Crap. Her fingers itched to text Marcel and ask him to wait for her. Why didn’t you bring your phone? He might’ve left by now. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

She recognized her mother’s tone for what it was, and so she did as she was told. At twenty-five, it was time for the Hereditary Princess of St. Christophe to step into her mother’s shoes. Get married, give birth to an heir, and devote her time to a few established charities and one of her own creation.

Yes, she knew the expectations, and she would get there. But, right now, she needed to see her project through. She had the rest of her life to be a wife and mother.

Her mother led the way into the oak-paneled library. The scents of old books, lemon furniture polish, and her father’s spicy shaving cream filled the large room.

Oh, what about shaving cream for women? She’d use synthetic materials for that, though.

As they entered, her father lowered one side of his paper, a tea cup in one hand. “Oh, dear.” He shot a look to the door, as if calculating his getaway.

“Exactly.” For a moment there, she considered showing them the lotion, just to get the conversation away from wedding plans. As the hereditary princess, it would fall on her and Marcel to keep the company running. She’d be showing them that the family legacy was in good hands.

Ha. Good one.

Let Marcel lead the charge. Her fiancé had her back.

Her mother stood beside her husband’s chair. “I don’t appreciate you sending away my guest. I invited her here to launch the wedding plans, and I found it rude and disrespectful that you asked her to leave.”

“I’m sorry. It did come across as rude, but I wish you’d have discussed it with me first. I wasn’t prepared to meet with anyone this morning. In fact, if I don’t go right now, I’ll miss Marcel. He’s leaving for Zurich in a few minutes.”

Her father set down his paper, and his tall, lanky frame rose out of the chair. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he tapped out a text. “There. Marcel will wait.”

Uh oh. Her dad had something to say. Tension pulled at her skin, and she became aware of the cool breeze sweeping through the room, riffling the pages of magazines.