Igor Vasiliev toasts us once again with what easily has to be his eighth vodka of the night.

“To Mr. Cage Bryant and his delightful Miss Lively! A good man who has finally found his match…after much seeking, of course!”

We laugh at the jibe as the three of us toast one another with our ice-cold tumblers. Then the men throw down their vodkas. I have to go slower, and I’m pretty sure Igor has made an exception for my delicate sensibilities, although the vodka is supposed to be taken in one shot.

The alcohol hasn’t affected Cage a bit, but it seems Igor is even happier and ruddier than usual, his skin flushed against the silver of his hair and the watery blue of his eyes. I’m still on only my second shot, nervous and mindful about getting drunk. Also, the alcohol isn’t sitting very well with the food Igor keeps ordering family-style like an indulgent king who’s entertaining diplomatic guests: herring, blini, caviar, borscht, chicken dumplings, shish-kebabs, sweet and sour cabbage… The list goes on, and I politely eat as much as I can as Igor watches approvingly. He wants us to “get a taste of Russia” in this Brighton Beach Boardwalk restaurant where he obviously holds court when he’s in town.

All the servers know him, chatting with him in their mother tongue. In our booth that’s set in the corner of a room with red walls and velvet drapery, other diners even come over to pay homage.

As for how Cage and I are getting along with him? So far, so good. He’s having a fine time and I haven’t made any mistakes that have earned a chiding glance from him yet. As a matter of fact, he keeps watching me with proud tenderness, and I only wish it were for real.

My stomach tumbles once again with disappointment, and I put down my vodka and eat a bite of some black bread, soaking up the alcohol in my system.

A server arrives with what looks to be a pastry dish, and Igor says something to him in Russian before he leaves. Then our host politely returns his attention to us.

“Miss Lively,” he says while gesturing to the newest plate, “please try the coulibiac. It is filled with salmon, rice, onions, and hard-boiled eggs, a true Russian pleasure.”

“Thank you,” I say as he cuts into it and slips it onto another small plate. “And, please, call me Karini.”

Igor nods at me, but I know he won’t stray from his old-school manners. I’ve asked him to call me by my first name once before.

I smile at him. “It looks delicious. Everything is delicious.”

“Nothing is too good for my guests.” His eyes twinkle.

Cage is sitting back as if measuring every moment that goes by. He’s still on edge, and believe me, I would give anything to have this dinner go perfectly. I would give anything if, after dinner, he would take me back to his place and tell me that everything tonight was no act—that every time Igor makes a toast to us, it’s because all the words we’re saying and the loving looks we’re exchanging are real.

Igor hands me the small plate, then works on preparing one for Cage. “So. We have talked our small talk, chatted about my adventures in New York with my grandchildren. What is next, my friends?”

He doesn’t add that I’ve asked him many questions about Russian food and culture and his life up until now. I think that’s what inspired Igor to bring on this food orgy, so I could experience part of his life for myself.

He gives Cage the plate, but his gaze is on me. “I have many burning questions for the two of you.”

Here it comes.

The big stuff.

My stomach flips, but I cut into my coulibiac as if this is no biggie. Igor hasn’t given any sign that he’s about to come on board with Bryant Industries just yet, and we need to close this deal.

So let’s do it. Please.

Cage lightheartedly says, “What can we enlighten you about, Igor?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “How long have the two of you known each other?”

This is where I close my mouth except for shoveling more food into it.

Cage sends me an affectionate glance that almost makes me sigh.

“We met a month ago,” he says. “Things have been happening pretty quickly between Karini and me, but I realized early on that she’s different from the others.”

“Different how?”

“Keeper different.” He smiles. “What I mean by that is…”

“She is a keeper,” Igor says, winking at me. “And that is the reason you have kept her ‘under wraps,’ as you told me before. Because you did not wish for anyone else to have the opportunity to keep her.”

Cage laughs. “Exactly.”

The owner, Igor’s friend, brings another round of vodkas and chats with him in Russian for a moment. Cage joins them, and his command of the language isn’t surprising, just impressive. But I just can’t drink more. Yet I have the feeling that all I have to do from this point on is fade into the woodwork and let Cage do his thing anyway. I hope that’s all…

I feel something vibrate in the handbag that I’ve set next to me on the seat. A text?

Dear god, I think as my nerves screech. Please keep Liam away for the next couple of hours.

“If I might ask,” Igor says as his friend leaves, “how did the two of you meet?”

I’m probably the only one at the table who sees Cage’s defenses notch up slightly, but I’m still thinking about what that text might be about, so I’m not sure.

“I was in Colorado Springs on business when I was walking into a coffee shop,” Cage says. “There was a woman sitting alone at a table by the window, looking out of it with big gray eyes and a dreamy expression that made me stop in my tracks…”

Cage is looking into my eyes as he says it and, once again, I can almost believe it’s true. And when he reaches over to tuck a stray bit of hair back over my ear, my heart tilts.

“Those eyes,” Cage says. “They had me even before I went inside to say something to her.”

My heart completes its rotation as I think about how his eyes had me on that day he opened the door of his vacation house in Miami. The memory is enough to shake Liam and whatever the new text might be out of my mind, because that was the day I started falling for Cage.

Igor breaks the moment with another question. “And Miss Lively’s family? What did they think when she introduced them to a man such as Cage Bryant?”

As Cage tears his gaze from mine, the muscles in the lining of my belly tremble. I press an arm against myself, wishing he didn’t affect me this strongly.

Cage grins. “‘A man such as Cage Bryant.’ Are you referring to the fact that I’m rich or that I used to be known for my interest in various women, to put it mildly?”

Used to be known, I think. My belly shivers even harder, and I put down my fork.

Igor’s laugh rings through the restaurant. “Both, my friend. I’m referring to both!”

“Well,” Cage says while lavishing another adoring gaze on me, “her family was resistant at first. They didn’t trust my intentions, thought I was toying with her and would break her heart. They had no idea that I was already in love.”

God. It’s so hard to just sit here while he says these things. It’s starting to tear my heart open because he’s saying the very things I want to hear.

“And your family, Cage?” Igor asks.

The only change in Cage is his gaze—from lightness to darkness and quickly back again.

“My mother passed away a while ago,” he says, “but my father can’t wait to meet Karini.”

Igor smiles at me, his fingers wrapped around his vodka glass as he responds. “I am certain your mother would have loved her.”

“I agree.”

I summon the brightest smile possible. I even take another sip of cold vodka, just so Igor sees I’m enjoying it, along with this conversation.

The twinkle returns to the man’s eyes as he lifts a brow to Cage. “And your plans for the future? When is the wedding?”

“I don’t want it to be very long but the time has to be right,” Cage says.

Igor raises his tumbler, and we all clink over the table, then drink more. I keep the smooth vodka in my mouth, not knowing if I can stand another swallow.

Then Igor says, “If you do not mind my saying this, the two of you will have beautiful children some day.”

“I’m banking on that,” Cage says.

And that’s when my heart finally rips in two. He’s trying to make this evening go well—his business depends on it—so that’s why he’s lying about getting married and having a family. But I can’t deny any more that I’m falling in love with a man who’s only using me for his own ends.

As I finally swallow the vodka, tears suddenly well in my eyes, and I try to swipe them away before Igor notices.

But he does.

“Is everything all right, Miss Lively?” he asks softly.

No, because every time I think about how much I want to get married some day and how I really do want children, my throat aches more. And I wish I could have both with a man who can make me feel like Cage does, even with as warped as our relationship sometimes seems.

I wave my hand in front of my face and smile brilliantly at Igor. “I’m fine, Mr. Vasiliev, thank you. The vodka is wonderful but—”

“It takes practice to ensure that it goes down easily. I understand.”

Before I burst into tears, I grab my handbag and leave the table, excusing myself in a wobbly voice.

I rush away, and I’m just entering the restroom hallway, fumbling in my handbag for a tissue, as Cage catches up to me.

We’re alone in the dimness as he tenderly cups my face in his hands. The fact that he’s still putting on a show makes me even sadder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently.

“Nothing.”

With my free hand, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and guide him away from my face. No use in pretending now.

He keeps a hold of my hand, and his skin burns into mine.

“Don’t tell me that,” he says. “Clearly something’s—”

“I can’t do this anymore!”

He pauses, looking at me as if I’m speaking another language. Then he laughs. “Nonsense. Do you know how close we are to success? You have Igor eating out of the palm of your hand!”

His cluelessness kills me.

“Maybe,” I say, “I don’t want everything you’re saying to be a lie, Cage.”

A slow freeze comes over him. He still holds my hand, but it’s as if he doesn’t feel a thing.

His voice is hard. “You knew the deal, Karini. Everything was always up front. I’ve been honest with you.”

Screw pretending about anything now. “Well then it’s too damned bad that my feelings have changed, isn’t it?”

Under his tanned skin, he goes pale. For the first time since I met him, I sense fear in him—is it fear that he might’ve badly wounded me? I think there’s guilt there, too, as if he knows that he can never give me the kind of life and love I truly want and deserve.

But why? Why the hell can’t he?

When all those terrible emotions remain in his gaze, I know I’m right.

His silence shatters me, and I yank my hand away from him on a sob.

“Karini—”

“I need to go in the restroom to get myself together, and don’t you dare follow me—”

In my rush to get away from him, I drop my handbag. It clatters to the floor, everything spilling out of the opening. My lipstick, powder, tissues, and phone are splayed out for anyone to see and…

Dear god, my phone has been jarred to life, and it’s landed screen side up, exposing the last text that was sent to me.

YOU PROMISED ME MORE MONEY BITCH.

And there, right below it, is a picture of me, naked, touching myself and staring at the camera.