The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

“That wasn’t the deal. I’m leaving.”

“Michael, you can’t leave. We still have to coordinate plans for the wedding on Saturday. Auntie Alix is hosting a breakfast before the church ceremony and—”

“Astrid, I’m not going to the wedding.”

“Oh come on, don’t joke like this. Everyone is going.”

“By ‘everyone,’ I suppose you are referring to everyone with a billion dollars or more?” Michael seethed.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Come on, Michael, I know we’ve had a disagreement, and I know you’re probably feeling ashamed, but as I said before, I forgive you. Let’s not make a huge issue out of this. Come home.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m not coming home. I’m not going to the wedding.”

“But what are people going to say if you don’t show up at the wedding?” Astrid looked at him nervously.

“Astrid, I’m not the groom! I’m not even related to the groom. Who’s going to give a shit whether I’m there or not?”

“You can’t do this to me. Everyone will notice, and everyone will talk,” Astrid pleaded, trying not to panic.

“Tell them I had to fly off at the last minute for work.”

“Where are you going? Are you flying off to Hong Kong to see your mistress?” Astrid asked accusingly.

Michael paused a moment. He never wanted to resort to this, but he felt that he had been left with little choice. “If it makes you feel better to know—yes, I’m off to see my mistress. I’m leaving on Friday after work, just so I can get away from this carnival. I can’t watch these people spend a gazillion dollars on a wedding when half the world is starving.”

Astrid stared at him numbly, reeling from what he had said. At that moment, Cathleen, the wife of her brother Henry, walked into the room.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Cathleen said to Michael. “The cooks are having a fit because some transformer blew and that damn high-tech commercial oven we put in last year won’t work. Apparently it’s gone into self-cleaning mode, and there are four Peking ducks roasting in there—”

Michael glared at his sister-in-law. “Cathleen, I have a master’s degree from Caltech, specializing in encryption technology. I’m not your fucking handyman!” he fumed, before storming out of the room.

Cathleen stared after him in disbelief. “What’s wrong with Michael? I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Oh don’t mind him, Cathleen,” Astrid said, attempting a weak laugh. “Michael’s upset because he just found out that he has to rush off to Hong Kong for some work emergency. Poor thing, he’s afraid he might miss the wedding.”

As the Daimler chauffeuring Eddie, Fiona, and their three children approached the gates of 11 Nassim Road, Eddie did one last run-through.

“Kalliste, what are you going to do when they start to serve the coffee and desserts?”

“I’m going to ask Great-aunt Felicity whether I can play the piano.”

“And what are you going to play?”

“The Bach partita, and then the Mendelssohn. Can I also play my new Lady Gaga song?”

“Kalliste, I swear to God if you play any of that damn Lady Gaga I’m going to break every one of your fingers.”

Fiona stared out the car window, ignoring her husband. This is how he was every time he was about to see his Singapore relatives.

“Augustine, what’s the matter with you? Button your jacket,” Eddie instructed.

The little boy obeyed, carefully buttoning the two gold buttons on his blazer.

“Augustine, how many times have I told you—do not ever, EVER button the last button, do you hear me?”

“Papa, you said never button the last button on my three-button jacket, but you never told me what to do when there’s only two buttons,” the boy whimpered, tearing up.

“Happy now?” Fiona said to her husband, taking the boy into her lap and gently smoothing out the hair on his forehead.