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“Anica,” Gram smiled. “What do you think of my grandson’s approach to marriage?”

I braced myself for the professional, diplomatic answer. The kind of non-answer that wedding planners must practice in mirrors to avoid offending clients with terrible taste.

“I think,” Anica said carefully, “that he has very sound reasons for his approach, given his family history and personal experience.”

Gram’s eyebrows rose again.

“But,” Anica continued, “I also think his execution leaves something to be desired. Specifically, tact.”

I laughed despite myself. “Brutal but fair.”

“You told me once that marriage has historically been a business arrangement,” Anica said, turning to me. “And you’re not wrong. But even business arrangements work better when there’s mutual respect and genuine affection.”

The conversation was veering into territory that made me uncomfortable. I cleared my throat. “Speaking of business arrangements, Gram, how’s the foundation?”

Gram shot me a look that said she knew exactly what I was doing but would allow it. For now. “Thriving, despite the board’s best efforts to drown every initiative in red tape. We’re funding a new after-school program in Queens.”

The conversation shifted to safer ground, but I noticed Gram watching Anica with that particular look she got when she was calculating something.

After dinner, I excused myself to take a work call that was actually legitimate for once. When I returned, Anica and Gram were nowhere to be found in the dining room.

“They’ve adjourned to the parlor, sir,” Norbert informed me with his usual telepathy. “Madam is showing Ms. Marcel the family jewelry collection.”

Oh, Christ. The jewelry collection meant one thing: Gram was going full matchmaker. The family jewelry only came out when she was sizing someone up for potential daughter-in-law status.

I approached the parlor quietly, not quite willing to interrupt whatever was happening but too curious to stay away. Their voices drifted through the partially open door.

“—quite beautiful,” Anica was saying. “The craftsmanship is extraordinary.”

“My husband had excellent taste in jewelry,” Gram replied. “It was one of his few redeeming qualities, along with his ability to make money and his spectacular backside. The latter of which, I’m pleased to say, Callan inherited.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue.

“I wouldn’t know,” Anica said quickly. “That’s not something I’ve... noticed.”

“Of course not, dear,” Gram’s voice dripped with disbelief. “What do you think of him? Really?”

I froze, knowing I should walk away but unable to make my feet move.

“I think he’s...” Anica paused. “More complex than he appears.”

“Most people are,” Gram agreed. “But Cal particularly so. He reminds me of his grandfather in some ways. Stubborn outside, marshmallow inside. But he’s plenty smarter, and his heart isn’t rotten like my ex’s was. My Cal has a golden heart, but of course, I’m biased.”

“He’s certainly... surprising,” Anica admitted. “The baking, the kindness to his assistant when her mother was ill, the way he talks about you...”

“He’s a good boy,” Gram said simply. “Too smart for his own good sometimes, and allergic to genuine emotion, but a good boy nonetheless.”

Their voices dropped lower, and I retreated before I could be caught eavesdropping like some lovesick teenager. I returned to the dining room and made enough noise to announce my presence before heading to the parlor.

“There you are,” I said, pushing the door open. “Plotting world domination?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Gram said, closing the jewelry box. “We’ve moved well past plotting to the implementation phase. Your wedding planner has some excellent ideas about restructuring global finance.”

“I was just admiring your grandmother’s collection. She has exquisite taste.”

“The emeralds would look lovely with your coloring,” Gram observed casually. “Wouldn’t they, Cal?”

“I’m not falling for that trap,” I replied, though I couldn’t help but picture the deep green stones against Anica’s skin. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure Ms. Marcel has had enough Burkhardt family time for one evening.”

“Nonsense,” Gram waved dismissively. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of your embarrassing childhood stories.”

“At least you acknowledge that you’re doing it on purpose. But that’s exactly why we should leave,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets and leaning against the wall. “Before you get to the high school prom incident.”

“Oh, but that’s one of my favorites,” Gram protested.

“Another time,” I promised, though I had no intention of ever allowing such a conversation. “We should let Anica get home. She has a busy day tomorrow.”

“Planning your wedding to a bride who doesn’t exist yet?” Gram asked innocently.

I shot her a warning look, which she ignored like she’d been ignoring my warnings for decades.

“Among other things,” Anica replied diplomatically. “Thank you so much for dinner, Vivian. It was truly a pleasure.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear,” Gram said, rising to hug Anica again. “You must come back soon. Next time I’ll show you the videos of Callan’s brief but memorable stint in the school production of ‘Grease.’ His Danny Zuko was... something.”

“That’s our cue to leave,” I said hastily, guiding Anica toward the door. “Good night, Gram. Love you.”

“Love you too, darling,” Gram replied, then added with a wink to Anica, “He was a terrible Danny Zuko. No rhythm whatsoever. But very enthusiastic. Much like his approach to most things, I imagine.”

“I’m never bringing anyone to meet you again,” I informed her as I kissed her cheek goodbye.

“We’ll see. Drive safely, darlings.”

We stepped out into the cool night air, making our way down the cobblestone path to where Anica had parked her car in the circular driveway.

“I should apologize for Gram,” I said finally, reaching to open Anica’s car door for her. “She can be a bit... much.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anica replied, turning to face me instead of getting in. “She’s wonderful. Nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone more... formal? Reserved? Less likely to show me bathtub merman photos within twenty minutes of meeting me?”

I groaned, leaning against the side of her car. “God, the merman photo. I’ve been trying to destroy that thing for years.”

“It’s adorable,” she said with a small smile. “You were a cute kid.”

“I was a disaster,” I corrected. “As Gram thoroughly documented.”

“A creative disaster,” she amended. “The merman tail was genuinely impressive engineering for a six-year-old.”

“One of my first entrepreneurial ventures,” I agreed. “Though the garbage bag market proved less lucrative than tech. Turns out you can make billions with code, but crafting merman tails remains a niche market at best.”

She giggled. I liked making Anica laugh. It felt like an achievement, like closing a particularly difficult deal or perfecting a complex recipe.

“She loves you very much,” Anica said after a moment.

“She’s the only person who’s ever seen me,” I replied without thinking. “Really seen me.”

“What do you mean?”

I considered deflecting with a joke but wanted to give her an honest answer.

The porch light from Gram’s house illuminated half her face, leaving the rest in shadow.

“Most people see what they want to see. The billionaire, the playboy, the tech genius. Whatever narrative works for them. Gram just sees... me. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing.”

“That must be nice,” Anica said, her voice soft. “Being seen.”

“It’s terrifying,” I admitted. “But yes, nice too. Though I could do without the merman photos being part of the ‘seeing me’ package.”

“The merman photos are essential to the full Callan Burkhardt experience,” she teased. “Now I understand why you’re so successful. You’ve been compensating for the garbage bag tail all these years.”

“Maybe,” I laughed. “Though I’ll have you know that in certain circles, my merman phase is considered visionary. I was cosplaying before it was cool.”

We lapsed into a comfortable silence. Crickets chirped in the garden, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called. “Thank you for coming tonight. For not treating her like a client obligation. I think she gets lonely in this big house, more than she’d ever admit.”

“I enjoyed myself,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. “Your grandmother is a force of nature.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us moved. There was something in her gaze. A question, perhaps, or a possibility. My hand reached for hers almost without my permission, our fingers brushing lightly where they rested on the edge of the car door.

The contact seemed to break whatever spell had fallen over us. She pulled her hand away, reaching for her keys.

“I should go,” she said, her mask sliding back into place. “We have the florist meeting tomorrow at eleven. Try not to be late.”

“I’ll do my best, though I make no guarantees. I have a reputation as a chronically late billionaire to maintain.”

She smiled again. “Good night, Callan.”

“Good night, Anica,” I replied, using her first name without the “Ms. Marcel” shield between us.

She paused, one foot already in the car, and for a second I thought she might say something else. Instead, she nodded once and slipped into the driver’s seat. I closed her door gently and stepped back as she started the engine.

I stood in the driveway long after her taillights had disappeared down the winding road. This was not part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.

I was supposed to be finding a bride for a bet, not... whatever this was. Not standing outside my grandmother’s house like some lovesick teenager, replaying the way she’d smiled when Gram showed her that ridiculous merman photo.

“Get it together, Burkhardt,” I muttered to myself, turning back toward the house. “You have a bet to win.”