In this scenario’s genre, it seed the mold of Cecilia’s and Eastiel’s pair was a rich woman and a handso ordinary man.
You see, a lady in a gown, fresh from a billionaire’s divorce, stepping out of a beat-up truck with a golden-haired welder who looked like he had walked off a garage exhibition photoshoot.
Quite scandalous indeed.
Eastiel, for his part, did not seem to care. He led her down the street like he knew exactly where he was going, pausing at the windows of boutiques so she could look inside and choose.
Cecilia didn’t have ti to appreciate the architecture this ti. But as they walked, she noticed things in fragnts. There were buildings that looked old by this world’s standards, like brick and stone and weathered facades that spoke of decades, perhaps centuries, of use.
And there were newer buildings, sleek and geotric, their surfaces gleaming with the sa strange, poured-stone material she had noticed in the hospital. Old and new, side by side. History and future, compressed into a single street.
She looked through the windows of the boutiques they passed. Most of them were curated to within an inch of their lives, each garnt arranged precisely, suggesting touching anything would summon a stern-faced attendant. Also sa old. The world she knew also had these kinds of boutiques.
Eastiel watched her hesitate, and decided to take initiative. "Co on," he said, and his hand found the small of her back. He steered her toward a storefront with a na displayed in elegant, understated lettering. Max Mara. "There are casual things here too. Don’t worry."
Cecilia looked at the window. The clothing was simpler than the other boutiques. Cleaner lines, softer colors. But usually these styles scread silent wealth, and she could hear it. She nodded, allowing herself to be guided toward the entrance.
Then she paused.
"I wonder," she suddenly thoughtfully said, tilting her head and looking up at Eastiel with wide, guileless eyes, "will there be underwear here too?"
Eastiel stumbled.
His actual, physical feet caught on the actual, physical pavent, and he lurched forward, his arms pinwheeling for balance.
"Underwate—wea—"
Pause.
His brain, which had been doing such an admirable job of maintaining composure, simply... stopped. The word underwear had entered his ears and short-circuited every higher function.
He froze right there. On the fashion street, in front of the Max Mara where people walk past, turning their heads, looking.
"Eastiel?"
Cecilia waved her hand in front of his face, her expression still perfectly innocent.
Ehehe.
"My job—" Eastiel said, strangled and high-pitched, trying very hard to recover his dignity. "—my job is an underwater welder, yes, yes, I told you this already."
He glared at her, his cheeks flushing beneath their golden tan. Clearly, he couldn’t believe she was talking about underwear in public. "I thought you knew your brands already, Princess. That thing you want, we go to a different store later, hm?"
It seed he clocked it out that she was teasing him since he thought she already knew about all the luxury nas. He was right... though he was wrong about Cecilia knowing brands.
His ears had turned a very distinct shade of pink. The fur was thick enough to hide most of it, but the delicate inner skin, the part that caught the light when he turned his head, was undeniably blushing.
Ehehe.
Inside the boutique, once again, they beca the center of attention.
The saleswon, elegant creatures in sleek black attire that matched the understated luxury of the brand, turned toward the door with polished smiles. They were professionals who had seen every kind of custor. The rich, the famous, the rely curious, and knew exactly how to handle each one.
Then they saw Eastiel.
Then they saw Cecilia.
Then they saw Eastiel’s grease-stained overalls and his callused hands and his golden, magazine-cover face, and they saw Cecilia’s rumpled erald ballgown.
The polished smiles flickered just for a mont. And Cecilia noticed. The head saleswoman, a tall, silver-haired woman whose na tag read Margot, recovered first, her expression smoothing back into professional welco.
"Welco. Please let us know if you require any assistance."
The other saleswon busied themselves with tasks that didn’t need doing, their eyes flicking toward the mismatched couple discreetly. Insatiable curiosity plagued their eyes, and that couldn’t be entirely suppressed by training.
But Cecilia had decided that she would face this as usual. She had been stared at before, after all.
So she turned to Eastiel and reached up, hooking her fingers into the front of his overalls, and pulled him slightly toward her.
"Baby," she called softly. "Choose for ."
The boutique went very, very quiet.
Eastiel’s eyes blanked completely.
Ba—
The syllable didn’t even finish forming in his mind. His lion ears, already pink-tipped from the earlier incident, flushed a deeper, more vibrant shade. His tail, which had been swaying, froze mid-swing and then began wagging in a fast, erratic tempo.
The saleswon watched and Margot’s eyebrow arched by a microter.
"S-sure." Eastiel’s voice cracked on the word. He tried again. "Sure. Try this one."
He grabbed a garnt from the nearest rack without looking at it, a beige cashre wrap coat of exceptional quality that would, by pure dumb luck, look stunning on her.
He thrust it toward the nearest saleswoman, trying to regain control of a situation that had spiraled far beyond his grasp. "That one. And—" He turned, his golden eyes scanning the boutique. "—that one. The cream sweater. The wide-leg trousers. The—" He pointed at a silk blouse, a wool skirt, a pair of tailored pants draped over a display. "—all of it. No. Wait."
He stopped. Turned back to Cecilia. His eyes, still slightly glazed, t hers.
"Let us buy everything, hm?"
Cecilia blinked.
Eh?
The saleswon straightened. Margot’s other eyebrow rose to join the first.
This was a bit too far, no...?
"East... iel?"
"The grey coat," he continued, having apparently moved past the point of restraint entirely. "The cashre set in the window. The—what is this, silk?—the silk blouse in ivory. The trousers that match. The—do you have shoes here? Max Mara have shoes, right?"
"Eastiel."
He stopped. Turned. Looked at her with those golden eyes.
"Yes, Miss Araceli?"
Cecilia sighed. This man... was still a very excited man when it cos to her.
"Just a few outfits. Not the entire store."
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