That was the best option. If she found her dad, she would automatically be granted citizenship, and she wouldn’t need to marry anyone to do it. The process would probably be expedited then, too. But if she couldn’t find her dad …
He fished his phone out and Googled “United States citizenship through marriage.” According to the search results, the government granted green cards three years after marriage to an American citizen.
Khai was an American.
If that was all she needed—and it did look that way—he could marry her. He could have this beyond the summer. His head spun as he envisioned it. Him and her, together, sex and TV and sharing a bed and her smiles and laughter, without end.
No, that didn’t seem right. That would be taking advantage of her. A green card wasn’t worth a life sentence, but three years were required.
Three years with Esme.
The force of his wanting grew so intense his skin flashed hot. Compared to the three measly weeks he’d thought he had left, three years was a luxurious amount of time. He could give his Esme addiction three entire years of free rein, and then set her free to find love. Win-win.
But only if she didn’t find her dad. With his mom wanting an answer by this Saturday, however, Esme was running out of time.
That decided it. If Esme didn’t locate her dad this week, Khai was proposing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Early Saturday evening, Esme was pulling her black dress over her head when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She yanked the dress all the way down and leaped to pick up her phone.
Unknown caller.
She hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“Uh, hi, this is Phil Turner. I got your message?” a man said. “What is this about?”
She took a deep breath so her nerves had time to settle and repeated lines that had become familiar over the past week as she’d gone through her list of Phils one by one, “Hi, my name is Esmeralda. Have you been to Vi?t Nam?”
“Yeah, sure I have. If this is a free vacation or something, I’m not—”
“I am looking for someone who was there twenty-four years ago,” she said.
“Oh. Yeah …” There was a long, drawn-out whistling sound like he was searching his memories. “No. My first time was Hanoi in early 2000.”
She sighed as disappointment weighed on her. That meant there was only one Phil left, and there was no guarantee he was the One True Phil. If he hadn’t been to Vi?t Nam either, that left her back where she’d begun.
“You are not the right person,” she said. “Thank you for calling back.”
“Sure, no problem. Good luck. I hope you find him. Bye.”
He hung up, and Esme carefully set her phone down on the desk. The last Phil on the list was a Schumacher, or Shoo-mock-er, as Kh?i pronounced it. She tried the surname on—Esmeralda Schumacher—and frowned. That would take some getting used to, though she liked the meaning, shoemaker. There were a lot of feet in this world.
That reminded her she needed to wear torture heels all night again. She stepped into the offending shoes, picked up a handful of cheap jewelry, and gazed at herself in the floor-length mirror inside the bathroom. She held the sparkly necklace up to her throat but decided against it and put it down. Once she’d finished putting on the earrings, a bracelet, and makeup, a new woman stared back at her from the mirror.
She’d gotten it right this time. She looked classy like Kh?i’s sister, and it gave her a much-needed boost of confidence.
Tonight was the night. She was going to tell him about Jade, and if he didn’t seem completely overwhelmed, she was going to propose.