Tonight she was finally going to be invited in. Even though she maintained homes in New York, London, Shanghai, and Bali, and even though Architectural Digest called her Edward Tuttle–designed house in Singapore “one of the most spectacular private residences in Asia,” Annabel’s heartbeat quickened as she passed through the austere wooden gates of 11 Nassim Road. She had long admired the house from afar—Black and Whites* like these were so exceedingly rare, and this one, which had been continuously occupied by the Leong family since the twenties, was perhaps the only one left on the island to retain all of its original features. Entering through the Arts and Crafts front doors, Annabel quickly soaked in every minute detail of the way these people lived. Look at this whole row of Malay servants flanking the entrance hall in crisp white blazers. What are they offering on these Selangor pewter trays? Pimm’s No. 1 with fizzy pineapple juice and fresh mint leaves. How quaint. I must copy that for the new Sri Lanka resort. Ah, here is Felicity Leong in tailored silk jacquard, wearing the most exquisite piece of lilac jade, and her daughter-in-law Cathleen, the constitutional law expert (this girl is always so plain, with not a drop of jewelry in sight—you would never guess she’s married to the eldest Leong son). And here is Astrid Leong. What was it like for her to grow up in this house? No wonder she has such great taste—that robin’s-egg blue dress she’s wearing is on the cover of French Vogue this month. Who’s this man whispering to Astrid at the foot of the stairs? Oh, it’s her husband, Michael. What a stunning couple they make. And look at this drawing room, oh just look! The symmetry … the scale … the profusion of orange blossoms. Sublime. I need orange blossoms in all the hotel lobbies next week. Wait a second, is that Ru ware from the Northern Song dynasty? Yes it is. One, two, three, four, there are so many pieces. Unbelievable! This room alone must have thirty million dollars’ worth of ceramics, strewn about as if they were cheap ashtrays. And these Peranakan-style opium chairs—look at the mother-of-pearl inlay—I’ve never seen a pair in such perfect condition. Here come the Chengs of Hong Kong. Look how adorable those children are, all dressed up like little Ralph Lauren models.

Never had Annabel felt more content than right now, when at last she was breathing in this rarified air. The house was filling up with the sort of aristocratic families she had only heard about over the years, families that could trace their lineage back thirty generations or more. Like the Youngs, who had just arrived. Oh look, Eleanor just waved at me. She’s the only one who socializes outside the family. And here’s her son, Nicholas—another looker. Colin’s best friend. And the girl holding Nicholas’s hand must be that Rachel Chu everyone is talking about, the one that’s not one of the Taiwan Chus. One look and I could have told you that. This girl grew up drinking vitamin-D calcium-fortified American milk. But she still doesn’t have a chance of catching Nicholas. And here comes Araminta with all the Khoos. Looking like she belongs.

Annabel knew at that moment she had made all the right decisions for her daughter—enrolling her at Far Eastern Kindergarten, choosing Methodist Girls’ School over Singapore American School, forcing her to go to Youth Fellowship at First Methodist even though they were Buddhists, and whisking her away to Cheltenham Ladies’ College in England for proper finishing. Her daughter had grown up as one of these people—people of breeding and taste. There wasn’t a single diamond over fifteen carats in this crowd, not a single Louis Vuitton anything, no one looking over your shoulder for bigger fish. This was a family gathering, not a networking opportunity. These people were so completely at ease, so well mannered.

Outside on the east terrace, Astrid hid behind the dense row of Italian cypresses, waiting for Michael to arrive at her parents’ house. As soon as she caught sight of him, she rushed to the front door to meet him so that it would appear they had arrived together. After the initial flurry of greetings, Michael was able to corner her by the staircase. “Is Cassian upstairs?” he mumbled under his breath.

“No, he isn’t,” Astrid said quickly before being swept into an embrace by her cousin Cecilia Cheng.

“Where is he? You’ve been hiding him from me all week,” Michael pressed on.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” Astrid whispered as she beamed at her great-aunt Rosemary.

“This was your way of tricking me into coming tonight, wasn’t it?” Michael said angrily.

Astrid took Michael by the hand and led him into the front parlor next to the staircase. “Michael, I promised you would see Cassian tonight—just be patient and let’s get through dinner.”

“That wasn’t the deal. I’m leaving.”

“Michael, you can’t leave. We still have to coordinate plans for the wedding on Saturday. Auntie Alix is hosting a breakfast before the church ceremony and—”

“Astrid, I’m not going to the wedding.”

“Oh come on, don’t joke like this. Everyone is going.”

“By ‘everyone,’ I suppose you are referring to everyone with a billion dollars or more?” Michael seethed.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Come on, Michael, I know we’ve had a disagreement, and I know you’re probably feeling ashamed, but as I said before, I forgive you. Let’s not make a huge issue out of this. Come home.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m not coming home. I’m not going to the wedding.”

“But what are people going to say if you don’t show up at the wedding?” Astrid looked at him nervously.

“Astrid, I’m not the groom! I’m not even related to the groom. Who’s going to give a shit whether I’m there or not?”

“You can’t do this to me. Everyone will notice, and everyone will talk,” Astrid pleaded, trying not to panic.

“Tell them I had to fly off at the last minute for work.”

“Where are you going? Are you flying off to Hong Kong to see your mistress?” Astrid asked accusingly.

Michael paused a moment. He never wanted to resort to this, but he felt that he had been left with little choice. “If it makes you feel better to know—yes, I’m off to see my mistress. I’m leaving on Friday after work, just so I can get away from this carnival. I can’t watch these people spend a gazillion dollars on a wedding when half the world is starving.”

Astrid stared at him numbly, reeling from what he had said. At that moment, Cathleen, the wife of her brother Henry, walked into the room.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Cathleen said to Michael. “The cooks are having a fit because some transformer blew and that damn high-tech commercial oven we put in last year won’t work. Apparently it’s gone into self-cleaning mode, and there are four Peking ducks roasting in there—”

Michael glared at his sister-in-law. “Cathleen, I have a master’s degree from Caltech, specializing in encryption technology. I’m not your fucking handyman!” he fumed, before storming out of the room.

Cathleen stared after him in disbelief. “What’s wrong with Michael? I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Oh don’t mind him, Cathleen,” Astrid said, attempting a weak laugh. “Michael’s upset because he just found out that he has to rush off to Hong Kong for some work emergency. Poor thing, he’s afraid he might miss the wedding.”