“Mmm,” Gram hummed, in that way that meant she wasn’t buying what you were selling. “And how’s that going? Has he been difficult? He’s usually difficult. Once refused to eat anything green for an entire year. I had to hide spinach in chocolate brownies.”
“I’m sitting right here,” I reminded her.
“Yes, dear, and being difficult about it,” Gram replied without missing a beat. “Now hush, the adults are talking.”
Anica bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Mr. Burkhardt has very specific requirements.”
“Mr. Burkhardt?” Gram repeated, eyebrows raising. “So formal. He must be on his worst behavior.”
“My behavior has been impeccable,” I protested.
“He asked his first candidate about sexual preferences over dinner at Le Bernardin,” Anica informed Gram, the traitor.
Gram’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Callan Anthony!”
“It was a test!” I defended myself. “I wanted to see if she was interested in me or just my money.”
“By asking about position preferences at a Michelin-starred restaurant?” Gram shook her head. “I raised you better than that.”
“No you didn’t.” I shook my head. “You used the phrase ‘tits the size of cantaloupes’ not an hour ago. If anything, you’re the bad influence and the reason I–”
“In his defense,” Anica interrupted, surprising me, “the woman in question did start the conversation with discussing his investment portfolio and real estate holdings. She failed the test, crude as it was.”
“Hmm.” Gram studied Anica with new interest. “And what kind of tests are you administering to these potential brides?”
“More professional ones,” Anica replied. “Background checks, compatibility assessments, personality profiles.”
“Very thorough,” Gram nodded. “And tell me, dear, how do you rate on these compatibility assessments with my grandson?”
I choked on my scotch. “Gram!”
“What? It’s a reasonable question.” Gram’s expression was pure innocence. “If she’s determining compatibility, she must have some metric.”
“Ms. Marcel is not being evaluated as a candidate,” I said firmly, wiping scotch from my chin. “She’s my wedding planner.”
“And a very good one, from what you’ve told me,” Gram agreed. “Though I wonder why you haven’t considered the obvious solution to your problem.”
“Which is?” I asked, though I already regretted the question.
“Marrying someone you actually like spending time with, rather than a stranger with good credentials.” Gram sipped her wine. “But what do I know? I’m just an old woman who’s been around the block a few times.”
“You’ve been around the block so many times they named it after you,” I muttered.
“Cheeky,” Gram said without heat. “Ms. Marcel?—”
“Anica, please,” Anica interrupted.
“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.”
