Page 1 of Her Inconvenient Wedding Date (Unexpected Dates #2)

Lily

“Sisters: half your DNA, twice your drama, and triple the fun.” ~Unknown

Do you know what’s harder than being the oldest daughter? Being the oldest daughter who’s responsible for her baby sister’s happiness.

Yep, I, Lily Lam, am the one person preventing my sister from finding her very own happily ever after.

It’s not like I’m trying to stop her from getting married.

I’ve known her fiancé for over a decade since both of them were sophomores in college.

Bruce is the ultimate definition of husband material —smart (he graduated from Harvard and Stanford), successful (he has the gall to have both a law and medical degree), and devoted (my sister, Jasmine, is the only woman he’s ever dated).

Plus, he speaks perfect Mandarin despite being an ABC (American-born Chinese).

And he loves the Lord, and it appears the Lord loves him, too, because he not only has perfect skin, but he’s also tall.

God obviously adores Jasmine, too, to have brought Bruce into her life .

Meanwhile, I’m like the ugly duckling still waiting for my swan moment to arrive.

Not that I’m complaining about my looks; I’m grateful to have 20/20 vision, straight teeth (and yes, I still wear a retainer at night at age thirty-four), and hair that usually cooperates despite its low porosity.

It’s just that I’ve never had luck with guys, in particular Chinese ones.

You see, I’m not a typical Asian. I’m not a petite girl with porcelain skin and dainty mannerisms. By all accounts, I’m more of an Amazonian or Mongolian, if we’re being specific.

I apparently inherited all my genes from my dad, and I’m convinced there must have been giants on his side of the family.

I’m five feet ten with hips made for childbearing, according to my five-foot-two mother.

I tan easily and am known to speak my mind a little too freely.

My best trait? Apparently, my brain. I’m like the poster girl for STEM (that’s science, technology, engineering, and math).

I got a perfect score on the math portion of the SAT, graduated with honors from Cal with a degree in Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences, and now work as a Software Engineer at one of the most well-known tech companies in Silicon Valley.

So, thank the Lord for giving me a big noggin to match my size nine feet.

Buzz!

A text from Jasmine pops up on my phone, pulling my gaze away from the two large monitors on my desk.

The urge to ignore it is about as strong as my need for another matcha latte, but being the responsible big sister that I am, I swipe it open.

Sure enough, there’s a photo of a guy with a message that addresses me as older sister in Mandarin: Jie, how about this one? I’m sure you’ll love him!

I roll my eyes as I place my phone back in its spot next to my collection of miniature corgi plushies, the latter which makes me smile despite my annoyance.

Since I work within these 12x12 walls for 37.

5% of the day, I try to make it as comfy, cozy, and cute as possible.

But the string of lights, pom-pom garland, and color-coordinated office accessories do nothing to brighten my mood today.

This is the fourth text of its kind that I’ve gotten from my mei mei, aka little sister in Mandarin, and it’s not even noon yet. I don’t know how she has so much spare time on her hands working as an optometrist. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was secretly a part-time matchmaker as well.

Which is sort of accurate. She just doesn’t get paid for her services, but she works as if her future marriage depends on how quickly she can find me a husband. Something that is also unfortunately true.

The sad fact of the matter is that according to family tradition, my sister can’t get married before I do.

I, as the older sibling, am supposed to pave the way for the younger one.

By all accounts, I’ve done that for Jasmine.

Being five years older, I went through everything first—from puberty, to braces, to college applications, and job interviews.

Well, almost everything. The one area Jasmine has more experience in than me is romance.

Somehow, I’ve been surrounded by the opposite sex in the workplace for my entire adult life, but I have yet to meet Mr. Right.

Buzz!

Now my phone’s vibrating with an incoming call, and I know without looking at my screen that it’s Jasmine. And because my guilt has doubled in the past two years since she got engaged, I quickly answer it.

“Hey, Mei, how’s it going?”

“Jie! You haven’t replied to any of my texts. Which of the guys appeals to you the most?”

“Well, it depends how you define the word appeal ,” I answer cautiously.

I’m well aware that if I show even a smidge of interest in one of them, she’ll have a date lined up for me for tomorrow or possibly today.

“Are we talking about physically appealing? Because they all look about the same to me. Kind of like a lot of the guys I work with.”

“That’s because they’re engineers. I thought you’d appreciate someone like-minded. You didn’t seem too impressed with the surgeons, dentists, or lawyers I showed you before.”

I glance around my work area at the surrounding low-wall cubicles.

The dark-haired heads I see all have a similar hairstyle—straight across the forehead with tapered edges around the ears.

Glasses accessorize their faces, some with thick, black frames, others with thin, wiry ones.

They all sport T-shirts or polos with logos of various companies around the Bay, obvious free swag that they picked up from conferences they attended over the years.

These guys are the very definition of “tech bros” and, quite honestly, they’re like brothers to me.

None of them make my heart go pitter-patter or my knees feel like wet noodles with a single glance my way.

Not even when one of them solves a programming problem that I’ve been dealing with for over a week.

“I don’t know, Mei. I’m just not into guys with bowl cuts and glasses—not that there’s anything wrong with that look,” I quickly add when I spot one of the framed photos I have on my desk.

In it, Bruce stands between my mother and Jasmine, looking exactly like the description I just gave.

He also literally has all the five Cs that my parents prayed for in a son-in-law—Chinese, Christian, career, condo (or in his case, a four-bedroom house), and cash.

And the fact that he’s in so many of our family photos shows how ready my parents are to marry Jasmine off to him.

And I’m the only thing standing in their way .

“You know me,” I continue with a sigh. “I’ve always had a thing for blond hair and blue eyes. Someone like a young Leo. He was so dreamy in his twenties.”

“Jie, be serious! Ma and Ba would never let you marry someone who’s not Chinese.”

“I know, I know.” That dream had set sail when I was a teenager, then quickly sunk into the far depths of the Atlantic like the Titanic did.

My mother nearly had a heart attack when she found out I’d gone to prom with a very cute and very non-Asian football player.

She gave me a good talking-to after that to make sure I understood why it’s important to marry a man who can give her grandchildren who will be able to communicate with her in Mandarin, even though she has no problems speaking English.

As I’ve learned over the years, it’s best not to argue with my mother when she has her heart set on something.

Even when that something makes no sense at all.

A soft sniffle comes over the line that makes my insides twist. “Are you crying, Mei?”

“No, it’s just allergies.”

I wince, knowing full well she’s fibbing. Like everything about her, Jasmine has the perfect immune system. She hardly ever gets sick, and she certainly does not get sneezing attacks every spring like I do. She’s obviously having a hard time dealing with her obstinate, love-challenged sister.

And I can’t blame her.

Cringing, I swallow my pride and soften my stance.

What’s one date? It’s not like I have to marry the guy I choose.

I just need to make it look like I’m trying to find a husband.

My hope—and secret plan of attack—is that if I put some effort into dating, I can convince my mother to let Jasmine set a wedding date.

Once the invitations are mailed out, there will be no turning back—whether I’m married or not.

“I’ll go with guy number three,” I announce with forced enthusiasm. “He seems harmless enough.”

Jasmine gasps. “You will?! Thank you, thank you! You’re the best sister in the entire universe!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I’ll text you the time and place for your date as soon as I hang up!”

My shoulders immediately tense up. “You already have the date planned?”

“Of course. You’re on for dinner and boba tonight.”

“But how did you know I was going to pick this guy?”

“I didn’t. I set up dates with all four of them, so I’ll need to cancel the other three ASAP. Oh, a patient just walked in. I’ll talk to you later, Jie!”

Once she hangs up, I’m left staring at my phone and shaking my head. If the word efficiency had a mascot, it would be my sister. She never ceases to amaze me with her multitasking skills.

Now that the call is over, I throw my head back against my chair and groan.

I can’t believe I agreed to go out with a total stranger.

But at this point, I’m verging on the edge of desperation.

The tip of my square-toe braided sandal is touching the border and ready to dive head-first into the other side.

Knowing how long Jasmine has been waiting tugs at my heart.

It’s not her fault our family has this silly tradition and it’s certainly not her fault that I was born first. Being the younger sibling has its perks—winning the genetic lottery being one of them—but the downside is just as extreme.

But if I ever want to be the cool aunt that I know I have the potential to be one day, I need to fake it till I make it.

It’s not that I don’t want to get married—I do.

I’m a hopeless romantic despite my nerdy brain.

I love reading romances so much I joined a book club so I can gush about meet-cutes and grand gestures every Sunday night with four other bookworms. One of them, Hope, just married the love of her life over the summer, so we know happy endings do occur in real life.

But I’m pretty sure the plot line where I find a husband whom my mother likes as much as me exists solely in fiction.

“Ahem.”

A low, familiar voice sounds behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know which colleague is leaning all of his six-foot-four frame against my cubicle wall.

There is only one guy who smells like a citrusy forest every time he passes by, and that’s Mr. Hunter Payne.

His surname is quite fitting, considering how much frustration he causes me on a daily basis when he oh-so-inconveniently stops by to brag about how fast he debugged a program or to look over my shoulder and critique a line of my code.

As if that wasn’t enough, he earned a huge red flag when his cousin broke off his engagement with my friend, Amelia, and he had the gall to take Ryder’s side.

Since then, I’ve tried to steer clear of Hunter as much as I can, but he, for some reason, won’t leave me alone.

I spin around in my chair, ready to give him the stink eye, but my stomach unexpectedly dips at the sight of him.

There’s something different about him today—dare I say, even kind of cute?

Is it his clothes or his shoes? Did he do something different with his hair?

I nearly gag when I realize I’m using up precious brain cells to ponder these questions.

Because there is no way I would ever be interested in Hunter.

And there is absolutely no chance at all that anything could ever happen between me and my frenemy.