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My mouth drops open.
Fin turns, then poses next to the poster, pushing his chestout with a self-satisfied smirk.
I step closer, unable to take my eyes off the image.
I finally manage to squeak some words past my lips. “Ireneis your model?”
Fin runs his hand through his dark hair and lifts his chin. “We want to widen the horizon, ensure it hits the target group of people with money.Maturepeople.”
“It’s very pretty, Fin.”
“I know,” is Junior’s response to his sister’s compliment.
I have to agree. Irene’s blue eyes match the blue sapphire that has been attached to the jewellery thatIdesigned. It’s neither a bad photo nor a bad design idea, but that’s not what’s catching my attention.
“Yourmotheris your model, and your photo location isMolly Malone?”
“It’s perfect. Beautiful mature woman and well-known female cultural significance.”
“Your mother and TheTart with the Cart?” Fins cheeks turn pink as I mention the local nickname of the Molly Malone statue, based on the famous song about a woman selling shellfish by day but her body at night. I grin. “You’re right, it is perfect! And your mother is showing just as much cleavage as good old Molly.”
Laughter is bubbling inside of me, but I keep it in check.
“Well, what have you got?” Fin snarls.
I glance down at Caitlin. She bites her lip and hides her hands in the folds of her long skirt.
“Let’s do this,” I say and wink at her, and together we pull up the two backdrop posters, attaching them to the stands. I wanted to do it while Finbar was here, but as usual, he’s already out smooching with buyers. He’s good at that – better than Iam – but he’s always selling the wrong idea or product.
Fin lets out a high-pitched squeal.
Covering his mouth with both hands, his gaze shift back and forth between the posters. One is a close-up of his sister’s flushed face and the other a full-body photo with her hugging her knees on my messed-up bed. My white shirt is slightly askew on her, showing off the white bra strap on one shoulder, and the necklace sticking to her damp skin. It’s her eyes, though, in both images, that draw you in. No matter how sensual her pose, there’s an innocence in her hooded gaze.
“I-I’m telling Dad!” Fin squeaks, and then the little squealer is off.
“Um… I-I’m not sure about this.” Caitlin watches her brother run, her cheeks pale, worrying her lip.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promise. “Everyone will love the posters. You look edible on them.”
“I don’t feel so well.”
“It’s just stress,” I say, but furrow my brows. She does appear more pale than usual. “I’ll go get us some tea to settle the nerves. Why don’t you start arranging the table display.”
31
Caitlin
“What the… What the hell is this?”
The pale green box drops from my hand.
Dad’s hissing voice is followed by a loud gasp that I know belongs to my mother.
“I told you!” Fin announces.
I turn slowly, afraid of what I’ll see. Dad’s face is more red than usual and Mum’s jaw is hanging open. Both gazes are flicking between the two screens. The screens with the images of me on Aidan’s bed. They’ll not know it’s Aidan’s bed, of course. I hope they think it’s taken in some studio. Still, with my parted lips and the white shirt sticking to my damp skin, it’s quite scandalous.
“Caitlin, how could you… you look like a… slut!”
