The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

Astrid stretched out on the chaise lounge and poured herself another cup of chai from the silver art deco teapot. This monumental palace had been commissioned by the present maharaja’s grandfather in 1929 to give work to all the people during a great famine, so every detail retained its original art deco style—from the pink sandstone pillars in the rotunda to the blue mosaic tiles in the underground swimming pool built so that the maharani could swim in complete privacy. The place reminded her a bit of Tyersall Park, and for a moment, Astrid felt an intense pang of guilt. Her grandmother lay in bed attended by a team of doctors while she was here, enjoying a secret weekend rendezvous at a palace.

Her guilt faded slightly as she caught sight of Charlie padding out onto the balcony clad only in his drawstring pajama trousers. When did he become so built? Back in their university days in London Charlie had been positively scrawny, but now his lanky torso took on that distinctive V-shape and his abs looked more ripped than she had ever remembered. He stood behind her as she lay on the chaise lounge, bending over and kissing that tender spot on her neck. “Morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Now I don’t recall getting any sleep last night, but I’m sure glad you did,” Charlie teased as he poured a cup of coffee from the samovar set up on the chrome-and-glass trolley. He took his first sip and murmured in satisfaction, “Mmm. How great is this coffee?”

Astrid smiled placidly. “Actually, I’m sure their coffee is great, but I brought these beans. I know how much you love your first cup, so I had them ground for you this morning. It’s Ethiopian Yirgacheffe from Verve Coffee in LA.”

Charlie gazed at her in appreciation. “That’s it. I’m kidnapping you and not letting you go back to Singapore. I’m never going to let you leave my side for…well, the rest of eternity.”

“Kidnap me all you want, but you’ll have to contend with my family. I’m sure my dad will send out a SWAT team if I don’t turn up for breakfast at Nassim Road on Monday morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time, and you can even show up with a big tray of these parathas for breakfast,” Charlie said, taking a bite out of the buttery, still-warm Indian layered bread.

Astrid giggled. “No, no, it has to be something Malay, otherwise they’ll suspect. It feels like I’m playing hooky, but I’m so glad you convinced me to do this—I really needed it.”

“You’ve been spending so much time at your grandmother’s bedside, dealing with the family circus, I thought you could use a break.” Charlie perched on the balcony’s edge, looking down at an ornately turbaned man sitting on a pile of pillows in the middle of the grand terrace, playing a soft melody on his bansuri while a flock of peacocks wandered behind him on the great lawn. “Astrid, you need to come check this out. There’s a flute player on the terrace, surrounded by peacocks.”

“I saw him. He’s been out there all morning. It’s absolute heaven here, isn’t it?” Astrid closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the enchanting melody as she savored the warmth of the sun on her face.

“Well, just wait. We haven’t even toured the city yet,” Charlie said with a sly gleam in his eyes.

Astrid smiled to herself, enjoying his impish little-boy expression. What was Charlie up to? He looked just like Cassian did whenever he was trying to hide a secret.

After they had enjoyed a classic Indian breakfast of akuri-spiced scrambled eggs on laccha paratha, chicken samosas, and fresh mango pudding on their private balcony, Charlie and Astrid walked to the front entrance to the palace. As they waited for the maharaja’s Rolls-Royce Phantom II to pull up to the front steps, the guards started showering compliments on Astrid. “Ma’am, we’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful in jodhpurs,” they praised. Astrid smiled bashfully—she was wearing a white linen tunic tucked into the new pair of white jodhpurs that had just been tailored for her. But instead of a belt, she had wound a long hand-beaded Scott Diffrient turquoise necklace through the belt loops.

They were driven in the vintage convertible to the Mehrangarh Fort, an imposing red sandstone fortress perched on a dramatic cliff four hundred feet above the skyline of Jodhpur. At the foot of the hill, they transferred into a small jeep that sped them up the steep road to the main entrance, a beautiful arched gateway flanked by ancient frescos known as Jai Pol, the Gate of Victory. Soon they were strolling hand in hand through the interconnected network of palaces and museums that made up the fort complex, marveling at the intricately carved walls and expansive courtyards that afforded commanding views of the city.

“This is incredible,” Astrid said in a hushed voice as they entered an elaborate chamber where the walls and ceilings were made entirely of mirrored glass mosaic tiles.

“Well, they don’t call this the most beautiful fort in Rajasthan for nothing,” Charlie said.

As they strolled through a rec

eption hall where every surface—from the walls to the ceilings to the floors—was painted in dizzyingly colorful floral patterns, Astrid couldn’t help but comment, “It’s so empty. Where are all the tourists?”

“The fort’s actually closed today, but Shivraj had the place opened just for us.”

“How sweet of him. So this fort belongs to his family?”

“Since the fifteenth century. It’s one of the only forts in India that’s still controlled by the original ruling family that built it.”

“Am I going to get the chance to thank Shivraj in person?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you—we’ve been invited to the private residence at Umaid Bhawan for dinner tonight with his family.”

“Great. I wonder if they are related to the Singhs—you know, Gayatri Singh, our family friend who throws those fabulous parties where she displays all her jewels? Her father was a maharaja of one of the Indian states…though I can’t recall which one at the moment.”

“Maybe. I think many of the royal families of India intermarried,” Charlie replied a little distractedly.

“Are you okay?” Astrid asked, noticing his change of mood.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. There’s this amazing room that I’m trying to find for you—I know you’ll love it. I think it’s up these stairs.” Charlie led her up a steep staircase that wound around in a teardrop shape, and at the top of the stairwell they arrived at a long narrow room flanked by arched windows along every wall. In the middle of the room was a collection of golden baby cradles, each more ornate than the other.

“Is this the nursery?” Astrid asked.

“No, this is actually part of the zenana, where the ladies of the palace were cloistered. This building is called the Peeping Palace, because the ladies would come here and peep down on the activities of the courtyard below.”