Liam shook his head. “No tamales.”

“But it would be so interesting. Did you know that San Francisco residents ate twenty-five thousand tamales a week in 1890?”

God, he loved this. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself back in the Patel kitchen as Daisy told him all sorts of weird and wonderful facts. Even now, he could remember the height of the world’s tallest man, and the size of the world’s biggest ball of string.

“I’d eat twenty-five thousand tamales right now if it meant we didn’t have to go to the lecture. How about going to a bar for Date #5 instead, and then a motorcycle ride for Date #6?”

“I don’t know anything about riding.” She bit her bottom lip. “And I don’t do that kind of stuff anymore.”

“Exciting stuff?”

“Risky stuff. I like to play it safe.”

Liam wanted to know why she’d given up the fun things she used to do with her father, but this wasn’t the time to ask. Still, there was nothing he loved more, and he desperately wanted to share it with her.

“What if I take you to a motorcycle shop and you can quiz my friend Hamish about safety and bike mechanics, wind velocity, and safety gear? If you’re still not comfortable after that, I’ll go with you to listen to one hundred years of tamale-making history.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “One hundred and thirty-one to be exact, and I agree to both #5 and #6. For Date #7, we’ll be meeting my family and my dad to get their approval. And Date #8 isn’t really a date, but it can be our wedding. I’ll book a time at city hall.”

“Vegas,” Liam said firmly. “I can’t do city hall, even for a fake wedding. It’s not me. If I’m spending a small fortune on an outfit and I’m carrying a big-ass sword, I want to get married somewhere it will be appreciated. And I want an Elvis.”

“An Elvis?” she repeated.

“He’ll be in full costume, and after he says ‘You may kiss the bride,’ he’ll break out his guitar and sing ‘A Big Hunk o’ Love.’” He sighed and gazed into the distance. “Men have wedding fantasies, too.”

Daisy’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“No.” He fought back his laughter. Sometimes Daisy was so literal, it was almost too easy to wind her up. “I think ‘Just Pretend’ or ‘Return to Sender’ might be more appropriate.”

Daisy stared at him, her expression blank, but he knew what was going on behind those narrowed eyes. She was amused, but afraid to show it.

“‘Heartbreak Hotel’?” He was determined to make her smile. “‘Crying in the Chapel’? ‘Jailhouse Rock’?” He pushed a little harder. “Or how about ‘Hard Headed Woman’?”

“‘Don’t Be Cruel.’” Her lips quivering at the corners, Daisy picked up her phone and tapped on the screen. “One Vegas wedding plus one Elvis. Song: TBA. I’ll send you the final spreadsheet.”

“Your cold, detached, and calculating approach to dating is a huge turn on,” Liam said dryly. “You’re lucky we’re in a public place. I can barely contain myself.”

Their food arrived and Daisy tucked in to her dosas. Liam studied his plate and frowned at the unfamiliar presentation. “Is this—”

“Pork vindaloo. Extra hot. Just the way you wanted it.”

Liam scooped up a mouthful of pork, taking a moment to savor the rich, delicate flavors on his tongue.

“Delicious,” he said. “And not too hot at all. I might even ask for some extra cayenne.”

Daisy stared at him, her lips quivering at the corners. “Wait for it . . .”

Liam lifted his fork for another bite, but even after the warning, he was totally unprepared for the flaming inferno in his mouth.

He gasped, sweat beading on his forehead, pain screaming across his tongue. “Water!”

“Water won’t help you.” Daisy pushed her raita across the table, clearly trying to contain her laughter. “You need yogurt.”

Liam grabbed the bowl and gulped down the yogurt in frantic slurps.

“It’s a dip. Not a drink.” Laughing now, she snapped a picture of him. “How’s the asbestos tongue now?”

“What the fuck was that?” He was at once embarrassed and angry with himself for his stubborn pride.

“Extra hot. Just the way you ordered it. Instead of being so stubborn, you should listen to people who know what they’re talking about. It doesn’t make you less of a man.”

“That’s not what my father thought,” he said, half to himself. His father never took advice if he thought he could do something himself, whether it was filing false tax returns with the IRS, forging applications for disability benefits, or screwing investors out of their hard-earned cash.

His father also never thought his youngest son was his own flesh and blood. Liam was worthless, stupid, no good, and most definitely less of a man.

He pushed his plate away and soothed his tongue with the remaining spoons of raita. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t think about the past, and he never talked about his father. “I don’t need advice,” he said abruptly.

It had taken him a long time to move past his father’s emotional abuse, to learn to disregard people’s opinions and rely only on himself, to actually feel the confidence he projected to the outside world. But sitting here in front of the smartest, prettiest, sexiest woman he’d ever known—a woman he would never be worthy of having except in a world of pretend dates and fake marriages—he wasn’t feeling it at all.

Daisy paused mid bite and frowned. “I just didn’t want you to burn your mouth.”

“I know what I want,” he snapped. “And I wanted it like that.”