"I can't have you," Finnick whispered, pressing a soft, parting kiss to Rose's forehead, "because you'll always be Snows, not mine."
Rhoswen (Rose) Snow is the daughter of President Snow, who rescued her from a homeless, destitute life in District...
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She was in the rose garden. Her father's rose garden.
Rose grazed her fingers against the roses. Most were white, but there were a couple specks of red or blue here and there. She touched their silky buds, fingering the petals, careful to avoid the thorns.
One would think that with all the roses she'd interacted with in her lifetime that she'd get sick of the flowers, sick of their cloying smell. But no, she always adored them. She inhaled deeply, remembering her father's chuckle as he hugged her tightly to his chest and kissed her brow. Of when he would laugh at something she said, ruffling her dark hair and saying how smart she was. She'd associate the flowers with good, with love. That was what roses represented afterall, love.
She had been named after a white rose. Rhoswen. That was what her name meant. She wasn't sure what her name had been before. Maybe Oceania or something. Or possibly even worse. Sandy. She shuddered at the thought, giggling.
Arms wrapped around her waist from behind and a familiar warmth engulfed her, followed by a familiar set of lips pressed to her jaw. Rose sighed and leaned into Finnick's touch, leaning her head back into the space between his neck and shoulder.
"What are you laughing about, my love?" he asked.
"Does everyone in district four name their kids silly things?"
"Like what? Finnick?"
Rose giggled, twirling around in his arms. "I like your name."
Finnick grinned, leaning forward to kiss the tip of her nose. "Oh I know you do," he said. "You moaned it twenty times last night to ensure that fact."
She glared at him. "Pretty sure you moaned mine thirty."
Finnick shrugged. "Probably. Who knew the precious capitol daughter could do such a thing with her tongue." He cupped her jaw, swiping his thumb over her cheekbone. "I guess it's not only good for waxing poetic about her father and his lovely capitol."
Rose rolled her eyes, her gaze darting out to the greenhouse windows. "Said father could be up here any minute," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Ah, and I doubt he wants to see you hanging limp with lust in my arms amongst his rosebeds," Finnick muttered, leaning down to kiss her neck. Rose's knees went weak as he bit down on the spot, soothing it with a sweep of his tongue. "I guess we're just going to have to do this quickly then."
Rose's eyes popped open and she had just parted her lips to ask what he meant when suddenly he was twirling her around and pressing her up against the glass of the greenhouse, his hand cupping her neck, thumb twirling over her pulse point.
"God I love it when it does that around me," Finnick murmured, feeling her heart pound inside her artery.
"Finn, we can't. This is glass. Anyone can walk by and see."
