Free The Royal Treatment by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

what I like, Margie?” she asked, turning to the woman, who now had beads of sweat on her upper lip. “I really like irises. Dark purple irises. Which would go with the dresses. And if we could stick some big red roses in there…”
    “Easily done, my lady.”
    “But don’t make it too heavy. I’m gonna have to lug it around all day, okay?”
    “Yes, my lady.”
    “Okay. Next?”
    “The caterer,” Horrance whispered, terrified.
    “Great,” David muttered. “We’ll be able to settle on a menu by sundown, at the latest.”
    “This is Don Musch, my lady,” Edmund said, bringing over another tall, strapping Alaskan, this one with blond hair caught back in a ponytail. He looked like he’d be more at home splitting timber than whipping up soufflés. “He’ll be the head caterer.”
    Christina slapped the last sketchbook closed and cleared her throat. “Okay, Don-o, listen up. I want nice, light drinks…real lemonade, some sherbet punch—orange sherbet, not lime or pineapple—maybe a nice honeydew punch, too—and use frozen fruit for ice cubes, or it’ll be a watered-down mess before we get to ��I do.’ And I’d like Bellinis, please—that’s champagne with apricot nectar, to you non-Americans. Not orange juice—mimosas are such a cliché. Plus, I had to make about a zillion a day on the ships…I’m not having them at my reception.
    “For hors d’oeuvres I want a nice variety of open-faced sandwiches, maybe some cucumber and watercress, cream cheese, and you can dress it up with caviar, sesame seeds, whatever. Some nice crostini would be good, too, but make sure the tomatoes are ripe…I don’t want a bunch of red potatoes served with the mozzarella. Actually, yellow tomatoes would be really great with that, if you think you can get them. They’re so pretty. And fresh basil, please, nothing out of a jar.
    “Some asparagus, maybe steamed and served with a really tangy vinaigrette, would be good, too. No need to go for the white—green asparagus will do fine. And shrimp cocktail. I love shrimp cocktail, and I bet you guys could get a great price.
    “Now, for entrees, let’s do some poached salmon—no halibut, it’s too friggin’ expensive—and serve it with a nice homemade mayo, maybe some cukes, too. Do not make a salmon mousse—I don’t expect the guests to choke down whipped fish. I’d also like to do a couple different pasta salads, one with meat, one without. I mean, there’s gonna be some vegetarians there—be nice if they had something to eat, too.
    “A cheese course would be good, but only if you can protect it from the heat…nothing worse than sweaty cheese.”
    “Nothing worse?” David asked, managing to get a word in edgewise.
    “I’d also like lots of fruit—I love fruit. Minted melon balls, strawberries, and a really good fruit dip—try two parts cream cheese to one part marshmallow fluff—that’s good stuff. Melon wrapped in prosciutto would be good, too—yum! Oh, and lots of crusty bread, and I’ve got a great recipe for strawberry butter. It sounds weird, but it’s actually very good. Especially if you can keep the rolls warm.”
    Don, the caterer, was managing to take rapid notes, while everyone else’s jaws were hanging open. Even the king had awakened and was paying attention.
    “Now, dessert. I do not, repeat, do not want colored Crisco on the wedding cake. Real butter cream, please. I want a multi-tiered cake, and I’d like each tier to be a different flavor. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mocha, lemon. Something for everybody. Fillings can be fruit, mousse, whatever, but again, no colored Crisco. And I’d like a pearlized fondant to decorate the cake, and have each layer be a different color. You know—blue, orange, pink, green, yellow, whatever. You can pipe swirls over the fondant to create a what-d’you-call-it?—a Wedgewood effect. My mom,” she finished defiantly, “loved Wedgewood.”
    “Gaaaaaaah,” Marge said, trying and failing