The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient #2)(62)

“What do you mean?”

She flashed an uncomfortable smile at him and crossed her arms to hide her hands, but he held his palm out.

“Let me see,” he said.

“You’re driving.”

He pulled on her arm until she relented. Instead of inspecting her hand, however, he brought her fist to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I don’t care what these hands do as long as they’re yours.”

It was silly—he was no poet—but his words made her eyes sting with tears. When he put his hand back on the gearshift, she rested hers on top of his. It wasn’t a pretty hand by any means, but it was small compared to his. Did people think they made a good-looking couple?

She relaxed against her seat and watched him on and off for the rest of the drive, recognizing the emotion bursting in her heart. It had been creeping up on her, growing bigger every day, and there was no denying it now. When you felt this way about someone, you didn’t keep secrets from them. No matter how scared she was, she was telling him everything tonight.

? ? ?

Attending a wedding in a tuxedo and bare feet was a first for Khai. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something—his shoes—but Esme appeared charmed. She dug her toes into the sand like a kid as they walked hand in hand across the beach toward the white folding chairs and wedding altar arranged before the water. She wore that same shapeless black dress again, but she was still so pretty she scrambled his brain. It was her smile. She was happy. All was right in the world.

“Only twenty people?” she asked.

There was a brief pause as he shifted his focus from her loveliness to her words. “Yeah, they wanted it small. Stella doesn’t like crowds.” Just like him. “Do you like big weddings?” He’d give Esme an enormous wedding if she wanted, but something like this was more his style. With less sand.

“Small or big, anything is good.” Esme lifted her shoulders in an indifferent way, but then her eyes sparkled as she said, “The flowers, dress, and cake are the fun part.”

He nodded and immediately committed those items to memory. If she agreed to marry him, they’d go to town on flowers, dresses, and cake. Flowers by the truckload. Couture wedding gown. Ten cakes, a hundred, for all he cared. As long as she said yes. Dammit, his stomach was all knotted up.

“They don’t need to be like this,” she added with a smile. “These look expensive.” She pointed to the giant bouquets of white roses, orchids, and lilies decorating the outskirts of the seating area. “Your cousin spent a lot of money on these.”

He scanned the flowers and things. “I guess so.”

“I can arrange flowers myself. I know how.” But then she bit her lip and brushed the long hair away from her face. “I can make my dress, too. I don’t know how to make cake, but I can learn.” Her green eyes met his, looking vulnerable. “I can make everything nice—but not expensive.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t have to make everything herself unless she wanted to. He didn’t care if the wedding was expensive. It wasn’t like he planned to get married over and over. Just once was enough. He would never want anyone other than Esme. His addiction was very specific.

“Here, here, Precious Girl and my son,” his mom said, coming toward them in a black aó dài with bright blue flowers along the front. Without the added height of shoes, the white silk pants accompanying her dress dragged in the sand, and she yanked at them impatiently. “I never thought I’d go to a wedding without shoes. It’s a different experience. Do you two have news for me?”

Esme’s hand tightened on his, and she glanced at him for a second before she averted her eyes. “Not yet, C? Nga. We still need to talk.”

“I was thinking after dinner would be a good time,” he told Esme.

Esme nodded and flashed a small smile at him. “That sounds good.”

His mom considered their joined hands thoughtfully. “Do what you need, but before you leave the wedding, you two need to talk to me.”

“We will, C? Nga,” Esme said.

His mom nodded, appeased. “Enjoy the wedding, ha?” With that she went to chat with his sister, aunts, and cousins.

Khai and Esme were wandering toward the seats when Michael appeared, clasped Khai’s hand, and gave him a one-armed hug. He looked like he’d walked off a runway in his three-piece tux, even without shoes on.

“So glad you made it,” Michael said. He smiled, but his motions were abrupt and jumpy, his breathing tight. He had to be nervous. Like Khai was. Except Michael’s woman had already said yes. What was there for him to be nervous about?

“Are you okay?” Khai asked.

“Yeah, I’m great. Did I tell you I’m glad you made it? Because I am. Stella really likes you.” Michael’s gaze landed on Esme, and his lips curved into a crooked grin. “You must be Esme. Happy to finally meet you.” He shook Esme’s hand, and she grinned back with a dazed expression.

Great, she was falling under Michael’s spell even though he was getting married within the hour. Damn Michael and his cursed good looks.

“Happy to meet you. Stella is a lucky woman,” Esme said, beaming her fantastic Esmeness at him and speaking English to everyone but Khai.

Michael tried to smile but it turned into a gulp for air as he shook out his hands and squared his shoulders. “Thanks for saying that. I’ve never been this nervous. I’m so lost over her if she doesn’t show up, I’m going to …” His words trailed off as he focused on a group of silhouettes in the distance, and his face went lovesick. He squeezed Khai’s shoulder without looking at him. “You guys have a seat. It’s starting.”