"I don't know, but we'll figure it out," Mick promised, and a little to Irina's surprise, she believed him. "In the meantime, we shop. Will you let me take you to a boutique shop I know?"
"I'm not sure 'boutique' and 'my budget' belong in the same sentence," Irina said reluctantly.
Mick nodded. "Fair enough, though if I'm shopping for you, I feel like I ought to be buying for you, too, and—" He glanced her way hesitantly, like a man who didn't want to overstep his bounds. "I can afford it. I'm not exactly David Guetta but I do better than most."
Irina squinted at him thoughtfully. "I'm considering it. Give me a price range on this boutique shop. Like, can we shop there for, I don't know, under two hundred dollars? Euros? Whatever? I think much more than that and I'd start to feel guilty or uncomfortable or something."
Mick pursed his lips. "Again, fair enough, and…maybe? I don't shop for women's clothes, mostly, so I'm not sure. Want to find out?"
After another moment's hesitation, Irina gave a quick kick of her feet and a wriggle that she couldn't contain, just at the idea of doing something as frivolous as going to a boutique shop. "Let's. It doesn't matter if we don't find anything. It'll still be fun!"
Mick's sweet grin met her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I think it will be. And then I'll take you out to a decent dinner, how's that sound?"
"Like a great evening," Irina said happily. "I can't wait."
CHAPTER 10
Sorcha'sBoutiquewas tucked into a corner of an alley off a side street, not that far from the opera house but down enough little streets that they seemed worlds apart. It didn't make a fuss about itself, with a plain storefront and nothing to say it catered to people with money to spend except the quality of the dresses and suits in the window. But as Mick pushed the door open with a quiet jangle of bells, he was struck, as always, by the subtle but obvious signsinsidethat this was a place to drop a lot of cash. The carpet was soft, plush, quieting; the air was cool with a faint citrus scent and the richer scent of fresh coffee, and the seating was generous and comfortable.
The shop also went back for absolutemiles, which was one of the hidden gems of Irish storefronts: they were small and narrow from the front, but could be as deep as the whole block. A smaller floor upstairs was reserved for menswear, but the first floor was rich with fabrics that rustled with the door's breeze, and with dresses that caught the eye all the way back to the expansive changing rooms. Irina, a step behind him, inhaled with a sound that suggested she was ready to back right outagain. Mick couldn't quite blame her. He'd kind of felt the same way the first…well, several times, honestly, that he'd been there.
Before Irina could make an escape, though, Sorcha, the owner, said, "Mick!" in delight, as she appeared from an office just off the main floor. She was a rangy woman who fell into the age range of 'old enough to be his mother,' but whether that meant she was forty-five or sixty was a mystery to Mick. Her thick hair had artful grey in it, her clothing was impeccable, and her eyes lit up as she caught a glimpse of Irina. "You've never brought me a woman to dress! It's about time, Michael Mahoney!"
Irina, who still had the vibe of somebody prepared to bolt, was taken aback enough to laugh and relax. "'Michael?'"
"Mick is short for Michael," Mick mumbled. "Nobody calls me that except me mam when she's mad at me, and Sorcha here. Sorcha, this is my friend Irina. I'm taking her shopping."
"Oh, well done," Sorcha said to Irina. "He's got a good eye, this one. What is it you're looking for?"
Irina looked slightly mortified, saying, "Affordable but cute?" as Mick said, "The perfect dinner dress."
Sorcha's gaze bounced between them, humor sparkling in her eyes. "I think we can manage both. You're a size ten?" she said to Irina, who now looked taken aback.
"Six?"
"Americans," Sorcha announced in a tone of despair, and as Irina's eyebrows drew down, gentled her tone with a smile. "We've different sizing conventions, that's all. A six in the States is a ten here, generally."
"Oh." Irina's eyebrows went up a little. "Then I'm impressed that you were able to eyeball that."
"It's my job," Sorcha said cheerfully. "Let's talk about color, length, and fabrics."
Irina eyed Mick as if this was all beyond her ability to cope with, and he couldn't help a smile. "You get used to it," he promised. "But can I take a guess?"
"Oh, be my guest." Irina sounded as if she couldn't decide if she was amused or horrified. Somewhere in between, maybe.Nervous, Mick thought.
She has no need to be nervous,his gorilla said calmly.We're here to protect her.
I know, but remember how nervous I was the first time I tried shopping for something better than Marks & Spencer's,Mick reminded it.It's a whole new thing. She'll be fine. Sorcha's grand so. But it's kind of nerve-wracking at first.Aloud, he said, "Short dresses, clear colors, no muddy tones. Room to move a little? And I don't know at all what kinds of fabrics you're into," he admitted.
"Neither do I, but you're right about the rest of it." Irina gave Sorcha a nervous smile. "I don't like that scrunchy fabric that feels like grit when you rub it, but I don't even know what it's called."
"Acetate," Sorcha said with confidence. "I don't care for it my own self. And," she said more carefully, "what do we consider affordable? Just so we're working within the same range here?"
"Two hundred euros," Irina said promptly, while Mick made a little face that indicated he thought it could be more, but that the lady's wishes should be honored.
Sorcha smiled at both of them, then swept Irina back through the shop. "How much time have you?"
"Um. Until dinner?" Irina looked around as if she was searching for a clock, but there weren't any in the posh little salon. It was only about half three, though, and Sorcha nearly clapped with delight.
