“Oh Peik Lin, I wish you could see how Nick’s family lives! Staying at Tyersall Park has been absolutely unreal. The bedroom we’re in has all this exquisite French art deco furniture, and I feel like I’ve traveled back in time—the rituals, the decadence, the scale of everything … I mean, there must be at least twelve extra houseguests in town for the wedding, but there are so many maids around, I still have one dedicated just to me—this cute girl from Suzhou. I think she’s a bit pissed off because I haven’t let her do all her duties.”

“What are her duties?” Peik Lin inquired.

“Well, the first night she offered to undress me and brush my hair, which I thought was a little creepy. So I said, ‘No thanks.’ Then she asked if she could ‘draw me a bath’—I love that phrase, don’t you?—but you know I prefer showers, even though the clawfoot tub looks amazing. So she offers to give me a shampoo and scalp massage! I’m like, no I don’t need that. I just want her to leave the room so I can take my shower. Instead the girl rushes into the bathroom to adjust the old-fashioned shower taps until the water temperature is just perfect. I walked in and there were, like, twenty candles lit all around the room—for a friggin’ shower!”

“Alamak, Rachel, why didn’t you let her give you the works? All this royal pampering is totally wasted on you,” Peik Lin chided.

“I’m not used to all this—it makes me uncomfortable that someone’s entire job is to wait on me hand and foot. Another thing—their laundry service is amazing. Everything I wear is washed and pressed within a day of my wearing it. I noticed how fresh and wonderful all my clothes smelled, so I asked my maid what sort of detergent they used. She told me that everything is ironed with a special lavender water from Provence! Can you imagine? And every morning she wakes us up by bringing a ‘calling tray’ to the bedroom with tea for Nick, done just the way he likes it, coffee done just the way I like it, and a plate of these delicious cookies—‘digestive biscuits,’ Nick calls them. And this is before the huge buffet breakfast that’s laid out, and always in a different part of the house. The first morning breakfast was served in the conservatory, the next morning it was on the second-floor veranda. So even going to breakfast is like a surprising treat every day.”

Peik Lin shook her head in amazement, making a few mental notes. It was time to shake things up with the lazy maids at Villa d’Oro—they needed some new tasks. Lavender water in the irons, for starters. And tomorrow she wanted to have breakfast by the pool.

“I tell you, Peik Lin, between all the places Nick has taken me and all the lunches, teas, and dinners we’ve had to attend, I’ve never eaten like this in my entire life. You know, I never imagined that there could be so many big events surrounding one wedding. Nick warned me that tonight’s party is on a boat.”

“Yes, I read that it’s going to be on Dato’ Tai Toh Lui’s new mega-yacht. So tell me about the outfits you’re planning to wear this weekend,” Peik Lin said excitedly.

“Um, outfits? I only brought one dress for the wedding.”

“Rachel, you can’t be serious! Aren’t there going to be numerous events all weekend?”

“Well, there’s the welcome party tonight on the yacht, the wedding tomorrow morning, which will be followed by a reception, and a wedding banquet in the evening. And then there’s a tea ceremony on Sunday. I brought this cute cocktail-length black-and-white dress from Reiss, so I figure I can just wear it all day tomorrow and—”

“Rachel, you’re going to need at least three outfits tomorrow. You can’t be seen in the same dress from morning to night! And everyone is going to be decked out in jewels and ball gowns for the wedding banquet. It’s going to be the grandest event of the decade—there’ll be big-time celebrities and royalty there!”

“Well, there’s no way I can compete with that,” Rachel shrugged. “You know that fashion has never really been my thing. Besides, what can I do about it now?”

“Rachel Chu—I’m taking you shopping!”

“Peik Lin,” Rachel protested, “I don’t want to be running around some mall right now at the last minute.”

“A mall?” Peik Lin gave her a look of disdain. “Who said anything about a mall?” She whipped out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. “Patric, can you please slot me in? It’s an emergency. We need to do an intervention.”

Patric’s atelier was a former shop house on Ann Siang Hill that had been transformed into an aggressively modern loft, and it was here that Rachel soon found herself standing on a glowing circular platform in nothing but her underwear, a three-way mirror behind her and an Ingo Maurer dome light hovering above, bathing her in warm, flattering light. Sigur Rós played in the background, and Patric (just Patric), wearing a white lab coat over a dramatically high-collared shirt and tie, scrutinized her intently, his arms crossed with one index finger on his pursed lips. “You’re very long-waisted,” he pronounced.

“Is that bad?” Rachel asked, realizing for the first time how contestants must feel during the swimsuit competition of a beauty pageant.

“Not at all! I know women who would kill for your torso. This means we can put you in some of the designers that normally wouldn’t fit on very petite frames.” Patric turned to his assistant, a young man in a gray jumpsuit with meticulously combed hair, and declared, “Chuaaaaan! Pull the plum Balenciaga, the naked peach Chloé, the Giambattista Valli that just came in from Paris, all the Marchesas, the vintage Givenchy, and that Jason Wu with the deconstructed ruffles on the bodice.”

Soon half a dozen or so assistants, all dressed in tight black T-shirts and black denim, buzzed around the space with the urgency of bomb defusers, filling it up with rolling racks crammed with the most exquisite dresses Rachel had ever seen. “I suppose this is how all super-wealthy Singaporeans shop?” she asked.

“Patric’s clients come from everywhere—all the Mainland Chinese, Mongolian, and Indonesian fashionistas who want the latest looks, and many of the privacy-obsessed Brunei princesses. Patric gets access to the dresses hours after they’ve walked the runways,” Peik Lin informed her. Rachel gazed around in wonder as the assistants began hanging the dresses on a titanium rod that was suspended seven feet into the air, encircling the platform like a giant halo. “They’re bringing in way too many dresses,” she remarked.

“This is how Patric works. He needs to see different styles and colors around you first, then he edits. Don’t worry, Patric has the most impeccable taste—he studied fashion at Central Saint Martins, you know. You can be sure that the dresses he picks out won’t be seen on anyone else at the wedding.”

“That’s not my worry, Peik Lin. Look, no price tags anywhere—that’s always a dangerous sign,” Rachel whispered.

“Don’t worry about price tags, Rachel. Your job is to try on the dresses.”

“What do you mean? Peik Lin, I’m not letting you buy me a dress!”

“Shush! Let’s not argue about this,” Peik Lin said as she held up a translucent lace blouse to the light.