Her mother pressed a hand to her shoulder. “That is enough, Rosalina. You take your life and your position in this country for granted.” She had a fierce look in her eyes. “But we face a formidable opponent with the People’s Party, who are passionate in their plea for an egalitarian society. Every minute you’re out of sight, still unmarried, still not pregnant with an heir, you reinforce their position that the monarchy’s dying out. When they liken us to ‘an ancient tree that no longer bears fruit,’ they’re not only referring to my inability to produce a male heir but to our oldest daughter, who shows no sign of settling into her role.” She glanced at her husband—not with an apologetic look because she’d had to stop bearing children after two girls but with a look that said, Back me up here.

“You’ve traveled the world, had your experiences, and now you must come home and embrace everything that entails,” her father said. “You must live here to understand the needs of the people so that you can choose a cause you feel passionate about. You need to stand with us in showing that our family may be small, but we’re devoted to our country’s well-being.”

“I understand.” With her sister at university, the eyes of the people were on Rosalina. She needed to be seen with Marcel, moving forward with wedding plans, so when the voters went to the polls, they went knowing the monarchy would continue.

And she was fine with that. She didn’t need to go to Calamity right now. She would have plenty of time to travel, once she set up her philanthropy, got married…and had a baby.

Marriage, baby…what was this resistance deep inside of her? Why couldn’t she just go along with what was required of her?

It’s not like you’ve ever had any other expectations for your life.

“It’s fine. Besides, the designer’s scheduled to come out here next week, so she’s probably already bought her ticket. Okay, well, now that we’ve set a date, I really do need to go.”

“Won’t you at least have a look at the invitations?” her mother asked.

Oh, dear. But she appreciated her mother’s efforts, so she stepped closer to the table, skimming the choices. “Any of those are fine.” Honestly, they all looked the same.

Her father laughed, before shaking open his newspaper.

“I’m glad my choices please you,” her mother said with an unfortunate amount of sarcasm. “But you still need to work out the wording, the font…the color of the envelopes.”

“Of course. Let me talk with Fabiana, and we’ll set up a time to go over all the details.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mama, for doing this for me.”