“Perry … do you, umm …” How the fuck do I even ask this? “Do you think my name is Clare?” His eyebrows crumple in confusion. “Yes?” “Clare being my whole name. And saint being the title?” His lips twitch, but not like he’s about to shout, “Got you,” and more like he’s worried about my mental well-being. “Yes. That is what you’ve been answering to.” “My name is St. Clare.” “I know.” “Reilly St. Clare.”
