Crazy Rich Asians E-Book

Kevin Kwan

• Herausgeber: Corvus
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Crazy Rich Asians
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 681

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER AND BELOVED MOVIE starring Constance Wu, Henry Golding, Michelle Yeoh and Gemma Chan! 'Mordantly funny' Anna Wintour 'A roller coaster trip' Jackie Collins 'A book version of Vogue' Guardian When Rachel Chu agrees to spend the summer in Singapore with her boyfriend, Nicholas Young, she envisions a humble family home and time with the man she might one day marry. What she doesn't know is that Nick's family home happens to look like a palace, that she'll ride in more private planes than cars and that she is about to encounter the strangest, craziest group of people in existence. Uproarious, addictive, and filled with jaw-dropping opulence, Crazy Rich Asians is an insider's look at the Asian jet set; a perfect depiction of the clash between old money and new money - and a fabulous novel about what it means to be young, in love, and gloriously, crazily rich.

Leseprobe

Kevin Kwan was born in Singapore and moved to the US when he was eleven. His critically-acclaimed debut novel Crazy Rich Asians became an international bestseller in 2013 and is now a major motion picture. Kevin was named as one of TIME’s 2018 most influential people.

www.kevinkwanbooks.com.

Praise for Crazy Rich Asians

“Mordantly funny.” – Anna Wintour, Vogue

“A juicy, close anthropological read of Singapore high society.” – Elle

“There’s rich, there’s filthy rich, and then there’s crazy rich … A Pride and Prejudice-like send-up.” – People Magazine

“It’s impossible not to get sucked into this satirical novel about the jet-setting lives of an enormous busybody family and its infinite Louboutin collection.” – Glamour

“Original and fun, Crazy Rich Asians is quite a roller coaster trip. I loved it!” – Jackie Collins

“Opulence and zaniness reign.” – O, The Oprah Magazine

“Deliciously decadent… This 48-karat beach read is crazy fun.” – Entertainment Weekly

“Like Dynasty on steroids with more private jets, bigger houses, and a lot more money.” – Vanity Fair

“Hooks and reels in even the reluctant reader.” – Independent

“An outrageous satire of the Asian squillionaire set, this book is like a Chinese Dallas meets Pride and Prejudice.” – Plum Sykes, bestselling author of Bergdorf Blondes

“Oh, the things you’ll learn about the super-rich and the even richer in Singapore from this delicious novel.” – New York Daily News

“A dizzily shopaholic comedy…Wickedly delectable.” –Janet Maslin, New York Times

“If your definition of a beach read is a book version of Vogue, then this is the book for you.” – Emma G Keller, Guardian

“A breathless, high-speed romp.” – Tash Aw, award-winning author of The Harmony Silk Factory

“The blockbuster beach read of the summer.” – Patricia Park, Guardian

“A shrewd, funny, sexy look at the spoiled jet-setter children of the Asian super-rich.” – Michael Korda, bestselling author of Charmed Lives and Queenie

“Both vivisection and valentine, it is the summer’s most sophisticated romp.” – National Post Canada

“Feast on this outrageously funny and insightful novel of modern manners and enjoy!” – Lisa See, bestselling author of Dreams of Joy and Shanghai Girls

“Packed with the kind of outrageous, over-the-top imagery that’s bound to keep you on the edge of your beach blanket.” – Toronto Star

“Kwan knows how to deliver guilty pleasures. He keeps the repartee nicely outrageous, the excess wretched and the details wickedly delectable.”– New York Times

“With no shortage of private jets, palatial spreads, and prodigious shoe collections, Kwan’s characters make Blair Waldorf seem quaint by comparison.” – Town & Country

“Delightfully soapy… [Crazy Rich Asians] eats its chiffon cake and has it too, simultaneously tut-tutting many of its characters for their vapid materialism while revelling in the milieu’s sybaritic excess.” – Wall Street Journal

“An entertaining, engrossing novel. Kwan certainly knows how to tell a lively, generous story of shallow extravagance and human devotion.” – Boston Globe

“Merits a place on the must-read list of every development exec in town … Aimed at Bridget Jones lovers and those who got the satire behind Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style’.” – Andy Lewis, Hollywood Reporter

“A fun, over-the-top romp through the unbelievable world of the Asian jet set.” – Publishers Weekly (Pick of the Week)

“An elegant comedy.” – Kirkus (starred review)

“Shamelessly entertaining.” – More

“An original and zany social satire.” – Zoomer

“Plays out like an extravagant romcom.” – Chatelaine

“Kwan skewers his subjects deftly, stylishly, and completely but with heart.” – Denver Post

First published in the United States in 2013 by Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

First published in trade paperback in Great Britain in 2013 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

This paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2018 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Kevin Kwan, 2013

The moral right of Kevin Kwan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to Kurt Kaiser for permission to reprint an excerpt from the song “Pass It On” from Tell It Like It Is. Reprinted by permission of the artist.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Paperback ISBN: 978 1 78649 579 2

OME ISBN: 978 1 78649 580 8

E-book ISBN: 978 1 78239 331 3

Printed in Great Britain.

Corvus

An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

Ormond House

26–27 Boswell Street

London

WC1N 3JZ

www.corvus-books.co.uk

For my mother and father

Also by Kevin Kwan

Crazy Rich Asians

China Rich Girlfriend

Rich People Problems

Prologue: The Cousins

•

LONDON, 1986

Nicholas Young slumped into the nearest seat in the hotel lobby, drained from the sixteen-hour flight from Singapore, the train ride from Heathrow Airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets. His cousin Astrid Leong shivered stoically next to him, all because her mother, Felicity, his dai gu cheh—or “big aunt” in Cantonese—said it was a sin to take a taxi nine blocks and forced everyone to walk all the way from Piccadilly Tube Station.

Anyone else happening upon the scene might have noticed an unusually composed eight-year-old boy and an ethereal wisp of a girl sitting quietly in a corner, but all Reginald Ormsby saw from his desk overlooking the lobby were two little Chinese children staining the damask settee with their sodden coats. And it only got worse from there. Three Chinese women stood nearby, frantically blotting themselves dry with tissues, while a teenager slid wildly across the lobby, his sneakers leaving muddy tracks on the black-and-white checker-board marble.

Ormsby rushed downstairs from the mezzanine, knowing he could more efficiently dispatch these foreigners than his front-desk clerks. “Good evening, I am the general manager. Can I help you?” he said slowly, over-enunciating every word.

“Yes, good evening, we have a reservation,” the woman replied in perfect English.

Ormsby peered at her in surprise. “What name is it under?”

“Eleanor Young and family.”

Ormsby froze—he recognized the name, especially since the Young party had booked the Lancaster Suite. But who could have imagined that “Eleanor Young” would turn out to be Chinese, and how on earth did she end up here? The Dorchester or the Ritz might let this kind in, but this was the Calthorpe, owned by the Calthorpe-Cavendish-Gores since the reign of George IV and run for all intents and purposes like a private club for the sort of families that appeared in Debrett’s or the Almanach de Gotha. Ormsby considered the bedraggled women and the dripping children. The Dowager Marchioness of Uckfield was staying through the weekend, and he could scarcely imagine what she would make of these folk appearing at breakfast tomorrow. He made a swift decision. “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t seem to find a booking under that name.”

“Are you sure?” Eleanor asked in surprise.

“Quite sure.” Ormsby grinned tightly.

Felicity Leong joined her sister-in-law at the front desk. “Is there a problem?” she asked impatiently, eager to get to the room to dry her hair.

“Alamak,* they can’t find our reservation,” Eleanor sighed.

“How come? Maybe you booked it under another name?” Felicity inquired.

“No, lah. Why would I do that? It was always booked under my name,” Eleanor replied irritatedly. Why did Felicity always assume she was incompetent? She turned back to the manager. “Sir, can you please check again? I reconfirmed our reservation just two days ago. We’re supposed to be in your largest suite.”

“Yes, I know you booked the Lancaster Suite, but I can’t find your name anywhere,” Ormsby insisted.

“Excuse me, but if you know we booked the Lancaster Suite, why don’t we have the room?” Felicity asked, confused.

Bloody hell. Ormsby cursed at his own slip-up. “No, no, you misunderstood. What I meant was that you might think you booked the Lancaster Suite, but I certainly can’t find any record of it.” He turned away for a moment, pretending to rummage through some other paperwork.

Felicity leaned over the polished oak counter and pulled the leather-bound reservations book toward her, flipping through pages. “Look! It says right here ‘Mrs. Eleanor Young—Lancaster Suite for four nights.’ Do you not see this?”

“Madam! That is PRIVATE!” Ormsby snapped in fury, startling his two junior clerks, who glanced uncomfortably at their manager.

Felicity peered at the balding, red-faced man, the situation suddenly becoming abundantly clear. She hadn’t seen this particular brand of superior sneer since she was a child growing up in the waning days of colonial Singapore, and she thought this kind of overt racism had ceased to exist. “Sir,” she said politely but firmly, “this hotel came highly recommended to us by Mrs. Mince, the wife of the Anglican Bishop of Singapore, and I clearly saw our name in your registry book. I don’t know what sort of funny business is going on, but we have traveled a very long way and our children are tired and cold. I insist that you honor our reservation.”

Ormsby was indignant. How dare this Chinese woman with the Thatcheresque perm and preposterous “English” accent speak to him in such a manner? “I’m afraid we simply do not have anything available,” he declared.

“Are you telling me that there are no rooms left in this entire hotel?” Eleanor said incredulously.

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

“Where are we supposed to go at this hour?” Eleanor asked.

“Perhaps someplace in Chinatown?” Ormsby sniffed. These foreigners had wasted enough of his time.

Felicity went back to where her younger sister Alexandra Cheng stood guarding the luggage. “Finally! I can’t wait to take a hot bath,” Alexandra said eagerly.

“Actually, this odious man is refusing to give us our room!” Felicity said, making no attempt to hide her fury.

“What? Why?” Alexandra asked, completely confused.

“I think it has something to do with us being Chinese,” Felicity said, as if she didn’t quite believe her own words.

“Gum suey ah!”* Alexandra exclaimed. “Let me talk to him. Living in Hong Kong, I have more experience dealing with these types.”

“Alix, don’t bother. He’s a typical ang mor gau sai!”† Eleanor exclaimed.

“Even so, isn’t this supposed to be one of London’s top hotels? How can they get away with that sort of behavior?” Alexandra asked.

“Exactly!” Felicity raged on. “The English are normally so lovely, I have never been treated like this in all my years coming here.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement, even though privately she felt that Felicity was partly to blame for this fiasco. If Felicity wasn’t so giam siap‡ and had let them take a taxi from Heathrow, they would have arrived looking far less disheveled. (Of course, it didn’t help that her sisters-in-law always looked so dowdy, she had to dress down whenever she traveled with them, ever since that trip to Thailand when everyone mistook them for her maids.)

Edison Cheng, Alexandra’s twelve-year-old son, approached the ladies nonchalantly, sipping soda from a tall glass.

“Aiyah, Eddie! Where did you get that?” Alexandra exclaimed.

“From the bartender, of course.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“I didn’t—I told him to charge it to our suite,” Eddie replied breezily. “Can we go up now? I’m starving and I want to order from room service.”

Felicity shook her head in disapproval—Hong Kong boys were notoriously pampered, but this nephew of hers was incorrigible. Good thing they were here to put him in boarding school, where he would have some sense knocked into him—cold morning showers and stale toast with Bovril was what he needed. “No, no, we’re not staying here anymore. Go and watch Nicky and Astrid while we decide what to do,” Felicity instructed.

Eddie walked over to his younger cousins, resuming the game they had begun on the plane. “Off the sofa! Remember, I’m the chairman, so I’m the one who gets to sit,” he commanded. “Here, Nicky, hold my glass while I sip from the straw. Astrid, you’re my executive secretary, so you need to massage my shoulders.”

“I don’t know why you get to be the chairman, while Nicky is the vice president and I have to be the secretary,” Astrid protested.

“Didn’t I explain this already? I’m the chairman, because I am four years older than the both of you. You’re the executive secretary, because you’re the girl. I need a girl to massage my shoulders and to help choose jewelry for all my mistresses. My best friend Leo’s father, Ming Kah-Ching, is the third-richest man in Hong Kong, and that’s what his executive secretary does.”

“Eddie, if you want me to be your vice president, I should be doing something more important than holding your glass,” Nick argued. “We still haven’t decided what our company makes.”

“I’ve decided—we make custom limousines, like Rolls-Royces and Jags,” Eddie declared.

“Can’t we make something cooler, like a time machine?” Nick asked.

“Well, these are ultra-special limousines with features like Jacuzzis, secret compartments, and James Bond ejector seats,” Eddie said, bouncing up from the settee so suddenly that he knocked the glass out of Nick’s hand. Coca-Cola spilled everywhere, and the sound of smashing glass pierced the lobby. The bell captain, concierge, and front-desk clerks glared at the children. Alexandra rushed over, shaking a finger in dismay.

“Eddie! Look what you’ve done!”

“It wasn’t my fault—Nicky was the one who dropped it,” Eddie began.

“But it’s your glass, and you hit it out of my hand!” Nick defended himself.

Ormsby approached Felicity and Eleanor. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

“Can we just use your telephone?” Eleanor pleaded.

“I do think the children have done quite enough damage for one night, don’t you?” he hissed.

It was still drizzling, and the group huddled under a green-and-white-striped awning on Brook Street while Felicity stood inside a phone booth frantically calling other hotels.

“Dai gu cheh looks like a soldier in a sentry box in that red booth,” Nick observed, rather thrilled by the strange turn of events. “Mummy, what are we going to do if we can’t find a place to stay tonight? Maybe we can sleep in Hyde Park. There’s an amazing weeping beech in Hyde Park called the upside-down tree, and its branches hang down so low that it’s almost like a cave. We can all sleep underneath and be protected—”

“Don’t talk nonsense! No one is sleeping in the park. Dai gu cheh is calling other hotels right now,” Eleanor said, thinking that her son was getting far too precocious for his own good.

“Oooh, I want to sleep in the park!” Astrid squealed in delight. “Nicky, remember how we moved that big iron bed at Ah Ma’s house into the garden and slept under the stars one night?”

“Well, you two can sleep in the loong kau* for all I care, but I’ll take the big royal suite, where I can order club sandwiches with champagne and caviar,” Eddie said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie. When have you ever had caviar?” his mother asked.

“At Leo’s house. Their butler always serves us caviar with little triangles of toasted bread. And it’s always Iranian beluga, because Leo’s mum says Iranian caviar is the best,” Eddie declared.

“Connie Ming would say something like that,” Alexandra muttered under her breath, glad her son was finally away from that family’s influence.

Inside the telephone booth, Felicity was trying to explain the predicament to her husband over a crackly connection to Singapore.

“What nonsense, lah! You should have demanded the room!” Harry Leong fumed. “You are always too polite—these service people need to be put in their place. Did you tell them who we are? I’m going to call up the minister of trade and investment right now!”

“Come on, Harry, you’re not helping. I’ve called more than ten hotels already. Who knew that today was Commonwealth Day? Every VIP is in town and everyone is booked solid. Poor Astrid is soaked through. We need to find someplace for tonight before your daughter catches her death of cold.”

“Did you try calling your cousin Leonard? Maybe you could take a train straight to Surrey,” Harry suggested.

“I did. He’s not in—he’s grouse hunting in Scotland all weekend.”

“What a bloody mess!” Harry sighed. “Let me call Tommy Toh over at the Singapore embassy. I’m sure they can sort things out. What is the name of this bloody racist hotel?”

“The Calthorpe,” Felicity answered.

“Alamak, is this the place owned by Rupert Calthorpe-something-something?” Harry asked, suddenly perking up.

“I have no idea.”

“Where is it located?”

“It’s in Mayfair, close to Bond Street. It’s actually a rather beautiful hotel, if it wasn’t for this horrible manager.”

“Yes, I think that’s it! I played golf with Rupert what’s his name and a few other Brits last month in California, and I remember him telling me all about his place. Felicity, I have an idea. I’m going to call this Rupert fellow. Just stay put and I’ll call you back.”

Ormsby stared in disbelief when the three Chinese children burst through the front door again, barely an hour after he had evicted the whole lot of them.

“Eddie, I’m getting myself a drink. If you want one, go get it yourself,” Nick said firmly to his cousin as he walked toward the lounge.

“Remember what your mummy said. It’s too late for us to drink Cokes,” Astrid warned as she skipped through the lobby, trying to catch up with the boys.

“Well then, I’ll get a rum and coke,” Eddie said brazenly.

“What on God’s green earth . . .” Ormsby bellowed, storming across the lobby to intercept the children. Before he could reach them, he suddenly caught sight of Lord Rupert Calthorpe-Cavendish-Gore ushering the Chinese women into the lobby, seemingly in the midst of conducting a tour. “And my grandfather brought over René Lalique in 1918 to do the glass murals you see here in the great hall. Needless to say, Lutyens, who supervised the restoration, did not approve of these art nouveau flourishes.” The women laughed politely.

The staff quickly snapped to attention, surprised to see the old lord, who hadn’t set foot inside the hotel in years. Lord Rupert turned toward the hotel manager. “Ah, Wormsby, isn’t it?”

“Yes, m’lord,” he said, too dazed to correct his boss.

“Would you kindly have some rooms readied for the lovely Mrs. Young, Mrs. Leong, and Mrs. Cheng?”

“But sir, I just—” Ormsby tried to protest.

“And Wormsby,” Lord Rupert continued dismissively, “I am entrusting you to inform the staff of a very important announcement: as of this evening, my family’s long history as custodians of the Calthorpe has come to an end.”

Ormsby stared at him in utter disbelief. “M’lord, surely there’s some mistake—”

“No, no mistake at all. I sold the Calthorpe a short while ago, lock, stock, and barrel. May I present the new mistress, Mrs. Felicity Leong.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes, Mrs. Leong’s husband, Harry Leong—a wonderful chap with a lethal right-arm swing, whom I met at Pebble Beach—called me up and made me a marvelous offer. I can now devote all my time to bonefishing in Eleuthera without having to worry about this Gothic pile.”

Ormsby stared at the women, his mouth agape.

“Ladies, why don’t we join your adorable children at the Long Bar for a toast?” Lord Rupert said merrily.

“That would be wonderful,” Eleanor replied. “But first, Felicity, isn’t there something you wanted to tell this man?”

Felicity turned to Ormsby, now looking as if he was about to faint. “Oh yes, I almost forgot,” she began with a smile, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

________________

* Malay slang used to express shock or exasperation like “oh dear” or “oh my God.” Alamak and lah are the two most commonly used slang words in Singapore. (Lah is a suffix that can be used at the end of any phrase for emphasis, but there’s no good explanation for why people use it, lah.)

* Cantonese for “How rotten!”

† A charming Hokkien colloquialism that translates to “red-haired” (ang mor) “dog shit” (gau sai). Used in reference to all Westerners, it’s usually shortened to a simple “ang mor.”

‡ Hokkien for “stingy,” “miserly.” (The vast majority of Singaporeans speak English, but it is a common practice to mash up words in Malay, Indian, and various Chinese dialects to form a local patois known as “Singlish.”)

* Cantonese for “gutter.”

1

Nicholas Young and Rachel Chu

•

NEW YORK, 2010

“You sure about this?” Rachel asked again, blowing softly on the surface of her steaming cup of tea. They were sitting at their usual window table at Tea & Sympathy, and Nick had just invited her to spend the summer with him in Asia.

“Rachel, I’d love it if you came,” Nick reassured her. “You weren’t planning on teaching this summer, so what’s your worry? Think you won’t be able to handle the heat and humidity?”

“No, that’s not it. I know you’re going to be so busy with all your best-man duties, and I wouldn’t want to distract you,” Rachel said.

“What distraction? Colin’s wedding is only going to take up the first week in Singapore, and then we can spend the rest of the summer just bumming around Asia. Come on, let me show you where I grew up. I want to take you to all my favorite haunts.”

“Will you show me the sacred cave where you lost your virginity?” Rachel teased, arching an eyebrow playfully.

“Definitely! We can even stage a reenactment!” Nick laughed, slathering jam and clotted cream onto a scone still warm from the oven. “And doesn’t a good friend of yours live in Singapore?”

“Yes, Peik Lin, my best friend from college,” Rachel said. “She’s been trying to get me to come visit for years.”

“All the more reason. Rachel, you’re going to love it, and I just know you’re going to flip out over the food! You do realize Singapore is the most food-obsessed country on the planet?”

“Well, just watching the way you fawn over everything you eat, I figured it’s pretty much the national sport.”

“Remember Calvin Trillin’s New Yorker piece on Singapore street foods? I’ll take you to all the local dives even he doesn’t know about.” Nick took another bite of his fluffy scone and continued with his mouth full. “I know how much you love these scones. Just wait till you taste my Ah Ma’s—”

“Your Ah Ma bakes scones?” Rachel tried to imagine a traditional Chinese grandmother preparing this quintessentially English confection.

“Well, she doesn’t exactly bake them herself, but she has the best scones in the world—you’ll see,” Nick said, turning around reflexively to make sure no one in the cozy little spot had overheard him. He didn’t want to become persona non grata at his favorite café for carelessly pledging allegiance to another scone, even if it was his grandmother’s.

At a neighboring table, the girl huddled behind a three-tiered stand piled high with finger sandwiches was getting increasingly excited by the conversation she was overhearing. She suspected it might be him, but now she had absolute confirmation. It was Nicholas Young. Even though she was only fifteen at the time, Celine Lim never forgot the day Nicholas strolled past their table at Pulau Club* and flashed that devastating grin of his at her sister Charlotte.

“Is that one of the Leong brothers?” their mother had asked.

“No, that’s Nicholas Young, a cousin of the Leongs,” Charlotte replied.

“Philip Young’s boy? Aiyah, when did he shoot up like that? He’s so handsome now!” Mrs. Lim exclaimed.

“He’s just back from Oxford. Double-majored in history and law,” Charlotte added, anticipating her mother’s next question.

“Why didn’t you get up and talk to him?” Mrs. Lim said excitedly.

“Why should I bother, when you swat away every guy who dares come near,” Charlotte answered curtly.

“Alamak, stupid girl! I’m only trying to protect you from fortune hunters. This one you’d be lucky to have. This one you can cheong!”

Celine couldn’t believe her mother was actually encouraging her big sister to snatch this boy. She stared curiously at Nicholas, now laughing animatedly with his friends at a table under a blue-and-white umbrella by the pool. Even from afar, he stood out in high relief. Unlike the other fellows with their regulation Indian barbershop haircuts, Nicholas had perfectly tousled black hair, chiseled Cantonese pop-idol features, and impossibly thick eyelashes. He was the cutest, dreamiest guy she’d ever seen.

“Charlotte, why don’t you go over and invite him to your fundraiser on Saturday?” their mother kept on.

“Stop it, Mum.” Charlotte smiled through gritted teeth. “I know what I’m doing.”

As it turned out, Charlotte did not know what she was doing, since Nicholas never showed up at her fund-raiser, much to their mother’s eternal disappointment. But that afternoon at Pulau Club left such an indelible mark on Celine’s adolescent memory that six years later and on the other side of the planet, she still recognized him.

“Hannah, let me get a picture of you with that delicious sticky toffee pudding,” Celine said, taking out her camera phone. She pointed it in the direction of her friend, but surreptitiously trained the lens on Nicholas. She snapped the photo and immediately e-mailed it to her sister, who now lived in Atherton, California. Her phone pinged minutes later.

BigSis: OMFG! THAT’S NICK YOUNG! WHERE ARE U?

Celine Lim: T&S.

BigSis: Who’s the girl he’s with?

Celine Lim: GF, I think. Looks ABC.*

BigSis: Hmm . . . do you see a ring?

Celine Lim: No ring.

BigSis: PLS spy for me!!!

Celine Lim: You owe me big-time!!!

Nick gazed out the café window, marveling at the people with tiny dogs parading along this stretch of Greenwich Avenue as if it were a catwalk for the city’s most fashionable breeds. A year ago, French bulldogs were all the rage, but now it looked like Italian greyhounds were giving the Frenchies a run for their money. He faced Rachel again, resuming his campaign. “The great thing about starting out in Singapore is that it’s the perfect base. Malaysia is just across a bridge, and it’s a quick hop to Hong Kong, Cambodia, Thailand. We can even go island-hopping off Indonesia—”

“It all sounds amazing, but ten weeks . . . I don’t know if I want to be away that long,” Rachel mused. She could sense Nick’s eagerness, and the idea of visiting Asia again filled her with excitement. She had spent a year teaching in Chengdu between college and grad school but couldn’t afford to travel anywhere beyond China’s borders back then. As an economist, she certainly knew enough about Singapore—this tiny, intriguing island at the tip of the Malay Peninsula, which had transformed within a few short decades from a British colonial backwater into the country with the world’s highest concentration of millionaires. It would be fascinating to see the place up close, especially with Nick as her guide.

Yet something about this trip made Rachel a little apprehensive, and she couldn’t help but ponder the deeper implications. Nick made it seem so spontaneous, but knowing him, she was sure he had put far more thought into it than he let on. They had been together for almost two years, and now he was inviting her on an extended trip to visit his hometown, to attend his best friend’s wedding, no less. Did this mean what she thought it did?

Rachel peered into her teacup, wishing she could divine something from the stray leaves pooled at the bottom of the deep golden Assam. She had never been the sort of girl who longed for fairytale endings. Being twenty-nine, she was by Chinese standards well into old-maid territory, and even though her busybody relatives were perpetually trying to set her up, she had spent the better part of her twenties focused on getting through grad school, finishing her dissertation, and jump-starting her career in academia. This surprise invitation, however, sparked some vestigial instinct within her. He wants to take me home. He wants me to meet his family. The long-dormant romantic in her was awakening, and she knew there was only one answer to give.

“I’ll have to check with my dean to see when I’m needed back, but you know what? Let’s do this!” Rachel declared. Nick leaned across the table, kissing her jubilantly.

Minutes later, before Rachel herself knew for certain her summer plans, the details of her conversation had already begun to spread far and wide, circling the globe like a virus set loose. After Celine Lim (Parsons School of Design fashion major) e-mailed her sister Charlotte Lim (recently engaged to venture capitalist Henry Chiu) in California, Charlotte called her best friend Daphne Ma (Sir Benedict Ma’s youngest daughter) in Singapore and breathlessly filled her in. Daphne texted eight friends, including Carmen Kwek (granddaughter of Robert “Sugar King” Kwek) in Shanghai, whose cousin Amelia Kwek had gone to Oxford with Nicholas Young. Amelia simply had to IM her friend Justina Wei (the Instant Noodle heiress) in Hong Kong, and Justina, whose office at Hutchison Whampoa was right across the hall from Roderick Liang’s (of the Liang Finance Group Liangs), simply had to interrupt his conference call to share this juicy tidbit. Roderick in turn Skyped his girlfriend Lauren Lee, who was holidaying at the Royal Mansour in Marrakech with her grandmother Mrs. Lee Yong Chien (no introductions necessary) and her aunt Patsy Teoh (Miss Taiwan 1979, now the ex-wife of telecom mogul Dickson Teoh). Patsy made a poolside call to Jacqueline Ling (granddaughter of philanthropist Ling Yin Chao) in London, knowing full well that Jacqueline would have a direct line to Cassandra Shang (Nicholas Young’s second cousin), who spent every spring at her family’s vast estate in Surrey. And so this exotic strain of gossip spread rapidly through the levantine networks of the Asian jet set, and within a few hours, almost everyone in this exclusive circle knew that Nicholas Young was bringing a girl home to Singapore.

And, alamak! This was big news.

________________

* Singapore’s most prestigious country club (with membership practically harder to obtain than a knighthood).

* American-born Chinese.

2

Eleanor Young

•

SINGAPORE

Everyone knew that Dato’* Tai Toh Lui made his first fortune the dirty way by bringing down Loong Ha Bank in the early eighties, but in the two decades since, the efforts of his wife, Datin Carol Tai, on behalf of the right charities had burnished the Tai name into one of respectability. Every Thursday, for instance, the datin held a Bible study luncheon for her closest friends in her bedroom, and Eleanor Young was sure to attend.

Carol’s palatial bedroom was not actually in the sprawling glass-and-steel structure everyone living along Kheam Hock Road nicknamed the “Star Trek House.” Instead, on the advice of her husband’s security team, the bedroom was hidden away in the pool pavilion, a white travertine fortress that spanned the swimming pool like a postmodern Taj Mahal. To get there, you either had to follow the footpath that wound along the coral rock gardens or take the shortcut through the service wing. Eleanor always preferred the quicker route, since she assiduously avoided the sun to maintain her porcelain-white complexion, and also, as Carol’s oldest friend, she considered herself exempt from the formalities of waiting at the front door, being announced by the butler, and all that nonsense.

Besides, Eleanor enjoyed passing through the kitchens. The old amahs squatting over enamel double boilers would always open the lids for Eleanor to sniff the smoky medicinal herbs being brewed for Carol’s husband (“natural Viagra,” as he called it), and the kitchen maids gutting fish in the courtyard would fawn over how youthful Mrs. Young still looked for sixty, what with her fashionably shagged chin-length hair and her unwrinkled face (before furiously debating, the moment she was out of earshot, what expensive new cosmetic procedure Mrs. Young must have endured).

By the time Eleanor arrived at Carol’s bedroom, the Bible study regulars—Daisy Foo, Lorena Lim, and Nadine Shaw—would be assembled and waiting. Here, sheltered from the harsh equatorial heat, these longtime friends would sprawl languorously about the room, analyzing the Bible verses assigned in their study guides. The place of honor on Carol’s Qing dynasty Huanghuali* bed was always reserved for Eleanor, for even though this was Carol’s house and she was the one married to the billionaire financier, Carol still deferred to her. This was the way things had been since their childhood as neighbors growing up on Serangoon Road, mainly because, coming from a Chinese-speaking family, Carol had always felt inferior to Eleanor, who was brought up speaking English first. (The others also kowtowed to her, because even among these exceedingly well-married ladies, Eleanor had trumped them all by becoming Mrs. Philip Young.)

Today’s lunch started off with braised quail and abalone over hand-pulled noodles, and Daisy (married to the rubber magnate Q. T. Foo but born a Wong, of the Ipoh Wongs) fought to separate the starchy noodles while trying to find 1 Timothy in her King James Bible. With her bobbed perm and her rimless reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose, she looked like the principal of a girls’ school. At sixty-four, she was the oldest of the ladies, and even though everyone else was on the New American Standard, Daisy always insisted on reading from her version, saying, “I went to convent school and was taught by nuns, you know, so it will always be King James for me.” Tiny droplets of garlicky broth splattered onto the tissue-like page, but she managed to keep the good book open with one hand while deftly maneuvering her ivory chopsticks with the other.

Nadine, meanwhile, was busily flipping through her Bible—the latest issue of Singapore Tattle. Every month, she couldn’t wait to see how many pictures of her daughter Francesca—the celebrated “Shaw Foods heiress”—were featured in the “Soirées” section of the magazine. Nadine herself was a fixture in the social pages, what with her Kabuki-esque makeup, tropical-fruit-size jewels, and over-teased hair. “Aiyah, Carol, Tattle devoted two full pages to your Christian Helpers fashion gala!” Nadine exclaimed.

“Already? I didn’t realize it would come out so quickly,” Carol remarked. Unlike Nadine, she was always a bit embarrassed to find herself in magazines, even though editors constantly fawned over her “classic Shanghainese songstress looks.” Carol simply felt obligated to attend a few charity galas every week as any good born-again Christian should, and because her husband kept reminding her that “being Mother Teresa is good for business.”

Nadine scanned the glossy pages up and down. “That Lena Teck has really put on weight since her Mediterranean cruise, hasn’t she? It must be those all-you-can-eat buffets—you always feel like you have to eat more to get your money’s worth. She better be careful—all those Teck women end up with fat ankles.”

“I don’t think she cares how fat her ankles get. Do you know how much she inherited when her father died? I heard she and her five brothers got seven hundred million each,” Lorena said from her chaise lounge.

“Is that all? I thought Lena had at least a billion.” Nadine sniffed. “Hey, so strange Elle, how come there’s no picture of your pretty niece Astrid? I remember all the photographers swarming around her that day.”

“Those photographers were wasting their time. Astrid’s pictures are never published anywhere. Her mother made a deal with all the magazine editors back when she was a teenager,” Eleanor explained.

“Why on earth would she do that?”

“Don’t you know my husband’s family by now? They would rather die than appear in print,” Eleanor said.

“What, have they become too grand to be seen mingling with other Singaporeans?” Nadine said indignantly.

“Aiyah, Nadine, there’s a difference between being grand and being discreet,” Daisy commented, knowing full well that families like the Leongs and the Youngs guarded their privacy to the point of obsession.

“Grand or not, I think Astrid is wonderful,” Carol chimed in. “You know, I’m not supposed to say, but Astrid wrote the biggest check at the fund-raiser. And she insisted that I keep it anonymous. But her donation was what made this year’s gala a record-breaking success.”

Eleanor eyed the pretty new Mainland Chinese maid entering the room, wondering if this was another one of the girls that the dato’ had handpicked from that “employment agency” he frequented in Suzhou, the city reputed to have the most beautiful women in China. “What do we have today?” she asked Carol, as the maid placed a familiar bulky mother-of-pearl chest beside the bed.

“Oh, I wanted to show you what I bought on my Burma trip.”

Eleanor flipped open the lid of the chest eagerly and began methodically taking out the stacked black velvet trays. One of her favorite parts of Thursday Bible study was looking at Carol’s latest acquisitions. Soon the bed was lined with trays containing a blinding array of jewels. “What intricate crosses—I didn’t realize they did such good setting work in Burma!”

“No, no, those crosses are Harry Winston,” Carol corrected. “The rubies are from Burma.”

Lorena got up from her lunch and headed straight for the bed, holding up one of the lychee-size rubies to the light. “Aiyah, you have to be careful in Burma because so many of their rubies are synthetically treated to boost the redness.” Being the wife of Lawrence Lim (of the L’Orient Jewelry Lims), Lorena could speak on this topic with authority.

“I thought rubies from Burma were supposed to be the best,” Eleanor remarked.

“Ladies, you need to stop calling it Burma. It’s been called Myanmar for more than twenty years now,” Daisy corrected.

“Alamak! You sound just like Nicky, always correcting me!” Eleanor said.

“Hey, speaking of Nick, when does he arrive from New York? Isn’t he the best man at Colin Khoo’s wedding?” Daisy asked.

“Yes, yes. But you know my son—I’m always the last to know anything!” Eleanor complained.

“Isn’t he staying with you?”

“Of course. He always stays with us first, before heading to Old Lady’s,” Eleanor said, using her nickname for her mother-in-law.

“Well,” Daisy continued, lowering her voice a bit, “what do you think Old Lady will do about his guest?”

“What do you mean? What guest?” Eleanor asked.

“The one . . . he’s bringing . . . to the wedding,” Daisy replied slowly, her eyes darting around at the other ladies mischievously, knowing they all knew to whom she was referring.

“What are you talking about? Who is he bringing?” Eleanor said, a little confused.

“His latest girlfriend, lah!” Lorena revealed.

“No such thing! No way Nicky has a girlfriend,” Eleanor insisted.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that your son has a girlfriend?” Lorena asked. She had always found Nick to be the most dashing young man of his generation, and with all that Young money, it was such a pity her good-for-nothing daughter Tiffany never managed to attract him.

“But surely you’ve heard about this girl? The one from New York,” Daisy said in a whisper, relishing that she was the one breaking the news to Eleanor.

“An American girl? Nicky wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Daisy, your information is always ta pah kay!”*

“What do you mean? My news is not ta pah kay—it comes from the most reliable source! Anyway, I hear she’s Chinese,” Daisy offered.

“Really? What’s her name, and where is she from? Daisy, if you tell me she’s from Mainland China, I think I’ll have a stroke,” Eleanor warned.

“I heard she’s from Taiwan,” Daisy said carefully.

“Oh my goodness, I hope she’s not one of those Taiwanese tornadoes!” Nadine cackled.

“What do you mean by that?” Eleanor asked.

“You know how notorious those Taiwanese girls can be. They swoop in unexpectedly, the men fall head over heels, and before you know it they are gone, but not before sucking up every last dollar, just like a tornado,” Nadine explained. “I know so many men who have fallen prey—think about Mrs. K. C. Tang’s son Gerald, whose wife cleaned him out and ran off with all the Tang heirlooms. Or poor Annie Sim, who lost her husband to that lounge singer from Taipei.”

At this moment, Carol’s husband entered the room. “Hello, hello, ladies. How is Jesus time today?” he said, puffing away on his cigar and swirling his goblet of Hennessy, looking every portly inch the caricature of an Asian tycoon.

“Hello, Dato’!” the ladies said in unison, hurriedly shifting themselves into more decorous positions.

“Dato’, Daisy here is trying to give me a stroke! She’s telling everyone that Nicky has a new Taiwanese girlfriend!” Eleanor cried.

“Relax, Lealea. Taiwanese girls are lovely—they really know how to take care of a man, and maybe she’ll be prettier than all those spoiled, inbred girls you try to matchmake him to.” The dato’ grinned. “Anyway,” he continued, suddenly lowering his voice, “if I were you, I would be less worried about young Nicholas, and more worried about Sina Land right now.”

“Why? What’s happening to Sina Land?” Eleanor asked.

“Sina Land toh tuew. It’s going to collapse,” the dato’ declared with a satisfied grin.

“But Sina Land is blue-chip. How can that be? My brother even told me they have all these new projects in western China,” Lorena argued.

“The Chinese government, my source assures me, has pulled out of that huge new development in Xinjiang. I just unloaded my shares and I’m shorting a hundred thousand shares every hour until market closes.” With that, the dato’ expelled a big puff of smoke from his Cohiba and pressed a button next to the bed. The vast wall of glass facing the sparkling swimming pool began to tilt forty-five degrees like an enormous cantilevered garage door, and the dato’ lumbered out into the garden toward the main house.

For a few seconds, the room went absolutely still. You could almost hear the wheels in each woman’s head whirling into overdrive. Daisy suddenly jumped up from her chair, spilling the tray of noodles onto the floor. “Quick, quick! Where’s my handbag? I need to call my broker!”

Eleanor and Lorena both scrambled for their cell phones as well. Nadine had her stockbroker on speed dial and was already screaming into her phone, “Dump all of it! SINA LAND. Yes. Dump it all! I just heard from the horse’s mouth that it’s gone case!”

Lorena was on the other end of the bed, cupping her phone close to her mouth. “Desmond, I don’t care, please just start shorting it now.”

Daisy began to hyperventilate. “Sum toong, ah!* I’m losing millions by the second! Where is my bloody broker? Don’t tell me that moron is still at lunch!”

Carol calmly reached for the touch-screen panel by her bedside table. “Mei Mei, can you please come in and clean up a spill?” Then she closed her eyes, lifted her arms into the air, and began to pray aloud: “Oh Jesus, our personal lord and savior, blessed be your name. We come to you humbly asking for your forgiveness today, as we have all sinned against you. Thank you for showering your blessings upon us. Thank you Lord Jesus for the fellowship that we shared today, for the nourishing food we enjoyed, for the power of your holy word. Please watch over dear Sister Eleanor, Sister Lorena, Sister Daisy, and Sister Nadine, as they try to sell their Sina Land shares . . .”

Carol opened her eyes for a moment, noting with satisfaction that Eleanor at least was praying along with her. But of course, she couldn’t know that behind those serene eyelids, Eleanor was praying for something else entirely. A Taiwanese girl! Please God, let it not be true.

________________

* A highly regarded honorific title in Malaysia (similar to a British knighthood) conferred by a hereditary royal ruler of one of the nine Malay states. The title is often used by Malay royals to reward powerful businessmen, politicians, and philanthropists in Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia, and some people spend decades sucking up just to get the title. The wife of a dato’ is called a datin.

* Literally “yellow flowering pear,” an exceedingly rare type of rosewood now virtually extinct. In recent decades, Huanghuali furniture has become highly sought after by discerning collectors. After all, it goes so well with mid-century modern.

* Malay for “not accurate.”

* Cantonese for “my heart aches.”

3

Rachel Chu

•

NEW YORK

It would be just after dinnertime in Cupertino, and on the nights she wasn’t at Nick’s, it became Rachel’s habit to call her mother right as she was getting into bed.

“Guess who just closed the deal on the big house on Laurel Glen Drive?” Kerry Chu boasted excitedly in Mandarin as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Wow, Mom, congratulations! Isn’t that your third sale this month?” Rachel asked.

“Yes! I broke last year’s office record! You see, I knew I made the right decision to join Mimi Shen at the Los Altos office,” Kerry said with satisfaction.

“You’re going to make Realtor of the Year again, I just know it,” Rachel replied, re-fluffing the pillow under her head. “Well, I have some exciting news too . . . Nick invited me to come with him to Asia this summer.”

“He did?” Kerry remarked, her voice lowering an octave.

“Mom, don’t start getting any ideas,” Rachel warned, knowing that tone of her mother’s so well.

“Hiyah! What ideas? When you brought Nick home last Thanksgiving, everyone who saw you two lovebirds together said you were perfect for each other. Now it’s his turn to introduce you to his family. Do you think he’s going to propose?” Kerry gushed, unable to contain herself.

“Mom, we’ve never once talked about marriage,” Rachel said, trying to downplay it. As excited as she was about all the possibilities that hung over the trip, she wasn’t going to encourage her mom for the time being. Her mother was already far too invested in her happiness, and she didn’t want to get her hopes up . . . too much.

Still, Kerry was brimming with anticipation. “Daughter, I know men like Nick. He can act the bohemian scholar all he wants, but I know deep down he is the marrying kind. He wants to settle down and have many children, so there is no more time to waste.”

“Mom, just stop!”

“Besides, how many nights a week do you already spend at his place? I’m shocked you two haven’t moved in together yet.”

“You’re the only Chinese mom I know who’s actually encouraging her daughter to shack up with a guy.” Rachel laughed.

“I’m the only Chinese mother with an unmarried daughter who’s almost thirty! Do you know all the inquiries I get almost every day? I’m getting tired of defending you. Why, even yesterday, I ran into Min Chung at Peet’s Coffee. ‘I know you wanted your daughter to get her career established first, but isn’t it time that girl got married?’ she asked. You know her daughter Jessica is engaged to the number-seven guy at Facebook, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know the whole story. Instead of an engagement ring, he endowed a scholarship in her name at Stanford,” Rachel said in a bored tone.

“And she’s nowhere as pretty as you,” Kerry said indignantly. “All your uncles and aunties gave up on you a long time ago, but I always knew you were waiting for the right one. Of course, you had to choose a professor just like yourself. At least your children will get a discount on tuition—that’s the only way the two of you can afford to put them through college.”

“Speaking of uncles and aunties, promise me you won’t go telling everyone right away. Please?” Rachel pleaded.

“Hiyah! Okay, okay. I know you are always so cautious, and you don’t want to be disappointed, but I just know in my heart what’s going to happen,” her mother said merrily.

“Well, until something happens, there’s no point making a big deal out of it,” Rachel insisted.

“So where will you be staying in Singapore?”

“At his parents’ place, I guess.”

“Do they live in a house or an apartment?” Kerry asked.

“I have no idea.”

“You must find out these things!”

“Why does it matter? Are you going to try to sell them a house in Singapore?”

“I’ll tell you why it matters—do you know what the sleeping arrangements will be?”

“Sleeping arrangements? What are you talking about, Mom?”

“Hiyah, do you know if you will be in a guest bedroom or sharing a bed with him?”

“It never occurred to me—”

“Daughter, that is the most important thing. You mustn’t assume that Nick’s parents are going to be as liberal-minded as I am. You are going to Singapore, and those Chinese Singaporeans are the most uptight of all the Chinese, you know! I don’t want his parents to think I didn’t raise you properly.”

Rachel sighed. She knew her mother meant well, but as usual she had managed to stress her out about details Rachel never would have imagined.

“Now, we must plan what you will bring as a present for Nick’s parents,” Kerry continued eagerly. “Find out what Nick’s father likes to drink. Scotch? Vodka? Whiskey? I have so many spare bottles of Johnny Walker Red left over from the office Christmas party, I can send you one.”

“Mom, I’m not going to cart over a bottle of booze that they can get there. Let me think of the perfect present to bring them from America.”

“Oh, I know just the thing for Nick’s mother! You should go to Macy’s and buy her one of those pretty gold powder compacts from Esteé Lauder. They are having a special offer right now, and it comes with a free gift—an expensive-looking leather pouch with lipstick and perfume and eye-cream samples. Trust me, every Asian woman loves those free gifts—”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll take care of it.”

4

Nicholas Young

•

NEW YORK

Nick was slouched on his battered leather sofa grading term papers when Rachel casually brought it up. “So . . . what’s the story when we’re staying at your parents’ place? Are we sharing a bedroom, or would they be scandalized?”

Nick cocked his head. “Hmm. I suppose we’ll be in the same room—”

“You suppose or you know?”

“Don’t worry, once we arrive everything will get sorted.”

Get sorted. Normally Rachel found Nick’s Britishy phrases so charming, but in this instance it was a tad frustrating. Sensing her unease, Nick got up, walked over to where she was sitting, and kissed the top of her head tenderly. “Relax—my parents aren’t the kind of people who pay any attention to sleeping arrangements.”

Rachel wondered if that was really true. She tried to go back to reading the State Department’s Southeast Asia travel advisory website. As she sat there in the glow of the laptop, Nick couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful his girlfriend looked even at the end of a long day. How did he get so lucky? Everything about her—from the dewy just-back-from-a-morning-run-on-the-beach complexion to the obsidian-black hair that stopped just short of her collarbone—conveyed a natural, uncomplicated beauty so different from the red-carpet-ready girls he had grown up around.

Now Rachel was absentmindedly rubbing her index finger back and forth over her upper lip, her brow slightly furrowed. Nick knew that gesture well. What was she worrying about? Ever since he had invited Rachel to Asia a few days ago, the questions had been piling on steadily. Where were they staying? What gift should she bring for his parents? What had Nick told them about her? Nick wished he could stop that brilliant analytical mind of hers from overthinking every aspect of the trip. He was beginning to see that Astrid had been right. Astrid was not only his cousin, she was his closest female confidant, and he had first fielded the idea of inviting Rachel to Singapore during their phone conversation a week ago.

“First of all, you know you’ll be instantly escalating things to the next level, don’t you? Is this what you really want?” Astrid asked point-blank.

“No. Well . . . maybe. This is just a summer holiday.”

“Come on, Nicky, this is not ‘just a summer holiday.’ That’s not how women think, and you know it. You’ve been dating seriously for almost two years now. You’re thirty-two, and up till now you have never brought anyone home. This is major. Everyone is going to assume that you’re going to—”

“Please,” Nick warned, “don’t say the m-word.”

“See—you know that is precisely what will be on everyone’s mind. Most of all, I can guarantee you it’s on Rachel’s mind.”

Nick sighed. Why did everything have to be so fraught with significance? This always happened whenever he sought the female perspective. Maybe calling Astrid was a bad idea. She was older than him by just six months, but sometimes she slipped into big-sister mode too much. He preferred the capricious, devil-may-care side of Astrid. “I just want to show Rachel my part of the world, that’s all, no strings attached,” he tried to explain. “And I guess part of me wants to see how she’ll react to it.”

“By ‘it’ you mean our family,” Astrid said.

“No, not just our family. My friends, the island, everything. Can’t I go on holiday with my girlfriend without it becoming a diplomatic incident?”

Astrid paused for a moment, trying to assess the situation. This was the most serious her cousin had ever gotten with anyone. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, she knew that on a subconscious level, at least, he was taking the next crucial step on the way to the altar. But that step needed to be handled with extreme care. Was Nicky truly prepared for all the land mines he would be setting off? He could be rather oblivious to the intricacies of the world he had been born into. Maybe he had always been shielded by their grandmother, since he was the apple of her eye. Or maybe Nick had just spent too many years living outside of Asia. In their world, you did not bring home some unknown girl unannounced.

“You know I think Rachel is lovely. I really do. But if you invite her to come home with you, it will change things between you, whether you like it or not. Now, I’m not concerned about whether your relationship can handle it—I know it can. My worry is more about how everyone else is going to react. You know how small the island is. You know how things can get with . . .” Astrid’s voice was suddenly drowned out by the staccato scream of a police siren.

“That was a strange noise. Where are you right now?” Nick asked.

“I’m on the street,” Astrid replied.

“In Singapore?”

“No, in Paris.”

“What? Paris?” Nick was confused.

“Yep, I’m on rue de Berri, and two police cars just whizzed by.”

“I thought you were in Singapore. Sorry for calling so late—I thought it was morning for you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s only one thirty. I’m just walking back to the hotel.”

“Is Michael with you?”

“No, he’s in China for work.”

“What are you up to in Paris?”

“Just my annual spring trip, you know.”

“Oh, right.” Nick remembered that Astrid spent every April in Paris for her couture fittings. He had met her in Paris once before, and he could still recall the fascination and tedium he felt sitting in the Yves Saint Laurent atelier on avenue Marceau, watching three seamstresses buzz around Astrid as she stood Zen-like, swathed in an airy confection for what seemed like ten hours, guzzling down Diet Cokes to fight off her jet lag. She looked to him like a figure from a baroque painting, a Spanish infanta submitting to an archaic costuming ritual straight out of the seventeenth century. (It was a “particularly uninspired season,” Astrid had told him, and she was buying “only” twelve pieces that spring, spending well over a million euros.) Nick didn’t even want to imagine how much money she must be blowing on this trip with no one there to rein her in.

“I miss Paris. It’s been ages since I’ve been. Remember our crazy trip there with Eddie?” he said.

“Aiyoh, please don’t remind me! That’s the last time I ever share a suite with that rascal!” Astrid shuddered, thinking she would never be able to erase the image of her Hong Kong cousin with that amputee stripper and those profiteroles.

“Are you staying in the Penthouse at the George V?”

“As always.”

“You’re such a creature of habit. It would be super-easy to assassinate you.”

“Why don’t you try?”

“Well, next time you’re in Paris, let me know. I might just surprise you and hop the pond with my special assassin’s kit.”

“Are you going to knock me out, put me in a bathtub, and pour acid all over me?”

“No, for you there will be a far more elegant solution.”

“Well, come and get me. I’ll be here till early May. Don’t you get some sort of spring break soon? Why not bring Rachel to Paris for a long weekend?”

“Wish I could. Spring break was last month, and we interim-adjunct-sub-associate professors don’t get any extra vacation days. But Rachel and I have the whole summer off, which is why I want her to come home with me.”

Astrid sighed. “You know what will happen the minute you land at Changi Airport with this girl on your arm, don’t you? You know how brutal it was for Michael when we first started going out publicly. That was five years ago, and he’s still getting used to it. Do you really think Rachel is ready for all that? Are you ready for it?”

Nick remained silent. He was taking in everything Astrid had to say, but his mind was already made up. He was ready. He was absolutely head over heels in love with Rachel, and it was time to show her off to the whole world.

“Nicky, how much does she know?” Astrid asked.

“About what?”

“About our family.”

“Not much. You’re the only one she’s met. She thinks you’ve got great taste in shoes and that your husband spoils you rotten. That’s about it.”

“You probably want to prepare her a bit,” Astrid said with a laugh.

“What is there to prepare her for?” Nick asked breezily.

“Listen, Nicky,” Astrid said, her tone getting serious. “You can’t just throw Rachel into the deep end like this. You need to prep her, do you hear me?”