Crazy Rich Asians

Prologue: The Cousins

LONDON, 2003

Kim TaeHyung slumped into the nearest seat in the hotel lobby, drained from the twelfth-hour flight from Seoul, the train ride from Heathrow airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets. His cousin Park Jimin shivered stoically next to him, all because his mother, Myoi, his keun imo-or"big aunt" in Korean-said it was a sin to take a taxi nine blocks and forced everyone to walk all the way from Piccadilly Tube Station.

Anyone else happening upon the scene might have noticed an unusually composed eight-year-old boy and an ethereal wisp of a boy sitting quietly in a corner, but all Reginald Ormsby saw from his desk overlooking the lobby were two little Korean children staining the damask settee with their sodden coats. And it only got worse from there. Three Korean woman stood nearby, frantically blotting themselves dry with tissues, while a teenager slid wildly across the lobby, his sneakers leaving muddy tracks on the black-and-white checkerboard marble.

Ormsby rushed downstairs from the mezzanine, knowing he could more efficiently dispatch these foreigners than his front-desk clerk's. "Good evening, I am the general manager. Can I help you?" he said slowly, over-enunciating every word.

"Yes, good evening, we have a reservation," the woman replied in perfect English.

Ormsby peered at her in surprise. "What name is it under?"

"Kim Tzuyu and family."

Ormsby froze-he recognize the name, specially since the Kim party had booked the Lancaster Suit. But who could imagine that "Kim Tzuyu" would turn out to be Korean, and how on earth did she end up here? The Dorchester or the Ritz might let this kind in, but this was the Calthorpe, owned by the Calthorpe-Cavendish-Gores since the reign of George IV and run for all intents and purposes like a private club for the sort families that appear in Debrett's or the Almanacb de Gotba. Ormsby considered the bedraggled woman and the dripping children. The Dowager Marchioness of Uckfield was staying through the weekend, and he could scarcely imagine what she would make of these folk appearing at breakfast tomorrow. He made a swift decision. "I'm terribly sorry, but I can't seem to find a booking under that name."

"Are you sure?" Tyuzu asked in surprise.

"Quite sure." Ormsby grinned tightly.

Park Myoi joined her sister-in-law at the front of the desk. "Is there a problem?" she asked impatiently, eager to get to the to the room to dry her hair.

"Sesange,* they can't find our reservation," Tzuyu sighed.

("Sensange"=Oh god in Korean.)

"How come? Meybe you booked it under another name?" Myoi inquired.

"No, sensage. Why would I do that? It was always booked under my name," Tyuzu replied irritatedly. Why did Myoi always assume she was incompetent? She turned back to the manager. "Sir, can you please check again? I reconfirmed our reservation just two days ago. We're supposed to be in your largest suite."

"Yes, I know you booked the Lancaster Suit, but I can't find your name anywhere," Ormsby insisted.

"Excuse me, but if you know we booked the Lancaster Suit, why don't we have the room?" Myoi asked, confused.

Bloody hell. Ormsby cursed at his own slip-up. "No, no, you misunderstood. What I meant was that you might think you booked the Lancaster Suit, but I certainly can't find any record of it." He turned away for a moment, pretending to rummage through some other paperwork.

Myoi leaned over the polished oak counter and pulled the leather-bound reservation book toward her, flipping through pages. "Look! It says right here 'Mrs. Kim Tyuzu-Lancaster Suit for four nights.' Do you not see this?"