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I stand and lift the framed sketch Eric gave me from the bookcase. I place it on the desk facing her. Grandma leans closer, studying it. Her gaze finds Granddad standing just inside the entrance. She reaches out and touches the edge of the frame.

“Eric had it made for me,” I say. “He saw the photo in my apartment. He knows what the Hartwell means to me.”

Grandma studies the drawing for a long time.

“Chloe said George would’ve torn down the Hartwell with his bare hands and gone to work for Voss himself if that was what it took to make you happy.”

“That sounds like Chloe.”

“I told her she was being dramatic.” Grandma’s mouth softens, though it isn’t quite a smile. “Then I spent the whole weekend thinking about it.”

She looks at Granddad in the sketch.

“George loved this hotel, but he loved you more. So do I.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes begin to sting. “Grandma⁠—”

“I still hate his hotel. I’m still hurt that you kept this from me, and I’m not ready to welcome Eric into the family. But I don’t want you hiding the man you love because you’re afraid of losing me.”

I lean down and hug her. She holds me as tightly as she did when I was a child. After a moment, she draws back and looks at the sketch again.

“It’s a beautiful gift,” she admits.

“He’ll be unbearable when I tell him you said that.”

I laugh, and this time, Grandma smiles too. Her gaze drops to the wedding files spread across my desk.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad,” I admit.

Grandma takes that in, then gives a firm nod. “We’ll deal with it.”

“We will.”

Her attention returns to me. “I assume you didn’t make things easy for him.”

“Not even slightly.”

“Good.” She settles back in her chair. “Now tell me how this all happened.”

I glance at the bottom drawer of my desk, then open it and take out Eric’s mug and the Voss pen.

“He was ridiculous,” I begin.

I tell her the story—or at least the parts a granddaughter can safely share with her grandmother. I tell her about the gifts, the arguments, and all the times Eric made me laugh when I was trying to stay angry. I tell her how I slowly stopped wanting him to leave.

By the time I take out the calendar and show her the photo of him half-naked, Grandma is smiling. It isn’t a big smile, but it’s something.

After she leaves, I remain at my desk with the calendar in my hands.

Every relationship I’ve had has eventually run into the same problem. The Hartwell took more of my time than the man I was with wanted to share, and sooner or later, he asked me to prove that he came first.

Eric understands me. He has a family legacy of his own, so he knows why mine matters. Even when protecting the Hartwell put me against him, he respected me for standing my ground. For the first time, I can picture a future with someone without losing the Hartwell—or myself.

I check my phone. There are no new messages. I asked Eric for time, and he respected that.

I open our conversation and type, Can we talk?