27 Adam
27 Adam
H ? i An, Vi ? t Nam
An outrageously large bouquet arrives at his parents’ doorstep around dinnertime. There’s a profusion of sickly-sweet honeysuckle,
along with brilliant pink bougainvillea in a large glass vase. It must weigh at least ten pounds. He grunts and heaves it
into the house.
“Subtle,” he mutters.
“Someone has an admirer,” Talia says.
She’s on her way to dinner with the rest of the group but stops to help him wrestle the awkward arrangement onto the table.
“Who’s it for?” she asks.
Adam takes the card, reading silently.
Darling Evie: London is not the same without you. Life is not the same without you. I’ve made the biggest, most boneheaded
mistake in letting you go. Hurry home to me.—Atlas
“Evie,” he says shortly. “It’s from her ex-boyfriend.”
Talia watches his face sympathetically. Then she reaches over and squeezes his arm. “A woman like that is bound to have many
admirers. But the people who pursue her hardest are not necessarily the ones she wants.”
“No?”
“I don’t have any insider knowledge. But all I can say is that love is an unpredictable thing. Just look at me—” And here Talia laughs. “I thought—Well, my attention was elsewhere at the beginning of this trip. But now I’ve found something with Pin. Something real. Lasting. I didn’t expect to fall in love this quickly or this deeply. Yet here I am, ready to shift my whole life to be with him. It’s kind of magical, if you think about it.”
“It is,” Adam says, his voice softening as he looks down at Talia fondly.
She glances over her shoulder to where Pin dawdles by the dining room, waiting for her. He’s smiling, gentle adoration fully
evident on his face. Talia, too, beams. Adam is glad for them. Who wouldn’t want to find love like that? Then they walk in
hand in hand, and Adam has no choice but to follow them like a third wheel.
The room is beautifully decorated for the night, with glass chandeliers and tall candles that cast dancing shadows on the
walls. Individual salad plates are decorated with purple blossoms and candied nuts. The napkins are the smoothest mauve cotton.
A quartet plays quietly in the corner.
And at the head of one of the tables are his parents, cool and sophisticated, the picture of graciousness. Asking questions,
chattering about the weather and how much there is to see in H ? Long Bay. Adam knows better, of course. Behind those rehearsed exteriors sits a well of ancestral snobbishness. They hold
the lifelong desire to exclude, to protect themselves against outsiders. Outsiders like Evie. And Adam will be damned if anyone
makes Evie feel like an outsider in his presence.
But then, sitting down to dinner, wishing for the umpteenth time for a glass of whiskey, he thinks about the obnoxious bouquet.
What a gaudy gesture. And Atlas, what a ridiculous name. Couldn’t he have one of those rugged, conventional American names
like Tommy or Hudson or something? But maybe that’s what Evie likes. A man doesn’t send a bouquet like that without some encouragement.
The thought of Atlas—any man—touching Evie, murmuring in her ear, hell, even having a quiet conversation with her is enough
to make Adam grind his teeth.
Ruby shoots him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head tersely. Where is Evie?
He heard about Fen and Mei leaving earlier this afternoon, though he hadn’t been home in time to catch them. He’d been soaring
through the countryside on his bike, thinking about his father’s threat. How much was he willing to risk for Evie? At the
end of the ride, he realized that he would be willing to risk everything . Even now, eyeing the corners of the room like a lovestruck idiot, Adam knows that he would put up with a thousand overeager
ex-lovers, a hundred more awkward dinners with his parents, if only for a chance at a future with her. He just needs to tell
her.
When Riley plunks into the seat next to his, Adam asks, “Where’s Evie?”
Riley shrugs. “Uh, not sure. Haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”
Usually, Fen would know, but she’s long gone. On the other side of him, Connor speaks up. “I think she took the driver into
town, like, four hours ago. He came back, but she didn’t.”
“And she didn’t tell anyone where she was going?”
Connor shakes his head. Of course she didn’t.
He texts her: Where are you?
There’s no response. Then he calls, but the voicemail immediately springs a “full inbox” message.
Adam places a forefinger along the crease between his brows. A lot can happen in four hours. Should he be worried? Why is
no one else worried? Is it too much to ask this woman to, for once, just stick to the same schedule as everyone else?
Adam moves past the group, smiling slightly at the oohing-and-aahing over the soup course: a thick seafood stew with curls
of coconut cream laced through it. He greets guests as they beam up at him, tanned and happy.
Then, once he reaches the end of the table, he kneels next to Ruby and whispers, “Have you seen Evie?”
“No,” she says, keeping her face still. “She’s gone somewhere?”’
“Evidently. Where’s the driver?”
“He’s eating with the staff in the kitchen. But, BB—”
“What?”
“Don’t get wrapped up in this mess. In her .”
He glares at his sister. “One of our tour guests is missing and has been for hours. I think she’s left her phone at home.
It’s our job to find her. And, aside from that, it’s just what you do if you’re not a raging sociopath, okay, Ruby?”
“I’m sure Evie is fine. Please sit. The main course is coming, and you’re making a scene.”
Though everyone is humming in satisfaction over their food, there are more than a few glances thrown his way, especially from
his parents’ end of the table. Outside, the sky darkens enough that they need to adjust the chandelier lights and add more
candles. The thought of Evie being out in a strange city at night, without any way of contacting them, fills him with such
anxiety that he doesn’t stop to think. He shrugs Ruby’s hand off and strides to the kitchen, past the stormy eyes of his father,
until he’s standing in front of the driver.
“What can I do for you, man?” the driver asks, mouth full of soup.
Adam tries to tone down the anger in his voice. “Did you take a woman into town? Dark hair? Pretty?”
“That’s like everyone on this tour, man.”
If he calls me “man” one more time , Adam thinks. Aloud he says, “It would have been this afternoon. She was probably wearing black.”
The driver snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. Nap-time girl.”
“What did you call her?”
He holds up his hands. “Sorry. No offense meant. She went to the Marble Mountains.”
“Why?” Adam pins a glare onto the driver, who shrinks away.
“I don’t know! I’m not paid to ask questions. Deliver them where they want to go, that’s what Mr.Quy ? n told me. She said she didn’t need me anymore, sent me back home. I’m sure she’s there now after her climb. Want me to go
get her?”
“No, thank you,” Adam says gruffly. “I’ll go.”
“You’re welcome. Anyone ever tell you you’re terrifying as shit?”
Bypassing the dining room altogether, Adam hops onto his bike and coasts to the entrance of the Marble Mountains, past the
restaurants starting to light their lanterns and the music piping from the nightclubs. When he arrives at the base of the
mountains, he notices how utterly massive they are. The steps wind through a dark cave crowded with stone statues and altars.
He tries not to think of the many implications of caves, where Evie is concerned.
The vendors are packing up their things for the night and the ticket booth is shuttered. Guests take their last pictures,
streaming toward cabs and buses on the way back into town. Soon, no one is left except the employees. Adam heads over to an
officious-looking man with a clipboard.
“The mountains are closed,” the man says, without looking up.
“There’s a woman still in there.”
“Nope.”
That one syllable makes Adam see red.
“What do you mean, nope ? She went up into those mountains four hours ago, and she’s not back.”
“It’s an hour-long walk at most.”
“Well, she’s not home.”
“Anh, I don’t know where your girl is, but I assure you, I’ve checked everyone off the list. There is no one left in there.
Have you looked in town?”
Without answering, Adam hops back on his bike and drives to Ancient Town, through the winding roads, the bars crowded with
lights and laughing young people. He nearly clips a vendor with a towering fruit cart, raising his hand in apology as he passes.
What the hell is he even looking for? He has no clue where Evie could be. No idea what she’s thinking. And that’s the problem,
isn’t it? There’s nothing straightforward about Evie Lang. It drives him crazy. In some ways, it’s what keeps him panting
after her, wondering about her next steps. But how sustainable is that in a relationship? When does excitement turn into full-throttle
anxiety?
Right about now maybe.
He texts again: Can you just let me know you’re okay? Or any of us?
Again, no response.
As he rides his bike up and down the streets, he feels his anger mounting again. A small part of him knows it’s unfair. She
doesn’t owe him anything. She’s likely used to behaving in exactly the way she likes and doesn’t understand that even within
the safe, luxurious confines of the Love Yêu tour, there will always be sketchy neighborhoods. There will always be dangers
for a woman traveling alone. But of course she wouldn’t register that. She’s stubborn. Dreamy. A horrible combination.
He’s just about to give up when he notices a woman in a slip dress standing in front of a bar, surrounded by American men
in jeans and T-shirts. One of them has his hand on the woman’s waist. She leans away from him, stumbling into the chest of
another man, who laughs and whispers something in her ear. She’s attempting to back away, but they’ve surrounded her now.
When she wrenches her head away from the nearest man, glancing around her for an escape, he catches a glimpse of her face.
Goddammit.
In two seconds, he’s off his bike and ramming through the crowd. When he arrives at her side, he takes her hand and shoves
her behind him. Faces the men with clenched fists, glowering so darkly that they begin to back away.
“Hey, hey.” One of them laughs. “It’s okay, dude. Just having a conversation.”
“She didn’t want a conversation with you,” he spits out.
The tallest man, wearing a gingham shirt with a ridiculous bandanna tied around his forehead, puts out a placating hand. “We
had to try, right? How were we to know she had a man?”
She edges her way in front of Adam. “It doesn’t matter if I had a man, you asshole. If I want to leave, you let me leave.”
Gingham Guy shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Most women here are all too eager for some American dollars, you know?”
Adam takes a sharp breath, not just because of what he’s implying about Evie, but what he’s implying about Asian women as a whole. That old, tired stereotype. The one that dehumanizes women and assumes that all men must celebrate this level of chauvinism. It makes him sick.
He’s stepping forward, ready to grab Gingham by the shirt collar, when Evie neatly cuts him off by drawing back her own fist
and slamming it into Gingham’s smug face. It’s admittedly not a hard hit, but there is the audible sound of fist meeting flesh. Adam is equal parts impressed and furious, especially as Gingham
begins making his way toward Evie.
“You little—” Gingham cries, holding his cheek.
Adam says, deadly quiet, “I’d watch what you say next, dude .”
Gingham’s friends whistle and hoot as Gingham pauses, then backs away, flicking them off with both hands. Evie blows him a
kiss, which sends Adam’s already shaken nerves into overdrive. His whole body is tense until the men disappear into a nearby
bar.
Then he releases a breath—all the breaths—and turns to Evie, who’s frowning and cradling her fist. The crowd around them disperses,
disappointed by the anticlimactic ending.
“Ow. Hard head,” she says. “I definitely need to take up kickboxing again.”
Adam sighs heavily, hardly able to control his temper. “You could have just... not hit him, Evie.”
“Right,” she says sarcastically. “Like the way you were about to not hit him ?”
He takes a calming breath and walks back to his bike. After a quick pause, she follows, lugging a bag behind her. Thankfully,
she’s changed her sandals into sneakers, and deftly avoids the mud puddles in the street.
“What’s up your ass?” she asks finally.
“Where have you been?”
She holds up her bag. “I had to get my dress from the tailor. The Silken Peacock? I thought it would be rude to leave it. And Fen’s too. Though she won’t really need it, I guess. Did you hear that Mei came by to sweep her off her feet? It was pretty epic, as far as romantic gestures go. And I got a little distracted by the market. I wasn’t too keen on facing your father’s wrath for the second night in a row, you know.”
Evie’s smiling up at him placatingly, but he’s still angry. Why can’t he let it go? But then again, why can’t she just stay
out of trouble? Is this what a life with her would be like? Constantly chasing her, feeling like his heart is teetering on
the precipice of a cliff when there’s even a hint of danger around her? He blows a strand of hair off his forehead and hands
her a helmet.
He asks, “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I left it at home.”
“Can you not do that?”
“Can you not be so controlling?”
They’re silent for a few long minutes, standing in front of the bike while the crowd streams around them. Adam notices everything
from the windblown bun at the top of her head to the small scrape near her ankle. She has dark circles under her eyes, probably
from not sleeping after their library rendezvous. The thought of it almost gets him hard again. But then he shakes the memory
off. He’s angry at her. Really angry.
“You were being selfish,” he says at last. “You left without telling anyone where you were going. Do you know what could have
happened to you? What if you’d fallen somewhere in the Marble Mountains and no one knew where you were?”
“I didn’t! Those steps were a cinch.”
“That is very much not the point. Everyone was worried sick.”
“Everyone? Or just you?” There’s a glint of challenge in her eye. As if she’s daring him to say something.
“Okay, yes , I was worried, Evie. I’ve been roaming all over town for you. Is this a game to you? One of those stupid, reckless ways
you try to show people you don’t care?”
“It’s not a game,” she says in a small voice. “I care.”
“You care,” he repeats. Somehow, the word feels lukewarm to him, especially compared to the constant barrage of emotion he holds inside for her. “You know what? I more than care, Evie. I love you.”
“You say it like a curse.”
“Yeah, because I’m still mad,” he says. His voice begins to soften. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
She steps closer to him, winding her hand up in his hair. Playing with the strands by his neck. He dips his head down to hers.
Their breaths are tied together now, dancing in the night air. He smells something on her breath—orchid and a bit of mint.
Then, she arches up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. And he’s gone.
He lets himself luxuriate in the sensation of her soft lips, those hands wrapping around his middle, his own palms cupping
her face. She nips his lower lip and he pulls her closer, his hands roving down to the small of her back. His tongue deep
inside her. Thinking about all the other ways he wants to be inside her. A groan tears from him.
“So rude,” a woman mutters nearby.
“Young people,” another hisses, shoving against them as she walks by. “No decorum left in the world.”
He feels Evie stiffening, then pulling away from him. He almost sighs with the loss of her touch, but then, with the effort
no one should ever have to undertake, he instead rips himself away from her. Looks down into her eyes, which are now avoiding
his, darting to the low plastic tables, the glowing white signs. All he wants to do is make her meet his gaze again, with
that mix of lust and affection she showed him last night. But she steps away with a laugh.
“Aunties. Can’t escape ’em.”
He resists the urge to spin her back into his arms. He reminds himself that they’re on the streets in a conservative country.
That he’s just told Evie he loves her. And that... she hasn’t said it back. If he’s not a complete and total jerk—which
he hopes he’s not—he’ll honor her unspoken wishes and let her maintain the distance. Even if it kills him.
“Come on,” he says, clasping the helmet under her chin. “Let’s go home.”
The night ride soothes the ruffled parts of him, bringing him back to his own logical thought patterns. Evie is safe. That
adrenaline and worry can be shelved. They can figure this out rationally. What it means for him to love her. What it means
that she doesn’t appear to return his feelings.
Or is there a solution to that particular problem? All his life, he’s dealt in numbers and equations that make perfect sense. The
sum is correct, or it isn’t. He does not comprehend this slippery gray area, where she is both with him and far away. For
now, all he has is her arms wrapped around his middle, her thighs open around him. The faint smell of her mingling with the salt of the ocean, the faraway sweetness of flowering bougainvillea. For now, that’s enough, because it
has to be.