The Bride Test

by Helen Hoang

  When he started to move his hips as he caressed her with his fingers, she couldn’t stop the sounds escaping her throat. Stroked inside and out, treasured, loved. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him in every way she could as their bodies found a rhythm.

  He was here. He was hers. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Kisses everywhere, on her lips, on her throat, her shoulder. Temple to temple, heavy intimate breaths, whispers in her ear, answers.

  Like this?

  Like this and this and this.

  Her hips rose sharply off the floor, pressing as close to him as possible, high, higher, higher. Head thrown back. Too much, too good, so good. A trembling moan. Strong convulsions, over and over and over.

  And you?

  All I need is you.

  Her name, her name, her name, her name.

  Pure stillness.

  In her mind and in her heart.

  Warm. Content. Safe in his arms. Him safe in hers. She hugged him tighter. He was bigger and stronger, but she would protect him with everything she had.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Khai woke up from the deepest sleep of his life and blinked his bedroom into focus. When he saw how bright it was, he glanced at the clock: 10:23 A.M. Really? He never slept in this late. He tried to sit upright, but a warm weight kept him down. He lifted hands to the mass and encountered long silky hair and soft skin.

  Esme.

  Memories flooded his mind. Kissing her. Touching her. Being touched by her. Being inside her. Watching her come apart.

  As he lay there staring at the popcorn ceiling, he recognized he should be losing his shit—his Sunday schedule was destroyed, and there was a woman in his bed, sleeping on him like a sloth in a tree. But her weight was calming, he’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have blue balls. He felt . . . good.

  He analyzed the odd sense of well-being, not trusting it. Was it due to the oxytocin and endorphins released during intercourse? Was he addicted to sex now . . . or was it worse than that? Was he addicted to Esme? Should he get rid of her before it was too late?

  The thought of losing her made his stomach drop and his body stiffen in rejection, and he brushed the hair away from her cheek and kissed the top of her head, needing to reassure himself she was still here.

  Well, that explained everything.

  Khai Diep, CPA, Esme addict.

  He was surprisingly okay with it. It was hard to be upset when he had her in his arms. But the day would come when she had to go, and he didn’t know what it would take to readjust to life without her. For now, however, he didn’t have to think about it. The summer was only half over.

  His phone buzzed, and he picked it up instantly, grateful for the distraction. An email from Quan’s friend about the list of Phils. Before he could open it, Esme stirred.

  “Oh, I’m on top of you,” she said. “Did I sleep here all night?”

  “I think so.”

  “Sorry.” She eased off him. He was about to voice a protest but got preoccupied with her hair. It looked like she’d brushed it backward, applied hairspray while upside down, or both. She swiped at the extra-volumized strands and self-consciously tucked the only tame tendril behind her ear. “Do you hurt anywhere? From me sleeping on you?”

  She patted her hands over his chest like she was searching for something—he didn’t know what, signs of internal bleeding or broken bones maybe—and he covered her hands with his. If she touched him much more, they’d be having morning breath sex, and he wasn’t sure how that worked.

  “I’m fine. You’re the perfect size for me,” he said.

  She grinned. “You think I’m pretty and the perfect size.”

  That was obvious, so he changed the subject. “I just got a narrowed-down list from Quan’s friend.” He sat up and accessed the email. “Looks like he narrowed it down to . . . nine. There are full names, attendance information, phone numbers, and the pictures from their old student IDs. Want to see?”

  “Yes, I want to.” She grabbed the phone and immediately snuggled up next to him, pulling the blankets over her breasts—a crying shame. Oblivious to his disappointment, she flashed him an excited look before scanning the photographs. When she got to number eight, she grabbed Khai’s far arm and wrapped it around her middle so he was hugging her, and he smiled.

  He liked this, the snuggling, her smiles, the fact that she helped him be there for her. He hadn’t known she needed to be hugged, and it was immensely freeing that instead of getting angry with him or sad, she communicated and showed him what to do.

  “That’s him,” she whispered. “Number eight.”

  Khai considered the photograph skeptically. The man had green eyes, but everyone looked more or less the same to him. How had she settled on this one? “Judging by his 650 area code, he’s local.”

  She covered her mouth. “Is it too early to call now?”

  “It’s not early. It’s after ten.”

  Her eyes widened, and she glanced out the window like she was just noticing the time of day. “We were up late, huh?”

  “We were.” As memories of last night flitted through his head, he let his eyes trail over her profile, her fine jaw, and the graceful line of her neck. He cleared his throat and touched his fingertips to the little purple blemishes on her skin. “I, um, may have left marks on you.”

  Shit, were they permanent? He hadn’t made them on purpose, though he had to admit he found the sight highly satisfying. Apparently, he was like a dog and felt the need to mark his territory—not with pee, though.

  She pressed a hand to her neck and grinned as her cheeks bloomed with color. “They go away.”

  He nodded, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  After scrutinizing the other photographs again, she returned to number eight. Her finger hovered over the phone number as she took a deep breath, and then she pressed it and hit the speaker button. She chewed on her bottom lip as the phone rang once, twice, three times.

  Four times, five, six . . .

  Seven, eight, nine . . .

  “Hi, you’ve reached Phil Jackson. I’m probably busy in the operating room. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  When voice mail started recording, she hit the end button, and Khai looked at her in confusion.

  “You don’t want to leave a message?” he asked.

  She shook her head quickly. For a long while, she continued worrying her lip as she stared at the photograph on the screen. “Do you think . . . he is a doctor?”

  “Maybe. We can check.” He got the phone from her and Googled “Phil Jackson MD.” Sure enough, there was a Phil Jackson in Palo Alto who specialized in cardiovascular and thoracic surgery.

  Esme snatched the phone from him and zoomed in on the man’s picture. He looked nice enough with his distinguished white hair, glasses, and easy smile, kind of like if Santa Claus worked out and got a shave.

  “He is a doctor,” Esme whispered, but she didn’t look happy about it. Her brow wrinkled, and she kept torturing her bottom lip.

  “Is that a problem?”

  She ran a hand through her headbanger hair and lifted a shoulder. “A man like that . . . for his daughter . . . I’m not . . .” She gave up and looked out the window.

  “You don’t think he’ll like you?”

  Her eyes searched his. “You think he will?”

  “Of course he will.” How could someone not like her?

  She surprised him by tackling him with a hug and burying her face against his neck. After a shocked moment, he tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against hers. Was she sad? Was she happy? Was she crying? He had no clue whatsoever, so he held her and waited.

  But as he waited, he couldn’t help noticing he had a very naked Esme straddling his
very naked hips. Her breasts were plumped against his chest, and her sex was right there. It took a tenth of a second for his body to respond in the expected manner, and he winced. This didn’t strike him as the right way to react when you had an emotional woman in your arms. He was wishing his erection away, when she brushed up against it, stiffened in realization, and deliberately rubbed herself over his length as she bit his ear.

  “Again?” she whispered.

  There was only one possible way to answer that question. It looked like they were having morning breath sex after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The month that followed was the best month of Esme’s life. Now that she’d gotten the hang of things, waitressing suited her just fine, and she saved up enough to either fix her grandma’s house or buy something better. Her grades in school stayed high. She couldn’t become Esme in Accounting, but she was getting close.

  Best of all, her time with Khải was like a dream. Things had become easy between them. She knew to turn the exhaust hood on when she cooked with fish sauce, and he’d learned to kiss her every morning when she left for work and hug her every evening when he picked her up from class. He still didn’t speak much unless she asked him specific questions, but that was fine. She talked enough for both of them, and he was a good listener. She’d made an offhand comment about wanting to ride on a sailboat someday, and he’d surprised her today by taking her to Sunday brunch on the water in the San Francisco Bay. It had been lovely. Their first date.

  Now they were settling onto the couch at his place. She had studying to do, and his work was seemingly endless. She’d highlighted a few textbook pages before she made the poor choice of glancing up at him. He was wearing his reading glasses again, dressed in formfitting black as usual, and brooding over his computer screen like he was masterminding an elite sniper attack. A peek at his computer, however, revealed spreadsheets instead of battle blueprints.

  It was sexy anyway. And she couldn’t prevent herself from setting her homework aside and cozying up next to him. He didn’t seem to notice at first, and she kissed the strong cords in his neck and his jaw.

  “Khải,” she whispered. “How about—”

  His lips met hers, and the rest of the words didn’t matter. Like always, he kissed her with his entire attention and intensity, and it wasn’t long before she displaced his computer and took up the space on his lap—her plan from the beginning.

  They bumped his glasses askew, and he grabbed them like he was going to remove them.

  “No,” she said quickly and repositioned them for him. “I like them.”

  He sent her a puzzled look. “My reading glasses? You want me to wear them . . . now?”

  She bit her lip as she grinned. “They’re sexy.”

  “Reading glasses?” He shook his head as he chuckled, but he kept them on. “What else is sexy?”

  “You. Naked.” She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled upward, but then her phone rang and buzzed.

  It was the cute little song that played every time she got a call from her mom’s cell phone. She’d chosen it because she’d thought Jade would like it.

  Khải reached for her purse, which she’d left on his side of the couch, and thoughts fired through her mind faster than lightning: He knew where she kept her phone. He was going to get it for her. He was going to see the picture of Esme and Jade on the screen. He was going to know.

  She dove for her bag, but instead of intercepting him, she toppled off the couch and almost cracked her head on the coffee table.

  “Are you okay?” Strong hands pulled her upright and smoothed over her head just to make sure.

  Her phone continued ringing. “I’m fine. I just—the caller—maybe it’s Phil Jackson.” She winced. It wasn’t Phil Jackson.

  Khải picked up her bag, and when he started to unzip the outer pocket where she kept her phone, she snatched it out of his hands.

  “I’ll get it,” she said in an overly bright voice, but when she finally retrieved the phone, it had stopped ringing.

  Guilt niggled at her belly. Judging by the number of rings, it had probably been Jade.

  “Are you going to call back?” Khải asked, looking at her phone curiously.

  She bit her lip. “Um, maybe later. I—”

  The phone starting ringing again. Same ringtone. Her mouth went dry, and sweat beaded upon her brow. She clutched the phone to her chest.

  She should tell him. Right now. Things were going well. Maybe he’d take the news in stride.

  “It’s my mom,” she heard herself say through the pounding of her heart.

  “You should answer. I don’t mind.”

  But did he?

  What if it was too soon? What if she ruined everything?

  “I’ll talk in the other room, so you can work,” she said, losing all courage at the last second. She ran to her room, shut the door, and hurried to answer the phone. “Hello?”

  “Má.” Jade’s unmistakable child’s voice came across the line, and Esme’s guilt worsened. What kind of mother kept her child a secret? She wasn’t ashamed of her girl, but having a child when she was so young didn’t look good. She already had so many drawbacks. How could she add another?

  “Hi, my girl.”

  “I called you because I miss you,” Jade said.

  Esme’s throat ached, and her eyes pricked. “I miss you, too.”

  “That’s all I wanted to say. Ngoại said not to waste the phone minutes. Oh, and if they have horse toys there, you can get me one if you want. I love you too much. Bye.”

  After the call disconnected, a sound that was half laugh and half sob coughed from her lips, and she buried her face in her hands. She had to tell Khải.

  Soon.

  But not yet.

  * * *

  • • •

  On Monday, Esme was sitting in a booth after the lunch rush deliberating between two toy stores on her phone—one was a forty-five-minute walk away and the other was a half-hour walk away followed by a half-hour bus ride—when Cô Nga marched in from the kitchens.

  “Here, what are you doing all by yourself?” Cô Nga asked.

  Esme scrambled to turn her phone off and hid it under her thigh for good measure before covering up with a smile. “Lunch.” She wished she’d told Cô Nga about Jade in the very beginning.

  Cô Nga eyed the plate of eggrolls on the table. “Eggrolls again? Five days in a row already. You’re going to clog your heart to death.”

  Esme shrugged uncomfortably. Heart clogging was the whole point, though she hoped it didn’t kill her. If she could manage high cholesterol and chest pain, she might be able to meet Phil Jackson as a patient. That was far better than calling him and hanging up when the call went to voice mail.

  “Well, you’re still young. You should eat all the bad stuff while you can,” Cô Nga said as she slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Talk to me. How are you two? You seem happy to me.”

  A smile spread helplessly across Esme’s lips. “I’ve never been this happy in my life. I hope I make Anh Khải—”

  The bells jangled on the door, and Khải stepped inside, looking like he was about to rob the place in all his stealthy black clothes. Her heart jumped with giddiness, and she ran to him. He closed his arms around her immediately.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can get you something.”

  His response was a kiss that made her blood go warm and thick. “We had an off-site meeting today, and it finished early. I don’t need anything.”

  “You come to see your woman, but not your mother. I see how it is,” Cô Nga said.

  There was a bite to her voice, and both Esme and Khải shriveled inward. It was true. Khải disliked visiting his mom because she always sent him on errands. He’d come just for Esme.

 
Knowing not to surprise-touch him, she grabbed his sleeve and ran her fingers down to his palm, and he held her hand tight.

  His mom sighed. “These two kids. Here, here, come sit.” She waved them toward the booth, and after they sat down, she pointed at Esme’s plate of eggrolls. “She’s been eating these all week. Do you have something to tell me?”

  Khải considered the eggrolls, accompanying greens, and small cup of fish sauce with a blank stare. “She likes your eggrolls? They’re the best in town.”

  “They’re the best in all of California,” Cô Nga corrected before she switched her attention to Esme. “This is how women eat when they’re pregnant. Do I have a grandbaby on the way?”

  Esme’s jaw dropped as both mother and son turned to face her. Khải looked like he was about to have the heart attack Esme had been aiming for. “No, I’m not pregnant, I swear.”

  “Are you sure?” Cô Nga asked with narrowed eyes. “You’re tired all the time.”

  “I’m sure,” she said. She was tired because she stayed up all night studying. And fooling around with Khải.

  Khải released a relieved breath, but an uncomfortable brew of emotions swarmed in Esme’s belly. She wasn’t pregnant, but there was a baby.

  Tell them now, a voice commanded inside her head. Now was the perfect time.

  “I don’t mean to pressure you, but the summer is almost over,” Cô Nga said as she focused on Khải and patiently folded her hands on the table. “It’s time for you two to start thinking about the future.”

  Esme’s heart lurched about her chest as she watched the muscles in Khải’s jaw work.

  What was he thinking? He couldn’t want her to leave. Not after this perfect month together. But did he want her badly enough to marry her?

  “I still have that reception room reserved for August eighth. If she doesn’t marry you, she leaves on August ninth. What will it be? A wedding or a trip to the airport? Tell me your decision at your cousin Michael’s wedding this weekend, so I have time to arrange things,” Cô Nga said. “I’ll let you two kids talk, ha? Maybe go for a walk. It’s nice out, and there aren’t any customers right now.” His mom slid out of the booth and disappeared through the swaying double doors that led to the kitchens.