Page 17 of Songbird
Like that.
Her lips tremble with a grateful smile, and I jerk my head in the direction of the loft.
“Bed,” I order. “For both of us.”
“Okay.” She pads lightly across the room and sets one foot on the ladder, then pauses and watches me closely. “Finn? I want to tell you something. My name’s not really Rosalie. It’s the name they gave me when they signed me because my real name wasn’t pretty enough.” She scrunches her nose to show what she thinks of that decision. “My real name is Rosanna.”
I could pretend I didn’t already know that, but I just promised her to always be honest. “Actually, I already knew. It was in your file when I took the job as your bodyguard.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
Her disappointment is an itch in the middle of my back, and the only way to scratch it is to find another way to share something honest.
“Just because the world calls you Rosalie doesn’t mean I have to,” I say. “Tell me what name you want to use while you’re here, and that’s what I’ll call you.”
Her eyes drop to where her fingers tweak the hem of my shirt, and her smile turns wistful. “My grandmother used to call me Rosie, and that’s the only name that’s ever really felt like mine, but it’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”
“Would it be okay if I called you Rosie?”
She tilts her head, and the quiet is loud enough that I can hear my pulse in my ears.
“It would be more than okay,” she says.
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Okay.” The shape of her name passes silently across her lips before they tug up with satisfaction. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She climbs the ladder, and when she’s safe at the top, I switch off the lamp downstairs. Once I’m stretched out on the couch in the dark, her light, lilting voice floats down from the loft. “Good night, Finn.”
I heave in a breath and close my eyes, and with the type of fatigue that feels a lot like a reason to get up in the morning, I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
“Good night, Rosie.”
six
Finn
Thesoundofmyphone ringing wakes me the next morning. I reach for it blindly as it skitters across the coffee table and put it to my ear without checking the caller ID.
“Yeah?”
Too late I remember to keep my voice low, and I glance up to the loft to see if I’ve woken Rosalie.Rosie.
“Finn?” says a man’s voice on the other end of the line. “It’s Drew. I’m calling about your email. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
I sit up, rubbing my eyes, suddenly wide awake. “No,” I reply in a hushed voice. “I’m up. Just, uh… give me a minute?”
“Sure. No problem.”
With another fast look at the loft and no way to tell if Rosie is still sleeping, I wrap a blanket around my hips and take my phone outside to the porch. Dakota follows and waits at the top of the steps for me to carry her down, and I heave all sixty pounds of her to the yard.
“Drew?” I say into the phone, shadowing Dakota as she sniffs at the ground. “Sorry. I’m here. You got my email?”
“I did.” Drew’s voice is a lot like Jack’s used to be. The timbre is the same, and the way he pronounces certain syllables. It’s heartbreaking and comforting at the same time. “Your timing is… interesting.”
My muscles tense. “How do you mean?”
