Her smile was thin. “I’m amazed by your perfect English,” she told the prime minister.

“I bet you can’t recite the second and third stanzas of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ ” he said. Her own reflection glimmered back at her in the lenses of his glasses.

She forced a laugh. “Did you, too, sing it at football games?”

He began to recite,

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes…,

He reached,

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.

Then conquer we must,

When our cause it is just,

And this be our motto, ‘In God is our trust!’

Nola felt dizzy again. This gregarious man, who seemed to embrace Western culture, was the one responsible for the Dying Rooms. Eighty percent. Then conquer we must, When our cause it is just. That was the Chinese policy. She wanted to leave, to be back at the hotel, where she could protect Lulu.

She excused herself for taking too much of his time and touched Wade’s arm. “Let’s leave,” she whispered.

“Are you OK?”

She shook her head. “Let’s go. Now.”

“What’s the matter with you tonight? You disappeared with Daniel for almost an hour. You know better than to flaunt a love affair.”

“Love affair?” She had expected a possible insurance premium-hike argument. Barely keeping her voice down, she said, “Daniel is not my lover.”

“The reporters don’t know that.”

Blood thumped in the veins of her temples. “But do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Have some respect for my intelligence.”

She bit her lip. In spite of her promise to herself, she was causing Wade pain, escalating their problems. “I’m sorry to make you jump to the wrong conclusion,” she murmured, her voice tight and small. “Can we leave now? Please?”

He held both her shoulders, his fingers hard on her flesh. “Honey. Are you noticing that you are intent on fucking everything up?”

Behind her, someone dropped a glass, and amid the shattering of crystal came a mumble of apology. On a love seat to her left, a gray-haired man reclined toward a young woman with cropped blonde hair, blocking her chance of escape. He said something soft in French.

Wade's eyes darted away as he spotted someone behind her, and his face brightened. Nola followed his gaze for the source of his instant transformation. Astonishment filled her when she recognized the slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and tanned face of the CEO of BRW Entertainment approaching the prime minister.

“What’s George Mauriello doing here?” she asked, feeling the same distrust she had felt since meeting the new CEO a little over a year ago.

“You’re one of Phonomania Records’ biggest-selling singers. With this tour, you’re probably the biggest. Another reason not to fuck it all up.”