Victoria moaned. “Why on earth did you mention Nicky?”

“She wanted to know who was here and who was coming. I can tell you one thing, though—Ah Ma does not wish to see Nicky. She does not even want him to set foot in this house! It was the last thing she told me.”

* * *

*1 M.C. is an abbreviation for Mom Chao, which translates to Serene Highness and is the title reserved for the grandchildren of the King of Thailand. Since King Chulalongkorn (1853–1910) had ninety-seven children by thirty-six wives and King Mongkut (1804–1868) had eighty-two children by thirty-nine wives, there are several hundred people still alive who can use the title of Mom Chao.

*2 Catherine Young Aakara, like many of the girls of her generation and social standing, attended the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus Girls’ School in Singapore, where they were taught by British nuns and developed the curious distinctive accents that made them all sound like extras in BBC period dramas.

*3 Cantonese for “Wow, what a good life.”

*4 To his eternal chagrin, Eddie had not been invited to his cousin’s wedding to M.R. Piyarasmi Apitchatpongse. Only his parents had been invited to the small, intimate destination wedding held at a private villa in the Similan Islands.

*5 The World Health Organization is a specialized agency of the United Nations that deals with international public health issues. The South-East Asia Regional Office is located in Bangkok.

*6 One of the most sought-after bespoke watches in the world, each Roger W. Smith watch is made by hand, takes eleven months to complete, and there’s a four-year waiting list for one (probably five years after this is published).

*7 An abbreviation for food and beverage, currently one of the hottest industries in Asia. All the CRAs that used to work in M&A want to get in to F&B these days.

*8 Cantonese for “Have you lost your mind?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JODHPUR, INDIA

Astrid stood on the balcony, breathing in the luxuriant scent that wafted up from the rose gardens below. From her vantage point at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel, she had a sweeping view of the city. To the east, an impossibly romantic-looking fort perched on a mountaintop, while in the distance the tight clusters of vibrant blue buildings that made up the medieval city of Jodhpur gleamed in the early-morning light. The Blue City, Astrid thought to herself. She had heard somewhere that all the houses here were painted this shade of cobalt because it was believed to ward off evil spirits. The color reminded her of Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé’s estate in Marrakech—the Majorelle Gardens—much of which was also painted a distinctive shade of blue, the only house in an entire city of rose ochre allowed by decree of the king to be painted a different color.

Astrid stretched out on the chaise lounge and poured herself another cup of chai from the silver art deco teapot. This monumental palace had been commissioned by the present maharaja’s grandfather in 1929 to give work to all the people during a great famine, so every detail retained its original art deco style—from the pink sandstone pillars in the rotunda to the blue mosaic tiles in the underground swimming pool built so that the maharani could swim in complete privacy. The place reminded her a bit of Tyersall Park, and for a moment, Astrid felt an intense pang of guilt. Her grandmother lay in bed attended by a team of doctors while she was here, enjoying a secret weekend rendezvous at a palace.

Her guilt faded slightly as she caught sight of Charlie padding out onto the balcony clad only in his drawstring pajama trousers. When did he become so built? Back in their university days in London Charlie had been positively scrawny, but now his lanky torso took on that distinctive V-shape and his abs looked more ripped than she had ever remembered. He stood behind her as she lay on the chaise lounge, bending over and kissing that tender spot on her neck. “Morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Now I don’t recall getting any sleep last night, but I’m sure glad you did,” Charlie teased as he poured a cup of coffee from the samovar set up on the chrome-and-glass trolley. He took his first sip and murmured in satisfaction, “Mmm. How great is this coffee?”

Astrid smiled placidly. “Actually, I’m sure their coffee is great, but I brought these beans. I know how much you love your first cup, so I had them ground for you this morning. It’s Ethiopian Yirgacheffe from Verve Coffee in LA.”

Charlie gazed at her in appreciation. “That’s it. I’m kidnapping you and not letting you go back to Singapore. I’m never going to let you leave my side for…well, the rest of eternity.”

“Kidnap me all you want, but you’ll have to contend with my family. I’m sure my dad will send out a SWAT team if I don’t turn up for breakfast at Nassim Road on Monday morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time, and you can even show up with a big tray of these parathas for breakfast,” Charlie said, taking a bite out of the buttery, still-warm Indian layered bread.

Astrid giggled. “No, no, it has to be something Malay, otherwise they’ll suspect. It feels like I’m playing hooky, but I’m so glad you convinced me to do this—I really needed it.”

“You’ve been spending so much time at your grandmother’s bedside, dealing with the family circus, I thought you could use a break.” Charlie perched on the balcony’s edge, looking down at an ornately turbaned man sitting on a pile of pillows in the middle of the grand terrace, playing a soft melody on his bansuri while a flock of peacocks wandered behind him on the great lawn. “Astrid, you need to come check this out. There’s a flute player on the terrace, surrounded by peacocks.”

“I saw him. He’s been out there all morning. It’s absolute heaven here, isn’t it?” Astrid closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the enchanting melody as she savored the warmth of the sun on her face.

“Well, just wait. We haven’t even toured the city yet,” Charlie said with a sly gleam in his eyes.

Astrid smiled to herself, enjoying his impish little-boy expression. What was Charlie up to? He looked just like Cassian did whenever he was trying to hide a secret.

After they had enjoyed a classic Indian breakfast of akuri-spiced scrambled eggs on laccha paratha, chicken samosas, and fresh mango pudding on their private balcony, Charlie and Astrid walked to the front entrance to the palace. As they waited for the maharaja’s Rolls-Royce Phantom II to pull up to the front steps, the guards started showering compliments on Astrid. “Ma’am, we’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful in jodhpurs,” they praised. Astrid smiled bashfully—she was wearing a white linen tunic tucked into the new pair of white jodhpurs that had just been tailored for her. But instead of a belt, she had wound a long hand-beaded Scott Diffrient turquoise necklace through the belt loops.

They were driven in the vintage convertible to the Mehrangarh Fort, an imposing red sandstone fortress perched on a dramatic cliff four hundred feet above the skyline of Jodhpur. At the foot of the hill, they transferred into a small jeep that sped them up the steep road to the main entrance, a beautiful arched gateway flanked by ancient frescos known as Jai Pol, the Gate of Victory. Soon they were strolling hand in hand through the interconnected network of palaces and museums that made up the fort complex, marveling at the intricately carved walls and expansive courtyards that afforded commanding views of the city.