The thick stone walls of the castle muffled sound, so she only heard the quiet conversation when she reached the grand parlor. Shoot. She didn’t want to get pulled into one of her mother’s meetings. Hanging back, she peered into the room crammed with antique furniture, the walls covered in trompe l’oeil murals.

Sitting demurely on the embroidered sofa, her mother spoke quietly to a woman in a pastel-colored skirt and beige flats. On the glass coffee table, tea service had been set with fine china and silver.

Having only just crested the corner of the parlor, Rosalina figured she could quietly step back before being noticed.

“Oh, darling, there you are.” Her mother got up, gesturing toward the guest. “I’d like you to meet Marguerite, the wedding planner.”

The shock hit her system like a car crash. Wedding planner? For one unbearably long moment, she heard the ticking grandfather clock as if it were inside her head.

But, of course, she snapped out of it and shifted into full princess mode. Flipping on her royal smile, she gave the woman a nod. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, your Highness.”

“Come.” Her mother strode purposefully out of the room. “She’s brought her portfolio and samples.”

“Unfortunately, this isn’t a good time. I’m already late for my meeting with Marcel.” If only she’d brought her phone with her, but she’d left it charging in her bedroom before heading to the lab that morning. Please don’t go until I talk to you.

“This won’t take but a moment.” Her mother’s low heels clacked across the marble foyer. “It’s just a preliminary meeting.”

Rosalina stopped just under the massive crystal chandelier. “Mother.”

Her mother slowly turned to her, one brow arched. No one used that tone to speak to Her Serene Highness the Princess of St. Christophe.

But, while her mother’s haughty expression made her cringe—she would normally never challenge her mother publicly—she truly couldn’t spare a moment. “Marguerite, I’m so sorry I don’t have time to discuss my wedding plans right now, but I do look forward to working with you.”

“Of course.” The woman reached into her tote and pulled out a thin silver case. Plucking a white card out of it, she handed it over. “Please call me at your convenience, and we can get started. I’ll leave my portfolio with you.”

“Perfect.” Rosalina tucked the card into the pocket of her capri pants. “Thank you.”

As her mother walked the wedding planner to the door, Rosalina spun back around and headed for the stairs. As excited as she was about her formula, she didn’t actually know if Marcel’s father would support her idea. He was very much of the same mind as her parents. As her American roommate’s father used to say, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

“Rosalina,” her mother called.