Eleanor got up from the table in excitement. “I’m going to talk to the concierge right now. We’ll fix it. We’ll fly in all the wisteria in the world if we have to. I’ll make sure her wedding is back to perfection.”

“I’m sure Rachel will appreciate that.”

“And let me go call Dad. He should get on a plane right now. It’s still not too late for him to make it here by tomorrow afternoon.”

“You know, I said I’d talk to Rachel. I didn’t promise anything,” Nick cautioned.

“Aiyah, of course she will let me come! I can tell she is the forgiving type just by looking at her face. That’s the one good thing about her—she doesn’t have high cheekbones. Women with high cheekbones are very gow tzay.^*2 Now, will you please do one thing for me?”

“What?”

“Pleeeease go to the barber shop and get your hair cut before tomorrow! It’s far too long and I can’t stand to see you on your wedding day looking like some chao ah beng.”^*3

*1 Hainanese chicken rice, which could arguably be considered the national dish of Singapore. (And yes, Eleanor is ready for foodie bloggers to start attacking her restaurant choice. She chose Wee Nam Kee specifically because the United Square location is only five minutes from the Bao condo, and parking there is $2.00 after 6:00 p.m. If she took him to Chatterbox, which she personally prefers, parking at Mandarin Hotel would have been a nightmare and she would have had to valet her Jaguar for $15. Which she would RATHER DIE than do.)

*2 No English words can properly do justice to this charming Hokkien term, which is used to describe people who are equal parts bitchy, unreasonable, stuck up, and impossible to deal with.

*3 Hokkien for “stinky low-class gangster.”

12

ARCADIA

MONTECITO, CALIFORNIA

The late-afternoon sun hovered over the crest of the Santa Ynez Mountains, suffusing everything in a golden haze. The bamboo trellis had been fully restored to its former glory, creating a luxuriant canopy of hanging wisteria and jasmine over the central aisle, its delicately sweet scent wafting across the guests as they took their seats on the portico. With a neoclassical music pavilion carved from Tuscan stone as a backdrop and towering two-hundred-year-old oaks framing the gardens, the scene looked like something straight out of a Maxfield Parrish painting.

At the appointed moment, Nick emerged from the pavilion with his best man, Colin, and took his place beside an arch majestically radiating with white dendrobium orchids. He surveyed the hundred or so guests, noticing that his father—just arrived from Sydney and wearing an extremely rumpled gray suit—was seated next to Astrid, while his mother was a row behind gossiping with Araminta, who had minutes ago caused a stir when she entered the portico in a show-stopping emerald green Giambattista Valli gown with a deconstructed-ruffle neckline that plunged all the way down to her navel.

“Don’t fidget!” Astrid mouthed from the front row as Nick fussed nervously with his cuff links. She couldn’t help but recall the skinny boy in soccer shorts who used to run around with her in the gardens of Tyersall Park, scaling trees and jumping into ponds. They were forever inventing games and getting lost in fantasy worlds, Nicky always the Peter Pan to her Wendy, but now here he was, all grown up and looking utterly dashing in his celestial blue Henry Poole tuxedo, ready to create his own new world with Rachel. There would be great trouble to come once their grandmother found out about the wedding, but at least for tonight, Nicky was getting to marry the girl of his dreams.