A tiny foot in a red sock kicked and freed itself from the package in her arms until an ankle rested on her forearm. Was this some publicity stunt she hadn’t been told about? Dazed, Nola lifted the blanket off the tiny head. A smile bloomed on the round face with its dark, almond-shaped eyes, and an arm rose up to touch Nola's nose.

She smiled down. “Hello to you, too.” The little body was light, but solid. How old was this baby? Was this some bizarre prop?

Reporters thrust their microphones toward her. “Who was that woman?” “Did you stage this?” “How much did you pay for the baby?” “Is that a girl?”

In an instant, all sights and sounds around Nola receded, leaving behind this incredible surprise. The moment was incomprehensible, yet there was an order to the chaos, as though this event were written in a script she hadn’t yet read. She gazed down at the little face, at the eyes so wide and trusting, and the word that ran through her head—illogical, implausible, capricious—was “mine.”

Photographers pushed closer to Nola, their cameras closing in on her. Excited clucking rose from the crowd. Shouts from network reporters drowned out one another. Nola scanned the crowd as the security staff shoved them away. In the chaos, no one seemed eager to reclaim the infant. Policemen yelled. Some ran after the woman.

It all seemed so far away. The bubble of calm that enveloped her and the baby shimmered with bliss, pushing away her ache over Wade, her parents and her sister.

She bent her head and brushed her lips against the baby’s crown. “Mine,” she whispered, telling herself that she must be nuts to be so happy.

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

“We’ve had our share of crazies, but never anything like this,” Wade said. Still leading Nola on the red carpet toward to the limousine, he reached out to take the baby from her arms, but she pressed it closer to her chest. The baby’s soft fist clutched her finger.

“Not yet,” Nola mumbled, a part of her mind still hanging back in disbelief.

“Smile for the cameras,” Wade whispered, his lips unmoving.

Leslie, her choreographer and stylist, walked backward like a crab and bobbed his shaved head in astonishment. He snapped his fingers. “Hocus pocus. It saves me calling the bellboy to order one.”

Five police officers broke through the circle of Nola's security men and motioned that they would take the baby. She straightened and shook her head. Her feet carried her toward her double-stretch limousine. Wade flanked her on one side while her bodyguard helped her into the car.

“Send people to comb the place for the woman,” Wade ordered him. “Go.”

“All eight hundred temples and palaces?” replied the bodyguard.