As Astrid sifted through the racks, it suddenly, rather comically, occurred to her that the money she had spent on the couture outfits in this room alone could have paid for a house three times the size of this one. She wondered what Michael might think if he knew actually how many properties she already owned. Astrid’s parents bought their children houses in a way that other parents might buy theirs candy bars. Over the years, they had purchased so many houses for her that by the time she became Mrs. Michael Teo, she was already in possession of a staggering real estate portfolio. There was the bungalow off Dunearn Road, the house in Clementi and the semidetached on Chancery Lane, a row of historic Peranakan shop houses on Emerald Hill left to her by a great-aunt on the Leong side, and numerous other luxury condominiums scattered throughout the island.

And that was just in Singapore. There were land holdings in Malaysia; a flat in London that Charlie Wu had secretly bought for her; a house in Sydney’s exclusive Point Piper and another in Diamond Head, Honolulu; and recently, her mother had mentioned picking up a penthouse in some new tower in Shanghai under her name. (“I saw the special computer mirror in the closet that remembers everything you wear and immediately knew this place was for you,” Felicity had excitedly informed her.) Quite frankly, Astrid didn’t even bother trying to remember all of it; there were too many properties to keep track of.

It was all quite meaningless anyway, since aside from the shop houses on Emerald Hill and the London flat, none of the properties were truly hers—yet. This was all part of her parents’ wealth-succession strategy, and Astrid knew that as long as her parents were alive, she had no real control over the properties, though she benefited from the income derived from them. Twice a year, when the family sat down with their business managers at Leong Holdings, she would notice that her personal accounts always increased in value, sometimes to an absurd degree, no matter how many couture dresses she had splurged on the previous season.

So what should she wear? Maybe it was time to bring out one of her latest Paris treats. She was going to wear her new embroidered Alexis Mabille white peasant blouse with the pearl-gray Lanvin cigarette pants and her new VBH earrings. The thing about those earrings was that they looked so over the top, everyone would think they were costume jewelry. They actually dressed down the whole outfit. Yes, she deserved to look this good. And now maybe she should also change Cassian’s outfit to complement hers.

“Evangeline, Evangeline,” she called out. “I want to change Cassian’s clothes. Let’s put him in that dove-gray jumper from Marie-Chantal.”

* * *

* Hokkien for “tedious.”

2

Rachel and Nick

TYERSALL PARK

As Peik Lin’s car approached the porte cochere of Tyersall Park, Nick bounded down the front steps toward them. “I was worried you’d gotten lost,” he said, opening the car door.

“We did get a bit lost, actually,” Rachel replied, getting out of the car and staring up at the majestic façade before her. Her stomach felt like it had been twisted in a vise, and she smoothed out the creases on her dress nervously. “Am I really late?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, were my directions confusing?” Nick asked, peering into the car and smiling at Peik Lin. “Peik Lin—thanks so much for giving Rachel a lift.”

“Of course,” Peik Lin murmured, still rather stunned by her surroundings. She longed to get out of the car and explore this colossal estate, but something told her to remain in her seat. She paused for a moment, thinking Nick might invite her in for a drink, but no invitation seemed to be forthcoming. Finally she said as nonchalantly as possible, “This is quite a place—is it your grandmother’s?”

“Yes,” Nick replied.

“Has she lived here a long time?” Peik Lin couldn’t resist trying to find out more as she craned her neck, trying to get a better look.

“Since she was a young girl,” Nick said.

Nick’s answer surprised Peik Lin, as she assumed that the house would have belonged to his grandfather. Now what she really wanted to ask was, Who on earth is your grandmother? But she didn’t want to risk seeming too nosy. “Well, you two have a great time,” Peik Lin said, winking at Rachel and mouthing the words Call me later! Rachel gave her friend a quick smile.

“Good night, and get home safe,” Nick said, patting the roof of the car.

As Peik Lin’s car drove off, Nick turned to Rachel, looking a little sheepish. “I hope it’s okay … but it’s not just the family. My grandmother decided to have a small party, all arranged at the last minute, apparently, because her tan hua flowers are going to bloom tonight.”

“She’s throwing a party because her flowers are in bloom?” Rachel asked, not quite following.

“Well, these are very rare flowers that bloom extremely infrequently, sometimes once every decade, sometimes even longer than that. They only bloom at night, and the whole thing only lasts for a few hours. It’s quite something to witness.”

“Sounds cool, but now I’m feeling really underdressed for the occasion,” Rachel said pensively, eyeing the fleet of limousines that lined the driveway.

“Not at all—you look absolutely perfect,” Nick told her. He could sense her trepidation and tried to reassure her, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward the front doors. Rachel felt the warm, radiating energy from his muscled arm and instantly felt better. Her knight in shining armor was at her side, and everything would be just fine.

As they entered the house, the first thing that caught Rachel’s eye was the dazzling mosaic tiles in the grand foyer. She stood transfixed for a few moments by the intricate black, blue, and coral pattern before realizing that they were not alone. A tall, spindly Indian man stood silently in the middle of the foyer next to a circular stone table clustered with pots of enormous white-and-purple phalaenopsis orchids. The man bowed ceremoniously to Rachel and presented her with a hammered silver bowl filled with water and pale pink rose petals. “For your refreshment, miss,” he said.

“Do I drink this?” Rachel whispered to Nick.

“No, no, it’s for washing your hands,” Nick instructed. Rachel dipped her fingers into the cool scented water before wiping them on the soft terry cloth that was proffered, feeling awed (and a little silly) by the ritual.

“Everyone’s upstairs in the living room,” Nick said, leading her toward the carved stone staircase. Rachel saw something out of the corner of her eye and let out a quick gasp. By the side of the staircase lurked a huge tiger.

“It’s stuffed, Rachel.” Nick laughed. The tiger stood as if about to pounce, mouth open in a ferocious growl.

“I’m sorry, it looked so real,” Rachel said, recovering herself.

“It was real. It’s a native Singaporean tiger. They used to roam this area until the late nineteenth century, but they were hunted into extinction. My great-grandfather shot this one when it ran into the house and hid under the billiard table, or so the story goes.”

“Poor guy,” Rachel said, reaching out to stroke the tiger’s head gingerly. Its fur felt surprisingly brittle, as if a patch might fall off at any minute.