by Helen Hoang
Vy and all the cousins held their glasses up. “Congratulations, Derrick and Sara.”
They drank champagne and awwwed when the couple kissed. As the sweet bubbles fizzed on Esme’s tongue, she peered at Khải over the rim of her glass. He’d exchanged his champagne flute for his book and was flipping the pages again. Fliiip. Fliiip. Fliiip.
Did he still think something was missing?
Sara, the bride, separated from her husband and approached Khải. She’d changed into a red wedding aó dài with gold embroidered dragons and phoenixes, but Esme missed the white wedding gown with its billowing skirts. If she ever married, she’d wear her wedding gown the whole time, even for dancing. Forget tradition.
“Thanks for coming. I know you don’t like weddings,” Sara said.
Khải continued flipping the pages of his book. “No problem.”
Sara smiled wryly. “I remember how when we went to weddings when we were little, you and Andy used to hide in the bathroom during the dancing and play video games.”
His fingers froze on the book, and he went unnaturally still. “That’s what it is. It’s Andy.”
Sara drew in a quick breath. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been wondering all night what’s wrong with this wedding,” Khải said. “It’s Andy. He should be here.”
After a second of suspended belief, his cousin’s face collapsed, and fat teardrops tracked down her face, ruining her carefully applied makeup. “Why would you—What can I—How can I—”
She covered her mouth and fled the room. The groom looked at Khải for the longest moment like there were things he wanted to say, but in the end, he raced after his wife without a word. All the people from their table stared at each other, stunned speechless.
“Find me when you’re ready to leave.” Khải tapped his book against his thigh once and turned to leave.
Esme stepped toward him. “I’ll go with—”
“No, stay, dance, have fun. I’ll be out there.” He waved toward the exit, swiped the hair out of his eyes, and left.
Standing woodenly, she watched as he wove between the round tables and exited the ballroom. When the door swayed shut behind him, she sank into her seat, which was now between two empty chairs.
What had just happened? Why was he leaving? Who was Andy? Was he Sara’s ex-boyfriend, someone Khải preferred over the groom? She wanted to ask the others at the table, but they spoke among themselves in quiet tones, avoiding her questioning looks.
How did he expect her to enjoy the wedding alone? Was she supposed to dance with some random man? Maybe that middle-aged guy at the next table with three beers, a red leather jacket, and shoulder-length curls? She pressed a hand to her forehead. She didn’t want to dance with Asian Michael Jackson. She only wanted to dance with Khải.
She pushed away from the table. “I’m going to find him.”
Vy shook her head. “He might not want—”
Esme didn’t hear the rest of what his sister said. She rushed after Khải, but she searched and searched and couldn’t find him anywhere. He wasn’t in the hotel’s opulent lobby, the sitting rooms, or even the valet area out front. Was he reading in a bathroom somewhere while she was searching for him until her feet throbbed? She was about to knock on the men’s room door, but a sign on a nearby door caught her eye.
It read Kieu-Ly Changing Suite. Maybe he was in there? When she found the door unlocked, she let herself in.
The space inside looked like a disaster zone, complete with flats of Coca-Cola, giant bags of chips, and shoes all over the floor. Piles of clothes took up all the sitting space on the small sofa. No Khải in sight.
She spied an open door on the far wall and picked her way through the wreckage to check what was on the other side.
And lost her breath.
The bride’s wedding gown hung from the curtain bar above a tall window. White gossamer fabric caught the soft light just right. Before Esme knew what she was doing, she was floating across the changing room and running her fingertips over the cool skirts. She doubted she would ever wear anything so nice, not even at her own wedding, if she ever got married. She’d heard people whispering that it was a Vera Wang gown and cost ten thousand dollars.
But as she stood in the empty room, it occurred to her maybe she could wear a dress like this. And she didn’t need to get married to do it. She could wear this dress. Right now. She could do it quickly, just so she knew what it was like, and then continue searching the hotel for Khải. No one had to know.
She unzipped her green dress and let it fall to her feet before she stepped out of her shoes, sighing when her sore feet flattened against the carpet. She hadn’t worn a bra under her dress, and goose bumps rippled over her naked breasts. Wearing nothing but panties, she reached for the dress’s hanger. She arched onto her tiptoes and reached as high as she could. High, higher, but her fingertips couldn’t quite grasp it.
Just as she was coiling up to make a jump for it, the door in the other room squeaked open.
No.
Was it the bride? Was she going to change her dress again?
She stood still and held her breath. Measured footsteps padded around. Who was it?
There was the pop and hiss of a can of soda being opened, and the footsteps came closer.
No, no, no, no.
She couldn’t get caught in her underwear like this. Holding her arms to her breasts, she glanced about the room in a blind panic. No way out, only a closet. Without further thought, she sprinted into the closet and shut herself inside.
The door was the shuttered kind, and looking through the slats, she had a good view of the doorway. Step, step, step, step. The footsteps sounded heavy, male. Was it the groom? A hotel janitor? What was the most embarrassing thing that could happen? Knowing her stinky luck, she should expect that.
Khải strode into the room.
She pressed her forehead to the closet door in defeat. Of course it was him. He scanned the room and sat in an empty armchair across from the closet. After taking a sip of his Coca-Cola, he set it on the floor by his feet and continued reading the book with the spaceship and alien demon thing on the cover.
She almost groaned in frustration. She couldn’t continue hiding in the closet waiting for him to finish reading when he was reading waiting for her. She had to walk out and explain herself. How could she word things so he didn’t laugh as much?
He reached for his Coke can, but as he was lifting it to his mouth, his gaze caught on something. Following his line of sight, she saw her discarded dress and shoes. Did he recognize them?
Oh no, was he drawing certain conclusions?
There was nothing for it. She had to come out and explain herself. She pressed her palms to the closet door, preparing to push it open, but Khải jumped to his feet.
He angled his head to the side like he was listening to something.
That was when she heard it.
Stumbling footsteps in the adjoining room. They came closer. And closer. A loud thump sounded, like someone had slammed themselves against the wall. A moan.
Khải backed away from the door. He contemplated the window before his gaze locked on the closet.
Another thump on the wall. The footsteps grew louder. Another moan.
In three long strides, he crossed the room and yanked the closet door open. His jaw fell when he saw her, but there wasn’t time for surprise. He shut himself in the closet with her right as a couple stumbled through the door.
CHAPTER NINE
Naked.
That was the only thought Khai’s brain was capable of.
Naked.
He’d looked at her for less than a second before he shut them both in the closet, but it had been enough to see almost everything. Bare shoulders, full breasts that threatened to overflow the cage of her arms, tucked-in waist, lush hips, and wh
ite cotton panties with a little bow in the middle.
Delete, delete, delete. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to erase the image from his mind. But that made the sounds from the other side of the closet door louder.
Heavy breathing. Wet kissing sounds. Hands on fabric. The zzzzip of pants coming undone. Oh fuck, were they doing what he thought they were doing?
He looked through the slats and saw the couple intertwined on the floor. He didn’t recognize the woman, but her blond hair marked her as a friend of the family. With his Jheri curls and red leather jacket, the man couldn’t be mistaken as anyone other than his cousin Van. Maybe he was pursuing his fourth marriage now. Khai had no clue how that look worked so well for his cousin.
The two moaned simultaneously before their bodies began writhing rhythmically.
Dammit.
Khai turned away from the slats, but then he was looking at Esme again. Light spilled in alluring stripes over her smooth skin, outlining the length of her neck, the ripe curve of her breast, and—
Rule Number Six.
He covered his eyes with a hand and wished he was anywhere else in the world. He’d had enough of thinking about Andy, making people cry, and wanting Esme.
Antarctica would be a good change of pace. Glacial mountain peaks, barren expanses of pristine snow, emptiness, calm, the smallness of man—
“Oh wow. Wow. Wow,” the woman cried out. “Wowie!”
Khai’s focus shattered, and he dropped his hand away from his eyes. Wowie? Really? What the hell was Van doing out there?
A smothered choking sound drew his attention before he could spy on the couple again, and he found Esme’s shoulders shaking as she laughed into her palm. He supposed it was kind of funny, but he never laughed along with her. She’d taken an arm away from her chest, and he swore he could almost see one of her nipples. He wasn’t sure with all the shadows, but there was a dark—
Hell. He was in hell.
He stared at the wall, trying his best not to respond to the live porn both outside and inside the closet. It was impossible. The woman’s cries kept getting louder. Did Esme make those sounds? He hoped she didn’t say wowie. But something else. Like maybe . . . his name. His entire body hardened at the thought, and his skin went ultrasensitive. His pulse sped up. He attempted to put more space between them, but the side of the closet brought him up short. There was no escape.
How much longer could this go on? Were Van and his lady trying to set some sort of world record?
Eventually, the noises came to a horrible crescendo and then quieted. Van tottered drunkenly to his feet and helped his partner up. They straightened their clothes with awkward conversation and disappeared. Khai waited for a count of sixty before he pushed the closet door open and walked out. He took a breath, and the air smelled like—no, he wasn’t going to think about what the air smelled like. An involuntary shudder coursed through him.
Esme followed him out of the closet, her cheeks reddened to a fantastic lobstery sheen, and went to get her green dress and shoes—he’d thought they looked familiar. Keeping her back to him, she stepped into her dress and pulled it up. A woman’s back wasn’t one of the restricted body parts mentioned in the footnotes of the Rules, so he let himself look. But it still felt like rule breaking. The curve at the base of her spine was one of the most elegant things he’d ever seen.
“Help me?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
His feet took him to her on their own. As his heart pounded loudly in his ears, he fumbled with the zipper and pulled it along the graceful line of her back, covering her perfect skin. When he finished, she turned around, and their eyes met.
“I wanted to wear the wedding dress,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t reach it.”
He glanced at the wedding gown hanging on the curtain rod. Yeah, she was definitely too short for that. “Do you want me to get it down for you?”
A smile worked over her face, one of those mind-scrambling, breathtaking smiles that made her eyes greener. He’d caused that smile. The knowledge sent warmth melting through him, better than a big sweater fresh from the dryer.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
Her smile widened. “You didn’t laugh.”
“Why would I?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you.”
“I took a walk outside. To clear my head. I’m not . . . good with people.” And the banquet hall and hotel had felt suffocating. Once he’d realized what was missing, he’d started to notice all the places where Andy should have been. Getting a drink at the wet bar, standing with the groomsmen, at Khai’s side . . .
“I’m also not good with people,” she said.
That was a revelation to Khai, and when he looked at her then, her imperfections stuck out for the first time. One of her eyebrows arched more than the other. Her nose wasn’t as straight as he’d thought. There, on the left side of her neck, a tiny birthmark. She wasn’t a photoshopped image on a magazine. She was a real person, flawed. Oddly, that made her more beautiful. She was also smart in her own strange way, with a sense of fairness that resonated with his own. She wasn’t at all what he’d thought in the beginning.
She stepped toward him, and when she bit her bottom lip, his eyes tracked the movement, mesmerized by the way her white teeth scraped over the full red skin. What if he leaned down and kissed her?
Would she let him? What would it be like to bring their mouths together? To feel those red lips against his own? To delve inside and claim—
Something skated lightly against his hand.
Cold. Unexpected. Wrong.
“What the—” He jerked away on reflex, way too quickly and violently, and she startled and backed away from him with wide eyes.
“Sorry,” she said as she hugged her hand to her chest. She’d touched him, maybe to hold hands, and he’d frightened her. He hated frightening people.
Explanations piled up on his tongue, but he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t even know if he should bother. What was the point? After this summer, they were never going to see each other again.
The impression of her touch remained on his skin, shimmery and unpleasant, and he knew from experience the sensation wouldn’t fade for another day. Light touches did that, and it was worse when people caught him by surprise. Like she had. If she’d warned him, and if she’d touched him the right way, maybe . . . He shook his head at his thoughts. There was no maybe.
The incident today with Sara had confirmed he wasn’t meant for relationships. Since that was the case, he couldn’t encourage touching. What if—he didn’t know—what if they explored this attraction between them, and she fell in love with him? That would be horribly irresponsible of him, wouldn’t it? He could never love her back. He’d just hurt her. And he never wanted to do that. She was supposed to be happy.
When he rubbed his hand against his pant leg in an effort to blunt the feeling, she watched the motion with a tightening of her lips.
“If you want to eat cake and dance, I don’t mind waiting for you here.” But he wasn’t going to join her. He was finished with that banquet room. And maybe it was cowardly, but he didn’t want to see Sara crying anymore.
“No, no, let’s go.” She flashed a smile at him and walked efficiently from the room.
As they strode down the hotel’s lavish hallways, Khai was very aware that she didn’t rest her hand in the crook of his arm. She kept a healthy distance between them, and he couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or relieved. He honestly hadn’t liked it before, but he liked this even less.
The ground shook with a rhythmic bass when they passed the doors to the banquet hall where the reception was taking place. The dancing had started. That meant dinner was over, the fruit-filled wedding cake had been eaten, speeches spoken, and the wedding was basically done.
Andy had missed all of it.
He should have been here. He probably would have been a groomsman. If not, he definitely would have been an usher. He would have sat next to Khai during the ceremony and reception. He would have given a speech that embarrassed Sara and made everyone laugh. Right now, he’d be in there dancing because it was Sara’s wedding and he was that kind of brother.
The fact that he wasn’t in there dancing made Khai’s shoulders, lungs, and feet heavy. He pulled at his collar again because it was strangling him. At least he knew what was wrong now. It was his sense of order. Things weren’t in their proper place.
It was so important to him to have things in their proper place.
* * *
• • •
When they got back to Khải’s house, he parked by the curb again. Esme wondered why he didn’t like using his garage, but she didn’t want to ask him. She couldn’t forget the way he’d wiped her touch off his hand.
Why had he acted so disgusted?
He’d had that look in his eyes, the one men got when they wanted to kiss you. She knew that look. Or she thought she did. In that moment, all she’d wanted was for him to do it. She hadn’t stopped to think about marriage, green cards, and finding a daddy for her baby. She’d been too mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the pull that always drew her to him. She’d wanted to feel his lips on hers, to be close to him, to know him.
But he’d pushed her away.
As she showered and got ready for bed, her eyes pricked with tears a few times, but she didn’t cry. She’d been rejected before. This wasn’t new. It meant she needed to try harder. She could do that. She certainly wasn’t giving up.
Determined, she pulled on her favorite T-shirt, crossed the bathroom, and opened his door like she owned it. He propped himself up on an elbow and frowned at her as he swiped the overlong hair from his eyes. The blankets slid down, revealing his defined chest and part of his muscled stomach. Beautiful man.
Before he could come up with an excuse to send her away, she boldly helped herself to the empty half of his bed and stretched out on her side, facing him. Her shirt cooperated by exposing her shoulder and a good amount of cleavage. He looked. She saw him look. And since she had his attention, she reached up and gathered her hair above her head, away from her neck. The motion caused the neckline of her shirt to shift even lower, scandalously low. Cool air touched a fair amount of her chest, and she didn’t cover herself, even though her heart pounded.