But it wasn’t just a dance. It was more than that. She was in this for marriage, and people would be vicious if they saw her flitting between brothers. Cô Nga would be disappointed. Quân had to know that. Unless …

Was he interested in marrying her? No, he’d just met her. He couldn’t possibly want to marry her already.

Right?

She began to rub her face, but the scent of lobster gave her pause. “I need to wash my hands. I will be right back,” she said before rushing away from the table.

In the bathroom, she took the far back stall. It was funny, but bathrooms soothed her. Probably because they felt familiar, she’d cleaned so many. But she couldn’t stay in here all night. She had a decision to make.

“You know she’s after him for his money and a green card,” a woman in one of the other stalls said.

“Of course she is,” a second woman replied.

Esme released a measured breath. They had to be talking about her and Khải. She’d known these kinds of conversations would take place. It was surprising she hadn’t heard talk like this until now.

“To be honest, if he wasn’t family, I’d be after him for his money,” the first woman said with a laugh.

“Well, me, too, actually.” Both women laughed at the same time.

Were they talking about Khải? They made it sound like he was a billionaire, when Esme was certain he wasn’t rich. She supposed it was perfectly possible these two women were worse off than he was. An old beat-up house was better than no house.

“Did you see her all over Quan?” the first woman asked.

“Yeah, if it doesn’t work with one brother, try the next.”

Esme scowled. Without a doubt, they were talking about her, but she hadn’t been flirting with Quân. Had she? Definitely not on purpose. He was attractive, though, and funny, considerate, and kind. If she’d never met Khải, she’d jump at the chance to dance with him.

But she had met Khải.

Toilets flushed, heels clacked against the tile floor, and water ran as the women washed their hands.

“He is good-looking, though,” the second woman said.

“He’s also an asshole.”

“Okay, I agree. I know he’s … you know, but I heard he complained to Sara about her wedding. Right there at the table on her wedding day—”

Esme’s tolerance for their secret bad-talking ended as a fire lit inside of her. She clawed the door of her stall open and marched out. “He is not an asshole. He is sweet.”

It was fine if they thought the worst of her — she didn’t care about them — but Khải was their family. Instead of spreading rumors and condemning him, they should have tried harder to understand him.

One of the women flushed and hurried to the door, but the other sent Esme a cutting glance. “You don’t get to look down on anyone.”

Esme lifted her chin, but she said nothing as the women left the bathroom. What could she say? They had judged both Esme and Khải without knowing their entire stories. Khải wasn’t bad. He was misunderstood. As for Esme, she wasn’t a gold digger. Her reasons for pursuing Khải had nothing to do with money. Too bad she couldn’t tell anyone about them without ruining everything.

She finished washing her hands and looked in the mirror, and her shoulders sagged. No matter how hard she tried, something about her was always off. She searched through her purse until she found her lipstick and applied a fresh red coat to her lips, but that didn’t fix the problem. She still wasn’t Esme in Accounting, the one Khải wanted.

But Quân wanted her — maybe — and he seemed to like her as she was, without an accounting certification and GED. Unlike Khải, he wanted to dance with her. It might not be a big deal for Quân, but it was for her. The man radiated sex appeal. Their bodies would touch. He’d have his arms around her. They’d move together. And she’d respond to him. How could she not? She was human and starved for affection.

If she was smart, she’d switch to the brother who was a better bet. From where she was now, that brother appeared to be Quân, but when it came to matters of the heart, she’d never been good at listening to reason. The real question was: Who did her heart want?

• • •

Khai could not focus on his book. There was no sense in trying anymore. He slapped his book shut and paced about the bottom floor of the restaurant, running his thumb over the corner of the book and flipping through the pages. Fliiip. Fliiip. Fliiip.

He didn’t pace anymore. He didn’t do this fidgety stuff anymore. Except, clearly, he did.

The hostess and all the staff were busy upstairs with the wedding, and his footsteps were loud on the red carpet. The dancing was going to start soon.

Khai didn’t dance. But Quan did. He suspected Esme did.

Quan’s words from earlier repeated through Khai’s head: I’m interested. Those eyes alone would do it, but the rest of her …

The building rumbled with a slow bass, and Khai’s skin went cold and numb. It had started. First, it was the bride’s dance with her dad. But after that …

Esme. With Quan. Bodies together. Moving slowly.

He was going to be sick. His skin hurt. Each breath hurt. His insides were splitting open. Why the hell did he want to smash everything to pieces?

Quan was going to put his hands in the small of Esme’s back, that place Khai had claimed earlier today, touch her hips, her arms, her hands. And she was going to let him. She was going to touch him back.

As she should. Quan was the better man.

Khai realized he could leave. Quan would take care of her and drive her home. Maybe after spending time with Quan, she’d want to pack up her things and switch brothers and houses. That worked out nicely for Khai. He couldn’t form a full-scale addiction to her if she was gone.

Setting his jaw, he marched to the front doors of the restaurant and pressed his hands to the metal handle. But his arms refused to push.

What if she didn’t want to dance? What if she wanted to go home right now? It didn’t make sense for Quan to take her when Khai was going there. That would be inefficient.

He turned around, planning to head up there and brave the music long enough to assure himself she was happy and tell her he was going home.

But there she was, at the bottom of the stairs, her hand resting on the railing.

So beautiful. And here. She’d come to find him again. No one ever looked for him. They all knew he wanted to be alone. Except it wasn’t always that way. Sometimes he was alone out of habit. Sometimes it took effort to distract himself from the growing emptiness inside.

“Are you leaving?” she asked in a small voice.

“I was going to tell you.” He heard the words as if from a distance, like someone else had spoken them. “If you want to dance, you should stay.”

“Do you want me to dance?” She didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air between them: without you.

He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “If it makes you happy.”

She took a step toward him. “What if I want to dance with you?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Can you try?” She took another step toward him. “For me?”

His chest constricted. “I can’t.” He’d never danced in his life. He’d be terrible at it and injure her and humiliate himself. Not to mention the loud music. He couldn’t function with those earsplitting decibels. Another reason why Quan was the better man. “If you want to stay, I know Quan will be glad to take you home.”

“You want me … and him … to dance?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Is that right?”

“If you want to.” And it was true. If that was what she wanted, he wanted her to have it, even if it made his chest feel like it was getting trampled on.

Several moments passed before she said, “I understand.” Then she smiled, but tears trickled down her face. She swiped them away, took a deep breath, and smiled wider before turning around.

He’d made her cry.

“Esme …”

She ignored him and walked back to the stairs. She was going to find Quan. She was going to be perfectly happy.

Without him.

Something inside of him snapped, and the rational part of his mind blinked off. A foreign part of him took control. His skin went fever hot. Blood roared in his ears. He was aware of his feet taking him across the room, saw his hand wrapping around her arm, pulling so she faced him.

Those tears.

They shattered him. He brushed the saline away with his thumbs.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I—”

He took her mouth, pressing his lips to hers as the feel of her shocked through his system. Soft. Silk. Sweet. Esme. When he realized she’d gone stiff, he started to pull back in horror. What had he been think—

She softened against him, kissing him back, and that was it. His thoughts burned away. Something else rose from the ashes, something he’d kept chained up so long it was all fierceness and animal hunger. He stroked his tongue over her lips, and when she sighed and parted her lips, savage victory swept through him. He claimed her lips, claimed her mouth, claimed the liquid heat inside that tasted of vanilla and strawberries and woman.

• • •

Esme melted beneath the intensity of Khải’s kiss. She’d never been kissed like this, like he’d die if he stopped. His motions were tentative at first, as if he was learning her, but he gained confidence quickly. Each aching press of his lips, each dominating sweep of his tongue, weakened her more.

Her knees threatened to buckle, but she was afraid to anchor herself against him. If he stopped, she’d cry. She needed more, much more. She couldn’t breathe for needing.