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I resist rolling my eyes but keep my head low, not wanting another lashing.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll find you a good wife.”
Fin scans the crowd. “How about Lady Frances Dowling?”
“She’s too old for you, love.”
Fin purses his lips, not happy with the response. “Why can’t I marry for money, like Dad did?”
Dad’s face takes on an unhealthy colour. “Enough of this. I think it’s going to rain. Let’s head home.”
26
Aidan
I can’t remember a time when I was this excited. I jog to the front door when the doorbell chimes. Caitlin is bouncing on the balls of her feet and bites her bottom lip as she clutches her overnight bag in front of her. She’s wearing her animal print skirt. I haven’t seen her in it since her first day working for me.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” I bow theatrically and step aside to let her in. It’s not really humble. It’s an old three-storey red-brick house with a large back garden set on a quiet, tree-lined street that runs all the way from Howth Road down to Dublin Bay. During the years we’ve worked together, Finbar has only been to visit me twice, and I bet he got a nosebleed both times from crossing the River Liffey. For him, this will always be the wrong side of town. The north side.
“This is amazing!” Caitlin gushes as she walks in, her head turning in every direction. I’ve done a lot to the old house, removed walls, opened it up, experimented with a mix of new and old furniture, art and colours. “It’s like a proper artist’s place.”
Her comment heats my chest. It’s only the last weeks thatI’ve started to feel like an artist again. Caitlin has rekindled my enjoyment of design – the reason I’m in the trade. Now there’s a tingling in my fingertips, an eagerness to grab a pencil and create. I can’t remember the last time I had that.
“Thank you,” I say and try to deflect from my warming cheeks by reaching for her bag. “Here, let me take your—”
“Oh gosh!” She rushes over to a painting. “Is this a Vivi Doyle?”
“It is indeed.”
I let her explore the downstairs for a little longer, allowing myself to be touched by her unreserved enthusiasm. But now it’s time to take back the reins. I grab her bag.
“You need to get out of those clothes.”
Her intake of breath is sharp. My house is forgotten as she gazes up at me with big emerald eyes.
“What?”
“For the photo shoot.”
“Where do you want to take the pictures?” she asks timidly and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“In my bedroom, on my bed.”
“On your… bed,” she repeats, her pale eyebrows creased. We may have had sex several times, but she still hasn’t lost her innocent ways. “And, um… you said you had… other clothes for me to wear?”
I grin and grab her hand. Reluctantly, she lets me lead her up the stairs to the bedroom.
She’s right to be reluctant. Although I’ve sold her the idea of the marketing images, we could have used a professional model – it wouldn’t cost that much. Caitlin doesn’t have to be portrayed half naked on posters, but I want to see Finbar’s face when he lays eyes on these images of his innocent daughter.
My bedroom is on the second floor with large windows leading out to the balcony. I’ve only set up one tripod lamp for lighting as the evening sun will cast the bed in orange hues, filtered through the leaves of the old trees that are even taller than the house.
My antique four-poster mahogany bed takes centre stage against the whitewashed walls. The only other furniture is an old chest of drawers. I don’t think Caitlin takes in any of it as her focus is locked on the garments on the white duvet.
“You want me to wearthis?”
“To begin with, yes.”
Her head snaps up. “To begin with?”
