The older man, in a black suit and a full head of salt and pepper hair, rubbed it in. “Rich…creamy.” With two fingers, he tipped her chin, and she caught the exotic scent of her family’s perfume. “It’s lovely. You’ve got it just right.”

“And it only took two and a half years to nail it. But, whatever, it’s done, and they can’t possibly say no this time.”

As if jerked by a string, they all looked down at their plates.

Rosalina’s stomach pinched with dread. “No, it’s different this time. You’ll see.”

Chef patted her shoulder. “We have all the faith in you, my love. It’s the tide of history you’re swimming against we’re worried about.”

She knew the challenge she faced—after ninety years of running a successful business off one product, her family wasn’t inclined to shake things up. But, this time, she’d come up with an idea that would fit seamlessly.

Chef offered a fork and a bowl of mixed fruit, but Rosalina couldn’t eat a thing. “I’ll be back for a proper breakfast, but right now I have to catch Marcel before he heads to the airport.” At the doorway, she turned to the staff who’d loved and protected her all her life. “And then we’ll celebrate the new product line.” Taking another bite of the croissant, she waved the jar at them with a mischievous grin.

A few rallied with warm smiles, but the others focused on their breakfast.

Well, obviously, if she went straight to her parents, they’d reject it outright. That’s why I’m going through Marcel first. Her fiancé’s father was the business manager for House of Villeneuve, and he oversaw the family’s Nocturne perfume company. Once she convinced Marcel and his father of the value of her idea, she’d let them present it to her parents.

They wouldn’t ignore advice from the people running their business.

Besides, she had a different angle this time. While at school, she’d created several truly lovely perfumes, and they’d rejected all of them. They don’t fit our brand.

This time, she’d simply expanded the product line by creating bath and body products based on the same essential oil that had been in the Villeneuve family for centuries. And she’d created proprietary ingredients to make them every bit as luxurious as the perfume itself.

She was adding to what they already had. They couldn’t say no.

As she headed down the cool hallway, her ballet flats shushed on the hundred-year-old runner. On either side, her ancestors lined up as though forming a gauntlet. You’re wasting your time, their expressions said, noses in the air.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered. Anyone who bought the perfume would want the soap and body lotion to reinforce the scent.