does that mean that the Teos plan to send their child abroad to a boarding school at such an early age? “We haven’t made up our minds yet, but we think we’ll either send him to Gordonstoun in Scotland [the alma mater of both Prince Philip and Prince Charles] or Le Rosey in Switzerland. For my son, nothing is more important than the best education that money can buy—I want him to go to school with future kings and world leaders, people who really shake up the world,” he fervently declares. Michael Teo is undoubtedly one of these people, and with such a dedicated vision and love for his son, it’s no wonder he is Pinnacle’s Father of the Year!
• • •
Rushing home from the airport, Astrid entered the front door and saw Michael standing on a ladder, adjusting the spotlight that was shining on his marble bust of the Emperor Nero.
“Jesus, Michael! What have you done?” she said angrily.
“Well hello to you too, honey.”
Astrid held up the magazine. “When did you do this interview?”
“Oh—it’s out already!” Michael said excitedly.
“Damn right it’s out! I can’t believe you let this happen.”
“I didn’t let it happen, I made it happen. We did the photo shoot while you were at Nick’s wedding in California. You know, it was supposed to be Ang Peng Siong and his son on the cover, but they yanked it at the last minute in favor of me. My new publicist, Angelina Chio-Lee at SPG Strategies, engineered that. What do you think of the pictures?”
“They are absolutely ridiculous.”
“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it, just because you weren’t in them,” Michael suddenly snapped.
“Jesus, do you think that’s what I’m upset about? Have you even read the article?”
“No—how could I? It just came out. But don’t worry, I took extra care not to say anything about you or your crazy paranoid family.”
“You didn’t have to—you let the writer into our house! Into our bedroom! She found things out for herself!”
“Stop being so hysterical. Can’t you see that this is good for me? That this will be good for our family?”
“I’m not sure you’ll think that after you’ve read it. Well, you’ll have to reckon with my father when he gets wind of this, not me.”
“Your father! Everything’s always about your father,” Michael grumbled as he fiddled with the screw on the light.
“He is going to be furious when he sees this. More than you can possibly ever imagine,” Astrid said ominously.
Michael shook his head in disappointment as he came off the ladder. “And to think, this was supposed to be a present to you.”
“A present to me?” Astrid struggled to grasp the logic behind this.
“Cassian was so excited about the photo shoot, he was so looking forward to surprising you.”
“Oh believe me, I’m surprised.”
“You know what’s surprising me? You’ve been away for almost a week, but you seem to care much more about this magazine article than seeing your own son.”
Astrid stared at him incredulously. “Are you actually trying to make me the bad person here?”
“Actions speak louder than words. You’re still standing here ranting at me, while upstairs there’s a child who’s been waiting all night for his mother to come home.”
Astrid left the room without another word and headed upstairs.
3
JINXIAN LU
SHANGHAI
A couple of hours after returning to Shanghai from their Paris trip, Carlton called Rachel at the Peninsula Hotel. “All settled in?”
“Yes, but now I’m jet-lagged all over again. Nick, of course, put his head on the pillow and immediately started snoring. It’s so unfair.” Rachel sighed.
“Er…think Nick would mind if I took you out to dinner? Just the two of us?” Carlton asked timidly.
“Of course not! Even if he wasn’t dead to the world for the next ten hours, he wouldn’t mind.”
That evening, Carlton drove Rachel (this time in a very sensible Mercedes G-Wagen) to Jinxian Lu, a narrow street lined with old shophouses in the French Concession. “Here’s the restaurant, but where to park—that is the question,” Carlton muttered. Rachel glanced at the modest storefront with pleated white curtains and noticed a row of luxury vehicles parked outside. They found a space halfway down the block and walked leisurely toward the restaurant, passing a few enticingly quaint bars, antique shops, and trendy boutiques along the way.
Arriving at their dining spot, Rachel discovered a tiny space with only five tables. It was a fluorescent-lit room completely devoid of decor save for a plastic rotating desk fan bolted to the dingy white wall, but it