Trivial details have been summoned, in part, to make a satirical point about upper-middle-class marriage-that the whole thing can slip away between the white wine and the arugula salad.
Naptime,ʺ said Christian, leading her toward the bed. ʺI still need a shower. ʺ ʺSleep first. Shower later. ʺ He pulled back the covers. ʺIʹll sleep with you. ʺ ʺSleep or sleep?ʺ she asked dryly, sliding gratefully into bed. ʺReal sleep. You need it. ʺ He crawled in beside her, spooning against her and resting his face on her shoulder. ʺOf course, afterward, if you want to conduct any official Council business. . . ʺ ʺI swear, if you say ‘Little Dragomirs,ʹ you can sleep in the hall.