*1 Actually, everyone knows that Tommen Baratheon, age seven, is the youngest man to sit on the Iron Throne. (See George R. R. Martin’s A Storm of Swords.)

*2 Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.

7

NICK AND RACHEL

SHANGHAI, CHINA

Nick awoke to the vision of Rachel luxuriating in a patch of sunlight by the window, sipping her coffee. “What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s about a quarter to one.”

Nick bolted up reflexively as if an alarm bell had gone off. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so sweetly, and we’re on vacation, remember?”

Nick stretched his arms and let out a groan. “Ugh. It doesn’t feel much like a vacation.”

“You just need some coffee.”

“And aspirin. Lots of it.”

Rachel laughed. Since their arrival last week, the two of them had been swept up in the tornado that was Carlton’s social life. Actually, it was more like Colette’s social life, since they had attended a mind-blowing number of fashion boutique parties, twelve-course banquets, art openings, restaurant soft openings, a recital at the French Consulate, VIP after-parties (followed by several VVIP after-after-parties), and something billed as a “site-specific transmedia performance piece”—all at Colette’s invitation. And this was before hitting the clubs every night till dawn.

“Who knew that Shanghai’s nightlife scene would put New York to shame? I’m ready for a quiet night in. Do you think your brother will be offended?” Nick asked.

“We’ll just tell Carlton we’re too old for his crowd,” Rachel said, blowing on her coffee.

“Says the girl who was hit on about a dozen times last night! I thought I was really going to have to bust out some of my ninja moves to get those French guys to leave you alone at M1NT.”*1

Rachel laughed. “You’re such a dork!”

“I’m the dork? I’m not the tech geek. Was it just me, or has every European fellow in Shanghai invented some app that’s going to revolutionize the world? And do they all need to have that much stubble? I can’t imagine what it would be like kissing them.”

“Actually, that would be kinda hot—watching you and that cute Polytechnique grad make out! What was his name? Lo?c?” Rachel cracked.

“Thanks, but I’d prefer Claryssa or Chlamydia or whatever that friend of Colette’s name was.”

“Haha—Chlamydia is exactly what you’ll get if you kiss her! You’re talking about that girl with the fake eyelashes who asked you point-blank if you had an American passport?”

“Her eyelashes were fake?”

“Honey, everything on her was fake! Did you see how crushed she looked when Colette broke it to her that we were married? I don’t understand how all these people missed the wedding bands on our fingers.”

“You think a little piece of gold is going to stop them? Women here just don’t understand your social cues. You confuse them—you look Chinese, but they don’t get your body language. You don’t behave like a typical wife, so they don’t even realize we’re together.”

“Okay, from now on I’ll be sure to drape myself over you and gaze adoringly into your face at all times. You’re my one and only gaofushuai,”*2 Rachel cooed, fluttering her eyelashes facetiously.

“That’s the spirit! Now where’s my coffee?”

“It’s in the coffeemaker at the bar, and you can refresh my cup too while you’re at it!”

“What happened to my subservient little wife?” Nick padded languidly to the bar as Rachel called out from the other room, “Oh, my father called this morning.”

“What did he have to say?” Nick asked, groggily trying to figure out which button to push on the unnecessarily high-tech espresso machine.

“He apologized again for not being here.”

“Still sorting out problems in Hong Kong?”

“Well today he had to rush to Beijing. Some government emergency this time.”

“Hmmm,” Nick said as he scooped some coffee into the French press. He wondered what was really behind Bao Gaoliang’s Houdini act. He was about to bring it up when Rachel continued, “He wanted us to meet him in Beijing this weekend, but apparently the smog is going to be terrible over the next few days. So he suggested we fly to Beijing next week if things clear up.”

Nick returned to the bedroom and handed Rachel her refilled cup. She looked him in the eye and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a strange feeling about all this.”

“You’re not the only one,” Nick said, sitting down on the floor against the window. The sunlight pouring onto his back felt more invigorating than the smell of the coffee.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that! I’m not being totally paranoid, am I? I mean, his excuses are beginning to sound pretty lame. Smog in Beijing? Isn’t it always smoggy there? I flew three thousand miles to get to know him—I’m not going to let some pollution get in the way. I kinda thought I’d be seeing a lot more of my dad, and I feel like he’s avoiding us.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“Do you think Shaoyen has something to do with all this? I mean, we haven’t heard a peep from her.”

“It’s possible. Has Carlton said anything to you?”

“Carlton doesn’t say a thing! You know, we’ve seen him every night since we got here, but I don’t feel like I’ve really got a read on him yet. I mean, he’s very sweet, and a great conversationalist like all you British-public-school-educated boys, but he doesn’t reveal much about himself. And he can be rather moody sometimes, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely noticed that. There are moments when he just seems to check out, like the other night when we were at that bar on top of the Ritz Pudong, having drinks with that woman with the big hair.”

“Chinese Afro girl? Yeah, what was her name again?”

“No idea, but she was giving off strange vibes, and for a while Carlton went absolutely quiet and just stared at the view. I thought maybe he didn’t like her or something, but then he snapped out of it and was back to his normal self again.”

Rachel gave Nick a worried look. “You think maybe it’s his drinking? I mean, the way he’s been putting it away this week alone makes my liver ache.”

“Well, it seems like everyone here takes drinking to a whole other level! But let’s not forget his accident not too long ago—he did suffer major head trauma.”

“You know, he seems so fit, I keep forgetting he even had that accident.”

Rachel got up from her armchair and sat down next to Nick on the floor. She stared out the window at the twisting skeletal form of Shanghai Tower, a new skyscraper being built across the river that would one day be the tallest structure in the world. “It’s so strange. I had this idea that we’d be spending all our time getting to know my dad, meeting other relatives over meals, that sort of thing, but it feels like all we’ve been doing day after day is partying with Shanghai’s Gossip Girl crowd.”

Nick nodded in agreement, but he didn’t want to sound discouraging. “At some point, your dad has to show up. And you know, it’s entirely possible we are being paranoid, and things haven’t worked out because they haven’t. Your father is a very important man and there’s a lot cooking on the political front with the changeover in leadership that just happened. Maybe there’s some other drama playing out that has nothing to do with you.”

Rachel gave him a dubious look. “Do you think I should try to bring it up casually with Carlton?”

“If there really is something going on with the family, that might put him in an awkward position. Technically speaking, we have been very well looked after by the Baos, haven’t we? I mean, we’ve been enjoying this fabulous suite, and Carlton’s been entertaining us every day. Let’s see how it plays out. In the meantime, I think it may finally be time for me to try that juice cleanse.”

“Before you do—we have dinner tonight with Colette’s parents.”

“Oh—I’d forgotten about that. Do you know where? I wonder if it’s going to be yet another bacchanalian twenty-course feast.”

“Carlton said something about going to a resort.”

“Maybe they’ll have cheeseburgers. I would kill for a burger and fries tonight.”

“Me too! But I don’t think that’s in the cards. Something tells me Colette’s not a burger-and-fries kind of gal.”

“What gave that away? I bet you anything her monthly clothing budget exceeds our combined annual incomes.”

“Monthly? Her weekly clothing budget is probably more accurate. Did you see those carved-dragon-heel shoes she was wearing last night? I swear to God I think they were made of ivory. She’s basically Araminta 2.0.”