“Is this the engagement ring?” Max asks playfully. I try hiding the box from her, feeling embarrassed, but she reaches across from me and grabs the velvety thing.

We are sitting in the back of a limousine. She’s dressed in a simple black cocktail dress that accentuates her ladylike curves, and her hair is pulled up into a French twist. A string of old pearls encircles her neck, and she looks like something out of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Meanwhile, I’m dressed in a three-piece suit. After all, this high-end restaurant that we’re going to has a strict dress code where they’ll kick you out if you are wearing colors that are no longer in vogue. I hate places like this. Everyone judging you and trying to get a read on why you’re there and what you’re doing.

Which is exactly why Max and I are going there for our first “date” as a couple. It’s a very public place, with a lot of the “who’s who” of New York and the 1% of the world wining and dining.

Perfect for Max’s debut at my side.

And I’m feeling so damn embarrassed about the whole thing.

Max pries open the box and peers down at the ring. It actually catches a streetlight and glints in her eyes. She inspects it for a moment, gives a little giggle, and then her face falls.

“You didn’t have to get such a big one, Damien.” She pulls out the ring, a twenty-thousand-dollar diamond ring I got from Tiffany’s. I went as cheap as I could without looking like I was trying to save money. I know people would notice. But I wanted something that could pass for a ring that I’d give to my real fiancée.

I shrug. “Only the best for you.”

She slides it onto her ring finger and inspects it, wriggling her fingers. “Really, I could have done with a Ring Pop.”

“What’s a Ring Pop?” I blurt before I realize my mistake by Max’s skeptical expression. It must be one of those things that mortals know about.

“You don’t hang around a lot of kids, do you?” she asks, giving a shrug. I hope that’s the end of it, because I’d fail a test about anything to do with kids. My realm is dealing with true love, and while that sometimes deals with children meeting their loves at a young age, I’m much more used to adults.

She takes the ring off and puts it back in the box, handing it back to me.

I frown at her, refusing to take it back. “What are you doing?”

“The diamond is way too big.”

“That’s the point.” She chuckles, and I feel even more offended. “I thought the bigger the ring, the more serious he was about the relationship,” I reason.

“For most women. Besides, this is our first ‘date.’ You can’t ask me to marry you before our first date.” She pushes the offending box into my hands, and I have no choice but to take it.

I sigh and sit back. “What if I told everyone I realized that I’d wasted the last three years and I had to ask you right away?”

She raises an eyebrow. “For being the supposed love guru, you really suck at romance.”

Touché. She doesn’t know the half of it.

“Fine. But the second it feels romantic enough, I’m popping the question.”

A smile touches her lips. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Consider it one.” I put away the box in my coat pocket. Trust Max to turn down a ring that’s worth the same amount as a car.

What a woman.

“So where are we going?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“You made me make the reservations,” I say, “so consider it a surprise.”

She pretends to pout and looks out the limousine window. “Well, I couldn’t very well set up the reservations for our first date.” She crosses her arms and legs. “I’m not your personal assistant in this little fantasy of yours.”

Yeah. That had been interesting. After having Max arrange everything for me for the past three years, I had to remember how to make reservations.

Which is something a god doesn’t have to worry about that much in his existence.

Having her as my fiancée will create some new, interesting dynamics between us. I’m going to have to learn how to do things for myself, which I’m not looking forward to.

Also, as part of Max’s request to not ask any questions, the limo picked her up at work. I realize that I know where she lives, but I’ve never been there myself. She commutes to Manhattan from Jersey City every day.

Meanwhile, I rarely ever leave Manhattan myself. My entire life is here, and as a god, I’ve done and seen everything interesting in my life. I have no reason to go to Jersey City, so I don’t know the area.

I can feel Max’s eyes on me. “What?”

She smiles softly. “You look…nice. A little nervous. But nice.”

Me, look nervous? I’m Eros, for Zeus’s sake, I’m suave, cool, calm, and confident. I can make panties drop without hesitation. I can make men jealous and want to be me. And she thinks I’m nervous?

She taps her chin knowingly. “You move your jaw forward just the slightest bit when you’re nervous. I’ve picked that up over the years.”

I purse my lips, and, sure enough, my teeth need to realign a bit. Damn, she’s right. The mortal calling out the god.

“Just a lot riding on this,” I admit finally. And it’s the truth. If Steven’s insane idea doesn’t work out, I’ll be back at square one. Possibly even worse off, because I’ll seem desperate. Sleazy. Disgusting. And love worldwide would suffer.

She puts her hand on top of mine, the engagement ring glistening. “Hey,” she says softly. “It will be fine. I wouldn’t do anything to harm your reputation.”

“And what about yours?”

She shrugs. “I’m…well, no one’s really been interested in me for a while. So, as far as my own reputation, I don’t need to worry about that.”

“I find that hard to believe. You look beautiful tonight.”

And, like an idiot, I realize that I had said that without thinking. Her cheeks flush deep scarlet even in the dim light of the limo.

“Thanks,” she says finally. “I guess this whole thing is going to take some getting used to.”

Before we could get used to the idea any more, the limo stops, and she and I look out the window to see the porte-cochere of the restaurant. Max meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see blind panic in them. She’s been hiding it this entire time, but I can tell now that this is out of her comfort zone.

“You’ll do fine,” I tell her gently. I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “We got this.”

The valet opens the door and helps her out first, followed by me. He gives the tight grin of a man who hates his job but pretends to love it, and his face alights with false delight when he recognizes me.

“Ah, Mr. Eros, good to see you again.”

I give him a thin-lipped smile and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. “Good to see you, too.”

We’re seated at the chef’s table by the kitchen. There’s already a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in an ice bucket by our table. Max pauses at it before sitting on the side opposite it, like it’s a snake that will bite her.

“You’re laying it on thick, Damien,” she hisses under her breath as I settle in next to her. “I thought you rich-types only drank that stuff for special occasions.”

“It is a special occasion,” I tell her, glad that I’ve surprised her. “It’s what you get for making me make the reservations. I make special requests like this when I do.”

She quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re not making a good case against letting you make reservations.”

“Then let’s get started.” I nod for the over-eager waiter to pop the cork and pour her a flute. He does so with the gusto of a man who knows the more of a show he puts on, the better tip he’s going to get. I’m supposed to be a man in love. Money isn’t supposed to be an object. So I’m going to give him that good tip, even though I can feel the money hemorrhaging out of me like my lifeblood.

Although, looking at Max’s delight as she accepts the flute, I think that acting like a man in love won’t be too hard. She looks radiant as she takes a sip, her eyes fluttering closed. I always thought that she was a pretty woman, but there’s something magnetic about those walls of hers coming down and revealing her true self.

She’s stunning.

She opens her eyes and looks at me, questioningly. “What?”

“It must be a good glass of champagne.” Safest answer.

She grins. “It is. Should we toast?”

“You’re supposed to do that before you drink it.” But I take my glass anyway. “To us.”

Her eyes sparkle as she clinks her flute against mine. “To you.”

I want to tell her that it’s not just about me. If I had known that something like this would help her shed her tough exterior and become this enthralling creature, I might have done it a long time ago. Might have.

My wallet is still smarting from that huge paycheck I deposited into her account a few days ago. This is going to be an expensive exercise in repairing my public image. But if it works, it will be worth it. The ties of love will still be strong.

Hell, I may even get back in touch with the god of love that I used to be. This may not be real love, but it’s helping me remember why mortals want it so badly.

They are, after all, social creatures. With such a short time spent on Earth, they have to make the most of it. And if I were a mortal, I’d want to see Max like this every day of my short life.

I get it.

We go through seven courses of the Japanese/French fusion menu. Max is an adventurous eater—even though there are some questionable ingredients on our plate, even for a god like me. I never once see her hesitate or make a face with the experiment.

She loves it. She loves when the waiter comes out to show us white truffle mushrooms and asks if we want to have it shaved on our sushi ravioli. She loves asking the waiter how every dish is prepared, testing the foreign words out on her tongue. Her eyes close. She inhales with every bite to savor it.

I almost don’t even taste my own food because I’m just watching her.

We talk.

Small talk, really. You don’t work with someone for three years without going over a lot of the usual conversation pieces. At least, I think so, at first. But Max is like a flower starting to bloom, and I feel like I’m getting insight into the true version of her. As she gets more relaxed and gets more alcohol into her, she loosens up.

It’s a sight to behold.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” I say, leaning my cheek into my hand and propping my elbow on the table.

“Like what?”

Like so many things, but I choose one word that encompasses all of her. “Relaxed.”

She throws back her head and laughs. “Well, you may be surprised to know, Mr. Eros, that I’m not the stuck-up bitch at home that I am at your job.”

“I can see that.”

“I mean, no one can literally be that bitchy.” She smooths out her cheeks. “I think it’s giving me wrinkles. But I have to be to deal with your clients. They all want me to be at their beck and call. ‘Maxine, go do this.’ Shit like that. And then I have to deal with you…”

“With me?”

She snorts unattractively—which still manages to be cute because she’s so unguarded —and takes another sip. “You’re the worst of them all. You realize that I had to start dropping my son off at school forty-five minutes early, just so I can drag your ass out of bed?”

Her cheeks color that she slipped a snippet about her family life.

“Your son?” I ask.

“I…” Her voice trails off, and she licks her lips. “I told you not to ask any questions.”

“Yeah,” I agree softly. “About why you agreed to…this. But,” I give a bewildered laugh, “You’ve never willingly brought up your son.”

Her gaze meets mine, all the joy and delight gone from her eyes. “I didn’t want you to know about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Her voice falters. “I’m trying to protect him from all this. The spotlight. This world where someone criticizes you because you have a mole on your face. Or you forgot to put on makeup in the morning. I wanted to protect him from that.”

“Max,” I say leaning in. “You agreed to be my fiancée in a very public way. He was going to be dragged into the spotlight at some point.”

Her expression hardens. “There are sometimes when you get really desperate, Damien,” she says, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Sometimes…”

I put my hand over hers. “Hey,” I say. “I will do my best to protect him as well. Keep him out of the spotlight. There are plenty of celebrities who keep their kids out of the media. We can do the same for your son. Is he your only kid?”

She snickers, and it’s half-choked because her face is still drawn tight. “Yes. The only one, stepdaddy.”

We meet each other’s eyes, her sad ones against my own. Suddenly, everything makes sense. I can see why she decided to agree to this crazy idea. It wasn’t for greed or riches. It was for her son.

She looks so vulnerable. My gaze drifts down to her lips, stained a deep rouge that makes her green eyes stand out against her face. We’re so close together I could kiss her. Maybe I should. She’s my fiancée after all.

But, I don’t want our first kiss to be in such a public space. Which is ridiculous, because why else would I have paid so much for dinner? I want people to see me in love.

But now, there’s something else here brewing, and I want to cultivate it as much as possible.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to sit back, and I lick my lips as I do so. “Just let me know if you or your son need anything, Max. Okay?”

Her gaze, which had lingered on my lips as well, snaps to my face. She gives a slow nod. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I appreciate it.”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

Her smile comes back slowly, shades of the Max I’m familiar with coming back bit by bit. She lifts her glass. “Trust me; I think I’m getting the best part of this deal. Dom Perignon and food that I would have never been able to afford. It’s like a fairy tale.”

I briefly entertain the idea of telling her that I was one of the ones responsible for creating fairy tales. Romeo and Juliet was inspired by my intervention. Tristan and Isolde. Lois and Clark. Peanut butter and jelly.

All matches made in the heaven of me.

But I don’t say anything. Right now, I’m just…Damien Eros.

And that seems to be all right with Max.