The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

Astrid found his line of questioning slightly tacky. She never thought of jewelry in terms of prices and wondered why Michael even brought it up. “I’m never going to sell them, so what’s the point?”

“Well, we do want to insure them, don’t we?”

“It all goes under my family’s umbrella policy. I just add it to a list that Miss Seong keeps at the family office.”

“I didn’t know about this. Can my vintage sports cars get on the policy too?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just for Leongs,” Astrid blurted out, before regretting her choice of words.

Michael didn’t seem to notice and continued chattering away. “You’re really getting all of your Ah Ma’s biggest jewels, aren’t you? Your cousins must be envious as hell.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to go around. Fiona got the Grand Duchess Olga sapphires, and my cousin Cecilia got some superb imperial jade. My grandmother is very discerning—she gives the right pieces to whomever she knows will appreciate them the most.”

“Do you think she feels she’s going to conk off soon

?”

“What a thing to say!” Astrid exclaimed, giving Michael a look of horror.

“Come on, lah, it must be going through her mind, which is why she’s begun divesting all her stuff. Old people can sense when they are going to die, you know.”

“Michael, my grandmother has been around all my life, and I can’t even begin to imagine the day when she won’t be here.”

“Sorry—I was just making conversation.”

They lapsed into silence again, Michael focusing on the client dinner and Astrid contemplating their disagreeable conversation. Michael had always shied away from anything to do with money when they first got married, especially if it involved her family, and went to great pains to show that he had absolutely no interest in her financial affairs. Indeed, their marriage had been rocked to its core by his insecurities over her fortune and his ill-conceived attempt to set her free, but thankfully that awful period was well behind them.

But ever since his business had exploded into a huge success, he had become the proverbial mouse that roared. It dawned on Astrid that at family gatherings these days, her husband always seemed to be at the center of the financial debates with the men. Michael relished being the go-to guy for advice about the tech industry and the newfound respect he was forging with her father and brothers, who had for years treated him with barely veiled condescension. He had also discovered his acquisitive side, and Astrid had watched in wide-eyed wonder as his tastes had upgraded faster than you could say “Do you take Amex?”

She glanced over at him now, cutting such a dashing figure in his dark gray Cesare Attolini suit and his perfectly knotted Borrelli tie, the face of his Patek Philippe Nautilus Chronograph glinting under the flash of streetlamps as he shifted gears forcefully on his iconic automobile, the one that every hot-blooded male from James Dean to Ferris Bueller had coveted. She was proud of all he had achieved, but part of her missed the old Michael, the man who was happiest lounging at home in his soccer kit enjoying his plate of tau you bahk*4 with white rice and his Tiger beer.

As they drove along palm-tree-lined Neil Road, Astrid gazed at all the colorful heritage shophouses. Then she realized they had just sped past the restaurant. “Hey, you missed the turn. That was Bukit Pasoh we just passed.”

“Don’t worry, I did that on purpose. We’re going to circle the block for a while.”

“Why? Aren’t we already late?”

“I’ve decided to give them a little more time to cool their heels. I instructed the maître d’ to make sure they get drinks at the bar first, and that they are seated right by the window so that they will have the best view of us pulling up. I want all the guys to see me get out of this car, and then I want them to see you getting out of this car.”

Astrid almost wanted to laugh. Who was this man next to her talking this way?

Michael continued, “We’re playing this game of chicken right now, and I know they want to see who blinks first. They have raging hard-ons to acquire this new proprietary technology that we’ve developed, and it’s really important that I am able to convey the right image to them.”

They finally pulled up outside the elegant white colonial-era shophouse that had been converted into one of the island’s most acclaimed restaurants. As Astrid got out of the car, Michael looked her over and said, “You know, I think you made a mistake changing out of that first cocktail dress. It showed off your sexy legs. But at least you have those earrings. That’s really going to make their jaws drop, especially the wife. It’ll be great—I want them to know that I’m not going to be a cheap date.”

Staring at him in disbelief, Astrid stumbled for a moment on the pristine wooden deck leading to the front door.

Michael grimaced. “Shit, I hope they didn’t see you do that. Why the hell are you wearing those ridiculous boots anyway?”

Astrid breathed in deeply. “What’s the wife’s name again?”

“Wendy. And they have a dog named Gizmo. You can talk about the dog with her.”

A wave of nausea churned like acid at the base of her throat. For the first time in her life, she had a true appreciation of how it felt to be treated like a cheap date.

* * *

*1 The literal translation is “pull vehicle,” but this Hokkien term refers to rickshaw pullers or anything that is deemed low class. (Of course, Michael has never been to Manhattan, where pedicab drivers tend to be out-of-work male models who charge more than Uber Black Cars.)