The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient #2)(60)

“Oh, gosh.” The man—Phil—released a long breath. “I … maybe? But his name isn’t Phil, it’s Gleaves. So, no. I’m so sorry, Evange—Esmer—Esmeralda.”

“Thank you … Phil. For your time,” she said.

“No problem. Good luck. Good-bye.”

The line went dead, and she stood there, watching as the cars zipped past and the traffic lights changed colors. Green, yellow, red, back to green.

Kh?i wrapped her in a tight hug, and she broke apart. She smothered her face against his chest, drenching his shirt with her tears, but he didn’t complain. He continued holding her for what felt like ages.

When she finally calmed down and pulled away, he brushed the wet hairs from her face. He didn’t have to say a single thing. She saw everything in his achingly sad eyes, and it comforted her more than words could have.

“I thought he was the one.” Her voice came out much smaller than she’d hoped.

“Why?”

“I had a feeling.” She placed her hand over her gut.

“Feelings can be very inaccurate. To get all the facts, I’d recommend going over the list again and calling each of them,” he said. “I can help if you want.”

With how much he hated phone calls, that seemed an enormous thing to offer, and she kissed him as her heart overflowed. “I’ll call them. Thank you.” A car turned into the parking lot and pulled into the spot right next to Kh?i’s Porsche—a customer. “I should go back. We can talk about that other thing … later.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

They walked back to the restaurant hand in hand, and after a quick hug and kiss, she escaped inside. Later would come all too soon, but she was glad it wasn’t now.

? ? ?

Khai walked back to his car and got inside, but he didn’t start the engine. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said.

He’ll say all I want is a green card and his money. It is true, I want a different life, but …

It was shocking he hadn’t seen it earlier. That was her primary objective for this entire trip: a different life. Not a romantic relationship. It made perfect sense to him. If he were in her shoes, he would have done the same thing, except he wouldn’t have focused so much effort on one marriage candidate—him. He would have done much more dating to increase his chances of success. Why hadn’t she? Because she thought she’d find her dad and gain citizenship that way?

That was the best option. If she found her dad, she would automatically be granted citizenship, and she wouldn’t need to marry anyone to do it. The process would probably be expedited then, too. But if she couldn’t find her dad …

He fished his phone out and Googled “United States citizenship through marriage.” According to the search results, the government granted green cards three years after marriage to an American citizen.

Khai was an American.

If that was all she needed—and it did look that way—he could marry her. He could have this beyond the summer. His head spun as he envisioned it. Him and her, together, sex and TV and sharing a bed and her smiles and laughter, without end.

No, that didn’t seem right. That would be taking advantage of her. A green card wasn’t worth a life sentence, but three years were required.

Three years with Esme.

The force of his wanting grew so intense his skin flashed hot. Compared to the three measly weeks he’d thought he had left, three years was a luxurious amount of time. He could give his Esme addiction three entire years of free rein, and then set her free to find love. Win-win.

But only if she didn’t find her dad. With his mom wanting an answer by this Saturday, however, Esme was running out of time.

That decided it. If Esme didn’t locate her dad this week, Khai was proposing.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



Early Saturday evening, Esme was pulling her black dress over her head when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She yanked the dress all the way down and leaped to pick up her phone.

Unknown caller.

She hit the talk button. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, this is Phil Turner. I got your message?” a man said. “What is this about?”

She took a deep breath so her nerves had time to settle and repeated lines that had become familiar over the past week as she’d gone through her list of Phils one by one, “Hi, my name is Esmeralda. Have you been to Vi?t Nam?”

“Yeah, sure I have. If this is a free vacation or something, I’m not—”

“I am looking for someone who was there twenty-four years ago,” she said.

“Oh. Yeah …” There was a long, drawn-out whistling sound like he was searching his memories. “No. My first time was Hanoi in early 2000.”

She sighed as disappointment weighed on her. That meant there was only one Phil left, and there was no guarantee he was the One True Phil. If he hadn’t been to Vi?t Nam either, that left her back where she’d begun.

“You are not the right person,” she said. “Thank you for calling back.”

“Sure, no problem. Good luck. I hope you find him. Bye.”

He hung up, and Esme carefully set her phone down on the desk. The last Phil on the list was a Schumacher, or Shoo-mock-er, as Kh?i pronounced it. She tried the surname on—Esmeralda Schumacher—and frowned. That would take some getting used to, though she liked the meaning, shoemaker. There were a lot of feet in this world.