Helen Hoang - The Bride Test

“Good news, Esmeralda. No fracture. If you keep it compressed, elevated, and iced, it should be better in a couple weeks.”

Esme’s body loosened with relief. “Great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” The doctor flashed a white-toothed grin at her as he took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s not serious enough to need another checkup, but if you want to meet after hours sometime, I’d be happy to take another look.”

Esme accepted the business card and flipped it around to see another phone number scrawled across the back. When her gaze jumped back to his face, he winked at her.

Khải stood up then, and the doctor’s eyes widened as he took in Khải’s height, dark clothes, and that intense air that made her think of assassins and bodyguards.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you here,” the doctor said.

“What do you mean by ‘after hours’?” Khải asked in his serious way.

The doctor swallowed. “It means … whatever she wants it to mean.” He backed toward the door. “That’s it for this visit. I’ll send in the nurse to wrap the ankle.” With one last tight smile, he left.

Khải scowled at the door as it swung shut and picked up a roll of cloth the doctor had left behind. “I can do it. I know how.”

Then he shocked her by lifting her leg and winding the cloth around and around her ankle and the arch of her foot. His grip was firm, but he never hurt her. His warm fingers were gentle against the icy skin of her calf, her heel, and the ball of her foot, sending goose bumps up her leg.

When she caught her breath, he looked up at her. “Is it too tight?”

She was too distracted to speak. He was touching her ugly foot, and he wasn’t jerking away or wiping his palms on his pants. Instead, he held her like she was precious. It was a heady sensation having his beautiful mind focused entirely on her, even if it was only her ankle.

Belatedly, she answered, “No, not too tight.”

He returned his attention to her ankle, and the edges of the business card pressed into Esme’s skin as she tightened her fingers. She wanted to touch his face, the brooding lines of his profile, his forehead, his jaw, the sharp bridge of his nose, his oh-so-kissable lips …

“That should do it,” he said, and when he pulled his hands away, she saw he’d wrapped her ankle neatly and secured the end with a metal clasp. “If you start to lose feeling in your toes, let me know, and I’ll loosen it.”

“Okay, thank you, Anh.”

“Ready to go?”

She nodded and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed, intending to stand, but again, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her out of the room.

“I can walk,” she whispered.

“It’s better if you don’t. I don’t mind carrying you.”

After that, she didn’t protest. She didn’t mind him carrying her, either. No one had held her like this since she was a child. As they traveled through the clinic, however, she fisted her hands and kept her arms tense. She couldn’t forget how he’d responded each time she’d touched him in the past. She didn’t want to ruin this. Or surprise him into dropping her.

After setting her down briefly at the front desk to pay for her visit — she didn’t know how much it cost because he handed his credit card to the receptionist before she could show Esme the bill — she was carried outside and buckled into his car. Sleepily, she watched the lights flicker by as he drove back to his house.

He broke the silence by asking, “What stairs were you on when you fell? There aren’t any by my mom’s restaurant.”

At his question, adrenaline spiked, and cold sweat misted her skin. “The stairs across the street.”

Please don’t ask more.

“The ones at the adult school?”

She tried to sink into her seat and traced her fingertips along the handrail on her door. “I like your car. What kind is it?”

“It’s a Porsche 911 Turbo S.”

“Por-sha,” she repeated. “That’s a pretty-sounding name.”

He shrugged and said, “I guess so.”

Her muscles relaxed. She’d succeeded in distracting him.

But when he parked in front of his house, he didn’t get out of the car right away. “What were you doing at the adult school?”

She squirmed in her seat and shifted her legs. Her clothes grew damp under her arms, and her hair stuck to her neck. All of her efforts were for nothing if he found out about them.

“Were you—”

Before he could complete the question, she opened the door and climbed out. She’d limped a quarter of the way up the driveway when the car beeped and he came up behind her.

“You really shouldn’t be walking on it yet,” he said. “Let me carry you in.”

She didn’t need it. Her ankle was already much better. But she nodded anyway.

He gave her his keys and picked her up like she was a “tiny human.” After she unlocked the front door for him, he carried her inside, and she reveled in his closeness. If she leaned forward a bit, she could kiss him. That would probably startle him, though.

No kissing. No touching.

Nonetheless, the pads of her fingertips itched to stroke his lightly stubbled jaw and the strong cords of his neck. What would it feel like to run her fingers through his hair? The strands were thicker and darker than her own, and some of the uneven locks fell beneath his jaw. She stopped herself before she touched the ends.

“You need a haircut.”

He sent her a wry look. “I know.”

“I can do it. I know how. I used to cut hair for my cousins. I’m good at it,” she said, but then she held her breath. Was getting his hair cut at home too unclassy for him? Maybe she shouldn’t have offered.

He paused in the hallway and considered her. “You’d cut my hair for me?”

“Of course.”

“You have to do it a certain way.”

“Show me a picture. If I see it, I can do it.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he carried her into her room instead. After setting her on the couch, he asked, “Will you cut my hair tomorrow morning? Please?”

She bit her lip, but that couldn’t stop the wide smile from spreading across her face. “I’m happy to do it.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

“How do you like it? Do you have a picture?”

He swiped a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave the style up to you. I just want it shorter.”

“I can pick?”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiled lightly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled aimlessly through the room, stopping by the desk. A thoughtful look crossed his face, and he picked up something from the desk’s surface. The photograph of her dad. “Who are these people?”

She focused on her injured ankle and wiggled her toes a few times. “My mom and dad.”

His eyebrows arched as he glanced her way. “He went to Berkeley.”

She took a breath and released it. “I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ve never met him before.”

“Oh.” Khải flipped the picture around to inspect the back, but she knew there wasn’t anything written there.

“Do you think if we go there, they can help me find him?”

“To Berkeley?” he asked.

She nodded.

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

Hope bloomed in her chest. “Can we go … tomorrow? After the haircut?”

He hesitated a second before he said, “Yeah, okay. We can go.”

She jumped to her feet, so happy she wanted to hug him, but she squeezed her hands into fists instead and grinned. “Thank you, Anh Khải.”

An awkward smile touched his mouth. “Yeah, sure.” He walked toward the bathroom that connected their rooms but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Remember to take the binding off when you shower. I’ll wrap it again when you’re ready to sleep.”

“Okay.”

When he left, she took a moment to admire her ankle binding. It had been perfectly done, not too tight, not too loose, with evenly spaced loops. So this was what it was like when Khải took care of someone.

A daydream of him taking care of Jade ran through her mind. If he wanted to, he could be so great with her little girl.

But Esme had no confidence that was in the cards. This didn’t mean anything. She shouldn’t let it go to her head. He was just a good person. She’d been working on it, but she was still … herself. Surprisingly, experience from her previous life as Mỹ was going to be useful tomorrow.

She got her phone out and searched through photographs of movie stars and musicians until images of beautiful men were stuck to the backs of her eyelids. Tomorrow, she was going to give Khải the best haircut of his life.

The next morning, Esme had everything ready. A chair was set up in the middle of the kitchen, sharp scissors lay on the counter, and the broom and dustpan were ready for cleanup afterward. The only thing missing was Khải. She clasped her hands together and took several breaths. There was no need to be nervous. She’d given lots of haircuts. She was going to do a good job.

But what if he didn’t like it? What if he got mad because she’d “ruined” his hair?

The shower turned off, and shortly after that, Khải walked into the kitchen, wearing black shorts and a black T-shirt with I love taxes in white lettering. The sleeves were tight around the hard muscles of his upper arms, and she made herself look at his hair before she got completely distracted. Fresh from the shower, it was the ideal dampness for a haircut.

He considered her feet. “Does it hurt to stand? We can do this another time.”

She smiled. He didn’t seem to notice hurt feelings so much, but a hurt ankle got his attention. “No, it’s much better. Here.” She clasped the back of the chair. “Anh Khải, sit down.”