Wade lifted a fallen gardenia and tucked it into the lapel of his tuxedo. “Madam?” He offered her his curved arm, and she looped her hand around his elbow. His outburst at the market still lingered under her skin, but being back in his good graces smoothed things out, the way lapping waves erased footprints from the sand. She needed warmth. Battle-weary after a day of fighting over Lulu, she could use any friendly gesture.

As she and Wade entered the ballroom, her eyes searched for Daniel; he might be the kind of person to offer an oasis of understanding.

The quartet launched into a rendition of Nola's “Let It Be. Make It Happen,” and Ambassador Ashford hummed the melody.

Laughing, Nola said, “It was just released!”

“Your songs catch on fast,” he replied. He was a big man with a large-lipped mouth and a fleshy nose. He lifted two champagne flutes from a passing tray and handed one to Nola and one to Margot. Wade refrained.

“The room looks sensational,” Nola said, scanning the details, and Margot beamed.

Snaked around the gold chains of each of the two huge crystal chandeliers were long-tailed red paper dragons. Giant paper butterflies, their wings reinforced with metal loops, hung over the row of arched windows that opened to the garden, while Chinese red lanterns flanked the gold molding of each window. Scattered around the room were Chinese-style lacquered rosewood settees and cocktail tables with fretwork or openwork geometric designs, and hexagonal mahogany tables with matching straight-back chairs with armrests carved in motifs of clouds, sunbursts and ocean waves. Rich brocade fabric depicting fishermen and weeping willows drooping over ponds upholstered the Western-style sofas. American paintings and bronze sculptures complemented the decor.

As the Ashfords greeted new guests, Wade's gaze caressed Nola's mint-green chiffon gown. Halston had been chosen as the official American designer for this tour, and the Mandarin jacket that went with the dress was embroidered with Chinese-style flowers and leaves in silver and gold. The pattern was repeated on her satin shoes and evening purse.

“You look beautiful.” Wade held her hand and twirled her around.

In a minute swell of contentment, she pirouetted. Nuances of a marriage, she thought, were little stage directions subconsciously understood—until one partner altered a line and threw things off balance.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you today.”

“We both need to make adjustments,” she said. “When we get home, maybe we should seek counseling.”

“I don’t need a shrink to tell me that music is your experience; it is fed by your passion. If this baby is your new passion, so be it.”

Geez, thanks, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

He pulled her closer. “Whatever works. Your music makes you an immortal.”

The smell of the gardenia in his lapel was suddenly overwhelming. “I’m not talking music, but marriage,” she murmured. “I may be your creation, but does that make you my Master?”