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ofwizardsandmen · 1 year

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Crazy Rich Us [Part II]

“There’s rich, there’s filthy rich, and then there’s crazy rich”

Characters: Tara, Mark, Sungjae, M

Word count: 1,8k

Genre: angst, fluff(?)

Crazy Rich Asians AU

(Part of the Gossip Witch Universe, but can be read on its own)

The Peninsula, Paris, 2032

Mark opened his eyes to a beam of sunlight shining upon his face. It took him a second or two to remember the reason why he was waking up in a suite at the Peninsula and not the shabby chic apartment he shared with Tara in London. Still slightly disoriented, the man reached out for the Tissot watch on the bedside table. It was ten past eight. Mark lay on the bed for a few seconds before recalling he had agreed to help Sungjae in some last-minute preparations for M’s bachelor party. Then he would meet his good friend Johnny for lunch. A smile crept onto his face at the thought of Johnny Suh.

Mark met Johnny during freshman orientation at Oxford and they instantly became inseparable. After one semester, Johnny would go around calling Mark his “best buddy” and even went as far as renting a flat they could share. Although the last thing Johnny was willing to do was to sacrifice his privacy, he still went through it because he knew Mark and his mother struggled to pay his rent every month and his best friend was just too prideful to accept any help. The thing was, paying rent was not even part of Johnny’s list of concerns. Johnny Suh was filthy rich and absolutely unapologetic about it. Coming from the merge of two old money families—a Korean father, heir of a tech conglomerate, and an American mother whose pedigree almost rivaled that of the Vanderbilts—the young man was the type of guy who had grown up knowing his Buccellati from his Boucheron. Johnny and his family would sweep through the world staying in luxurious properties, eating at restaurants with the most Michelin stars, and indulging in limitless shopping. That explained his penchant for showing up to class dressed as though he was attending a fashion show. It also explained his annoying tendency to be almost unbearably generous. Thanks to Johnny—and much to Mark’s dismay and initial refusal—the pair spent most of their college years enjoying glorious meals at culinary destinations like Old Parsonage and The Perch and going on weekend getaways to places like Le Manoir Aux Quat’Saisons and other manorial private properties in the English countryside. Mark also spent part of his college life driving—against his will—a Porsche Carrera Johnny even dubbed “Mark’s ride.”

Mark was emerging from the nostalgic remembrance when his phone started buzzing under the pillow. He dismissed the alarm and scrolled through the schedule Tara had emailed him before their trip. Apparently, keeping up with the millions of fancy activities M and Jane had prepared for their wedding required, at the very least, an updated agenda. That morning the bride’s party was meeting for brunch at Apicius and later, at night, they were supposed to attend a soirée Jane’s maid of honor was throwing to officially kick off the wedding week. That explained why Tara was nowhere to be found. She was probably up and ready to fill her duties as a bridesmaid. After all, he had been told, M and Jane's wedding was supposed to be a big deal, with a considerable list of VIPs in attendance. Though he was yet to discover how his girlfriend had grown so close to Jane and her family in a few years, he supposed Tara’s help was surely needed.

“You’re up,” Tara’s voice remarked when she walked into the room, pushing Mark out of his thoughts. As predicted, she was all dressed up, clad in a beige tweed skirt and jacket ensemble, ankle boots, and her hair perfectly combed into a high ponytail. She wore minimal make-up, a golden watch, and several rings on her fingers. Watching her from distance, Mark realized he had rarely seen Tara so dolled up. Granted, his girlfriend was always beautiful, but he realized he had never seen her wearing anything more elaborated than what her students described as professor Lee’s light Academia aesthetics. That was a lot of cozy knit sweaters, cardigans, sweater vests, jeans, oversized blazers, and trench coats combined with loafers and Oxford shoes.

Dressed in that tweed set, Tara almost looked like a different woman. Mark tried not to point it out, but eventually, he ended up asking,

“Is that a new outfit? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Tara shrugged. “It’s a gift from my brother. Probably his way of saying I need to up my fashion game since we’re in Paris,” she joked, moving around the room and picking stuff from her vanity and her bag. “I know you said you’ll help Sungjae with some errands before we leave for Cannes, but any chance you guys can join the rest of us for brunch?” Tara asked casually as she stuffed a Chanel bag with her wallet, keys, and other objects.

“I don’t think so, I’ll have lunch with Johnny, remember? I am not sure where we’ll be going, but you know him, he always has these crazy plans.” Mark said with a shrug. “Sorry, but I’ll tell Sungjae, maybe he wants to drop by.”

Tara scoffed loudly, “without someone dragging him there? I doubt it,” she added skeptically.

“I know Sungjae is not a fan of socialization, but it’s his best friend’s wedding, give him some credit.” Mark rose to his feet and walked up to Tara.

“You think I’m talking about Sungjae’s aversion to social gatherings?” Tara looked at her boyfriend with a raised brow and then scoffed “You’re so cute.” Before Mark could complain and ask questions Tara pressed her lips against his cheek. “I’ll get going, you get ready and have fun with the guys, I’ll see you later.” Mark would’ve said something, but Tara’s camelia’s perfume invading his nostrils left him too stunned to speak. He only followed her with his eyes as she walked out of the room. What was his girlfriend talking about?

MIGNON, Paris, 2032

Mark met Sungjae outside MIGNON, in the 18th arrondissement. Located in an unassuming building in Caulaincourt, close to Montmartre, the café was the perfect spot to escape from tourist hordes and experience Paris as true locals. Unlike Guy Savoy, the coffee shop served a motley selection of French gourmandises and oddities such as bio, homemade strawberry tartines, and watermelon lemonade that M loved. Back when they were in high school, Sungjae and M would always enjoy French pastries and watermelon lemonade prepared by the chef running the kitchen at M’s home. Though the man had long passed to better life, whenever they visited France, they would visit his family’s small shops, scattered around Paris, Bretagne, and Provence.

“I thought we were meeting without M,” Mark whispered to Sungjae when he caught a glimpse of their friend sitting inside the shop.

“It’s a long story, but we’re providing an alibi. He’s not dealing well with the pressure,” Sungjae said, wrapping an arm around Mark and pulling him along as he walked into MIGNON.

M had already ordered brunch and was sipping from a glass of watermelon lemonade when his friends caught up with him.

“Sorry I am late, I kinda got lost. The metro station had all these stairs-“ Mark started, but since M did not look up from his plate, Sungjae chimed in.

“So what else do we have to do today? The tuxes are in from London,” He pulled a chair and sat in front of his best friend as Mark took the empty spot beside him. “I’m just waiting to hear back from some of the last-minute people about the rehearsal next week and we can-”

M clamped his eyes shut and massaged his temples “Can we please not talk about that goddamned wedding?”

Mark couldn’t school his expression to hide his surprise so Sungjae nudged him almost imperceptibly. After a decades-worth friendship, he had learned to recognize when M needed some space. It didn’t happen often, but on rare occasions, he hit one of his down days and the usually cheerful and understanding M vanished completely.

“Okay then. What do you want to talk about?” Sungjae asked calmly.

M didn’t respond, so Mark looked at Sungjae confused. Did something happen that he completely missed out on? Thankfully, before Mark had the bad sense of opening his mouth to ask questions, the waiter, a man who looked their age, but the three of them would’ve been surprised to find out was barely eighteen, approached the table to take Mark and Sungjae’s order.

“I’ll get an allongé, une tartine pesto, jambon de Parme et noisettes, and Mark will get the strawberry and watermelon lemonade with-“ Sungjae made a pause looking at Mark in the eye, “waffles and fruit of the season?”

Mark nodded, chuckling both at how predictable he was and at the way Sungjae proceeded to translate his order into French.

“I know I am so predictable, and we’ll get back to that in a sec, but when did you even learn French? The last thing I remember, you used to ask me to translate even the smallest French words when we were in college,” Mark joked, looking at Sungjae with his eyes wide open.

“That-“ Sungjae smacked himself mentally when he realized he babbled briefly before adding “My secretary is French.”

M looked up, paying attention to his friends for the first time since they got there. He looked at Sungjae for a second before finally breaking the silence. “You’re a terrible liar,” he told Sungjae and then turned to Mark. “And you, you never change, do you?”

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but M went on. “Have you ever changed your mind about anything?”

Mark floundered, lost for words for a brief moment. “I do, but I also know what I like, so-“ Mark shook his head. “Wait, have you? Is that why we’re here? Are having second thoughts about the wedding?”

“What? No!” M said almost automatically, then he corrected himself “I mean, yes, but not about marrying Jane-” M took a deep breath as Sungjae leaned back into his seat, patiently waiting for him to continue and Mark leaned forward looking at him attentively. “Of course, I want to marry Jane. I just- I just never seem to have a saying in anything regarding my own life” M finally said bitterly.

Mark looked at M profusely confused, but Sungjae remained silent. He couldn’t really say anything, but of course, he understood M’s concerns. On the pages of magazines, there was nothing people talked about other than M and Jane’s wedding. Everything about their union had turned into a staged family merger and not the marriage of two people in love.

“I haven’t been in the position to make a single choice since I was born,” M said matter-of-factly. “It’s a good thing I actually want to marry Jane. I just don’t know how I’ll make it through the Broadway production, that’s all. I have this perverse fantasy of kidnapping her, jumping on a plane, and marrying her in some sort of improvised ceremony in the Toscana”

It said a lot about his friends that they both replied “Then why not do it” almost in unison.

#tara #mark #sungjae #m #story #crazy rich asians au #oc

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minah-delacroix · 2 years

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Crazy Rich Us [Part I]

"There's rich, there's filthy rich, and then there's crazy rich”

Characters: Sungjae, Minah, Tara, Mark, M, Jane

Word count: 2,8k

Genre: angst, fluff(?)

Crazy Rich Asians AU

(Part of the Gossip Witch Universe, but can be read on its own)

Playlist

Paris, 2018

Sungjae Lee & Minah Delacroix

“I didn’t really need any of that” Sungjae said as Minah and himself exited the sumptuous building at 30 Avenue Montaigne. It was an early summer morning and the weather — particularly hot that day — seemed almost benevolent, considering the previous night’s thunderous rain had kept Sungjae and his girlfriend up until dawn. Well, to be honest, the rain had kept Minah up. Sungjae had been soundly sleeping when she slipped onto the bed next to him with plenty of ideas in mind. Yes, Sungjae could’ve slept through thunder and rain without flinching, but no man could’ve slept through Minah’s urgency to — quoting her — “distract” herself.

Of course, Sungjae was not complaining. He truly couldn’t. How could he if Minah Delacroix, his girlfriend — he still couldn’t believe he could call Minah Delacroix his girlfriend — was, by all means, the girl of anyone’s dreams. Model, muse, and arguably the most sought-after young woman in the world of fashion, Minah Delacroix was without a doubt, the most beautiful human Sungjae had ever laid his eyes on. Celebrated by the entire fashion industry, Minah belonged to the uppermost echelon of the European elite. Only heiress to the Delacroix Montpensier fortune, one could go on for hours diagramming all the dynastic links in Minah’s family tree, but from any angle, you looked at it, her pedigree was nothing short of extraordinary.

But while Minah’s unique beauty — a rare one on the Parisian runways — and fortune were unrivaled, it was her confident, fun, and down-to-earth personality that truly had Sungjae wrapped around her Dior manicured finger. How did he even get so lucky, he was still unsure, but he was glad his six-year-old self was intelligent enough to follow his dad —a respected British politician— on his first official visit to France.

“I know you didn’t” Minah replied giggling as she slipped her free hand, the one that didn’t hold a tiny Dior bag, through his. “But I wanted you to match my dress for the BAT Gala, you know it’s important to me,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m not sure how long you will stick around before you’re back to London, so I need to make the most out of this visit. Plus, imagine your mother’s face when we totally steal the attention from her movie premiere,” Minah added excitedly.

Sungjae would’ve laughed if he hadn’t noticed a couple of men overtly ogling his girlfriend’s very short slip dress as she happily dragged him toward Rue de Marignan. Of course, Sungjae was aware that his girlfriend was the subject of the most feverish talk among women and the chief object of men’s masturbatory fantasies, but that didn’t mean he had quite gotten used to the disrespectful Parisian men practically drooling over Minah in such a blatant way.

“Babe?” Minah abruptly stopped walking, forcing Sungjae out of his musings —and quickly pulling him from some fantasy where he taught some of these men a lesson on respect. Sungjae looked at her with his eyes widening in surprise.

“You were saying?” He quickly replied, noticing they had reached an unassuming building with the word ALAÏA etched on each side of a little white door.

“I said, you probably don’t want to see me try on dresses as petites-mains put pins and wrap fabrics around me for an hour. What about you go, do some sightseeing and I see you in the apartment?” Minah asked, softly pulling her hand from his. “Or- you can call Suho, he will be happy to show you around the city�� Sungjae didn’t want to point out that Minah’s older brother always looked at him as though he wanted to murder him, so he only nodded.

“I think I can stop by Franprix on my way back home, we need some groceries” Sungjae replied with a smile.

“Groceries” Minah scoffed with a laugh. “You’re such a dork.” She added, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. Sungjae couldn’t quite grasp why buying groceries would be an indicator of his “dorkiness,” but he didn’t dare to add a word. Instead, he allowed Minah to kiss his chin and then captured her lips with his in a long heated kiss. The charm of Paris was that people were so unbothered by physical displays of affection that no one blinked an eye when Minah pushed Sungjae’s head and he moved down to the tender spot on her throat.

“You know, we don’t need to worry about groceries,” Minah said suddenly pulling away from Sungjae’s embrace and fixing the skirt of her dress surreptitiously. “Milene has them shipped from L’Epicerie de Paris,” she said referring to the tiny Tunisian woman who practically ran Delacroix manor and naturally, the only acceptable place to buy groceries in the city. “You could use a visit to L'Odyssex though” Minah added smirking devilishly. “I’ll send you the address, I need you to pick some basic… supplies,” before her boyfriend could ask any question, Minah kissed the cheek of a very confused Sungjae and waved him goodbye. “Then we could have lunch at La Monnaie, the chef is a friend,” she said as she entered the ALAÏA building. “See you, my beloved” Minah blew a flying kiss in Sungjae’s direction before disappearing into the doorway.

Sungjae stood there for a few seconds confused but still wondering how did he get so lucky. Then his phone buzzed into his pocket. The message, from Minah evidently, contained two addresses: “28 Rue de la Gaité, 11 Quai de Conti.”

28 Rue de la Gaité, Paris, 2032

Tara Lee, Minah Delacroix & Jane Durand

“I thought we were going to eat crepes,” Tara Lee said double-checking the number hanging at the front of L'Odyssex, one of Paris' oldest, chicest sex shops. She was pretty sure she had googled the address, and it supposedly belonged to BRUTUS, branded as a bo-bo (boheme et bourgeoise) crepe paradise. At her right, Minah Delacroix rolled her eyes, clad in an archive Alexander McQueen dress that clashed with the heavy velvet curtains hanging at the entrance of the boutique.

“Yes, we will,” Minah said dismissively, choosing to ignore Tara’s not-so-subtle gasp. She was sure the mannequin wearing a bondage ensemble had that effect on her friend, but before she could point out how much of a hypocrite she was being, she heard her best friend calling her name from across the shop. “But we’re going to do some shopping first,” Minah added as she lead the way, waving at the blonde woman standing next to a shelving unit full of colored bottles. Of course, Minah didn’t need to look at Tara to know she was scrunching up her nose in disgust. “It’ll only take a minute. Please, Tara, we’re adults and Jane needs to prepare for her honeymoon.”

Judging by the deep exhale she heard when they caught up with Jane, Minah was sure Tara was not particularly pleased, but she wouldn’t continue to complain either.

“My god, Tara it’s been forever!” Jane said pulling the younger woman into a quick hug and then turning to her best friend.

“Minah, you’ve known this shop forever and never cared to share the address? I can’t believe you call yourself my best friend,” Jane gushed, holding a pink box Tara was sure she didn’t want to know what it was.

“Yes, and I am only sharing this secret because you’re getting married,” Minah said with a light chuckle as Tara attempted to focus her eyes on something that didn’t make her too uncomfortable.

“How did you even find out about this place and why I have never heard of it?”

Tara scoffed thinking to herself that the large front window, with an equally large neon sign promoting “lingerie and sex toys aphrodisiaques” was hard to miss, but she didn’t say anything, choosing to move behind her friends to shield herself from watching some of the posters hanging on the walls.

“I-“ Minah seemed to lose herself for a second before shaking her head and reply “I came across it by chance, you know, I’m a real Parisian and know every corner of the city, from Neuilly-sur-seine to Chateau de Vincennes, like the palm of my hand. And Tara, please, stop acting so strange, you’re nearly thirty. If I were you, I’d be looking around instead.” Minah said putting on a serious face. “You know what will happen the minute your family and our friends see you arriving with Mark in Provence, don’t you? If I were in your place, I’d better be prepared in case Mark wants to make a runaway.”

Jane put a bottle back on the shelf and spun on her heel to look at her younger friend with a grave expression. It made Tara sigh. She couldn’t quite believe they were having that conversation there.

“Tara, you know how brutal our world is. Do you really think Mark is ready for all of that? Are you even ready yourself?” Jane asked.

Tara remained silent. She had anticipated a similar reaction from her friends, but she wasn’t sure that inviting the man she had been dating for nearly two years to Jane’s wedding was worthy of so many concerns. They were in love and this event was truly not about them, but about their friends.

Tara opened her mouth to reply, but Minah cut her off before she could say a word. “Tara, tell me the truth. How much does Mark even know?”

“Know about what?” Tara questioned confused. Minah and Jane shared exasperated looks.

“About everything” Jane replied as if it was obvious, “about your family, our friends, who you are.”

“Mark knows M well. They’re friends!” Tara said defensively, causing her friends to make reproving sounds in unison.

“That is not what we asked,” Jane began, suddenly she had adopted that judgmental demeanor Tara knew she had reserved for anything that remotely involved Sungjae Lee. “Look, I know he is friends with my fiancé, but they met in Oxford. Mark has no idea of who our families really are. He has no idea of what he’s getting into. You know I think Mark is lovely and a great catch. I really do. But inviting him to my wedding means introducing him formally to your family and our friends. Whether you acknowledge it or not that is a big step to take.” Much to Tara’s perplexity, behind Jane, Minah nodded vehemently.

“You might want to prepare him a bit,” Minah said reaching for a purple bottle.

“What is there to prepare him for?” Tara asked, half amused, half weirded out by her friends’ dramatics.

“Listen, T” Minah said, her tone toughening. “You can’t just throw Mark into the deep end like this. You have to prep him.” Tara would have taken Minah’s stern tone seriously if her friend had not handed her a strange-looking bottle labeled “Prep It.”

11 Quai de Conti

Sungjae Lee, M Young and Mark Yang

“Wow, Guy Savoy. I didn’t know you could even make it past the 16th and the Eiffel Tower,” M Young said in admiration when he walked into the private room his best friend had reserved for lunch. It was the first time they were seeing each other in months, but the other man —sitting already at the table, dressed in a full black look— only chuckled, acknowledging his presence with a head movement. “Though, to be honest it’s so your style” M commented, looking at the walls and the Art Deco lamps hanging from the ceiling. “Black walls, black tables, quiet and away from prying eyes.” The man said pulling a chair to sit at the table. “Your kind of place, but may I ask how did you get a table with such short notice?”

“The chef is a friend,” Sungjae replied, quite not believing he could say those words out loud.

M raised a brow, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “Wow, my best friend has gotten so fancy,” he teased.

Sungjae shook his head, looking at his best friend properly for the first time since he got there. M was wearing a light blue Dior suit that looked equally odd on him as it looked good. Sungjae had to gulp when he realized he could tell apart that particular Dior suit. If his memory did not fail him, it was a Kim Jones design from the SS18 runway.

“Then again, what’s not to expect from the British Steve Jobs?” M added jokingly.

“That’s overdoing it” Sungjae shook his head, though admittedly he had heard that moniker precede his name more times than he would’ve preferred. Since he had taken his tech company public, transforming almost overnight into a billionaire, people would give him all sorts of names and overanalyze every move of his. If Sungjae traveled for business, suddenly there were headlines claiming he was chartering private jets, staying in the grandest hotels, eating at the finest restaurants, and indulging in limitless pleasures.

“Do not look down on your success,” M warned, his eyes hardening. “You deserve all the grand titles and attention.”

Sungjae wanted to complain, but upon further consideration, he only smiled at his friend as the maitre d’ approached holding two menus. They fell into a very comfortable silence afterward. That was the charm of a friendship that could basically be traced down to their nursery days.

“Do you have an idea where Mark is? I’m starving,” M broke the silence, pulling Sungjae from a particularly clear memory invading his thoughts when he recognized Guy Savoy’s famous “Iced poached oysters” on the menu.

“Errr… he said he was getting off the metro five minutes ago, so he must be somewhere between Point Neuf and Saint Michele,” Sungjae said surprising himself. It was strange how fresh the memories of his first proper summer in Paris were.Even though almost ten years had passed since. M seemed to share the amazement because he placed the menu on the table and crossed his arms over his chest.

“When did you become such an expert in all things Paris?” He asked, looking genuinely eager for an answer.

Thankfully, Sungjae didn’t have to answer to that question because the maitre d’ reappeared, leading the way for a young man, who smiled at him brightly when their eyes met.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mark said, patting M on the back as he got to the table. “I kinda lost track of time in my morning jog,” he said jovially as he took the empty seat between his friends. “You know, I’m surprised you wanted to have lunch here in the first place. It didn’t strike me as our sort of thing,” he continue to speak, probably not noticing the way M was staring at Sungjae.

Perhaps out of nostalgia for their days in Oxford or perhaps out of mere habit, M, Sungjae, and Mark liked to meet up at the most modest coffee shop they could find in town. It was a ritual of sorts. Not like they had the chance to meet a whole lot, though. They were all very busy most part of the year.

Since graduating from school Sungjae had gone on to build a tech empire that was listed as one of the greatest companies in the United Kingdom. Meanwhile, M was running his family business and whatever it was, always kept him busy. Mark, on the other hand, had landed a Department Lecturer position in their alma mater, which required him to deliver at least 16 hours of lectures, classes, and seminars every week. It wasn’t a fancy job, but Mark was satisfied.

“Well, by the looks of it, Sungjae is now an expert in French luxury locations” M joked.

“I haven’t been here in-” Sungjae tried to defend himself, but realized that giving away how long it was since he last stepped in that restaurant would give him away. “Years. And I thought it would be nice to have lunch in a nice place since you’re about to get married.” He said, reaching out to pat M’s arm.

“Speaking of marriage, how are Astrid and Ashleigh?” Mark briefly took the menu, but upon inspecting the first page he convinced himself he would let his friends order for him as he mentally prepared himself to spend one-quarter of his salary on whatever overpriced food they’d eat. Then he leaned back into his seat, patiently waiting for Sungjae to update them about his wife and daughter.

“They’re fine. Ashleigh took Astrid on a trip with her parents around Spain. They must be in Malaga now.” Sungjae said more out of politeness than real interest in sharing news about his nonexistent marital life. Then he quickly added, “How is Tara?” So Mark wouldn’t keep asking any more questions.

Mark, the sweet naive Mark fell into the trap and started gushing about his girlfriend. Sungjae almost felt guilty that he allowed himself to disconnect from the conversation, as images from the past flashed up. He was surprised to catch himself still thinking about her ten years later.

...

#oc #story #sungjae #minah #tara #jane #m #mark #crazy rich asians au

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