“Who left us dinner?” I ask, ignoring the rumbling in my stomach.
“The couple who I’ve employed as caretakers for the house. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home, and I’m afraid they’ve gone overboard as a result. Humor me about this, and I’ll take you on a tour after you’ve eaten. They’re good people.”
As he speaks, I see a curtain flutter in a window, and my stomach growls again. He’s not wrong about eating. I’m starving, having slept most of the flight.
“Food sounds wonderful,” I answer.
Aiden nods to the driver, who moves to the trunk to unload our luggage. He takes my hand again and leads me to the red front door. When I pull away, he looks at me but doesn’t comment.
The house isn’t much to speak of from the outside, but the breathtaking landscape overshadows it. The red door is the only punch of color against acres of gray stone and fields of tall sage-green grass. With Aiden’s hand now pressed against my back (I swear now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop touching me), I step through and find a small vestibule with several pairs of black rain boots lined near a closet door like little soldiers. Next to them is a small table, where he tosses his wallet and keys before he moves to the left through a doorway.
I follow, taking in my quaint surroundings, feeling a little off balance and out of place.
This home is nothing like I would have imagined him to possess. It’s homey, quaint. Comfortable. I associate him with the elegance and opulence of his life in New Orleans. With gambling, guns, and blood. Machinations and manipulation.
My head reels as we enter the main rooms, skirting around a cozy staircase that leads to the second floor. Had his parents stayed here? Grandparents? What would his life have looked like if he hadn’t been born into the Irish mob?
A sweet older couple greets us, giving him a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. I barely hear their words but offer a nicesmile to them as they walk him through the house, presumably updating him on the amenities. I’m too busy feeling jet-lagged and off-kilter to be more welcoming than a cursory hello.
I study the space and try to reconcile it with the man I thought I’ve always known. Had he ever been allowed to spend his days here?
A giant wall of stone divides the main living space, the living room on the far side and the dining room and kitchen nearest the front door. A double-sided fireplace is in the center, filling the room with a crackling warmth. All around are large floor-to-ceiling windows with views over the pastures that have incredible vistas of the cliffs.
My heart lifts at the sight. Traveling had never been very far up on my father’s list of priorities. It was too dangerous. Too inconvenient. Didn’t work with school or his campaign schedule. Then I had college and law school. There had never been time for anything I wanted when his needs were so big they blotted out everything else.
Maybe I can slip away while Aiden is doing… whatever it is he has to do. I can go to town and play tourist. Pretend I’m here with my mother and visit the cliffs. My heart aches for her so badly that I can feel it deep in my bones.
“Catriona.” Aiden’s voice breaks me from the melancholy.
I turn to find him with his hands shoved inside his pockets, standing next to the dining room table. “Yes?”
“Dinner’s ready. Guinness stew. Sit and I’ll bring you a bowl.”
“I can make it myself.”
He gives me an unimpressed look. “Do you always have to fight me? Sit down so I can feed you before you collapse.”
Now that I’m paying attention, the rich, savory scent of stew fills my nose and washes away any of my complaints. So I do as he says, but only because my stomach twists uncomfortably and I’m practically drooling.
He sets a large bowl, crusty bread, and a bottle of apple cider down on the table in front of me. I tuck in without a word, nearly moaning at how good it tastes. Because I’m not seated at a table with my father or his guests, I don’t bother with being ladylike. I finish the meal in under ten minutes.
When I look up, he hasn’t touched his food, and he’s pressed back in his seat, watching.
Always watching.
“What?” I ask, on edge, angry with myself for forgetting he was here, even for a second.
He clears his throat, unable to meet my gaze for once. “I’m going to touch base with Cian tomorrow. He’ll want us over for dinner soon. So you have plenty of time to rest and settle in before then. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but the caretakers’ number is on the fridge, and Bren and Tadhg will be close by if you need them.”
“Of course. I’ll be fine.”
The corner of his mouth lifts and crosses to me to press a sad smile into the top of my hair, which I try to ignore. “Try not to give them the slip. Don’t leave the property without them, do you understand?” I’m glad I’m looking in the opposite direction so I can roll my eyes without him seeing.
“Of course. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I shouldn’t be long.”
“Just don’t come back with more tattoos of my name all over you. Or maybe you want to do my portrait this time, really drive it home how obsessed you are with me.”
