The lady nods and removes it from the display case, laying it on a green felt mat that she lays on top of the glass counter. Seamus leans in and whistles.
“It’s very pretty.”
I shrug. It’s a sizable diamond but not ridiculous, which is good because Andie would laugh outright at any obscenely huge diamond. It’s rectangular, with lots of little round diamonds surrounding it, set in yellowy gold, and the slim band is also shiny yellowy gold.
“Andie will like this one.” I nod to the saleswoman, who beams at me.
“And the sizing?”
I freeze. Christ. I didn’t think of that. Squinting at the woman’s hands, I shake my head. Seamus calls all the other saleswomen over. I look over their hands. A petite woman is wearing a badge that says she is in training. I point to her.
“Andie’s hands are about her size.”
The young woman blushes but obligingly moves over and tries the ring on. It’s a good fit for her, so it will probably fit Andie.
“I’ll take it.”
The first saleswoman packages it up and hands me the bag. Immediately I pull the ring box out and tuck it into the inner breast pocket of my jacket. Now I’ve found Andie the perfect ring, I’m not about to fucking lose it.
Seamus claps me on the back as we leave the store.
“Now you’ve just got to ask her,” the prick smirks at me. I flip him off.
The asshole didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or any of that shite. Just turned up to marry the woman of his dreams. Lucky bastard.
Niall’s eyes sweep over us as we climb into the SUV. He pulls out of the shopping mall parking lot, the disapproval rolling off him as we drive to Novikov’s Back Bay apartment. It’s not far from where Paddy used to live in his self-imposed shitbox.
“You can always stay in the SUV, Niall,” I offer. A growl rumbles out of him.
“I go where Fitzy goes.”
“He can stay here too.”
Seamus scoffs. “Not fucking happening, Lucky. I’m not about to let you walk in there alone.”
“They’re not our enemies.”
“They’re not our family.”
I roll my eyes but allow them to trail me into the building. The doorman calls up, turning obsequious at whatever response is given.
“Right this way, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
We are led to an elevator, where an imposing Russian acts as a bellhop. He glowers at us the entire trip to the penthouse level. Another guard stands at the highly polished front door, nodding as he opens it, allowing us entry. Neither follows us in, though both keep their eyes glued to Niall. A visit from the Reaper is never taken lightly.
The spacious reception area is bathed in sunlight, shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls and ceiling are stark white, allowing the sunlight to be the feature, playing across the highly polished hardwood floors, so dark they are almost black.
We stop walking on a sand-colored wave rug, our eyes lingering on the abstract paintings and sculptures peppered around the room.
Within minutes, a door opens at the other end of the room, a hulking guard stepping through, eyes latching onto Niall as Novikov walks into the room. Despite being half a head shorter than his six-foot-six bodyguard, Novikov exudes a quiet danger, drawing eyes away from the man mountain to him.
“Fitzpatrick. I see you brought company.”
“I see you did too.”
Novikov’s eyes flicker over his companion, and he smirks, raising a hand in an open-palmed gesture toward an open archway.
“Please, come in. Sit. Drink.”