Chapter 7
DOMINIC
Igive Aoife a tour of the house, with my hands wedged firmly in my pockets to stop myself doing something stupid like touching her hair, or her hand, or any other part of her.
I show her the extensive gym which I work out in almost every morning.
The lavish dining room overlooking the pool and the outdoor lounge area.
The drawing room. The cinema room with its eighty inch screen and plush, low set dove grey suede couch.
She takes it all in quietly. I imagine she’s still struggling to process all that’s happened today.
But once she settles in, she’ll see our arrangement will benefit both of us.
She gets protection. I get to kill Kavanagh. Everyone’s a winner.
‘Help yourself to anything.’ I motion for her to step into the library. ‘This is your home now. I know it isn’t what you would have chosen, but I want you to be happy here.’
‘Wow.’ For the first time since we met, her entire face lights up. Bright blue eyes practically double in size as she takes in row upon row of books lining the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
‘I can’t believe you have a library,’ she exclaims enthusiastically.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Her full lips pop open, but she clamps a hand over them before she can blurt out whatever she’s thinking. Maybe there’s hope for that mouth of hers yet. What would it feel like around my… no, Dom, just no.
I clear my throat. ‘You read?’ I can’t claim to have read many of the books in here, but the interior designer I hired to help me decorate this place—Zara Beckett, sister of my good friend Sean—insisted an opulent library was a necessity.
Now, as I witness Aoife’s smile, I can see precisely why.
It’s the first real one I’ve seen, and it stirs something in my chest. Something that makes me want to see it again.
‘Getting out of my own head, away from reality is the only thing that got me through my grief when Jason died,’ she says; her smile is rapidly replaced with a frown. She turns her attention to the bookshelves again.
She looks so young, but she’s clearly endured so much already. A fresh burst of rage at how her father could marry her off to a monster like Kavanagh ripples over my skin.
‘How old are you, Aoife?’ As we speak, my men are at her house pulling passports, documents, anything that ties her to Kavanagh. Another team is scraping every digital footprint she’s ever left. By nightfall, I’ll know exactly who I’ve just brought into my world.
Well, not quite everything. I won’t know what she likes. What she avoids. What makes her fight. What makes her stay.
And for reasons that have nothing to do with this arrangement… I find myself wanting to.
She tears her eyes from the bookshelves to look at me. ‘Twenty-two. What about you?’
‘Thirty five. Though some days I feel fifty-five,’ I admit. The weight of running The Syndicate is heavy. It never stops. But it’s part and parcel of keeping control of the city. And if we don’t, someone far worse will take over.
‘Some days I feel older than I am, too.’ She drags her fingers through her glossy curls. ‘Usually after pulling an all-nighter to get an assignment done, then facing a double shift at the café. It was worse for the months I was on placement.’
The woman is clearly a grafter. I respect that more than she’ll ever know, but while she’s here under my care, things will be very different. ‘What kind of placement?’
‘Teaching.’
‘Impressive.’
She shrugs, then turns her attention back to the books.
‘Pick out as many as you want. Take them upstairs. I’m sure you could do with a rest. It’s been one hell of a day.’
She trails her fingers slowly over the book spines until she finds one she wants and whips it out.
Tess of the d’Urbervilles.
Why am I not surprised?
‘I’ve read it before.’ She holds it up. ‘But I’ll take comfort where I can get it today.’ Her irises flash with a steely determination.
A slow smile pulls at my mouth.
There it is.
That flash fire I knew was in there somewhere.
The penny drops.
She reminds me of myself fifteen years ago.
I had a choice to make. Sign up to a lifetime of misery, a life that would never be my own, or take matters into my own hands.
I chose the latter. And given the way she ran out on Kavanagh, so did she.
‘Very appropriate.’ I guide her out of the library, past my office. I don’t show her inside. Frankly, the weapons hanging on my wall would probably terrify her, and she’s just starting to relax a little. I point out the door beside it though. ‘That’s a panic room. Not that you’ll ever need it.’
Her forehead creases with little lines of worry. ‘Why do you have it then?’
‘Just in case.’ I motion for her to move on, but she stares at it for another few seconds. ‘I told you I’ll protect you and I will.’
Her eyes meet mine then. Finally she nods.
We pass through the hall and up the wide sweeping staircase to my bedroom—our bedroom. I hover outside the door, placing a hand on the handle. ‘This is our room.’
It’s not ideal, but there’s no other choice.
It’s going to be hard enough to convince my family our relationship is real when they finally find out who she was betrothed to.
I can’t have the staff, especially Sheila, my housekeeper, in any doubt that Aoife and I are the real deal.
It’s literally a case of life and death, given Frankie’s outdated rule.
When Ciaran said, ‘It’s your funeral,’ he wasn’t referring to Kavanagh coming after me. He was referring to our uncle.
Her eyes narrow. ‘Why can’t I take a guest room?’
‘I told you, my family have to truly believe you’re one of us.
That our marriage is real. And that means looking like a couple.
Acting like a couple. Behaving like a couple.
If my Uncle Frankie finds out what I’ve done, there will be war.
And I can’t fight him and Kavanagh and his crew at the same time. ’
‘Is Frankie going to check the bedsheets too?’ she blurts, horror hanging on her every word. ‘How will he, or anyone else, know if we don’t sleep in the same bed?’
‘They’ll know, trust me. Sheila might be my housekeeper, but she’s Mama K’s best friend.’
She frowns. ‘Why do you all call her Mama K? I assume she is your mother?’
‘Technically, she’s my aunt, but everyone calls her Mama K. She raised us all after my mam passed.’ My molars slam together. Pass is too gentle a world to describe what the previous syndicate did to my mother, but I’ll spare my new fiancée the gory details.
Empathy touches her eyes for a split second before they dart back to the bedroom door.
I push it open and motion for her to go in.
Floor to ceiling windows overlook the grounds and the Wicklow Mountains in the distance.
Double doors open onto a large terrace punctuated with outdoor seats and a gas firepit.
Aoife gasps as she drinks in the plush four-poster bed, the ice white sheets covered with a mountain of pillows. Her eyes linger on the large leather couch pushed against the far wall.
‘I’ll take it, don’t worry.’
‘No, I will.’ Her throat works as she swallows. ‘You can’t give up your bed for me.’
‘You’ve just given up a year of your life for me.’ I snort. ‘I think it’s only fair.’
She looks down at her dress like she’s only just realising she doesn’t have anything but the clothes on her back.
‘Help yourself to a shower or a bath. Whatever you want. There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door.’ I point to one of the two wide set doors beside each other. ‘That’s the ensuite. The walk-in wardrobe is beside it. You can put your stuff in there.’
‘I don’t have any stuff,’ she waves a hand in front of herself.
‘Sheila’s gone to pick up some clothes for you.’ I back away from her, towards the doorway, and rest a hand on the thick wooden frame.
‘Do you have many staff?’ She tugs her dress higher in a feeble attempt to cover her generous cleavage. I tear my eyes away, but not before the image sears itself to my brain.
‘Lots, between the businesses, but in the house there’s Sheila, several cleaners, and a cook. There’s also a groundskeeper, and six security staff stationed around the edge of the property.’
‘What if one of them lets it slip that I’m here? Tells Rory?’ Her throat works as she swallows. ‘That’s a lot of prying eyes.’
‘It is, but they’re loyal to my family.’ I fold my arms across my chest.
She walks towards the window, pressing her fingertips to the glass. She needs some space to process. And so do I. Getting engaged wasn’t on today’s agenda, but I’m not one to kick a gift horse when it bursts into my bar.
‘Dinner will be ready at six.’ I tap my hand off the doorframe. ‘See you in the dining room.’ It’s not a request. ‘If we’re going to put on a convincing show, we’re going to have to get comfortable in each other’s company.’
‘Comfortable enough to share a bedroom, apparently.’ She harrumphs, and I snort.
Oh, there’s a firecracker beneath her shocked outer shell, and I can’t wait to coax it out.