrow.
— Win gold?
— Obviously.
— Obviously.
──────────── ✦ ────────────
The next evening, Effie Trinket skated the performance of her life: the program was flawless, the jumps landed, the spins soared. The audience rose to its feet before the music had even finished.
When the final scores appeared, the arena erupted.
Gold.
Olympic gold.
Again.
Effie laughed. Then cried. Then laughed while crying. A deeply undignified sequence of events.
— I want everyone to know I bet money on this. — Johanna said.
Nobody listened, because at the edge of the rink stood Haymitch, exactly where she'd known he would be. Effie crossed the ice as quickly as her skates allowed, the medal hung heavily around her neck.
The crowd roared around them, cameras flashed but none of it mattered.
Haymitch caught her the moment she reached him, laughing as she nearly crashed into his arms.
— You were magnificent, Princess.
The words settled somewhere deep inside her.
Effie smiled.
Then kissed him again.
For the first time in six weeks, nobody seemed interested in arguing. Not even Haymitch, not even Effie. The cameras captured everything: the gold medal, the kiss, the smiles.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, two people finally stopped pretending.