In spite of the Valium, all Nola wanted to do was cry. But the press waited in front of the eighty-foot-high gilded columns, and cameras were ready to record every detail of her appearance. Her Badgley Mischka dress, a strapless stretch crepe in teal blue, flowed around her ankles, its ice-blue embroidery of seed pearls and rhinestones hugging her thighs and hips. In deference to Chinese modesty and the cool temperatures, a matching shawl covered Nola's shoulders. It felt as heavy as a lead cape.

“I’m with you,” Wade whispered. “Remember that you still have me.”

Her heart wouldn’t stop its erratic fluttering. In a few moments, she would be speaking to Kong Ruiji. The floodlights, bright eyes in excited faces, and television cameras trained on her nudged Nola back from her state of shock. She squared her shoulders and strode up the steps. All these people with their ready adoration had the power to help. She turned and addressed the reporters closest to her.

“My baby—the one handed to me three nights ago—was kidnapped this afternoon.” Ignoring Wade's sudden squeeze on the inside of her elbow, she projected her voice without the aid of a microphone. “If you know anything about Lulu's whereabouts, or why she was taken—anything at all—please get in touch with me.”

Some reporters asked about a reward. “Yes,” she said, “there will be a reward. And yes, you can send messages to my website.” For the life of her she didn’t know how to access it. But Wade had the staff to handle all that. “How much of a reward? I don’t know. Whatever’s fair and more.”

Behind her, she heard Roberta saying to the Vanity Fair reporter, “And they call me Big Mouth.”

At Wade's directive, Nola posed for a photographer who shot a quick series of photos of the necklace at Nola's throat for a Tiffany ad. The piece’s South Sea twin gray pearls created a butterfly encased in gold, its magnificent wings fringed in aquamarine. Nola’s fingers fluttered near the necklace for effect, but she could not bring herself to smile.

Finally, she moved into the Great Hall toward a set of ornate, two-story-high double doors that led into an interior hall. Searching for Kong Ruiji’s stocky figure, she spotted him in a cluster of people inside the hall. Tonight he was dressed in a long fitted brocade robe embroidered in gold. Nola smiled, gathered the hem of her dress, and crossed the threshold.

Ambassador Ashford detached himself from the group, blocking the prime minister from her view. He shook hands with Wade and kissed Nola on the cheek. His pronounced girth touched her, and she recoiled.

“I got your message,” he said quietly while steering her back to the doors. “Please don’t bring it up here and now.”