The Bride Test by Helen Hoang Page B

followed. She started to talk several times but held back. Finally, she whispered, “Can I sleep here tonight? At home, I sleep with Má and Ngoại and ... I won’t touch you, I promise. Unless you want ...” Her eyes glittered mysteriously as she gazed at him.
    Unless he wanted what? Wait, did she mean
sex
? No, he didn’t want sex. Actually, he did. His body was enthusiastic about the idea. But mind over penis and all that. Sex was tangled with romantic relationships in his mind, and because he wasn’t suited for relationships, it only made sense to avoid the sex. Besides, touching was complicated for him. Hugs were mostly okay, but anything else was likely to be a problem. It was bad enough he had to give his haircutter instructions for how to manage. He didn’t want to do that with a woman before the act.
    He looked at the empty half of his large bed. The blankets were completely undisturbed, pristine. And he liked them that way. He always felt a certain accomplishment when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have to make the other side of the bed.
    Rubbing at her elbow, she edged away from him. In a small voice, she said, “Sorry, I’ll go—”
    He pulled the blankets down. “You can sleep here, I guess.”
    Dammit, what was he doing? He didn’t want her sharing his bed. But she looked like she was going to start crying again. She wasn’t supposed to be sad. Esme was always happy, always smiling.
    She covered her mouth. “Really?”
    He swiped the hair away from his forehead. This was a horrible idea. He could already tell. “I might snore.”
    “My grandma snores like a motorcycle. It doesn’t bother me,” she said with a big grin.
    There it was. Her smile. It was important somehow. Muscles relaxed that he hadn’t been aware of tensing.
    She crawled under the covers and plopped her head down on the pillow, lying on her side so she faced him. He stretched out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. They were a good arm’s length apart, but his heart threatened to go into cardiac arrest anyway.
    This was weird. He’d done sleepovers with girl cousins. This was nothing like that. He wasn’t attracted to his girl cousins. His girl cousins didn’t cut down trees with meat cleavers, wear his boxers, or want to marry him. His girl cousins didn’t run to him when they had nightmares.
    Only Esme.
    “Thank you, Anh Khải,” she said.
    He pulled the blankets up to his neck. “You’re welcome. Try to get some sleep. My cousin Sara’s wedding is tomorrow.” His brow creased when he realized he’d never mentioned it to her. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I do.
Do
you want to?”
    “Your mom told me about it. I want to go.” Her voice vibrated with excitement, and he almost sighed. At least one of them was going to have a good time.
    “Okay, then. Good night, Esme.”
    “Sleep well, Anh Khải.”
    For several moments, he was aware of her watching him. He could almost feel the happiness rays beaming off her and bouncing against the side of his face, but it wasn’t long before she fell asleep. She didn’t snore, and she didn’t take up much space. But her mere presence sent him into a state of alarm.
    There was a woman in his bed, his life was completely out of order, and there was a wedding tomorrow.
    That night, he didn’t sleep at all.

T he following evening, as Esme and Khải waited for the ceremony to start in the hotel’s gold-encrusted ballroom, the last thing she expected him to say was, “This wedding is missing something.”
    She took in the tall floral arrangements, crystal chandeliers, and French palace ambience and shook her head. “Missing what?”
    “I thought you’d know.”
    “Me?”
    “I can’t figure it out.” He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar like his tie was too tight.
    She scanned their surroundings again, but nothing obvious stuck out. Of course, she had no idea what to expect at an American wedding. She barely knew