Nick sighed. “Ah Ma, as you know, is an old-fashioned Chinese woman. She has always favored her son over her daughters—they were all just supposed to marry and be taken care of by their husband’s families, while my father got Tyersall Park. It’s this warped mash-up of archaic Chinese customs and the British rules of primogeniture.”

“But that’s so unfair,” Rachel muttered.

“I know, but that’s the way things are and my aunts grew up always knowing they would get the short end of the stick. Mind you, each of them is still going to inherit from Ah Ma’s financial holdings—so no one’s going to be hurting for cash here.”

“So then how is it that you suddenly got to be first in line to inherit Tyersall Park?”

Nick leaned back in his chair. “Do you remember when Jacqueline Ling came to New York a couple of years ago and summoned me to lunch aboard her yacht?”

“Oh yeah, she had two Swedish blondes kidnap you in the middle of a lecture!” Rachel laughed.

“Yes. Jacqueline is Ah Ma’s goddaughter, and they’ve always been extremely close. Jacqueline revealed to me that back in the early nineties, when my father decided to move to Australia pretty much full-time, it so angered my grandmother that she decided to change her will and disinherit him from Tyersall Park. She skipped a generation and made me the heir to the property. But then after I married you, she supposedly changed her will again.”

“Who do you think is currently in her favor to get Tyersall Park?”

“I honestly have no idea. Maybe Eddie, maybe one of my cousins in Thailand, maybe she’s going to leave it all to her beloved guava trees. The point is, Ah Ma uses her fortune to control the family. She’s always changing her will according to her latest whim. No one really knows what she’s going to do, and at this point, I’ve stopped caring.”

Rachel looked Nick straight in the face. “Here’s the thing. I know that you don’t care what happens to your grandmother’s fortune, but you can’t pretend that you don’t still care for her. And that’s the only reason why I think you should go back now.”

Nick stared out of the fogged-up window for a moment, avoiding her eyes. “I dunno…I think part of me is still so angry at her for how she treated you.”

“Nick, please don’t hold on to this because of me. I forgave your grandmother long ago.”

Nick looked at her skeptically.

Rachel put her hand on his. “I have. Truly. I realized it was a waste of time to be mad at her, because she never really got to know me. She never gave me a chance—I was this girl who came out of left field and stole her grandson’s heart. But the more time passes, I find myself actually feeling grateful toward her now.”

“Grateful?”

“Think about it, Nick. If your grandmother hadn’t been so resistant to us being together, if she hadn’t supported your mom in all her crazy shenanigans, I would never have found my real father. I would have never met Carlton. Can you imagine what my life would be like if I hadn’t met them?”

Nick softened for a moment at the mention of Rachel’s half brother. “Well, I can imagine what Carlton’s life would be like if he’d never met you—he probably would have wrecked a dozen more sports cars by now.”

“Oh God, don’t even say that! The point I’m trying to make is, I think you need to find some way to forgive your grandmother. Because it’s clearly an issue for you, and it’s going to keep eating you up inside if you don’t. Remember what that radio host Delilah always says? ‘Forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves.’ If you think you’re able to let things go without ever seeing her again, more power to you. I’m not going to force you to get on a plane. But I think you need to see her in person, and I’m guessing she probably really wants to see you too but—like you—she’s too damn proud to admit it.”

Nick looked down at his cup of tea. The saucer was emblazoned with an image of Queen Elizabeth II, and seeing the gold patterning at the edge of the porcelain suddenly took him back to a memory of Tyersall Park, of sitting in the ornate eighteenth-century French pavilion overlooking the lotus pond with his grandmother when he was six years old, being taught how to properly pour a cup of tea for a lady. He could remember how heavy the Longquan celadon teapot felt in his hands, as he carefully lifted it toward the teacup. If the butler doesn’t notice that her cup needs to be refilled, you must do it for her. But never lift the cup away from the saucer when pouring, and be sure the spout is turned away from her, his grandmother had instructed.

Emerging from the memory, Nick said, “We can’t both take off for Singapore at the beginning of the semester.”

“I wasn’t saying we should both go—I think this is a trip you should make on your own. You’re on sabbatical right now, and we both know you haven’t made much progress on that book you were going to write.”

Nick swept his tousled hair off his forehead with both hands with a sigh. “Everything’s so perfect in our life right now, do you really want me to go back to Singapore and open another Pandora’s box?”

Rachel shook her head in exasperation. “Nick, look around you. The box has been opened! It’s been smashed open and gaping at you for the last four years! You need to go back and repair that box. Before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

BOMBAY, INDIA

His nails were like onyx. They were perfectly formed and lightly buffed so that there was just a hint of sheen. Su Yi had never before seen such beautifully manicured nails on a man, and couldn’t help but stare as his fingers counted out rupees for the woman manning a cart piled high with brightly colored candles and strange wax figures, some in the shape of babies, some in the shape of houses, and others resembling arms and legs.

“What are these wax sculptures for?” Su Yi asked.

“People burn them as favors, in the hopes that their prayers will be answered. The babies are for people hoping for a child, the houses are for those that want a new home, and the sick choose a body part that corresponds to their ailment. So if you are looking to heal a broken arm, this is the one you’d get,” he said, holding up a wax form of an arm with a clenched fist. “I bought two candles in pale red and blue—they were the closest colors I could find to represent the British flag.”

“You must tell me what to do,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s very simple. We just place them in the shrine, light them, and say a little prayer.”

As they walked up the hill with the lovely views of the Arabian Sea, Su Yi glanced at the imposing Gothic façade of Mount Mary Church. “Are you sure they’ll allow me to enter? I’m not Catholic.”

“Of course. I’m not Catholic either, but everyone is welcome. If anyone asks us what we’re doing, we can tell them that we’re lighting candles for Singapore. Everyone is aware of what’s happening there right now.”

Stretching out his arm, he gestured gallantly at the arched front doors. Su Yi stepped into the church sanctuary, feeling self-conscious as her high-heeled shoes echoed against the black-and-white marble floor. It was her first time inside a Catholic church, and she stared in fascination at the vibrant frescos on the walls and the words painted in gold script against the majestic arch: All Generations Shall Call Me Blessed. The main altar reminded her of those in a Chinese temple, except that instead of a statue of Buddha, there was a beautiful small wooden one of the Virgin Mary dressed in gold-and-blue robes, holding an even smaller wooden baby Jesus.*