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Wait. How did she know?
I turned to Oliver, who whispered, “I had to tell her. Relax.”
“Uh, yes, Your Majesty,” I stammered, then dropped into an awkward double-curtsy, which I am sure looked more like I was having a seizure.
The Queen grimaced and waved her hand at me.
Seriously? Again?
I nodded and gave her another curtsy.
Her eyes went wide, then she shook her head.
Still not satisfied?
Tough crowd!
I gave one more curtsy, and if she didn’t like it this time, she could stuff it.
Queen Annabelle blew out a breath. “Please take a seat, Miss Fullerton.”
I glanced down at my chair and swallowed hard. “Oh . . .” I slid into my chair and avoided eye contact.
Queen Annabelle took her place at the head of the table. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as they served us the first course. I had no idea what to say. She was even more intimidating than I had imagined.
“You must know I did not approve of this change, and I don’t know if I will,” Queen Annabelle said. “I find it quite odd and unsettling that Miss DuPont departed so abruptly, and without advising me. Do you have letters of recommendation from other kingdoms validating your taste and discretion?”
My mouth fell open. “Well, uh, no, I?—”
“Then what qualifies you to plan the royal wedding?” She narrowed her eyes at me, then glanced at the top half of my cocktail dress that was visible.
This felt like an impromptu interview that I was in no way prepared for, and the way she was scrutinizing me, it was as if she knew I bought my dress off the clearance rack at Macy’s. My mind went blank. I frantically tried to recall my resume as I met her piercing gaze.
“Well, uh . . .” Think! “I have over ten years of experience planning events of all sizes and budgets.”
“And you have experience planning large-scale, high-profile events, such as a royal wedding?” Queen Annabelle asked. “One thousand people. Dignitaries, royals, celebrities. News outlets, magazines, and newspapers from around the world documenting every moment?”
“Well, not a royal wedding specifically,” I hedged. “I did a bar mitzvah for the Horowitz family at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Six hundred guests, including two members of the Backstreet Boys and a world-renowned German cellist.”
Queen Annabelle blinked.
I cleared my throat. “I have also handled large celebrity weddings, which require similar attention to detail, discretion, and grandeur to a royal wedding.”
Her lips were pursed in a thin line.
“Let’s hope so,” Queen Annabelle remarked dryly. “I would expect nothing less than perfection and stellar reviews. Are you telling me you have achieved that level of service and client satisfaction?”
Just then, Oliver jumped in. “People can’t stop talking about Grace, Mother.”
That could be taken a lot of ways, especially since the way they had been talking about me hadn’t been favorable in the least.
“Her creative vision will bring a fresh, modern perspective that I think we’ll all enjoy,” Oliver added. “I wouldn’t have hired her without doing my research and verifying my sources. Trust me, Mother, because nobody is more invested in this wedding than I am, except Veronica, of course. Now, are we going to eat before it gets cold? Grace, you simply must try the roasted chicken our chef has prepared. It’s superb.”
That was smooth.
Shooting him a grateful look, I said, “It smells amazing.”
I glanced down at the array of forks, knives, and spoons that surrounded my plate. Nine in all.
