Crazy Rich Asians (45 page)

“No such luck, Nadine. Those people are far too classy to make a public show out of
it. But I bet you they are sharpening their knives in private. Meanwhile, that Rachel
Chu looks like the Blessed Virgin compared to her. Poor Eleanor—her whole plan is
backfiring!” Daisy sighed.

“Nothing is backfiring. Eleanor knows exactly what she’s doing,” Lorena said ominously.

At that moment, Eleanor Young walked up the aisle in a gunmetal-gray pantsuit that
shimmered subtly, clearly delighting in the attention she was getting. She caught
sight of Rachel and forced a smile. “Oh, hello there! Look Philip, it’s Rachel Chu!”
In another designer dress. Every time I see this girl, she’s wearing something more
expensive than the last time. My God, she must be draining Nicky’s money market account
.

“Did you and Nicky stay up late last night? I bet you kids really went wild after
we old fogies left the
dato
’s yacht, didn’t you?” Philip asked with a wink.

“No, not at all. Nick needed to get to bed early, so we headed home soon after you
left.”

Eleanor smiled stiffly.
The cheek of this girl to call Tyersall Park “home”!

Suddenly a hush fell over the crowd. Rachel thought at first that the ceremony was
beginning, but when she glanced to the back of the church, all she saw was Astrid
leading her grandmother up the aisle.

“My God,
Mummy’s here
!” Alexandra gasped.

“What? You must be hallucinating,” Victoria shot back, turning around in disbelief.

Oliver’s mouth was agape, and every head on the groom’s side of the church was trained
on Astrid and her grandmother. Walking a few discreet paces behind them were the ubiquitous
Thai lady’s maids and several Gurkhas.

“What’s the big deal?” Rachel whispered to Oliver.

“You don’t know how monumental this is. Su Yi hasn’t been seen at a public function
like this in decades. She doesn’t go out to other people’s events—people come to
her
.”

A woman standing in the aisle suddenly dropped into a deep curtsy at the sight of
Nick’s grandmother.

“Who’s that woman?” Rachel asked Oliver, mesmerized by the gesture.

“That’s the wife of the president. She was born a Wong. The Wongs were saved by Su
Yi’s family during World War II, so they have always gone to great lengths to show
their respect.”

Rachel gazed at Nick’s cousin and grandmother with renewed wonder, both so striking
as they made their stately procession up the aisle. Astrid looked immaculately chic
in a Majorelle-blue sleeveless halter-neck dress with gold cuff bracelets on both
arms dramatically stacked all the way up to her elbows. Shang Su Yi was resplendent
in a robe-like dress of pale violet that possessed the most distinctive gossamer sheen.
“Nick’s grandmother looks amazing. That dress …”

“Ah yes, that’s one of her fabulous lotus-fabric dresses,” Oliver said.

“As in lotus flowers?” Rachel asked, to clarify.

“Yes, from the stem of the lotus flower, actually. It’s an extremely rare fabric that’s
handwoven in Myanmar, and normally available only for the most high-ranking monks.
I’m told that it feels incredibly light and has an extraordinary ability to keep cool
in the hottest climates.”

As they approached, Su Yi was swarmed by her daughters.

“Mummy! Are you feeling okay?” Felicity asked in a worried tone.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Victoria snapped.

“Hiyah, we would have waited for you,” Alexandra said excitedly.

Su Yi waved away all the fuss. “Astrid convinced me at the last minute. She reminded
me that I wouldn’t want to miss seeing Nicky as a best man.”

As she uttered those words, two trumpeters appeared at the foot of the altar to herald
the arrival of the groom. Colin entered the main sanctuary from a side alcove, accompanied
by Nick, Lionel Khoo, and Mehmet Sabançi, all in dark gray morning suits and silvery
blue ties. Rachel couldn’t help but swell up with pride—Nick looked so dashing standing
by the altar.

The lights in the sanctuary dimmed, and through a side door appeared a crowd of blond
boys dressed in faun-like costumes of wispy white linen. Each rosy-cheeked boy clutched
a glass jar filled with fireflies, and as more and more towheaded boys emerged to
form two lines along both sides of the church sanctuary, Rachel realized there had
to be at least a hundred of them. Illuminated by the flickering lights from their
jars, the boys began to sing the classic English song “My True Love Hath My Heart.”

“I don’t believe it—it’s the Vienna Boys’ Choir! They flew in the fucking Vienna Boys’
Choir!” Oliver exclaimed.

“Aiyah, what sweet little angels,” Nancy gasped, overcome with emotion by the haunting
alto voices. “It reminds me of the time King Hassan of Morocco invited us to his fort
in the High Atlas Mountains—”

“Oh, do shut up!” Victoria said sharply, wiping tears from her eyes.

When the song ended, the orchestra, hidden in the transept, launched into the majestic
strains of Michael Nyman’s “Prospero’s Magic” as sixteen bridesmaids in pearl-gray
duchesse satin gowns
entered the church, each holding an enormous curved branch of cherry blossom. Rachel
recognized Francesca Shaw, Wandi Meggaharto, and a teary-eyed Sophie Khoo among them.
The bridesmaids marched in choreographed precision, breaking off in pairs at different
intervals so that they were spaced equally apart along the length of the aisle.

After the processional anthem, a young man in white tie stepped up to the altar with
a violin in his hand. More murmurs of excitement filled the church as people realized
that it was none other than Charlie Siem, the virtuoso violinist with matinee-idol
looks. Siem began to play the first familiar chords of “Theme from
Out of Africa
,” and sighs of delight could be heard from the audience. Oliver noted, “It’s all
about that chin, isn’t it, clenched against the violin as if he’s making savage love
to it. That marvelous chin is what’s making all the ladies cream their knickers.”

The bridesmaids lifted their branches of cherry blossom high into the air, forming
eight floral arches leading up to the altar, and the front doors of the church flung
open dramatically. The bride appeared at the threshold, and there was a collective
gasp from the crowd. For months magazine editors, gossip columnists, and fashion bloggers
had speculated wildly over who might be designing Araminta’s dress. Since she was
both a celebrated model and one of Asia’s budding fashion icons, expectations were
high that she would wear a dress made by some avant-garde designer. But Araminta surprised
everyone.

She walked down the aisle on her father’s arm in a classically inspired wedding dress
designed by Valentino, whom she lured out of retirement to make precisely the sort
of gown that generations of European princesses had gotten married in, the sort of
gown that would make her look every inch the proper young wife from a very traditional,
old-money Asian family. Valentino’s creation for Araminta featured a fitted high-necked
lace bodice with long sleeves, a full skirt of overlapping lace and silk panels that
unfurled like the petals of a peony as she moved, and a fifteen-foot train. (Giancarlo
Giametti would later inform the press that the train, embroidered with ten thousand
seed pearls and silver thread, took a team of twelve seamstresses nine months to sew
and featured a pattern replicating the train Consuelo Vanderbilt wore when she fatefully
wed the Duke of Marlborough in 1895.) Yet even in its baroque detail, the wedding
gown did not overpower Araminta. Rather, it was the perfect extravagant foil against
the stark minimalist wonderland her mother had so painstakingly created. Clutching
a simple bouquet of stephanotis, with only a pair of antique pearl-drop earrings,
the slightest hint of makeup, and her hair in a loose chignon adorned with nothing
but a circlet of white narcissus, Araminta looked like a Pre-Raphaelite maiden floating
through a sun-dappled forest.

From her seat in the front row, Annabel Lee, exultant in an Alexander McQueen dress
of chiffon and gold lace, surveyed the faultlessly executed wedding procession and
reveled in her family’s social triumph.

Across the aisle, Astrid sat listening to the violin solo, relieved that her plan
had worked. In the excitement over her grandmother’s arrival, no one noticed that
her husband was missing.

Sitting in his row, Eddie obsessed over which uncle could best introduce him to the
chairman of the China Investment Corporation.

Standing by the altar, Colin gazed at the ravishing bride coming toward him, realizing
that all the pain and fuss over the past few months had been worth it. “I can hardly
believe it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” he whispered to his best man.

Nick, moved by Colin’s reaction, searched the crowd for Rachel’s face. Where was she?
Oh, there she was, looking more gorgeous than she’d ever looked. Nick knew at that
very moment that he wanted more than anything to see Rachel walk up that same aisle
toward him in a white gown.

Rachel, who had been staring at the bridal procession, turned toward the altar and
noticed Nick gazing intently at her. She gave him a little wink.

“I love you,” Nick mouthed back to her.

Eleanor, witnessing this exchange, realized there was no more time to lose.

Araminta glided up the aisle, sneaking occasional peeks at her guests through her
veil. She recognized friends, relatives, and many people she had only seen on television.
Then she caught sight of Astrid. Imagine, Astrid Leong was at
her
wedding, and now they would be related through marriage. But wait a minute, that
dress Astrid was wearing … wasn’t that
the same
blue Gaultier she had worn to Carol Tai’s Christian Helpers fashion benefit two months
ago? As
Araminta reached the altar where her future husband awaited, with the Bishop of Singapore
in front of her and the most important people in Asia behind her, one thought alone
crossed her mind: Astrid Leong,
that damn bitch
, couldn’t even be bothered to wear a new dress to her wedding.

Fort Canning Park

As the wedding guests began filtering into the park behind First Methodist Church
for the reception, more gasps of astonishment could be heard.

“What now?” Victoria grumbled. “I’m so tired of all this ‘oohing’ and ‘aiyahing’—I
keep thinking somebody is going into cardiac arrest!” But as Victoria passed through
the gates at Canning Rise, even she was momentarily silenced by the sight of the great
lawn. In stark contrast to the church, the wedding reception looked like an atomic
explosion of flowers. Thirty-foot-tall topiaries in gigantic pots and colossal spirals
of pink roses encircled the field, where dozens of whimsical gazebos festooned in
striped pastel taffeta had been built. In the center, an immense teapot spouted a
waterfall of bubbly champagne into a cup the size of a small swimming pool, and a
full string ensemble performed on what appeared to be a giant revolving Wedgwood plate.
The scale of everything made the guests feel as if they had been transported to a
tea party for giants.

“
Alamak
, someone pinch me!”
Puan Sri
Mavis Oon exclaimed as she caught sight of the food pavilions, where waiters in powdered
white wigs and Tiffany-blue frock coats stood at tables piled mountain-high with sweets
and savories.

Oliver escorted Rachel and Cassandra onto the great lawn. “I’m
a bit confused—is this supposed to be the Mad Hatter’s tea party or Marie Antoinette
on a bad acid trip?”

“Looks like a combination of both,” Rachel remarked.

“Now what do you suppose they’re going to do with all these flowers once the reception
ends?” Oliver wondered.

Cassandra stared up at the towering cascade of roses. “In this heat, they will all
be rotten within three hours! I’m told the price of roses spiked to an all-time high
this week at the Aalsmeer Flower Auction. Annabel bought up all the roses on the world
market and had them flown in from Holland on a 747 freighter.”

Rachel looked around at the guests parading the floral wonderland in their festive
hats, their jewels glinting in the afternoon sun, and shook her head in disbelief.

“Ollie, how much did you say these Mainlanders spent?” Cassandra asked.

“Forty million, and for heaven’s sake, Cassandra, the Lees have lived in Singapore
for decades now. You need to stop calling them Mainlanders.”

“Well, they still
behave
like Mainlanders, as this ridiculous reception proves. Forty million—I just don’t
see where all the money went.”