Кевин Кван - China Rich Girlfriend

Sighing softly, Rachel closed her eyes and hoped he really meant what he said.

• • •

A couple of weeks later, the students enrolled at New York University in the course Britain Between the Wars: The Lost Generation Rediscovered, Deconstructed, and Restored were treated to the most curious spectacle. In the middle of Professor Young’s lecture, two extremely tan, extremely blond women of Amazonian proportions entered the classroom. Dressed in identical outfits of figure-hugging navy-blue cashmere sweaters, immaculately pressed white linen slacks, and white nautical caps with gold piping on the brims, the pair sauntered up to the front of the classroom and addressed the professor.

“Mr. Young? The favor of your presence has been requested. If you would please come with us,” one of the blondes said in a thick Norwegian accent.

Not sure what to make of this, Nick replied, “My class isn’t over for another twenty-five minutes. If you’d care to wait outside, we can speak when it’s over.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Young. The matter is extremely urgent and we’ve been requested to collect you immediately.”

“Immediately?”

“Yes, immediately,” the other blonde replied. This one had an Afrikaans accent that made her sound much sterner than the Norwegian. “Please come with us now.”

Nick was starting to get a little annoyed by the disruption when suddenly it hit him — this had to be some pre-wedding prank, most likely courtesy of his best friend Colin Khoo. He had assured Colin that he didn’t care for a bachelor party or any sort of fuss, but it sure looked like these two leggy blondes were part of some elaborate ploy.

“And what if I don’t go with you?” he said with a playful grin.

“Then you will give us no choice but to resort to extreme measures,” the Norwegian replied.

Nick found himself fighting to keep a straight face. He hoped these women were not about to bust out a boom box and start stripping. His classroom would descend into total chaos and he would lose control of these already attention-deficient kids. Not to mention all his hard-earned credibility, since he hardly looked older than most of his students.

“Give me a few minutes to wrap things up,” Nick finally said.

“Very well.” The women nodded in unison.

Ten minutes later, Nick exited the classroom as his students excitedly whipped out their phones and began texting, tweeting, and insta-gramming pictures of their instructor being led away by two statuesque blondes in nautical-inspired outfits. Waiting in front of the building on University Place was a silver BMW SUV with tinted windows. Nick got in a little reluctantly, and as the sedan began speeding across Houston Street and onto the West Side Highway, he wondered where in the world he was being taken.

At Fifty-second Street, the car merged into one of the exit lanes leading toward the Manhattan Cruise Terminal, where the cruise ships that visited New York all docked. Moored at Pier 88 was a superyacht that looked like it had at least five levels of decks. The Odin , it was called. Good God, Colin has way too much time and money on his hands! Nick thought, staring up at the gargantuan vessel, which seemed to sparkle as shards of sunlight reflecting off the water danced across its midnight-blue hull. He climbed up the gangway and entered the grand foyer of the yacht, a soaring atrium with a circular glass elevator in the middle that looked like it could have been stolen from an Apple store. The blondes escorted Nick into the lift, which rose just one floor before opening up again.

“We could have taken the stairs,” Nick remarked wryly to the ladies. He stepped out of the elevator, half expecting to find the room filled with friends like Colin Khoo, Mehmet Sabançi, and some of his cousins, but instead found himself alone on what seemed to be the main deck of the yacht. The ladies led him through a series of sumptuous spaces, past sleek lounges paneled in golden sycamore, barstools upholstered in whale foreskin, and a salon with a ceiling that glowed like a James Turrell installation.

Nick began to have the sinking feeling that none of this had anything to do with a bachelor party. Just as he was beginning to consider his options for a hasty exit, they arrived at a pair of sliding doors guarded by two tall, strapping deckhands. *1The men slid the doors apart, revealing a skylit dining deck. At the end of the deck, lounging on a dining settee in a white pique blazer, white jodhpurs, and camel-colored F.lli Fabbri riding boots, was none other than Jacqueline Ling.

“Ah, Nicky, just in time for the soufflé!” she said.

Nick approached his old family friend, feeling equally amused and exasperated. He should have clued in earlier that all this Scandinavian silliness had something to do with Jacqueline, whose longtime partner was the Norwegian billionaire Victor Normann.

“What kind of soufflé is it?” Nick asked nonchalantly, taking a seat across from the legendary beauty dubbed “the Chinese Catherine Deneuve” by the society pages.

“I believe it’s kale and Emmentaler. Don’t you think all the sudden hype about kale is getting a bit much? I want to know who’s been doing all the PR for the kale industry — they should really get an award. Now, aren’t you the least bit surprised to see me?”

“Actually, I’m rather disappointed. For a while I thought I’d been kidnapped and forced to be an extra in a James Bond movie.”

“Didn’t you enjoy meeting Alannah and Mette Marit? I knew you wouldn’t come if I had just called up and invited you to lunch.”

“Of course I would have, but at a more normal time — I hope you’re going to find me a new job when NYU fires me for abandoning my class in the middle of a lecture.”

“Hiyah, don’t be such a spoilsport! You have no idea how hard it was to find a place to dock this beast. Now, I thought New York was supposed to be such a world-class city, but do you know your biggest marina can only hold up to a hundred and eighty feet? Where is anyone supposed to park their yacht?”

“Well, this is quite a beast. Lürssen, I presume?”

“Fincantieri, actually. Victor did not want his baby built anywhere near Norway, with those pesky journalists always scrutinizing his every move, so he chose an Italian shipyard instead. Of course, Espen *2designed this one, like he has all our boats.”

“Auntie Jacqueline, I don’t think you summoned me here to talk about shipbuilding. Why don’t you say what you really came to say?” Nick said, breaking off a corner of a still-warm baguette and dipping it into his soufflé.

“Nicky, I told you never to call me ‘Auntie.’ You make me feel like I’m past my sell date!” Jacqueline said in mock horror as she flicked a lustrous lock of black hair behind her shoulders.

“Jacqueline — you don’t need me to tell you that you don’t look a day over forty,” Nick said.

“Thirty-nine, Nicky.”

“Okay, thirty-nine.” Nick laughed. He had to admit that even as she sat across from him in the bright sunlight with only a touch of makeup on, she was still one of the most stunningly attractive women he had ever known.

“There’s that handsome smile of yours! For a while I was afraid you were beginning to get surly. Don’t ever get surly, Nicky, it’s most unbecoming. My son, Teddy, always has the most surly, supercilious look about him — I should never have sent him to Eton.”

“I don’t think Eton had anything to do with it,” Nick offered.

“You’re probably right. He has those snobby recessive Lim genes from my late husband’s side. Now, you should know that all of Singapore was talking about you over the Chinese New Year.”