Crazy Rich Asians

“Yes,” Astrid said with an apologetic smile. She assessed him for a moment, thinking that he looked better with a little age on him. Those rimless glasses suited him, his gangly frame had filled out, and the once problematic acne scarring now gave his face a finely weathered look. “How’s life treating you? You moved to Hong Kong a few years ago, didn’t you?”

“I can’t complain. Too busy with work, but isn’t that the case with everyone?” Charlie mused.

“Well, not everyone owns the largest digital technology company in Asia. Aren’t they calling you the Asian Steve Jobs these days?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Impossible shoes to fill.” Charlie looked at her again, unsure of what to say. She looked more exquisite than ever in that chartreuse cheongsam. Funny how you could be so intimate with someone for so many years, and yet feel so painfully awkward around them now. “So I hear you got married to some hotshot army guy, and you have a son.”

“Yes, Cassian … he’s three,” Astrid replied, adding preemptively, “and my husband works in the tech industry like you now. He had to run off to China at the last minute to handle some huge system meltdown. And you have a son and a daughter, don’t you?”

“No, two daughters. Still no boy yet, much to my mother’s dismay. But my brother Rob has three boys, which keeps her placated for the time being.”

“And your wife? Is she here tonight?” Astrid asked.

“No, no, I’m the only one flying the flag for my family. You know, they only invited eight hundred and eighty-eight guests, so I hear that unless you were family, a head of state, or a member of royalty, your spouse didn’t get invited.”

“Is that so?” Astrid laughed. I treated Charlie horribly. He didn’t deserve to be chucked aside like that, but everyone was putting so much pressure on me about marrying Wu Hao Lian’s son back in those days. There was an awkward silence, but they were thankfully saved by the gasps of astonishment from the crowd. The ferry was fast approaching one of the outlying islands, and coming into view was what looked like a crystal palace glowing in the middle of the dense forest. Charlie and Astrid stared in awe as the full complexity of the structure became apparent.

The cathedral-like banquet hall consisted of immense trapezoidal canopies of glass that were seemingly integrated into the tropical rain forest. Trees grew out from some of the glass panels, while others were contained within its dramatically angled panes. Intersecting the main structure were cantilevered terraces of varying heights, with a profusion of tropical vines and flowers spilling out over each terrace. The whole place looked like a futuristic Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and standing at the harbor promenade flanked by a row of travertine columns were Colin and Araminta, both dressed in white, waving to the arriving guests.

Astrid took one look at them and deadpanned in a Latin accent, “Welcome to Fantasy Island!”

Charlie laughed. He had forgotten her wacky sense of humor.

“I guess this is how you spend forty million on a wedding,” Astrid remarked drily.

“Oh, that thing costs way more than forty million,” Charlie said.

Araminta, in a pleated white chiffon-silk gown with long straps of hammered gold and diamond links that crisscrossed her bodice, greeted her guests. Her hair was piled high into a mound of intricate braids and festooned with diamonds, baroque pearls, and moonstones. As the gown billowed around her in the ocean breeze, she could have been mistaken for an Etruscan goddess. Standing at her side, looking a little worn out from the day’s festivities, was Colin in a white linen tuxedo.

Looking through the crowd, Araminta asked Colin, “Do you see your cousin Astrid anywhere?”

“I saw her brothers, but I haven’t spotted her yet,” Colin answered.

“Let me know the minute you spot her—I need to know what she’s wearing tonight!”

“I spy Astrid disembarking from the third ferry,” Colin reported.

“Alamak, she’s wearing a cheongsam! Why didn’t she wear one of her fabulous couture creations?” Araminta sighed.

“I think she looks lovely, and that cheongsam was probably handmade—”

“But I was waiting to see what designer she would turn up in! I go to all this trouble, and she doesn’t even bother to make the effort. What’s the whole fucking point of this wedding?” Araminta moaned.