“Really?” Since when did her family break from tradition? “Then I’d prefer a date in the middle of June, so that if we don’t get enough precipitation and the flowers bloom later, I won’t miss out.”

“Then, that’s what you’ll have,” her father said.

She could hardly believe it. “It doesn’t have to be in the church?”

“I would prefer the church,” her father said. “But I’ve learned to pick my battles with my oldest daughter.”

The comment swiped across her heart like a claw. She knew her father wasn’t referring to what happened all those years ago. Intellectually, she knew her single act of rebellion hadn’t caused his heart attack, but the two would forever be tied in her mind.

“What if, instead of having the wedding in the meadow, we fill the church with the lyantha?” her mother asked.

Rosalina reared back, as if her mother had suggested burning the castle to the ground. “We’re not cutting my flowers.”

Her father tried to suppress a grin. “Not to worry. The ceremony itself is far more important than the location. No harm will come to your precious lyantha.”

“You’ll be the first in six hundred years to marry outside the church.” But her mother sounded like she’d accepted Rosalina’s decision.

“I know, but it’s my one and only wedding, and the meadow just fits me.”

Her mother broke into a luminous grin. “Then, the meadow it will be.”

“This makes me so happy.” Her parents were being awfully accommodating. Maybe… Her fingers curled around the glass jar. But, instead of presenting her idea to them, she found herself blurting, “I think I’ll go to the States for my fitting.”

They looked at her like she was the fly that had just landed in their soup bowls.

Spin it. “Marcel’s in Zurich for the week, and we’ll want to plan the wedding together, so the timing works out well. Besides, asking the designer to fly all the way out here seems ridiculous. I’m not her only client.”