The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient 2)

The following evening, as Esme and Kh?i 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 Vietnamese weddings, since she’d personally skipped that part of the baby-making process. It said a lot about them that he could think this wedding was missing something when it was as close to perfect as she could imagine.

A flutist started playing, and a little flower girl with pigtails tossed rose petals as she walked down the aisle between row after row of men in suits and women in áo dài and cocktail dresses. The bride wore a filmy gown that looked like it was made of clouds. She took her father’s arm and walked to the wedding altar, where the groom waited, watching her like she was everything.

Esme’s throat knotted, and though she tried to ignore it, her wanting grew so big her chest ached. She didn’t need live music or a place this nice or a gown this beautiful, but the rest . . .

As the ceremony went on, she found herself watching Kh?i more often than the bride and groom. He concentrated on the couple’s vows with his usual intensity, and she wanted to reach up and trace the strong lines of his profile, anything to feel closer to him. They were side by side, but they felt so far apart.

Was he going to be hers someday? He’d held her last night, and she’d enjoyed her first good night of sleep since she’d come here. No nightmares about her baby’s playboy daddy and heiress wife taking Jade or the accompanying guilt that she’d been selfish in keeping her child. She told herself repeatedly that she hadn’t done it just for herself. She’d mostly done it for Jade. Because her love for her child was strong enough to make a difference. That love had brought her here, hadn’t it?

Maybe another kind of love could grow between her and Kh?i. If he opened up to her. She felt like she was on the verge of reaching him, so very close. Maybe it would happen tonight. Maybe when they danced.

The couple kissed, and the crowd broke into applause. Everyone stood up as Sara and her new husband strode past, huge grins on their faces. Cameras flashed, phone screens glowed, and bubbles floated in the air. An announcer said it was time to move to the banquet room for the reception, and Esme gathered her courage and hooked her hand around Kh?i’s arm. His body tensed as he looked down at her fingers on his coat sleeve. She held her breath, horribly conscious of how unpretty her hand looked on him. Those short nails and inelegant fingers. Her mom had nice hands and often lamented that Esme hadn’t inherited them. She said Esme had truck-driver hands.

Silly comments flitted through her mind, things she could say to possibly make him crack a smile, but she didn’t say them. She was too anxious to be funny. In the end, he didn’t relax, but he didn’t brush her off, either. That was good. Right?

“Well, isn’t this cute?” asked a feminine voice in a dry tone.

A pretty woman with straight bangs, natural-toned lipstick, and a severe black cocktail dress approached them, and Kh?i broke away to hug her.

“Hi, baby brother.”

“Hi, Vy.”

The woman brushed away invisible lint from the shoulders of his suit and inspected him

like a momma cat did her kittens. “You need a haircut.”

“It’s fine.” But Kh?i swiped the hair away from his face anyway.

It was on the tip of Esme’s tongue to offer to cut his hair, but she swallowed her words. These weren’t the kind of people who cut their own hair. Judging by this place and their designer clothes, they probably went to fancy salons where they gave you tea and a neck massage.

Vy’s lips thinned. “It’s getting messy. Unless you’re growing it out. That could work for you.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

She fingered the lapel of his suit coat. “Is this the one I picked out for you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s probably why I like it so much.” Appeased, the woman finally looked away from Kh?i and focused on Esme. “So here she is.”

Esme smiled tentatively, unsure of what to expect. “Hi, Ch? Vy.”

Vy shook her hand and returned her smile just as tentatively. “You’re M?.” Her eyes swept over Esme’s tiny green dress and mostly naked limbs, and her expression went carefully blank.

Esme tried to pull on the hem of her skirt without people noticing. She should have worn something else, something Grandma-approved that didn’t have cheap sequins and glitter, but she hadn’t known it wasn’t acceptable until she’d seen all the conservative dresses here. “I changed it to Esme when I came here.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Vy said in slow, awkward Vietnamese, which suggested she didn’t speak it often but had switched over for Esme’s sake.