Crazy Rich Asians

“What for?” Victoria frowned.

“So I can tell you which rows you’ll be sitting in,” the young man said, holding up an iPad with a detailed seating chart glowing on its screen.

“What nonsense! This is my church, and I am going to sit in my regular pew,” Victoria said.

“At least tell me if you’re guests of the bride or groom?” the usher asked.

“Groom, of course!” Victoria huffed, brushing past him.

Entering the church for the first time, Rachel was surprised by how starkly modern the sanctuary looked. Silver-leaf latticework walls soared to the stonework ceilings, and rows of minimalist blond-wood chairs filled the space. There wasn’t a single flower to be seen anywhere, but there was no need, because suspended from the ceiling were thousands of young Aspen trees, meticulously arranged to create a vaulted forest floating just above everyone’s heads. Rachel found the effect stunning, but Nick’s aunties were aghast.

“Why did they cover up the red brick and the stained glass? What happened to all the dark wooden pews?” Alexandra asked, disoriented by the complete transformation of the church she had been baptized in.

“Aiyah, Alix, don’t you see? That Annabel Lee woman has transformed the church into one of her ghastly hotel lobbies!” Victoria shuddered.

The ushers inside the church rushed around in utter panic, since most of the eight hundred and eighty-eight[77] wedding guests were completely ignoring the seating chart. Annabel had been advised on the seating protocol by no less an authority than Singapore Tattle’s editrix in chief, Betty Bao, but even Betty was unprepared for the ancient rivalries that existed among Asia’s old-guard families. She would not have known, for instance, that the Hus should always be seated in front of the Ohs, or that the Kweks would not tolerate any Ngs within a fifty-foot radius.

Predictably, Dick and Nancy T’sien had commandeered two rows near the pulpit and were turning away anyone other than T’siens, Youngs, or Shangs (in rare exceptions, they were allowing in a few Leongs and Lynn Wyatt). Nancy, in a cinnabar-red dress and enormous matching feather-brimmed hat, gushed excitedly as Alexandra and Victoria approached. “Don’t you love what they’ve done? It reminds me of the Seville Cathedral, where we attended the wedding of the Duchess of Alba’s daughter to that handsome bullfighter.”

“But we’re Methodists, Nancy. This is a sacrilege! I feel like I’m in the middle of the Katyn forest, and someone is about to shoot me in the back of the head,” Victoria seethed.

Rosemary T’sien walked up the central aisle escorted by her grandson Oliver T’sien and her granddaughter Cassandra Shang, nodding to people she knew along the way. Rachel could already tell by Cassandra’s wrinkled nose that she did not approve of the decor. Radio One Asia slipped in between Victoria and Nancy and launched into the latest breaking news: “I just heard that Mrs. Lee Yong Chien is furious. She is going to talk to the bishop right after the service, and you know what that means — no more new library wing!”

Oliver, who was nattily dressed in a cream-colored seersucker suit, blue checked shirt, and yellow knit tie, slipped in next to Rachel. “I want to sit next to you — you’re the best-dressed girl I’ve seen all day!” he declared, admiring the understated elegance of Rachel’s outfit. As the church continued to fill up, Oliver’s running commentary on the arriving VIP guests had Rachel alternately mesmerized and in stitches.

“Here comes the Malay contingent — assorted sultanas, princesses, and hangers-on. Hmm, it looks like someone got lipo. Lord have mercy, have you ever seen this many diamonds and bodyguards in all your life? Don’t look now, I’m pretty sure that woman in the cloche hat is Faye Wong. She’s an amazing singer and actress, famously elusive — the Greta Garbo of Hong Kong. Ah, look at Jacqueline Ling in that Azzedine Alaïa. On anyone else, that shade of pink would look slutty, but on her it looks drop-dead perfect. And see that really thin fellow with the comb-over being greeted so warmly by Peter and Annabel Lee? That’s the man everyone here wants to talk to. He’s the head of China Investment Corporation, which manages the Chinese Sovereign Wealth Fund. They have more than four hundred billion in reserves …”

On the bride’s side of the aisle, Daisy Foo shook her head in awe. “The Lees got everyone, didn’t they? The president and prime minister, all the Beijing top brass, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien, even Cassandra Shang flew back from London — and the Shangs never come to anything! Ten years ago the Lees were fresh off the boat from Mainland China, and look at them now — everyone who’s anyone is here today.”

“Speaking of anyone, look who just walked in … Alistair Cheng and Kitty Pong!” Nadine Shaw hissed.

“Well, she looks quite ladylike in that red-and-white polka-dot dress, doesn’t she?” Carol Tai graciously offered.