The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy Box Set

by Kevin Kwan

  “Oh, which one?”

  “The all-girl back-door-action one,” Oliver said with a little wink.

  Kitty didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’ve heard about that video. That girl supposedly looks a lot like me,” she shouted back at Oliver with a smirk.

  “Yes, yes, she’s your identical twin. Don’t worry, Kitty, your secret is safe with me. I’m a survivor, just like you. And I know you didn’t work your pretty ass off, quite literally I might add, to end up married to an upper-middle-class boy like my cousin.”

  “You’re wrong about me. I love Alistair!” Kitty protested.

  “Of course you do. I never said you didn’t,” Oliver replied, spinning her right next to Bernard Tai, who was dancing with Lauren Lee.

  “Lauren Lee! My goodness, I haven’t seen you since last year’s Hong Kong art fair. Where have you been hiding yourself?” Oliver exclaimed as he switched partners with Bernard.

  As Bernard began to ogle Kitty’s skimpily swathed décolletage, Oliver whispered into Kitty’s ear, “Bernard’s father, Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, has about four billion dollars. And he’s the only son.”

  Kitty continued to dance as if she hadn’t heard a single word.

  Seeking respite from the ear-splitting music, Astrid headed outdoors and climbed onto one of the terraces overlooking a canopy of treetops. Charlie noticed her leaving the banquet hall, and it took every ounce of determination for him not to follow her. He was better off admiring her from afar, in the way that he always had. Even when they were living together in London, he loved nothing more than to watch her quietly as she drifted through a room in her inimitable way. Astrid had always stood apart from any woman he had ever known. Especially tonight, when the most stylish women in all of Asia were dressed to impress and drowning in diamonds, Astrid outdid all of them by appearing in a flawlessly elegant cheongsam and an exquisitely simple pair of chalcedony drop earrings. He knew from the tailoring and intricately embroidered peacock feathers that the cheongsam had to be vintage, likely one of her grandmother’s. What the hell, he didn’t care how she might feel—he needed to see her again up close.

  “Let me guess … not a fan of Tracy Kuan?” Astrid asked when she saw Charlie walking up the steps onto the terrace.

  “Not when I have no one to dance with.”

  Astrid smiled. “I’d happily dance with you, but you know the press would have a field day with that one.”

  “Heh, heh—we’d wipe this wedding off the front pages tomorrow, wouldn’t we?” Charlie laughed.

  “Tell me, Charlie, back in our day, were we anything like Colin and Araminta?” Astrid sighed, peering down at the fantastical harbor, its row of Grecian columns like leftover props from the set of Cleopatra.

  “I’d like to think we weren’t. I mean, kids these days … the spending is on a whole other level.”

  “ ‘Spending Ah Gong’s† money,’ as they say,” Astrid quipped.

  “Yes. But at least we had the sense to feel naughty doing it. And I think that back in those days when we lived in London, we were buying things we actually loved, not things to show off,” Charlie mused.

  “No one in Singapore gave a damn about Martin Margiela back then.” Astrid laughed.

  “It’s a whole new world, Astrid.” Charlie sighed.

  “Well, I hope Colin and Araminta live happily ever after,” Astrid said wistfully.

  They were silent for a minute, taking in the calm of the rustling trees mingling with the low bass thump coming from the great hall. Suddenly the relative quiet was broken, as Asia’s bright young things flooded out onto the plaza in a raucous conga line led by the indefatigable Tracy Kuan doing her best rendition of the B-52s’ “Love Shack.”

  “I can’t lie to you, Astrid. My wife was invited tonight, but she’s not here because we lead separate lives. We haven’t lived together in more than two years,” Charlie said over the din, slumping onto one of the Lucite benches.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Astrid said, jarred by his candor. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my husband isn’t really away on business. He’s in Hong Kong with his mistress,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

  Charlie stared at her, incredulous. “Mistress? How could anyone in his right mind be cheating on you?”

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night. All week actually. I had been suspecting it for the past few months, but he finally came clean a week ago, before abruptly moving out.”

  “He moved to Hong Kong?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Actually, what am I talking about—I have no idea. I think his mistress lives there, and I think he went specifically this weekend just to spite me. It was the one weekend where his absence would surely be noticed.”

  “Fucker!”

  “That’s not all. I think he fathered a child with this woman,” Astrid said sadly.

  Charlie looked at her in horror. “You think? Or you know?”

  “I don’t really know, Charlie. There are so many things about this whole affair that don’t make sense to me at all.”

  “Then why don’t you go to Hong Kong yourself and find out?”

  “How can I? There’s no way I can run off to Hong Kong on my own to check up on him. You know how it is—no matter where I stay, someone is bound to recognize me, and there will be talk,” Astrid said, rather resigned to her fate.

  “Well, why don’t we find out?”

  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “I mean, I’m going to call my pilot right now to get the plane fueled up, and we can be in Hong Kong in three hours. Let me help you. You can stay with me, and no one will know you’re in Hong Kong. It’s unfortunate, but after my brother’s kidnapping eight years ago, I have access to the best private investigators in the city. Let’s get to the bottom of this,” Charlie said eagerly.

  “Oh Charlie, I can’t just leave in the middle of all this.”

  “Why the hell not? I don’t see you out there shaking your ass in that conga line.”

  Colin and Nick were standing by one of the alcoves, watching Peter Lee spin his daughter around the dance floor. “I can’t quite believe I got married to that girl today, Nicky. This whole day has been a complete fucking blur.” Colin sighed wearily.

  “Yeah, it’s been quite surreal,” Nick admitted.

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve been with me on this ride,” Colin said. “I know I haven’t been easy on you the last few days.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” Nick said cheerily, putting his arm around Colin. He was not about to let Colin get maudlin on his wedding night.

  “I’m going to do you the favor of not asking you when your turn’s going to be, although I must say Rachel looks smashing tonight,” Colin said, staring at her being whirled around by Mehmet.

  “Doesn’t she?” Nick grinned.

  “I’d cut in on them if I were you. You know how lethal our Turkish friend can be, especially since he knows how to tango better than an Argentinean polo player,” Colin warned.

  “Oh, Mehmet already confessed to me that he thinks Rachel has the sexiest legs on the planet.” Nick laughed. “You know how they say weddings are infectious. I think I really caught the bug today, watching you and Araminta during the ceremony.”

  “Does this mean what I think it does?” Colin asked, perking up.

  “I think so, Colin. I think I’m finally ready to ask Rachel to marry me.”

  “Well hurry up, lah!” Colin exclaimed, clapping Nick on the back. “Araminta already told me she intends to get pregnant on our honeymoon, so you need to catch up. I’m counting on your kid to check my kid into rehab!”

  It was almost midnight, and while the older guests were perched comfortably on terraces overlooking the promenade, sipping their Rémy Martins or lapsang souchongs, Rachel was sitting with the few remaining girls in the banquet hall, catching up with Sophie Khoo. Laure
n Lee and Mandy Ling were chatting several chairs away when Francesca sauntered up to the table.

  “Wasn’t that dinner a disappointment? That Edible Bird’s Nest Semifreddo at the end—why would you ever puree bird’s nest? Bird’s nest is all about the texture, and that idiot chef transforms it into a half-frozen muck,” Francesca complained. “We should all go for supper after the fireworks.”

  “Why don’t we just go now?” Lauren suggested.

  “No, we have to stay for the fireworks! Araminta told me in secret that Cai Guo-Qiang designed a pyrotechnics show even more spectacular than the one he did for the Beijing Olympics. But we’ll take the first ferry the minute the show is over. Now, where should we go?”

  “I don’t know Singapore well at all anymore. If I was in Sydney right now, I’d be heading to BBQ King for a late-night snack,” Sophie said.

  “Oooh! BBQ King! I love that place! I think they have the best siew ngarp in the world!” Lauren declared.

  “Aiyah, BBQ King is such a grease pit. Everyone knows that Four Seasons in London has the best roast duck in the world!” Mandy countered.

  “I’m with Lauren, I think BBQ wins hands down,” Francesca said.

  “No, I find their roast duck too fatty. The duck at Four Seasons is perfect, because they raise the ducks on their own special organic farm. Nico would agree with me—we used to go there all the time,” Mandy added with a flourish.

  “Why do you call Nick ‘Nico’?” Rachel turned to Mandy, the curiosity finally getting the better of her.

  “Oh, when we were just teenagers, we spent one summer together on Capri. His auntie Catherine, the Thai one, took a villa there. We would follow the sun all day—start out sunbathing at the beach club by the Faraglioni rocks in the mornings, go swimming in Grotta Verde after lunch, and end up at Il Faro beach for sunset. We got so brown, and Nicky’s hair got so long—he looked practically Italian! That’s when the Italian kids we made friends with started calling him Nico and I was his Mandi. Oooh, it was such a glorious time.”

  “Sounds like it,” Rachel said lightly, ignoring Mandy’s blatant attempt to make her jealous by resuming her conversation with Sophie.

  Francesca leaned into Mandy’s ear. “Really, Mandy, I could have milked that story way better. Your mother is right—you have lost your edge living in New York.”

  “Go to hell, Francesca. I don’t see you doing any better,” Mandy said through gritted teeth as she got up from the table. She was fed up with the pressure coming at her from all sides, and wished she’d never agreed to come back. The girls looked up as Mandy stormed off.

  Francesca shook her head slowly and gave Rachel a look. “Poor Mandy is so conflicted. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore. I mean, that was such a pathetic attempt at inciting jealousy, wasn’t it?”

  For once, Rachel had to agree with Francesca. “It didn’t work, and I don’t understand why she keeps trying to make me jealous. I mean, why would I care about what Nick and her did when they were teenagers?”

  Francesca burst out laughing. “Wait a minute, you thought she was trying to make you jealous?”

  “Er … wasn’t that what she was doing?”

  “No, honey, she’s not paying any attention to you. She was trying to make me jealous.”

  “You?” Rachel asked, puzzled.

  Francesca smirked. “Of course. That’s why she brought up the whole Capri story—I was there that summer too, you know. Mandy’s never gotten over how into me Nick was when we had our threesome.”

  Rachel could feel her face get hot. Very hot. She wanted to bolt from the table but her legs seemed to have turned to glue.

  Sophie and Lauren stared at Francesca, mouths agape.

  Francesca looked straight into Rachel’s face and kept on chattering lightly. “Oh, does Nick still do that trick with the underside of his tongue? Mandy was far too prissy to let him go down on her, but my God, on me he would stay down there for hours.”

  Right then, Nick entered the banquet hall. “There you are! Why are you all sitting in here like statues? The fireworks are about to start!”

  * * *

  * Among the ginseng connoisseurs of Asia, the ginseng from Washington State is more prized than anything from China. Go figure.

  † Hokkien for “grandpa.”

  9

  99 Conduit Road

  HONG KONG

  The elderly amah opened the door and broke out into a wide grin. “Hiyah, Astrid Leong! Can it be?” she cried in Cantonese.

  “Yes, Ah Chee—Astrid will be our guest for a few days. Will you please make sure no one knows? And don’t go telling any of the other maids who she is—I don’t want them carrying tales to my mother’s maids. This needs to remain absolutely secret, okay?” Charlie decreed.

  “Yes, yes, of course, Charlieboy—now go and wash your hands,” Ah Chee said dismissively, continuing to fuss over Astrid. “Hiyah, you are still so beautiful, I have dreamed about you often over the years! You must be so tired, so hungry—it’s past three in the morning. Let me go and wake the cook up to make you something to eat. Some chicken congee maybe?”

  “No need, Ah Chee. We came from a wedding banquet.” Astrid smiled. She could hardly believe that Charlie’s childhood nanny was still looking after him after all these years.

  “Well, let me go make you some warm milk and honey. Or would you rather have Milo? Charlieboy always likes that when he’s up late,” Ah Chee said, rushing off to the kitchen.

  “There’s no stopping Ah Chee, is there?” Astrid laughed. “I’m so glad you still have her.”

  “She won’t leave!” Charlie sputtered in exasperation. “I built her a house back in China—hell, I built all her relatives houses, got a satellite dish for the village, the whole nine yards, thinking she would want to return to China to retire. But I think she’s much happier here bossing all the other maids around.”

  “It’s very sweet of you to take care of her like that,” Astrid said. They stepped into an expansive double-height living room that resembled the wing of a modern art museum, with its row of bronze sculptures placed like sentinels in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Since when did you collect Brancusi?” she asked in surprise.

  “Since you introduced me to him. Don’t you remember that exhibition you dragged me to at the Pompidou?”

  “Gosh, I’d almost forgotten,” Astrid said, gazing at the minimalist curves of one of Brancusi’s golden birds.

  “My wife, Isabel, is mad for the French Provençal look, so she hates my Brancusis. They haven’t had an airing until I moved in here. I’ve turned this apartment into a sort of refuge for my art. Isabel and the girls stay at our house on the Peak, and I’m here in the Mid-Levels. I like it because I can just walk out my door, take the escalator down to Central, and be at my office within ten minutes. Sorry it’s a bit cramped—it’s just a small duplex.”

  “It’s gorgeous, Charlie, and much larger than my flat.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m in a three-bedroom off Clemenceau Avenue. You know that eighties building across the street from the Istana?”

  “What on earth are you doing living in that old teardown?”

  “It’s a long story. Basically, Michael didn’t want to feel beholden to my dad. So I agreed to live in a place he could afford.”

  “I suppose that’s admirable, although I just can’t imagine how he could make you squeeze into a pigeonhole for the sake of his pride,” Charlie huffed.

  “Oh, I’m quite used to it. And the location is very convenient, just like here,” Astrid said.

  Charlie couldn’t help but wonder what sort of life Astrid had made for herself since marrying this idiot. “Here, let me show you to your room,” Charlie said. They climbed the sleek brushed-metal staircase and he showed her into a large, spartanly furnished bedroom with topstitched beige suede walls and m
asculine gray flannel bedding. The only decorative object was a photograph of two young girls in a silver frame by the bedside. “Is this your bedroom?” she asked.

  “Yes. Don’t worry, I’m going to sleep in my daughters’ room,” Charlie quickly added.

  “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the girls’ room—I can’t make you give up your bedroom for me—” Astrid began.

  “No, no, I insist. You’ll be much more comfortable here. Try to get some sleep,” Charlie said, closing the door gently before she could protest any more.

  Astrid changed out of her clothes and lay down. She turned on her side and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly framed the Hong Kong skyline. The buildings were densely packed in this part of the city, staggered steeply on the mountainside in sheer defiance of the terrain. She remembered how, when she had first visited Hong Kong as a young girl, her aunt Alix had explained that the city’s feng shui was particularly good, because wherever you lived, the dragon mountain was always behind you and the ocean was always in front of you. Even at this late hour, the city was a riot of lights, with many of the skyscrapers illuminated in a spectrum of colors. She tried to sleep, but she was still too wired from the past few hours—stealing away from the wedding just as the fireworks show was starting, rushing home to pack a few things, and now finding herself in the bedroom of Charlie Wu, the boy whose heart she had broken. The boy who, strangely enough, had awakened her to another way of life.

  PARIS, 1995

  Astrid leaped onto the king-size bed at the Hôtel George V, sinking into the plush feathertop mattress. “Ummmm … you need to lie down, Charlie. This is the most delicious bed I’ve ever slept on! Why don’t we have beds like these at the Calthorpe? We really ought to—the lumpy mattresses we have probably haven’t been changed since Elizabethan times.”

  “Astrid, we can enjoy the bed later, lah. We only have three hours left until the shops close! Come on, lazybones, didn’t you sleep enough on the train?” Charlie cajoled. He couldn’t wait to show Astrid the city he had come to know like the back of his hand. His mother and sisters had discovered the world of high fashion in the decade since his father had taken his tech company public, transforming the Wus almost overnight from mere centi-millionaires to billionaires. In the early days, before they were in the habit of chartering planes, Dad would buy up the entire first-class cabin of Singapore Airlines, and the whole family would sweep through the capitals of Europe—staying in the grandest hotels, eating at the restaurants with the most Michelin stars, and indulging in limitless shopping. Charlie had grown up knowing his Buccellati from his Boucheron, and he was eager to show this world to Astrid. He knew that—for all her pedigree—Astrid had been brought up practically in a nunnery. The Leongs did not eat in expensive restaurants—they ate food prepared by their cooks at home. They did not favor dressing up in designer clothes, preferring to have everything made by their family tailor. Charlie felt that Astrid had been far too stifled—all her life she had been treated like a hothouse flower, when in fact she was a wildflower that was never allowed to bloom fully. Now that they were eighteen and living together in London, they were finally free of family confines, and he would dress her like the princess she was, and she would be his forever.