“You’re up?” Wade came in and kissed her head. His bouncing step showed no sign of sleep deficiency.

Nola yawned, walking to her bathroom. She sat on the toilet. “Do-re-me-fa-sol-la-ti-do— do—do—” Her voice bounced off the marble walls of the stall. “Do-ti-la-sol-fa-me-re-do—o—o—o—”

Wade stepped in, tore off some toilet paper, folded it and handed it to her.

She did not reach for it. “I can get my own toilet paper,” she said.

He offered no reply, but moved away to check himself in front of the full-length mirror. Last year, as a present for his fortieth birthday, he had treated himself to a liposuction of his stubborn love handles. Nola averted her gaze. He demanded as much of himself as he did of her; perhaps he wanted to look more attractive to her. She just wished his efforts weren’t so over the top.

“Leslie says I should get into martial arts,” Wade said. “It’s graceful, but it also teaches complete control over body and soul.”

Yes, Nola thought. Daniel's quiet inner strength was probably the result of years of such training. She picked up the toothbrush and discovered that Wade had already put a dollop of green toothpaste on it. She brushed her teeth, her eyes fixed on the small snuff bottle Daniel had given her and which she had placed on a silver tray. The glorious bird with the generous colorful tail, she realized, was the Phoenix, the traditional symbol of China’s dowager empress. A woman of power. What irony! Right now, the woman that stared back at her from the mirror had bags under her eyes. The tip of her nose blazed in red, a sign of stress. Since the formerly bulbous cartilage had been snipped and shaved as part of the resculpturing of her face at the onset of her career, the blood vessels in her nose had become the barometer of her agitation level.

At the other end of the ten-foot marble counter, Wade was tracing his finger over the brass filigree of a peony on the magnificent cloisonné vase. He was still in awe of the little details he had toiled so hard to own, yet this very awe ensured that they were never fully his—even though his private collections were of museum quality, the kind Nola had always desired to surround herself with.

He turned away from the vase and collected his watch and money clip. He looked straight at her nose. “We’ll need a more permanent solution to sleepless nights.”

She retrieved her Dead Sea sponge and scrubbing salt for her shower. Yes, they needed to sort out this monumental change and its ramifications. “I need you to talk to the ambassador about keeping the baby,” she said.