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That was as good as it got.
    When she checked herself in the floor-length mirror next to all the sinks, her reflection was completely unrecognizable to Mỹ. But that was a good thing. Mỹ was a naïve poor country girl who never quite fit in. She was leaving that girl behind. She was Esme now.
    Lifting her chin, she exited the bathroom and joined the crowd. She sounded out the words on the overhead signs with determination and followed the foot traffic through the airport. After she passed security, she scanned the people and their faces, searching, searching, searching ...
    There he was.
    W aiting on the other side of the security checkpoint was a surreal experience. Khai imagined it was a little like this when people took delivery of a special-order Schutzhund from the Netherlands. Only this wasn’t a trained and certified protection dog. This was a
person
.
    As minutes ticked by, he stood still, shoulders back and spine straight like years of martial arts practice had trained him to do. He didn’t pace, tap his toes, or sway. He didn’t do things like that anymore. But he wanted to.
    If this girl actually showed up, he had to live with her for anentire summer. Even worse, he had to treat her like a fiancée. What the hell did he know about that?
    He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the picture his mom had sent him. If she hadn’t assured him she’d already met the girl, he would have thought this was a prime example of catfishing. The person in the photograph was almost too beautiful to be—
    Someone stepped into his personal space.
“Chào Anh.”
    He glanced up from his phone. And found himself staring into the same light-green eyes from the picture. Only in real life.
    It was her.
    “Hi,” he said reflexively.
    She smiled, and his thought processes hiccupped. Bright-red lips, straight white teeth, stunning eyes. People would call her pretty. No, she was more than that. Hot. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Not that he cared about stuff like—
    His gaze accidentally dropped below her chest, and his mouth went dry.
Holy fuck.
She was some kind of walking sex fantasy. Apparently, he was a boob man. And an hourglass-figure man. And a leg man. How did they look so long when she was so short? Maybe it was those three-inch heels she was wearing.
    When he realized what he was doing, he forced his gaze back to her face. Back when his family still had hopes of him dating, his sister had made him memorize a set of rules since he was so good at following them.
    T HE R ULES W HEN Y OU ’ RE WITH A G IRL :
    1.    Open
and
shut doors.
    2.    Pull out chairs and push them back in.
    3.    Pay for everything.
    4.    Carry everything. (That included her purse if she wanted. Never mind the fact that he preferred keeping his hands free.)
    5.    Give her your coat if she seems cold. (No, it didn’t matter if he was cold, too.)
    6.    No matter how she’s dressed, don’t check out inappropriate areas of her body.*
    *Specifically, boobs, butt, and thighs. He could make an exception if she was grievously wounded.
    Uncomfortable heat flushed his face and singed the tips of his ears. He’d just gone to town on Rule Number Six. In his defense, he had no practice being with a woman like this.
    She positioned her suitcase in front of her legs and took and released a fast breath before smiling again. “You’re Diệp Khải. I’m Esme,” she said in Vietnamese.
    That surreal sensation came back. This was really happening. His mail-order bride was introducing herself. But wasn’t her name Mỹ?
    Please don’t let there be two of them.
He didn’t know what he was going to do with one woman. If his mom had acquired him an entire harem, he’d need therapy. After a heart-pounding second, logic returned to his brain, and he concluded she must have adopted a Western name to help her in the States. He did not have a harem.
    Thank God.
    “Just Khai,” he said in English, dropping the surname and the tones. His