“Mum said no one has ever called me by my first name so I've always assumed that even as a baby they could tell I wasn't an Arabella, a name with loops and flourishes in black-inked calligraphy; a name that contains within it girls called Bella or Bells or Belle - so many beautiful possibilities. No, from the start I was clearly a Beatrice, sensible and unembellished in Times New Roman, with no one hiding inside.”

“Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.”

“The great William Shakespeare said, "What's in a name?" He also said, "Call me Billy one more time and I will stab you with this ink quill.”

“Hell’s bells. I don’t call him the Fist of God as a pet name, folks.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Jocelyn?" I made sure my tone wasn't argumentative, just curious. Because I was curious.His lips touched mine, soft, gentle, and he pulled back, those pale blue eyes of his bright with heat. "Joss is a girl's name. Possibly a tomboy's name." He smirked. "Jocelyn, on the other hand, is a woman's name. A really sexy woman's name." He pulled back."So strip Jocelyn."Okay. He could call me Jocelyn.”

“Mums answer is so unexpected and I am a litte stunned, actually. I wonder whether, had I known the reason for my name as a child, I would have tried to live up to it. Instead of being a failed Arabella, I might have become a Shakespearean plucky Beatrice.”