This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire squints as the morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows hits her eyes. Her head throbs with dull pain. And even as she tries to remember what happened last night, she dimly realizes: Wait, our apartment doesn't have floor-to-ceiling windows!

She looks around. The room is huge, yet lavishly appointed. Outside, she could make out the tops of trees and the hills nearby. Where is she? What is this place? What the heck happened to her?

She tries to get up, and to her horror, she's wearing a different set of clothing. She's used to wearing an oversized t-shirt and undėrwėȧr when she goes to bed, but here she's wearing proper sleep garments.

Claire walks around, inspecting the room. She goes to the window and gazes outside. Down there, she could see a man tending the bushes. She could make out a long driveway that seems to go over the horizon. Everything is so peaceful, so calm. But what rages in her head is nothing but one question: What is this place?

She sits down on the nearest chair and rakes her head for memories of last night. She was at this party…Hmmm, wait, there was Gabriel Tan. She was supposed to do a job. But what job was it again? She touches her lips in reverie, and that triggers another piece of memory: the kiss. The kiss with all its confusing feelings and nuances. Gabriel Tan kissed her. They kissed. How did that end? It's all a blur. She doesn't even remember what happened after the kiss. She remembers a very angry lady in black—ah, Michelle! The ex-girlfriend—storming out of the scene, leaving her in…in…in what?

Champagne. Lots of it, coursing down her throat. How is it that something that tastes so good and seemingly benign could have a huge impact on her head and memory and self-control?

But back to the kiss: what did Gabriel Tan do after the lady in black left? Did they continue kissing? Claire has no idea. She feels as if somebody flipped a switch in her brain and all her memory of last night ended with the lady storming out, cursing under her breath, vowing to take revenge of them all. Wasn't that so rich?

Someone knocks on the heavy wooden door, and before Claire could answer, a woman clad in a maid's uniform enters, pushing in a trolley. "Good morning, Miss Claire," she says cheerfully. "I see you're up already."

"Where am I?"

"You're in the Palace," the maid says, matter of factly, so sure in her sense of reality that when you say "the Palace," the entire world should understand it.

"Ah. But why am I here? Who brought me here?"

"How do you mean, Miss Claire?" There's genuine confusion in the maid's face. "You arrived here last night, at the grand ball. Weren't you with Master Gabriel?"

"Yeah, I remember that but…But…"

"Master Gabriel brought you to this room when you passed out."

"I passed out?"

"Yes. I think you drank too much." The maid smiles. "Master Gabriel brought you here himself, cradled you in his arms, and brought you down on that very bed."

Claire could not help but blush; is Gabriel Tan really that strong? She's not the most lightweight of women, if truth be told, especially if one had to bring her up some sort of stairs. "Are we on the second floor?"

"No, Miss Claire—"

Claire breathes a sigh of relief—

--"We're on the fourth floor, Miss Claire."

"Oh, my God!" Claire imagines Gabriel Tan bringing her all the way up to this floor, in his arms, her full weight bearing down on him. She could not imagine the man, although well-built as he is, could have done that without breaking his back or something. "How did Gabriel do that? He carried me all the way up here?"

The maid nods quite excitedly. "Yes, yes, Miss Claire. It was only him. He didn't let any of his bodyguards carry you. Isn't he such a sweet fiancé?"

Claire stops. Clearly, not everyone knows it's all an act, this romantic engagement thing. She looks at the maid and decides she doesn't owe her an explanation. "What's your name, by the way?"

"They call me Lucille, Miss Claire."

"Lucille, may I ask, what happened after he brought me here?"

"Well," Lucille the maid begins. "He asked me to get some clothes for you."

"What?" Claire doesn't like where this is leading. "Then what after that?"

"Well, I thought that was odd, because you were already wearing maybe the nicest dress I've seen in my life. But Master Gabriel said to fetch you something much more comfortable, for sleeping or something. So I went to our wardrobe manager—"

--"You have a wardrobe manager in this place?"

--"Yes, Miss Claire, the one we call Miss Cassandra. And it took Miss Cassandra just a few minutes to locate the clothes you're wearing right now."

"Then what after that?"

"Then I brought the clothes here."

"Then what after that?"

"Then Master Gabriel changed your clothes."

"He what?"

"He changed your clothes, Miss Claire."

Claire is beet red. "Did he actually took off my clothes while I was unconscious?"

"Well, uhh…Well, not really like that."

"Then how?"

"Well, how do I explain this?" Lucille sighs. "The black dress you were wearing? It was difficult to take off. It takes two people to remove because of the buŧŧons and zippers, remember? So what Master Gabriel did—"

"Did he see me nȧkėd?"

"Oh, no!" Lucille giggles. "Master Gabriel, he looked away as we both worked to remove the dress."

"How was that possible without at least seeing me?"

Lucille shrugs. "He tried…He tried to look away, really." Lucille giggles, and it's those giggles that make Claire want to strangle her with her bȧrė hands.

"After you removed the dress, how did you put the sleepwear on me then?"

"I was the one who did that," Lucille says. "Master Gabriel just stood right over there—" she points to a spot by the window—"looking outside, waiting for me to say that it was finished."

Claire breathes a sigh of relief. "So." She looks around, remembering something. "So where's the Balenciaga dress then?"

"The Balen-tha-ga?"

"The Balen—the black dress. Where is it?"

"I brought it back to Miss Cassandra, as ordered by Master Gabriel."

"Oh, I see…"

"Oh!" Lucille jumps. "I almost forgot. I brought you your breakfast! Here!" Lucille almost theatrically removes the cover on the trolley, revealing all sorts of pastries, a pot of coffee, what looks like freshly squeezed juice with still the pulp in it, fried eggs and bacon.

Claire salivated at the sight of it. Only then did she realize she's hungry. "There's too much food. I can't eat all of this, Lucille!"

"Doesn't matter, Miss Claire! It's Master Gabriel's orders. To make sure that his fiancée is well-fed and happy."

Claire almost chokes on the "his fiancée" part. What's wrong with Gabriel Tan? Can't he drop the act already?

"Alright, I'll dig in, Lucille," Claire says, pulling up a chair to hunker down on the food.

Lucille pours her coffee while she digs in. The eggs on toast is exquisite—this is five-star hotel fare, by all indications—and the Danish is just oh-so-right. "Sorry, Lucille, but please dine with me. I'm famished."

Lucille smiles as she watches her eat. "I'm fine, Miss Claire. Besides, I can't be caught sharing food with our most esteemed guest."

"Oh, no, the rules don't apply here. Come on." She picks up a piece of toast. "Here, get whatever you want, eat with me."

"I can't, Miss Claire," Lucille says. "Sorry, but I've been trained to follow all the rules down to the last letter."

"Oh, okay," Claire says. "If that's what you want, then have at it."

Claire eats so voraciously that Lucille keeps on giggling at the sight of her. "You're a little strange, Miss Claire."

"Why's that," Claire manages to say, in between mouthfuls.

"You don't look like you eat much. In fact, people looking at you and seeing your sėxy body, they'd think you only eat bird seed."

Claire gotta laugh at that, especially with the phrase "sexy body." When was the last time anybody called or described her that? Never, is what. Nobody has ever said that she's sėxy, although maybe Russel, Karen's boyfriend, might agree. Claire often hides her figure with ill-fitting clothes and out-of-fashion denim jackets. She was only compelled to wear a nice-fitting corporate attire whenever she had to attend any of those job interviews.

"You know what," Claire says. "You're maybe the first person who ever said that I'm sėxy."

"You're kidding, Miss Claire!" Lucille's eyes are wide open in disbelief. "How could that possible be?"

"Yes, it is true. Only you."

"But what about Master Gabriel, your fiancé?"

"Well, actually, he—" Claire is about to reveal the truth, but stops. Maybe Lucille must not know, because if her master realizes that Lucille knows, maybe it won't bode well for the poor maid. "Well, he is the only other person in my entire life who said I am sėxy." Claire smiles.

"Awww," Lucille whimpers. "That's so sweet!"

"Is your Master Gabriel really a nice person?"

"Yes," Lucille says without hesitation. "He saved my whole family from a famine. I'm alive today because of him."

This piques Claire's interest. "Really? How?"

"It's rather a very long story, Miss Claire. I hope I can tell you that story some other time. But to make it short, we were starving in a far-flung province when Master Gabriel, in one of his charity missions, found us and brought us all here."

This is the first time Claire is hearing about this. And all the while—especially with everything that Mrs Gomez the office receptionist said about Gabriel Tan—Claire thought Gabriel is a one-track mind, a solid, true-blue monster. Charity missions, saving people's lives—these seem like not the Gabriel Tan Claire is led to believe.

"I didn't know Gabriel's involved in charity missions," is all that Claire is able to say.

"Yes, he is," Lucille begins saying, but the heavy doors suddenly swing open and Gabriel Tan appears, his face the face of someone who would want to crush people to death.