Nina frowned in confusion. The cool night wind gently kissed her dark hair. She tucked it behind her ear as his comment ran through her mind again. What a weirdo! But she couldn't leave without his name. Her dad would take back the funds, and she needed them for three more semesters.

She sat back down and took a deep breath. "Alright, I admit I was rude. But please will you give me your name? My dad will kill me if he finds out that I didn't sit through dinner."

He rested his face on his palm and leaned onto the table with an amused smile. How can someone be so gorgeous? This should be illegal! His eyes, dark and knowing, traveled to her lips, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't ignore the pull she felt toward him, the undeniable attraction sparking between them.

"You," he inched closer, "will have to try harder than that," he said huskily before reclining in his seat and folding his arms across his chest, his eyes quietly challenging her, his gaze holding hers with a magnetic intensity.

Her mouth was incredibly dry as she broke away from his gaze and took another sip of water. This was going to be tougher than she had imagined.

"Look, it's clear you don't want to marry me—"

"Marry? You don't even know my name," he scoffed in disbelief.

Is he offended that I don't know his name?

"I'm sorry but dad didn't tell me anything about you. He's a little strange that way. He only told me what you're wearing," she gestured towards him.

His straight brows twisted into a knot. After a moment, his face suddenly lit up as if he realized something, and then he chuckled.

Good Lord! When he laughed, his eyes became so tiny that they were almost invisible, and the crinkles beside them looked like beautiful ripples on a lake, soft and mesmerizing.

"What's so funny?" she huffed, more annoyed at herself than at him.

He shook his head, still smiling. "Nothing. Just give me a second." He gestured to the attendant from before, and when he came by, he whispered something in his ear. The latter nodded before leaving.

"How old are you?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice still teasing.

Nina's eyes narrowed. Something's different. What changed?

"Twenty-three," she said, her words stretched out and slow, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

He glanced at someone behind her. Turning, she saw the attendant nodding at him as if confirming something.

"What did you tell him?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"To bring out the ring and the cake when I give him a signal," he replied cheekily, his grin widening.

Nina scoffed, "Right. How old are you?"

"Thirty. Compared to me, you're still a young pup, aren't you?" he said, the smile never leaving his face.

She scoffed, "I don't know about me, but your choice of words definitely makes you seem old. Besides, I'm in grad school, I'm no pup."

"Grad school... do you like it?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"It's definitely fun. I've always loved art, and studying what I love helps remove the pressure of assignments and exams, if only slightly," she said, shrugging.

He nodded, deep in thought, his gaze lingering on her as if considering something more.

"What about you?" she asked, breaking the silence. "What do you do?"

"Hmm?" He looked at her, brought out of his reverie, "Oh, I'm just a small businessman."

"Looking at your clothes, I'd say your idea of small is quite different from mine," she smirked, still trying to hide the stirrings of interest in her chest.

"Maybe," he smiled at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But I have nothing to hide. I admit I own a few things and live a mostly comfortable life."

"Good for you," she said and took another sip of water, trying to focus on the glass instead of the heat pooling in her stomach.

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "If we get married, I'd say good for you."

She shook her head with a smile, ignoring the flutter that threatened to rise at his words.

"Are you hungry? Let's order something," he said, pulling the menu toward him.

"I'm fine really," she waved her hand. "You go ahead. I had dinner before I found out I had to come here."

"I'm not hungry either," he said, putting the menu back down with a sigh. "You know what? Let's get out of here."

"What?" she asked, taken aback.

"Come with me," he said as he got up and extended his hand toward her. In his full height, the man was massive, making her feel incredibly small. She stared at his waiting hand. When she heard the drumming of her heart in her ear, she got up on her own accord, stepping toward him. He was beside her in a beat, his long legs effortlessly closing the distance between them.

Together, they walked out to the lobby where she had seen the paintings before. They waited for the lift, and her eyes were captured by a mid-sized painting that she recognized as a work of Buerella, the seventy-something genius whose paintings were worth millions of dollars.

Her legs began moving toward it on their own accord. And she didn't really mind. When else would she get to see one so close?

The style of the clothes and the building suggested the subjects were of modern times, located somewhere in the suburbs. Ignoring the composition, light, color, and form, Nina focused only on the story it was telling. The primary subject of the painting seemed to be a man kicked out from his house. His luggage was scattered, no doubt tossed out, and a woman stood behind the threshold, looking sideways as if the pain he had caused her was intolerable.

"It's sad," Nina remarked, her voice quiet.

"I think it's beautiful," he said, his voice a soft contrast to her tone.

When had he moved so close to her?

Nina looked up at him, perplexed. "What's so beautiful about pain and separation?"

"The growth and reunion," he said and then turned to her with a smile that made her heart race.

"She tossed his bags out and doesn't even want to see his face. He isn't looking at her, but leaving. Isn't it absurd to assume they'll reunite?" she asked, shaking her head at the absurdity.

He bit his lower lip, and unintentionally, Nina mirrored his action. When she realized what she was doing, she forced herself to focus on the painting instead.

"If she wanted him to never return, the door wouldn't remain open so wide. She wouldn't be standing to the side leaving enough space for him to walk in. And he isn't taking his luggage with him," he pointed out, his voice almost hypnotic.

Nina took a deep breath. Growth and reunion. Why hadn't she seen it that way? She looked up at him again, meeting his gaze, feeling the tension thicken between them.

While she tried her best to keep herself closed off, his eyes shone with truth. Everything about his body language communicated openness. The crinkles beside his eyes, like ripples on a calm lake, showed that he was a man who loved to smile, who had known warmth and joy. He radiated so much of it that she found herself wanting to bask in his light.

He was no less complex than the piece of art they had just analyzed. She might as well take him to class during their analysis sessions. Silence engulfed them. He stared at her, and not one to back down, she returned the favor. Nina didn't know if he felt comfortable, but for her, the tension was mounting until it became unbearable. When she felt her core doing strange things, she tore away from his heated gaze.

"I'm Eric. What's your name?" he asked softly, his voice quieter now, as if he was sensing the change in the air between them.

A splash of cold water and her mind began reeling. Wasn't he supposed to know her name already? She searched her memory. Yes! Her father had clearly told her that he knew her name and would be able to recognize her.

She looked up at his blonde hair. Although her father was a first-generation American, he had always blamed his ruined marriage on her mother, who didn't share his cultural roots. And now, him choosing a non-Indian for her? It had seemed strange.

She stared at the man beside her, perceiving him in a new light. He had said she was hitting on him before...

Nina hadn't entertained the thought all this while, but now she couldn't help but wonder—what if he wasn't the guy her father had set her up with?

She cleared her throat. "My dad said he met you at the writers' convention. You must like literature," she said with a friendly smile.

He didn't respond, carefully studying her face instead. When he found what he was looking for, he chuckled. "You figured it out."

"How long were you going to play along?" she asked, her face growing hot and her thoughts getting muddled with anger or embarrassment—or maybe both. She felt like a fool he was playing with.

"As long as it took for you to figure it out," he replied and then sighed. "So, are you going to leave now?"

"You are a creep for not telling me and I would be a creep if I stayed here despite knowing that," she snapped at him, her voice sharp as a blade.

He stared at the luxurious floor before peering up at her. "I'm sorry, but I just found you fascinating."

"So you played along for your own entertainment? Did you not realize that by being with you I was standing someone else up?" she asked, her voice rising with indignation.

Without waiting for his response, she whirled toward the private rooms where she believed the actual guy would be.

"Do you really want to go there now? I thought you were forced to do this," he called out from behind her. "What if I promise to be completely honest about myself? Would you consider going on a date with me?"

Is he fucking crazy? Her blood was sizzling, her anger burning like wildfire. "I would never go out with the likes of you," she bit out before walking away from him, angry with him and even angrier with herself.