"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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Ten years before the events of The Hunger Games
Rhoswen hated fish.
She knew she was supposed to like it, being from district four and all, but staring out at the platter of fish she felt nausea bubble up in her belly and she had to clench her jaw to keep from vomiting right all over the red linen and gold plates.
Snow would've been mad if she did that. He told her she was perfect, so she believed him. Well, why wouldn't she? He was her father, the President. He knew what he was talking about. And perfection didn't consist of spewing over table sets.
Its eyes wouldn't stop staring at her though. It wasn't dead, but actually still flopping around. It sat on a tray of water, not enough to let it be comfortable, but enough to keep it alive. It's mouth was agape, it's fins slapping against the tray, barely audible over the music weaving through the mansion. But she could hear it. It wouldn't stop ringing in her ears.
Laughter bubbled up to her left and she watched as women in large wigs and hats and men in colorful suits and makeup to match all talked and laughed over plates of food and drinks with fizzy bubbles. She couldn't imagine what could be so funny. She wished she was talking with them. Even though she knew the conversation would be intolerable. It'd beat staring at the suffering fish.
"I can't tell if you want to eat it or stab it," a voice said. Rose's eyes flickered upwards to see a boy smiling at her from across the table. He had sandy blonde hair and tan skin. His eyes stole the breath from her lungs. They were a stunning green color. The shade the sea was when it met the shore. Rose had never been to the beach, but staring into his gaze brought her as close as she figured she'd ever be.
Rose felt her eyes widen and her mouth open, then close. The boy grinned, a smile that brought heat flooding behind her cheekbones. She recognized that grin. But he was not just a boy with pretty eyes but the entire reason for this evening.
Finnick Odair. He had won the most recent sixty-fifth hunger games.
"It's your fault," she said, crossing her arms.
His brows rose, an amused spark still amidst the sea in his gaze. "What's my fault?"
"The fish." She said it like it was common knowledge because it sort of was. Maybe he was dumb, or all the tanning lotion got to his head. Because no one was that tan naturally.
"I fish but I didn't kill that fish." He pointed a finger at the strained being on the platter. Rose wasn't quite sure what type it was, but it had pretty scales. Iridescent. Like the fabric Rose saw some women in the capital wear. She wondered if they used the fish for their dresses. She swallowed down another wave of nausea.
Her brows furrowed. "He's not dead."
"He might as well be."
Rose pursed her lips. "I meant it's your fault he's here in the first place. If we weren't celebrating you then he'd probably be back in the ocean with his family."
