Dearest Diary,

I am certain that the Earl of Panem's ball will be heralded as the event of the season in the gossip papers tomorrow. I found both the food and the company better than I have come to expect, but if the columnists are correct, I am afraid it is shaping up to be a dull season indeed.

Soup had, at first, seemed an odd dish to serve at such an event. Hundreds of people circulated through the ballroom, and with such a mass of bodies, as well as the flutes of champagne so freely distributed by uniformed servants, the occasional collision was impossible to avoid. No one wanted soup splashed on their best clothing, and Katniss was sure that this one's peculiar shade of green would make for a very nasty stain. But curiosity had gotten the better of her, as it was wont to do, and after several minutes of eying the liquid the exact color of grass clippings, she accepted a bowl. Smooth and creamy, it tasted perfectly of spring, bringing to mind sunlight and dewdrops and flower buds. Thank goodness she could watch the dance floor from the serving station, because if left to choose between keeping an eye on Prim and gorging herself, she wouldn't be able to look herself in the eye – or the stomach, for that matter – tomorrow.

"If you like the soup, you'll love these." Katniss jumped at the voice, narrowly avoiding spilling the entire contents of her bowl down the front of her gown. Despite her best efforts, a thin dribble of green worked its way down her bodice. The man took her bowl away and handed her a cloth to clean up with. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

I don't care if you meant to or not, and neither does my dress. Social niceties allowed far too many good barbs to go unused. Instead, she pasted on her best fake smile and looked up at him. She wasn't prepared for what she saw. Dark blonde hair, deep blue eyes that must have inspired comparisons to lakes and the sky in dozens of silly young women's diaries, and a warm, genuine smile that melted away any anger about her stained gown. Perhaps most surprising was that he could be no more than a year or two older than her own twenty-three years. The season was only a few weeks old, but until tonight, she hadn't been approached by any men too young to be her father.

"I am very sorry about your dress. I could ask the hostess if there is somewhere you could clean up, if you'd like."

"No, that won't be necessary. It's not very noticeable." This time, her smile was very real. She ought to find something to keep this conversation moving, for too many apologies for what really was now only a tiny spot on her dress would drive her mad. "What is it that I should try?"

"The cheese buns. They're my favorite." He placed her discarded bowl of soup on the table for the servants to take care of and held out a fragrant golden-brown roll.

She took it from him. "Thank you." Suddenly aware of how ridiculous she looked as she ate, Katniss took a tiny bite, and it took an embarrassingly great deal of willpower not to moan at the divine mixture of heavily spiced, almost savory bread with the mildest, creamiest of cheeses.

Thank heavens, the man seemed to be enjoying his bun every bit as much. It seemed impossible that one could take joy in their food while acting in accordance with the strict rules that governed the upper classes' every movement, but somehow, he managed it. "These have been my favorite since I was a child," he explained when he noticed how she watched him.

"Are they a common recipe?" She had never tried such a dish before, but her family hadn't been to London since she was very young. It had not taken Katniss long to realize that life in the city bore only a faint resemblance to her simpler life at the Seam.

"No, not that I'm aware of. I believe the recipe is unique to Sae. I grew up here."

She couldn't believe her lack of manners, not knowing who her host was. "It's a lovely evening."

He laughed. "I'll be certain to pass that on to Rye and Amelia." He held out a gloved hand. "I was remiss in not introducing myself sooner. Peeta Mellark. The earl is my older brother." The name niggled at something in her mind, but though she could swear that she had heard of Peeta Mellark before, she couldn't recall when or why his name had been mentioned.

She pushed those thoughts aside. Should the memory not return, she could always ask her mother and sister later. They cared more for gossip than she did anyway. "Katniss Everdeen. Pleased to make your acquaintance." She took his hand, and he brought it to his lips.

"And I am pleased to make yours, Miss Everdeen." His eyes met hers, sending a thrilling jolt of electricity through her. "Would you care to dance?"

No, not particularly, for though her mother had guided her through uncountable hours of lessons, she always felt a half step behind and off-balance. But Katniss nodded all the same, allowing him to take her hand and guide her onto the dance floor. One of his hands settled on her waist as they fell into the rhythm of the waltz. She did not magically become some human embodiment of grace as he led her through the steps – Katniss estimated it would take at least two miracles to manage that – but she did not feel nearly as self-conscious as she usually did. The waltz broke neatly into three steps. Down for the first count, then up for the second and third. Even she could handle that, and talking to him, Katniss forgot to think about the mass of people around her, instead focusing only on his words and her mental one-two-three.

Or, more correctly, she managed to concentrate on the conversation and the rhythm until she realized that she had no idea where Prim was. Her mother had promised to keep an eye on her, but Mother was easily distracted by the other widows and matrons. And in any case, Mother wouldn't be looking out for the same behaviors as Katniss. Mother would care if a man lured Prim away from the ballroom and into some secluded corner or corridor. Katniss worried that some man would steal her sister's heart before Katniss had an opportunity to vet him.

She searched the ballroom as they danced, looking for that familiar blonde head among the crowd. She found Prim only a few feet away, twirling in the arms of a partner that could be everything Katniss feared. They looked every bit an illustration from a fairy tale. Prim, forever slim and fair, no matter how much Katniss packed onto her plate at suppertime or how much time she spent in the gardens without her hat, appeared even more so against the broad, dark frame of the man she danced with. Her golden hair and pale pink dress haloed around her twirling figure in the candlelight, and she wore a wide, genuine smile as she peered up at her much taller partner, holding tightly onto his every word.

"Do you know him?" Peeta – for though it was awfully familiar to use his first name already, she couldn't associate the cold, formal Mister Mellark with such kind features and that gentle voice - asked.

Katniss was ashamed to admit that not only had she quite lost track of their conversation, but she also had no way of hiding it. "Who?"

"Lord Hawthorne - the man you've been watching. I could introduce you, if you'd like."

"Oh no, that's not necessary. He's dancing with my sister is all." Even to her own ears, the truth sounded like a miserable excuse, but she prayed Peeta would accept it all the same.

Peeta looked over towards where Prim and her partner, this Lord Hawthorne, danced, then turned back to her. "Your sister is lovely." His eyes skimmed over her in a way that couldn't possibly be polite. He leaned in close enough that his warm breath caressed her cheek with his next words. "I think it's the family resemblance."

Her cheeks grew warm, and his hand on her waist now felt terribly intimate. Katniss had heard such platitudes more times than she cared to count, but never before had she been so affected. Not trusting herself to keep her composure should the conversation continue in this vein, she searched for a new subject. "Do you know Lord Hawthorne well?"

He nodded. "He was a year or two ahead of me at Eton. I wouldn't say we're close, but I've known him for many years."

"What do you think of him? If he is pursuing my sister – and it looks like he is – I want to know that he would treat her well." It was less than polite, certainly, and her mother would have something to say if she overheard them, but if Katniss was to be trapped with him until the end of the song, she might as well press him for all the information she could.

"He's smart as can be, and he took a first in maths at Oxford, and he has always been good company in social situations. Beyond that, I'm afraid I can't be much help."

"Thank you. Anything is better than nothing."

A sly grin spread across Peeta's features. "I think that with some more time to think, I might be able to remember more about him.

"Oh?"

"Say, another dance?"

"I suppose that wouldn't be too much trouble."

The tulips were a surprise. Without fail, Prim's suitors sent roses, and their drawing room had been stuffed so full of the bouquets that Katniss could no longer walk by without getting a headache from the overwhelming scent. Beyond noting that the sunset orange flowers made a nice contrast to the pinks and reds, Katniss hadn't thought much of them at first, simply another bouquet in an endless stream of gifts, correspondence, and calls all meant for Prim.

Instead, Katniss dug through the stack of letters, rifling through the fine stationery until she found a rough envelope that looked as though it had been addressed by a child. She slit it open to reveal Haymitch's report. The groundskeeper was more than capable of taking care of the Seam, but she hated leaving the estate for so long, and she spent the week worrying about what would appear in the next report. This one held nothing good. No, she amended, the Williams had their baby, a healthy girl they had named Anne. The rest of it, though, consisted of rains that had washed out several farmers' fields and caused a leaky roof at the Seam that she had no extra money to fix.

"And I thought you weren't getting married." Her mother's words startled her.

"I'm not."

"Have you told Mister Mellark that? It's not the impression I would have walked away with, watching the two of you last night." Mother was positively beaming this morning, and though Katniss hated to break her heart, it had to be done.

"I don't see him here."

"But you have seen the flowers he sent, yes?" Oh, those were for her? Interesting. "They're lovely. Roses are beautiful, of course, but it's so nice to see a man send something else." Now that she looked at them, they were gorgeous. She hadn't seen any in such a deep shade of orange before, and the purple-brown spots that dotted the petals were new as well. They must have been terribly dear. Horrible to think that as nice of a man as Peeta had so wasted his money. "Have you read the card he sent with them?"

"You have?" True, Katniss occasionally read the cards Prim's suitors sent along with their gifts, but she didn't appreciate her mother doing the same. Surely a twenty-three-year-old woman could be trusted where a girl of seventeen could not?

Her mother ignored the question, instead pushing the letter towards her. "He's absolutely smitten, I tell you."

Katniss left it for later – not, she assured herself, because she was afraid of her reaction to its contents, but because she had no interest in Peeta Mellark or his attempts at courting her. "I'm not looking for a husband, which I'm sure Mister Mellark will soon realize."

Again, her words were ignored, a worrying trend. "He's certainly handsome, and the Mellarks are a good family. You could do worse."

"And could I do better? I imagine that would be the more important question, would it not?"

The skin around her mother's eyes crinkled when she smiled. "I imagine you would have to answer that for yourself, love."

Well, that was easy enough. Now, if only her bigger problems could be so easily solved.

A/N: I expect this will be five or six chapters long (though I am pretty terrible about estimating these things). Written for Prompts in Panem's The One That Got Away challenge.