Seraphina's Point Of View
Mom stepped inside, her eyes scanning the minimalist racks where silk dresses hung like pieces of fine art. She took one look at the velvet interior and immediately shook her head, her hand flying to Charles's forearm to pull him back. "No, Charles. Absolutely not. Let's leave. This is not for us. I am a woman who works with flour and soil, I do not need clothes that look like they belong in a museum."
"Princess," Charles growled softly, but before she could finish her sentence, he literally wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her completely off her feet, and carried her right past the bowing store manager into the private viewing salon.
"Charles! Put me down! You are making a scene!" Mom hissed, her face burning.
"I am the scene, Rita," he replied smoothly, setting her down gently on a plush velvet sofa.
