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The wedding is a travesty.

Not in the sense that anything has gone wrong thus far—Coriolanus had been much too meticulous about the details for that to happen. Rather, it’s opulent and lavish to a level that Lucy Gray never imagined a wedding could be. So much so that it makes her a little sick to imagine the amount of money spent. A wastefulness that she never asked for.

There’s such a crowd before the two of them that Lucy Gray knows the invitations numbered well into the hundreds. And the cameras, which she refuses to acknowledge, are ever present. She does not doubt that the event is being televised even into the districts. It is precisely the sort of thing she knows Coriolanus would do, making sure that the entirety of Panem knows just who she’s marrying today. And her precious Covey watching… Lucy Gray shoves the thought away. Not here.

Lucy Gray keeps her eyes on Coriolanus’ face as the wedding officiator drones on, line of sight somewhat obscured by the white veil in front of her. She catches the sound of sniffling in the crowd, someone apparently deeply touched by this display. The words are meaningless. All Lucy Gray can think about is how much she hates her soon to be husband—a flame that burns ever brighter the longer she stands here.

When she says I do, it tastes like ashes in her mouth.

The day he first asked for her hand, she couldn’t stop herself from reacting.

“I want you to marry me.”

She spits in his face. To his credit, he doesn’t fly into a childish rage as she hopes. Only the twitch of his lips give away Coriolanus’ displeasure as he wipes his cheek clean, pocketing the handkerchief when he’s done.

“Misbehavior isn’t going to convince me to change my mind, Lucy Gray.”

“No,” she says. “I guess not.” He is much too obsessive to let go, Lucy Gray knows. In return, she’s much too obsessive to make it pleasant for him. She wants to make him hurt. For ruining her life, for what he’d done to Sejanus, for the deaths in his ledger increasing each year.

Lucy Gray is dragged back to the present as the officiator finally makes the announcement that the two of them are waiting for: “You may kiss the bride.”

Lucy Gray’s white veil is lifted ever so carefully by Coriolanus, playing the part of a loving groom to perfection, and she sees now that Coriolanus’ eyes have a spark in them that tells her that he thinks he’s won.

He’s the first to move, pressing a kiss to her mouth. Lucy Gray refuses to be outdone, deepening the kiss as whistles break out in the crowd. His mouth is a pleasant taste, sweet to her tongue. She nips his lip, and Coriolanus pulls away before she can make him bleed, but it’s close enough.

He squeezes her hand, eyes dark as he whispers in her ear, “Don’t be so eager, wife.” He stresses the last word as if he’s laying ownership. “We still have a few hours before the wedding night.”

She takes in a breath, a frisson of anticipation running through her nerves, but she effortlessly maintains her smile, squeezing Coriolanus’ hand to the point of pain. “I’m looking forward to it, husband.” She says husband as if it’s an insult, and relishes the sight of Coriolanus’ smile twitching, the tiniest motion that only she can possibly see. A hairline fracture in his mask.

They walk down the aisle, hand in hand. The applause is almost deafening and Lucy Gray smiles, smiles, and smiles.

What follows, after they’ve arrived at their table together, still holding hands, is the massive multitiered cake. The cake is impossibly rich, a creamy vanilla flavor. Her sweet tooth is more than satisfied. It’s the best cake she’s ever had, but guilt settles on her as she thinks of how the entirety of District Twelve could feast on this for weeks, easily.

Lucy Gray shoves away her plate, leaving the generous slice only half finished. “I’m not hungry. Surely it’s rude not to speak to our guests who have been waiting so long to congratulate us.” They’re seated close enough that it’s easy for her leg to brush against his.

“If you insist.” Coriolanus’ eyes are heavy on her, suspicious. He wants to call her out on her blatant manipulation, she can feel it, but he doesn’t push. His hand reaches for hers, and she interlocks their fingers together.

What feels like endless parade of people come to congratulate them. She’s a truly consummate actor for not laughing out loud every time someone calls Coriolanus a good man. Lucy Gray pays attention to the names, many are celebrities or reporters, but there’s a few political figures showing their faces to them that makes Coriolanus’ back seem to straighten when they approach.

“My congratulations,” the older man says, introducing himself as what she suspects is one of Coriolanus’ rivals. The way he looks at her doesn’t sit well with Lucy Gray, but she allows him to take her hand, watching Coriolanus out of the corner of her eyes. The briefest of kisses is pressed to her skin. She fakes a giggle, a twisted sort of glee lighting up in her as Coriolanus clears his throat, giving the man a hateful stare that disappears before he’s caught out.

The man drops her hand, as if she isn’t really there. “I was starting to suspect that you would remain unmarried. I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Really, falling for a district woman?” He laughs as if it’s a joke. “Ah, to be so young and in love.” And foolish are the unspoken words that Lucy Gray hears. For the briefest of seconds, she’s certain she and Coriolanus are united in their dislike.

“I’m certain I chose the right person for me,” Coriolanus says, his smile tight. “It’s kind of you to lend your support for our marriage.”

“Of course.” The man smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. She watches him walk away, the tension in her shoulders relaxing a fraction now that the interaction is over, and files the moment away for later.

Tigris shows up, a beaming smile aimed at them both.

“You looked so beautiful in the dress during your vows,” Tigris says, turning to her first. “I’m so happy you let me design it for you.”

“You did an amazing job,” Lucy Gray says, meaning it with all her heart. The pure white dress fits perfectly against her skin, being comfortable, elegant, and without tipping over into being too Capitol in design. One of the few choices Coriolanus made for the wedding that she was completely pleased about. “I couldn’t have asked for a better designer.” She was a lifeline in the hours that took getting dressed up, Tigris being filled with excitement and so gently encouraging.

“I know you two will make each other very happy. Coryo never did forget you and to have you here now…” Tigris leans in slightly. “It’s truly wonderful to have you in the family, Lucy Gray.” When Tigris embraces her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek, Lucy Gray bites her tongue so hard she thinks she tastes the familiar copper tang of blood.

Tigris does the same for Coriolanus, whispering something in his ear that makes him smile, softening something in him, before gifting the same fond kiss on the cheek. If there’s any flicker of guilt in Coriolanus for lying so blatantly to the closest thing he’ll ever have to a sister, she can’t find it.

Tigris eventually wanders off to talk to other people, and the hour is growing late. Lucy Gray is restless, and even if Coriolanus refuses to admit it, she can see the way his smile is fading, irritation creeping into his fine features. She is too good of an observer to not catch the little quirks of his face, so intent she is on watching him.

She tilts her head towards his ear, close enough that no one else could catch her words. “I’m growing quite tired of this.”

Coriolanus pauses for a second, as if weighing the options. Of course, the man can’t admit that he wants to leave so soon. She presses her leg against his once more. “I thought you were excited about our wedding night,” she taunts. “Getting cold feet?”

“Not at all,” Coriolanus answers. That decides it for him, as he stands up, taking his glass and tapping it with his fork, the murmur of the crowd dying down in a matter of seconds.

“I would like to thank everyone for showing up.” As if anyone in the Capitol would miss the president’s wedding, she thinks. Coriolanus continues his speech, and Lucy Gray tunes it out, impatient.

“Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus says, dragging her attention back. “Do you want to say anything?” His face is expectant, as if he knows she wasn’t listening to him.

She joins him, putting her hand on his arm and flashing a smile. “Coryo and I are so thankful for your kindness.” It’s a twist of the knife, calling him Coryo in public—easily written off as a smitten women having an affectionate nickname for her lover. She’s certain he remembers that she never called him that when they were much younger from the way he stiffens for a second. Lucy Gray wraps it up in a few more words, prompting more applause, and more than one person is clearly sobbing as the two of them wave at everyone, saying good night.

Near hysterics from complete strangers is exhausting, she thinks. Even so, she’s happy with her performance. To the eyes of everyone else, besides her now husband, they only see the behavior of a blushing bride. Coriolanus can’t fault it.

“Good night, you two,” Tigris says, her cheeks wet, as if she wiped away tears overcome by emotion when she wasn’t present, smile still fixed on her face. So happy for a mockery of marriage. A pang hits Lucy Gray. “Your mom would’ve loved to see you together, Coryo.” Lucy Gray wonders about his mother, what she must’ve been like. “Take good care of Lucy Gray, will you?”

“Of course,” Coriolanus says quietly, allowing Tigris to give him one last hug. She has no idea just what kind of man her cousin is and Lucy Gray can’t tell her. Not yet. Guilt washes over Lucy Gray and she’s quietly glad when Tigris leaves. With that, they make their way home—except it’s not her home, it’s not beloved District Twelve and her Covey, but it is home to Coriolanus Snow. Lucy Gray hasn’t been home in a long, long time.

She waits for Coriolanus to gloat and be his infuriating self while on their way there, but instead, he is frustratingly distant—lost in thought. The urge to ask him about his mother rises within her, but she stamps it down. Lucy Gray leaves him to it, twisting the ring on her finger. It’s a simple gold band, with no oversized diamond from the mines of District One which surprised her when he slipped it on. The ring is almost comforting to mess with as she stares out at the streets as the car drives forward, the lights and glitz of the Capitol so far from everything she loves.

Lucy Gray knows exactly what’s going to happen at the end of this night.

The mansion seems like it’s increased in size while they were gone, and it’s an odd sensation, walking the same familiar hallways she’s walked before with the same opulent decorations lining the walls. It looks different somehow, as if everything shifted two steps to the right when she wasn’t looking.

Coriolanus’ hand hasn’t left her arm since they arrived, as if he doesn’t quite trust that she won’t run away the first chance she has. It’s amusing, the clear attachment he has. Her nerves refuse to settle, and in the middle of it, she wants. She wants to see Coriolanus further off kilter, unprepared for a wife that he wanted so badly. She looks over at her husband—and isn’t that a phrase she still hasn’t quite become used to—and needles him. “Are you feeling shy about spending the night together, darlin’?”

Coriolanus blinks, as if thrown. He stops walking, which causes her do the same.

“I promise you I’m committed,” He says, and the way his eyes settle on her makes her face heat. “I’m not so foolish to have a wedding without following through.” The sarcasm drips from his words and she can hear the slight petulant tone in his voice as he throws back, “Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

Lucy Gray rolls her eyes at him. “Coriolanus, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know all kinds of things about what men want to do with their wives when they marry.” Her voice takes on an almost teasing quality. “Are you man enough for that?”

Without realizing it, in the middle of their talking, she finds herself against the wall. She’s grabbed his arm, and whether it was her or him that crossed the line, they’re leaning into each other’s space, breathing each other’s air, unwilling to let go. Her heart is beating in her chest, and she feels very bit of how much Coriolanus wants her, her gut hot. The worst part is that she wants him too.

“I can prove it to you,” Coriolanus breathes.

The tension snaps, some minuscule movement between them being the inciting factor. She doesn’t know who kisses who first, only that it’s not a sweet and soft kiss, the way a husband would lovingly kiss his wife, but it’s two people clashing, trying to prove something in the meeting of bodies. Her hands run through his hair, satisfying an itch in finally messing up his perfectly coiffed look with not a single strand out of place during the ceremony. Lucy Gray hungers for more. She grabs the lapels of Coriolanus’ suit, silently daring him.

She gets it with Coriolanus’ hands grabbing the fabric of her dress, pushing it up enough for him to put skin to skin, the smoothness of his palms pressing into her thighs as he moves a hand upwards. He stops when a finger hits one of the garters of her dress, pulling back from their frantic kissing. Frustration rises up in Lucy Gray. She wants him to keep moving, to give her what she wants, but Coriolanus seems pleased to torment her in whatever way he can.

Lucy Gray clears her throat, her face feeling like a furnace. “Don’t dillydally, Coriolanus.” It doesn’t come out as taunting, as breathless she is from their kissing. It sounds awfully close to pleading.

Coriolanus’ pale skin makes it easy to see the flush on his cheeks. There’s the smallest smile on his mouth, proof that he didn’t miss how she sounds. “If you insist.”

He tears the garter away from her, eyes never leaving her face. This time, it’s Coriolanus who presses the kiss against her mouth. His hands never falter in gripping her thighs, and on a whim, she throws her arms around Coriolanus’ neck, her legs leaving the floor as she wraps them around his midsection, clinging to him like a lifeline. Her breath catches in her throat as Coriolanus falters for a second, but he rallies, pinning her against the wall.

Lucy Gray buries her face into the crook of Coriolanus’ neck, eyes squeezing shut. Lucy Gray takes in Coriolanus’ scent, the fresh smell of roses filling her nose. Pressed like this against him, there’s no mistaking the noticeable hardness against the fabric of her underwear.

“Warn me before you do that,” Coriolanus says, a harsh whisper to the shell of her ear. She jerks her hips in response—ignoring the flare of heat in her gut as her clit is teased—relishing the repressed groan that escapes from Coriolanus’ mouth.

“I need you now,” Lucy Gray says. It’s not a lie. The sharp inhale from Coriolanus feels like a confession.

She doesn’t know if Coriolanus has banished everyone from approaching anywhere near his bedroom tonight, but her pulse quickens at the thought of being caught in the hallway. Not enough to insist on moving, not when her need is so great. She doesn’t think she’ll make it to the bedroom, and she can imagine the rose petals on his bed, a perfect picture made all the more sour for how fake it is.

Right here is what feels the most real to Lucy Gray. She is not a demure bride filled with nothing but love for her handsome husband; he is not a good man that a wife like her would be lucky to have. Not by a long shot.

Her legs tighten their hold around his waist, his hands no longer the sole supporter of her weight as one of them moves up slightly, enough to grab hold of her underwear, tearing it off in one smooth motion.

Lucy Gray shivers as Coriolanus’ thumb roughly presses against her clit, the pressure so close and yet so far. She’s dripping, and it’s so easy for one of his fingers to briefly dip into her wet folds much too shallowly before he retreats. Lucy Gray’s painted nails dig into the butter smooth fabric of his suit, scrambling for some kind of foothold. She’s being driven mad.

It’s as if he knows just how much she wants him when he says, “Hold on, Lucy Gray.” Coriolanus has her adjust for a second, shifting her weight to his shoulders and moving her hips high enough, making some motion with one free hand.

“You can relax now,” he murmurs. She does. Lucy Gray tilts her head back, the better to see Coriolanus’ face. Her eyes widen slightly when her cunt meets the sensation of a blunt hardness, kissing her entrance, but not inside yet.

Coriolanus is giving her the same look she saw on him the day she came back, hands bound, nothing but loathing in her heart for the man he had become. His gaze is somewhere between hatred and love. Both and neither at once. Lucy Gray takes it in, something settling inside her heart.

He looks as if he’s in awe of her.

She can remember the night they met again well, the years making their mark on the two of them.

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten all about little old me in the seven years we last saw each other,” Lucy Gray says. “Being such a big deal in the Capitol and all.”

“I didn’t forget.” It’s as if no one else in the room even exists, the Peacekeepers restraining her mere decoration. “We have too much unfinished business for that to happen. Hard to not want to tidy up loose ends.”

Lucy Gray bites back a grin. All those years, her mind holding onto hatred of Coriolanus Snow the way a widow would fondly reminisce about the love of her life. Coriolanus didn’t forget.

He thought of her all this time, too.

Coriolanus starts to shift his hips, working his way inside her. Even as aroused she is, taking his cock is a challenge, stretching her in way that lights up her sensitive nerves. She tries to move her hips in return, grinding down on him, her heels digging into the small of his back. Slowly but surely, the two of them pick up their pace, she’s winded, his body managing to press against her clit while his cock fits so well deep inside of her.

She doesn’t bother to be quiet with each rock of Coriolanus’ hips, all sense of shame leaving her. If he’s irritated by her being so vocal in the hallway, he doesn’t say a word, too focused on more physical matters. Perhaps some sense of pride and embarrassment is what keeps Coriolanus from doing the same, but she hears little groans and sighs slip out under his control anyway, driving her closer to her peak.

Lucy Gray can’t resist making one more dig into his side, ignoring how her thighs are shaking, sweat collecting on her body. She’s exposed, a vulnerability hanging between them that makes her squirm, pushing her to lash out.

“Does this live up to your little schoolboy fantasy of having a dream wedding with me, Coriolanus?” Her voice comes out in shaky half-pants.

Coriolanus makes a motion that could almost be called a flinch, but it’s gone as soon as it arrives. He thrusts particularly roughly into her, a twisted smile on his lips. “You can deflect all you want, but you’re still my wife.”

Lucy Gray doesn’t bother to hold back a sneer. “And you’re my husband.” She doesn’t mean to say it, to travel down a road that feels like poking at a raw wound, but it happens anyway: “What took you so long?”

She sees it in Coriolanus’ eyes that she’s struck at something between them that hasn’t healed. Not one bit. At least they were even.

“You betrayed me.” His low voice spits venom as he thrusts into her, as if trying to leave a mark.

“I betrayed you?” Lucy Gray says, incredulous, cutting off a half moan as he hits a particularly satisfying spot. She’s not going to last much longer, wrung out as she is. Lucy Gray’s focus has narrowed entirely onto Coriolanus.

A scream is perched in her throat, years of pain behind it. Once, she thought of getting married to him, the District Twelve way, when they ran out together into the woods and found shelter, nothing but a simple exchange of bread that would’ve meant everything to her.

Lucy Gray loved him, knew it when he came back for her in District Twelve, when she thought the end to their story was being shipped back home, never getting the chance to say thank you for saving her life. She had put up a good act then, making sure he grew attached to her as a tribute to survive that awful arena. Lucy Gray can still remember how her heart leapt to her throat the moment she spotted Coriolanus, his hair buzzed, but so familiar all the same. It was the instant she knew the cautious fondness for a Capitol boy she thought she could forget in time had deepened more than she ever anticipated.

She was doomed then and didn’t even know it.

He ruined her life, tearing apart everything good about it, because he couldn’t comprehend that she wouldn’t try to get back at him for changing his mind about running off. It’s a bitter irony, knowing what happened in the woods is what left such a deep scar between them both, never able to forget the other.

The wedding in the heart of the Capitol was a twisted mockery of everything they once shared.

Lucy Gray doesn’t say any of that.

Every shred of her feelings—all her hatred and something else that she doesn’t want to look at—sinks into the words she does say: “I hate you, Coryo.” The nickname leaves her mouth as an accident, but it sounds as if it belongs there, coming out with an ease that twists something in her heart. It’s the first time she calls him Coryo without the public to witness it.

It’s too much, the intensity of her emotions dragging her over the finish line as she falls apart with an almost sob, her orgasm washing over her almost like a physical blow, squeezing Coriolanus as her body releases all the tension—Coriolanus holds her up, leaving a kiss on the side of her neck. That small gesture of softness feels like a murder.

“Oh, I know, Lucy Gray,” he manages to get out, a breathless hitch in his voice that she can’t quite decipher. Their lips clash together, hard and unforgiving. She finally makes him bleed, biting hard enough to bust his lip. The copper taste is a delicacy as she licks into his mouth.

Coriolanus presses into her one last time, her hands feeling the shudder that runs up his spine as he comes deep inside. She tightens her hold on him, and Coriolanus finally settles the both of them on the floor—he doesn’t fall, but it’s a near thing—exhaustion clear in his face.

She can spot a fine sheen of sweat on Coriolanus’ temple. Her size had certainly helped Coriolanus last this long in holding her up. Lucy Gray had always been on the small side between her hardships in childhood and the years she’s spent hiding—his fault, of course. Not even the chance to eat all the food she’s ever wanted in the Capitol has changed that.

As much as Lucy Gray would laugh leaving Coriolanus to pass out in the hallway, she stills looking at him. She’s the one to move off, picking up the torn away fabric left on the floor and gathering her dress together so she doesn’t trip. She leans down to tug on his hand. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“We should,” Coriolanus gets out, putting himself back to rights as much as he can when there’s no fixing how untamed his hair looks without a comb. Lucy Gray isn’t far behind him in bone deep fatigue, being up all day doing nothing but talking to people and then having sex with her husband—her whole body is starting to ache in a good way. She imagines Coriolanus feels something similar, with how hard her heels and nails dug into his back, cushioned by fabric or not.

If they lean into each other, it’s only their bodies being too worn out for anything else. The two of them make it down the hallway, his fingers intwined with hers, settling into the bedroom. It’s lit only by the moonlight shining through the large windows, and they collapse into the soft bed, Coriolanus’ head pressed against her chest.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, soft enough that she almost misses it, his eyes beginning to draw closed. It’s nearly fond, the way he says it. Their hands are still joined, the rings on their fingers pressing against skin on skin. Lucy Gray doesn’t say it, but she thinks: If I’m yours, then you’re mine too.

Coriolanus’ breathing evens out, his hand slipping from hers. In the near dark, Lucy Gray stares at the ring on her finger, watching the gold glint as it catches the moonlight.

She looks down at her husband—the monster she’s married. The way his face evens out when asleep, he nearly looks the same as he once did all those years ago, almost innocent. Almost.

Later, Lucy Gray will relay the valuable information she’ll glean as the president’s wife to the rebels when she can contact them. Later, she’ll stop the Games without risking the safety of her Covey, come hell or high water. But, right now, all she has to do is sleep, holding Coriolanus in an embrace. He’s her husband, after all. It’s her right as a wife.

One last thought crosses her mind as the edges of sleep finally overtake her:

She’s always had an affinity for snakes.