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For now, they were living in a rented house two miles away. Vivian was between films, and so she stayed at home with her daughters. In the evenings she and Richard would bring them to the new house to see the day’s work. In the twilight she stood on the stone steps as they ran around the freshly mowed grounds. They chased each other until their legs were tired, and still there was more land to run on. On the drives back to their rental house at night, Richard would let down the roof of the Polara so they could all feel like they were flying through the hazy California dusk. The girls always screamed with delight and threw their small hands in the air.

Her husband obsessed over the exterior of the house and structural parts of the interior. He spent days poring over choices and made sure that the foyer was constructed with ivory granite and the doors made of glazed mahogany and the walls paneled with walnut and redwood.But the decorative choices were hers. In her mind she conjured up the palaces of Versailles and Yí Hé Yuán, the Summer Palace. She would imitate their opulence. She could imagine it now: the panels of the walls lined with silk screens and scrolls of brush paintings, shelves of delicate porcelain bowls. Chinese books on the library shelves alongside the English.

This would be a home where she could raise her daughters right. She would make sure they learned Mandarin and developed palates that yearned for light winter melon soups and dumplings. They would have rooms to play in and separate rooms to study in. Richard would take them to see great films. They would spend winters skiing in the mountains and summers swimming at the beach. They would get to go to college, each of them. But they wouldn’t have it easy all the time, either, Vivian thought. She wouldn’t allow her children to grow up soft. They would learn how to??, to take in hardships. But they would have every privilege that they could be given. Vivian would make sure of it.

One early evening, right after her daughters went to bed, she looked out the window of their rented house, over the rolling hills and winding roads, up in the direction of the new house. Richard offered her a glass of wine. As the stars rose overhead, his hands curled around her waist.

“I’ve been thinking about that fountain,” she said. “I think I want a new garden. Around that fountain.” She’d seen the gardens of Versailles on her honeymoon, and she couldn’t help wondering what they could do here in California.

“Seems like there used to be one.” Richard kissed her shoulder. “Tell me what you want and we’ll build it.”

“Hmmm,” Vivian exhaled, resting her head against his chest. “I want roses.”

“What else?”

“And…” Vivian sighed as he brushed another kiss against the nape of her neck, and for a moment her thoughts dissolved. “??. And honeysuckle. And… lilies.”

“So we will,” Richard agreed. “We’ll have them all. I want it to be your paradise.” And this time he tipped her jaw up toward his, as his hips pressed her against the edge of the countertop. Yet, as she flung herarms around his neck, a dark fear echoed in the corner of her mind—what if he leaves too?But when she looked into the face of this man who wanted to build her a house, agarden—she saw a devotion that her ex-husband could never have summoned, that wouldn’t have interested him, even if he could have. She and Richard were meant to find each other. She could have happiness again. This was the new spring of her life.

They moved in February when the pipes were finally fixed, the final coats of paint were dry, the paneling installed, and the crown molding connected from room to room. It was impressive and elegant, but sometimes Vivian caught herself wondering if it was almost too spacious. Why had she agreed to so many bathrooms? Her voice and footsteps echoed off the walls eerily when she was alone. But she told herself it would be different once they had picked out all the furniture, and she set her mind to perusing velvet chaise lounges and ornate dressers.

A month in, she woke in the middle of the night in discomfort. She was pregnant again, expecting a child in three months. She walked across the room to open the window, hoping for a breeze. The curtains billowed softly around her and the air chilled her enough that her arms prickled with goose bumps. From the bed, her husband sighed in his sleep, and when she got back in, he curled his arms around her. She kissed his forehead and stretched her limbs out, feeling like she was swathed in an ocean of silk.

The next time Vivian’s eyes opened, she was alone.

She sat up. Her heart beat wildly. She looked around for her husband, but he was nowhere to be seen.He left, Vivian thought, with a familiar lurch of panic.

“Richard?”

There was no answer, and suddenly the room was unbearably hot. The curtains hung limp; the air reeked of rust. Sweat trickled down her temples, and the sheets around her were soaked.

“??,” she whispered. “It’sso—”

She looked down and screamed.

She scrambled back, trying to throw off the sheets, but they weresticky, saturated with blood. It pooled on the floor next to the bed. Gasping, she realized the scent of rust was filling her throat until she was certain she would choke on it. She could only watch, dazed, as blood poured from a gaping wound in her stomach.

The next time Vivian’s eyes opened, her skin was slick with sweat. She shot up in bed and pulled cool air into her lungs. The windows were open. The curtains drifted gently. Her husband was by her side, his arms stretched out. She clutched her stomach protectively.

Vivian’s shoulders sagged with relief. A low pressure mounted behind her eyes, and she closed them tightly.

It was a nightmare; that was all it was.

Richard mumbled her name in his sleep.

“Sorry,” she whispered, settling against him again. She welled with love for him in that moment; she kissed his hand that draped over her collarbone and felt her mind quiet.

twelve

DECEMBER 1976

VIVIAN’Shusband wanted to give the house a name. All important houses had one, and he wanted to name it after her. Yin Manor. This place was hardly a manor, but still, it sounded like a proper, established estate that had been around for decades and would last for generations more. Vivian loved it. Now all that was left was to show it off.

This part Vivian was a bit more discerning about. She had young daughters, three now including the new baby, Renata. She knew, kids or not, some houses in Hollywood had parties that could last a full weekend, with people showing up at all hours and then sleeping it off in every corner. This house would first and foremost be a home for her family.

So they only hosted dinner parties every weekend. She and Richard approved the guest list together. Sometimes they hosted two guests, sometimes seven. Sometimes Vivian cooked and Richard made their drinks; sometimes they hired a chef who would construct a five-course meal with inventive appetizers and desserts, more things encased in gelatin than she knew was possible. But somehow the exclusivity made the invitations even more sought-after.

These dinners helped them both. They could talk to directors and invite producers and line up roles, all from their dining room. Vivian also wanted to show the house to her family.