The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

“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.”