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the staccato scream of
     a police siren.
    “That was a strange noise. Where are you right now?” Nick asked.
    “I’m on the street,” Astrid replied.
    “In Singapore?”
    “No, in Paris.”
    “What? Paris?” Nick was confused.
    “Yep, I’m on rue de Berri, and two police cars just whizzed by.”
    “I thought you were in Singapore. Sorry for calling so late—I thought it was morning
     for you.”
    “No, no, it’s fine. It’s only one thirty. I’m just walking back to the hotel.”
    “Is Michael with you?”
    “No, he’s in China for work.”
    “What are you up to in Paris?”
    “Just my annual spring trip, you know.”
    “Oh, right.” Nick remembered that Astrid spent every April in Paris for her couture
     fittings. He had met her in Paris once before, and he could still recall the fascination
     and tedium he felt sitting in the Yves Saint Laurent atelier on avenue Marceau, watching
     three seamstresses buzz around Astrid as she stood Zen-like, swathed in an airy confection
     for what seemed like ten hours, guzzling down Diet Cokes to fight off her jet lag.
     She looked to him like a figure from a baroque painting, a Spanish
infanta
submitting to an archaic costuming ritual straight out of the seventeenth century.
     (It was a “particularly uninspired season,” Astrid had told him, and she wasbuying “only” twelve pieces that spring, spending well over a million euros.) Nick
     didn’t even want to imagine how much money she must be blowing on
this
trip with no one there to rein her in.
    “I miss Paris. It’s been ages since I’ve been. Remember our crazy trip there with
     Eddie?” he said.
    “Aiyoh, please don’t remind me! That’s the last time I ever share a suite with that
     rascal!” Astrid shuddered, thinking she would never be able to erase the image of
     her Hong Kong cousin with that amputee stripper and those profiteroles.
    “Are you staying in the Penthouse at the George V?”
    “As always.”
    “You’re such a creature of habit. It would be super-easy to assassinate you.”
    “Why don’t you try?”
    “Well, next time you’re in Paris, let me know. I might just surprise you and hop the
     pond with my special assassin’s kit.”
    “Are you going to knock me out, put me in a bathtub, and pour acid all over me?”
    “No, for you there will be a far more elegant solution.”
    “Well, come and get me. I’ll be here till early May. Don’t you get some sort of spring
     break soon? Why not bring Rachel to Paris for a long weekend?”
    “Wish I could. Spring break was last month, and we interim-adjunct-sub-associate professors
     don’t get any extra vacation days. But Rachel and I have the whole summer off, which
     is why I want her to come home with me.”
    Astrid sighed. “You know what will happen the minute you land at Changi Airport with
     this girl on your arm, don’t you? You know how brutal it was for Michael when we first
     started going out publicly. That was five years ago, and he’s still getting used to
     it. Do you really think Rachel is ready for all that? Are
you
ready for it?”
    Nick remained silent. He was taking in everything Astrid had to say, but his mind
     was already made up. He was ready. He was absolutely head over heels in love with
     Rachel, and it was time to show her off to the whole world.
    “Nicky, how much does she know?” Astrid asked.
    “About what?”
    “About our family.”
    “Not much. You’re the only one she’s met. She thinks you’ve got great taste in shoes
     and that your husband spoils you rotten. That’s about it.”
    “You probably want to prepare her a bit,” Astrid said with a laugh.
    “What is there to prepare her for?” Nick asked breezily.
    “Listen, Nicky,” Astrid said, her tone getting serious. “You can’t just throw Rachel
     into the deep end like this. You
need
to prep her, do you hear me?”

5
Astrid Leong
    PARIS
    Every May 1, the L’Herme-Pierres—one of France’s great banking