“I think he was short about four billion dollars.”

Kitty’s eyes gleamed. “What if I became a secret investor in the house? What if I put in the money and stole this house away from Jack?”

Oliver stared at her in surprise. “Kitty, do you have that kind of money on your own?”

“I got two billion in my divorce settlement from Bernard, and I invested all that money in Amazon. Do you know how much those shares have gone up in the past year? I have more than five billion dollars, and it’s just all sitting there in an account managed by the Liechtenburg Group,” Kitty proudly announced.

Oliver leaned forward in his armchair. “You’d really be willing to invest all that money in a deal with my cousin?”

“You’d still get your commission either way, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, but I’d just be concerned about you putting so much of your own money into one venture.”

Kitty went quiet for a moment, touched that Oliver cared for her beyond her money. “It will be worth every last cent just to know that Colette doesn’t get her hands on that house!”

“Well, let me make a few calls.” Oliver unbuckled his seat belt and left the spa cabin. Five minutes later, he returned with a smirk on his face. “Kitty, there’s been the most interesting development. I just spoke to my cousin Nicky. It turns out that Tyersall Park has been deemed a national historic landmark, and he and a group of partners are putting together a radical new proposal to challenge Jack Bing’s offer.”

“Does this mean Colette won’t get it either?”

“Well, that’s very likely. However, they are desperate for one more investor. They’re short three billion dollars.”

“Only three billion? Sounds like a deal.”

“Should I call the cockpit and get them to turn this plane around?”

“Why not?”

Oliver picked up the phone by the console. “There’s been a change of plans. We need to get to Singapore, and fast.”

“Not too fast. I want to get back to my hot-stone massage,” Kitty purred, as she stretched languidly onto her massage bed again.

EPILOGUE

TYERSALL PARK, SINGAPORE

ONE YEAR LATER…

“I can’t wait to see the bride. I wonder which designer she chose to do her gown?” Jacqueline Ling said to Oliver T’sien at the reception before the intimate wedding ceremony. Two hundred guests invited by the happy couple’s families milled about the Andalusian Cloister, enjoying cocktails and canapés while admiring the mesmerizing light installation created by artist James Turrell in the columned arcades surrounding the courtyard.

“Let’s make a bet,” Oliver ventured.

“The way you’re rolling in money these days, I’m not sure if I want to bet against you. Congratulations on your new commission in Abu Dhabi, by the way.”

“Thank you. It’s just one palace for now. The princess was so impressed by what we did here that she’s put me on an embarrassingly large retainer. Anyway, let’s make the bet for lunch at Daphne’s the next time we’re both in London, and my money’s on Giambattista Valli,” Oliver said.

“Okay, lunch at Daphne’s. Well, I wager that the bride’s gown will be designed by Alexis Mabille. I know how much she adores his work.”

The string quartet that had been playing suddenly stopped as the door at the far end of the courtyard opened to reveal a dashing young fellow in a tuxedo holding a violin to his chin.

“Oh look, it’s Charlie Siem! He’s popping up everywhere these days, isn’t he?” Oliver commented as the absurdly handsome virtuoso strolled along the arcade playing Elgar’s “Salut d’amour.” The doors at the other end of the arcade opened slowly, and Charlie strolled through, turning around to beckon the guests to follow him as he continued to play. Outside, a pathway lit with thousands of votive candles led from the rose garden past the stunning new saltwater swimming pool lined with thirteenth-century Moorish tiles into the wooded area of the estate.

Following the musician as he ambled along merrily playing his violin, the guests oohed and aahed when they reached the lily pond, where black wooden chairs had been arranged in a crescent along one side of the pond. Hundreds of pale pink lanterns hung from the trees, cascading down branches and mixing with thousands of hanging vines that had been festooned with white dendrobium orchids, peonies, and white jasmine. A beautiful arched bridge built just for the wedding extended from one side of the pond to the other, covered entirely in different-hued roses, making the whole bridge appear as if it had been painted with impressionistic brushstrokes like one of Monet’s bridges at Giverny.

After the guests had settled into their seats, four cellists placed in the direction of the four winds began to play Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G major as the wedding procession began. An adorable little flower girl dressed in a gossamer white Marie-Chantal gown scattered rose petals along the central aisle, followed by Cassian Teo, who ambled up the aisle in a white linen suit (but barefoot), focused intently on not dropping the velvet pillow bearing the wedding rings.

Next came Nick and Rachel walking arm in arm. Eleanor swelled up with pride as she watched Nick, dashing in his midnight blue Henry Poole tuxedo, escort Rachel, who Eleanor had to admit looked glowingly beautiful in a sublimely simple eggshell pink silk crepe gown designed by Narciso Rodriguez.

“Aiyah, it’s like their wedding all over again,” Eleanor sniffed to her husband, dabbing away a few tears.

“Minus your crazy helicopter invasion,” Philip quipped.

“It wasn’t crazy! I saved their marriage, those ungrateful kids!”

Nick and Rachel parted at the end of the aisle as they took their places as best man and matron of honor on opposite sides of the bridge. Suddenly, a grand piano became illuminated behind the bridge, giving the effect of floating in the middle of the pond. Sitting at the piano was a young man with slightly disheveled strawberry blond hair.

Irene Wu gasped out loud, “Alamak, it’s that Ed Saranwrap! I love his music!”

As Ed Sheeran began singing his wildly popular love ballad “Thinking Out Loud,” the groom, looking sharp in a bespoke tuxedo from Gieves and Hawkes, walked up to the middle of the bridge with the American pastor from Hong Kong’s Stratosphere Church. And then as a full band assembled at the far end of the pond emerged to accompany Ed in his song, the bride made her grand entrance at the foot of the pathway.

The guests rose from their seats in unison as the proud father of the bride, Goh Wye Mun, nervously escorted his daughter Peik Lin up the aisle. The bride wore a strapless gown with a fitted white bodice and a long train skirt of ruffles appliquéd with pale pink silk roses. Her hair was swept up into an elaborate braided bun and crowned with a vintage pearl-and-diamond tiara from G.Collins & Sons.

Jacqueline and Oliver looked at each other and said in unison, “McQueen!”

As Peik Lin glided past them, Jacqueline nodded approvingly. “Sublime. Sarah Burton does it again!”

“We both lose, but we can still have lunch at Daphne’s. Of course, you’re treating, Jac—you’ve got more fuck-you money than I do,” Oliver said with a wink.