The Bride Test

by Helen Hoang

Khai was supposed to be crying. He knew he was supposed to be crying. Everyone else was. But his eyes were dry.

Nothing gets to you. It’s like your heart is made of stone.

The words wouldn’t stop echoing in his head, bringing him to an unwelcome self-realization: He was different, yes, but in a bad way.

Andy hadn’t just been his best friend. He’d been his only friend. Andy was as close as close got for Khai. If he couldn’t grieve for Andy, that meant he couldn’t grieve at all. And if he couldn’t grieve, the flip side also had to be true. He couldn’t love.

He didn’t like it, but there was nothing to do but accept it. This wasn’t something you could change. He was what he was. I thought you two were close. He was . . . bad.

His lungs drew breath. He saw, he heard, he experienced. And it struck him as being incredibly unfair.

Time to join the others as they said their final good-byes. No one seemed to understand it wasn’t good-bye unless Andy said it back. For his part, Khai would say nothing.

He’d make a lucky girl even luckier someday, and they’d live a long, lucky life together. She hoped they experienced food poisoning at least once. Nothing life-threatening, of course. Just inconvenient—make that very inconvenient. And mildly painful. Embarrassing, too.

Jealousy wouldn’t get her anything but misery. But she wished him extra incidences of food poisoning anyway. There had to be some fairness in the world.

she wanted to do nothing for a few moments. Just nothing. Nothing was such a luxury.

She regretted being with her daughter’s heartless father, but she’d never regretted her baby. Not even for a second.

“Mom, no.” The words came out with unintentional strength and volume, but it was justified. He ignored the instinct that told him he was committing sacrilege by saying no to his mom.

“I’m not lonely. I like being alone.” Lonely was for people who had feelings, which he didn’t.

It wasn’t loneliness if it could be eradicated with work or a Netflix marathon or a good book.

Real loneliness would stick with you all the time. Real loneliness would hurt you nonstop. Khai didn’t hurt. H...

That was exactly why he steered clear of romantic relationships. If someone liked him that way, he’d only end up disappointing them when he cou...

People would call her pretty. No, she was more than that. Hot. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.

His gaze accidentally dropped below her chest, and his mouth went dry. Holy fuck. She was some kind of walking sex fantasy. Apparently, he was a boob man. And an hourglass-figure man. And a leg man. How did they look so long when she was so short? Maybe it was those three-inch heels she was wearing.

THE RULES WHEN YOU’RE WITH A GIRL: Open and shut doors. Pull out chairs and push them back in. Pay for everything. Carry everything. (That included her purse if she wanted. Never mind the fact that he preferred keeping his hands free.) Give her your coat if she seems cold. (No, it didn’t matter if he was cold, too.) No matter how she’s dressed, don’t check out inappropriate areas of her body.* *Specifically, boobs, butt, and thighs. He could make an exception if she was grievously wounded.

Happiness, like grief, was not in his personal emotional card deck. But minor emotions like irritation and frustration were. He was feeling those in healthy measure right this moment.

What weird things were going on in her brain? Shaking his head, he said, “You’re stranger than I am.”

She confused him even more by hugging her arms to her chest and laughing down at her lap. It was a pretty sound, musical in a way.

He forced himself to stop midsentence. People got bored when he talked about work.

The intricacies and elegance of accounting principles and tax law weren’t for everyone. He had no idea why.

This was why he liked accounting so much. It wasn’t just numbers on paper. If you knew how to look at them, the numbers meant something and reflected culture and values.

Odd was good. Odd was an opportunity. Besides, she was odd, too. Just not as odd as he was.

She didn’t need a rich man. She just needed someone who was hers.

when she looked at his actions, all she saw was kindness.

He slicked his hair back and said, “Come here, and I’ll show you how to turn it on.”

“I only want you to be yourself with me.” “I am.” Wasn’t he? He certainly wasn’t pretending to be someone else, but if he looked at things objectively, that was what the people around him usually wanted—for him to act differently, more appropriate, more intuitive, more considerate, less eccentric, less . . . himself. Did she really not mind him as he was?

Her smile widened, and all he could do was stare. Strange, incomprehensible, beautiful woman. She said the funniest things and smiled all the time.

She found a shovel from somewhere—he didn’t know where; he hadn’t known he owned a shovel—and

He wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was perfect for her.

His name, Khải, meant victory, but the way he said it, flat like that without the accent, it meant to open. That was exactly what she needed to do. He was closed, and she had to open him. In her experience, when you wanted to open something, you cleaned it up first so you could see what you were dealing with, and then you worked on it really hard. Esme wasn’t great at a lot of things, but she was good at cleaning and working hard. She could do this. Maybe she’d been made for this.

“He doesn’t talk a lot and is really smart, so people think he’s complicated, but in truth, he’s simple. If you want something from him, all you have to do is tell him.”

If he’s being too quiet, tell him you want him to talk to you. If you’re bored at home, tell him you want to go somewhere with him. Never assume he knows what you want. Because he doesn’t. You have to tell him, but once you do, nine times out of ten, he’ll listen. He doesn’t look like it most of the time, but he cares about people. Even you.”

She wasn’t supposed to be sad. Esme was always happy, always smiling.

Only Esme.

He laughed—she’d made him laugh—and the sound was deep and rich and beautiful. She wanted to hear him laugh more. A lot more.

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.

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 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.

could never love her back. He’d just hurt her. And he never wanted to do that. She was supposed to be happy.

Had Esme . . . left him? He’d been hoping for that all week, but now that it might have happened, he wasn’t as glad as he’d thought he’d be.

Why was the garage door open? He ran into the empty musty space, and reality hit him like a punch to the gut. It was gone. And Esme was gone. When he did the math, a horrible certainty dawned upon him. Esme was going to die.

Sometimes, he worried she’d fall off. Other times, he hoped she’d fall off. So he’d have an excuse to tell her to come closer.

His hold on her was secure, and he wasn’t breathing heavily. He made her feel safe. And small. She loved it.

Khải didn’t think she was too big.

It was a heady sensation having his beautiful mind focused entirely on her, even if it was only her ankle.

He was a puzzle she never would have been able to solve if he hadn’t shown her how. Those were the best kinds of puzzles, though, weren’t they? The ones no one else could figure out?