“Oh—I’d forgotten about that. Do you know where? I wonder if it’s going to be yet another bacchanalian twenty-course feast.”

“Carlton said something about going to a resort.”

“Maybe they’ll have cheeseburgers. I would kill for a burger and fries tonight.”

“Me too! But I don’t think that’s in the cards. Something tells me Colette’s not a burger-and-fries kind of gal.”

“What gave that away? I bet you anything her monthly clothing budget exceeds our combined annual incomes.”

“Monthly? Her weekly clothing budget is probably more accurate. Did you see those carved-dragon-heel shoes she was wearing last night? I swear to God I think they were made of ivory. She’s basically Araminta 2.0.”

Nick chortled. “Colette is not Araminta 2.0. Araminta is essentially a Singapore girl—she can glam it up when she wants to, but she’s equally comfortable hanging out in yoga sweats and eating fresh coconut on the beach. Colette’s a whole other advanced species yet to be classified. I think she’ll either be running China or Hollywood in a few years.”

“And yet she’s grown on me. She’s been the nicest surprise so far, hasn’t she? When I first met her, I was like, This girl cannot be for real. But she’s so sweet and so generous—she hasn’t let us pick up a single tab since we got here.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I think we’ve been comped at every restaurant or club we’ve been to. Do you notice how Colette gets Roxanne to take pictures of her everywhere we go? She just tweets or blogs about every place, and the rest of us eat for free. It’s quite a racket.”

“Still, I think she’s good for Carlton.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think she’s toying with him? She’s clearly into him, and yet she’s still chanting this ‘He’s just one of my many suitors’ BS.”

Rachel gave Nick a teasing look. “You just don’t like it when the tables are turned! Colette’s got her own career and her own goals and she’s in no rush to get married. I think it’s so refreshing. Most Chinese girls are under such enormous pressure to get married and have kids by their early twenties. I mean, how many Chinese girls do we get every semester that are really just at NYU to find the perfect husband?”

Nick cocked his head and thought about it for a moment. “I can’t think of any besides you.”

“Oh, har har. Jerk!” Rachel said, smacking him with a tasseled pillow.

• • •

At five that afternoon, as Nick and Rachel stood outside their hotel waiting for Carlton to pick them up, a thunderous roar could be heard coming from the Bund. Nick was dressed casually in jeans, a light blue oxford shirt, and his fawn-colored Huntsman summer blazer, while Rachel opted for an Erica Tanov summer linen smock dress. Moments later, a burned-apricot McLaren F1 pulled into the driveway of the Peninsula, its engines making a low, deliriously expensive rumble that sent the valet attendants scurrying around excitedly, each hoping for the chance to park this exotic driving machine. Their hopes were dashed when Carlton poked his head out the window and beckoned Nick and Rachel to get in.