Chapter 310: His Return
The car pulled into the drive just as the evening light began to soften toward dusk.
Franz stepped out before the engine had fully died. He’d been in the car for hours — the remote shoot had wrapped late, and he’d driven straight from the location instead of waiting for morning. His bag was in the backseat. His hair was longer than it had been when he left, falling across his forehead. He hadn’t stopped to cut it. He hadn’t stopped for anything.
The front door opened before he reached it.
Lily burst through first, her shoes slapping against the stone, her hair streaming behind her. She launched herself at him without slowing down, and he caught her mid-stride, swinging her up into his arms.
"You’re back, you’re back, you’re back—"
"I’m back."
"You were gone so long. We crossed off all the days on the calendar. Every single one. Leo did the last one this morning. He said it was his turn."
Leo had reached them now. He didn’t run the way Lily did. He walked, his pace steady, the whale under one arm. When he reached Franz, he stopped. Looked up. Then pressed himself against Franz’s side without speaking.
Franz shifted Lily to one arm and dropped his other hand to Leo’s shoulder. "I missed you both."
Lily pulled back to look at his face. "Your hair is longer."
"I know."
"You look different."
"I’m the same."
"You look different but the same."
"That’s probably accurate."
Over Lily’s head, Franz looked toward the house. Arianne stood in the doorway. She hadn’t come down the steps. She hadn’t called out. She was leaning against the frame, her arms crossed, watching.
He met her eyes.
She didn’t move toward him. She didn’t need to. The twins had him now. She’d waited weeks. She could wait a little longer.
He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then Lily tugged at his collar. "We made soup. Aunt Estella helped. Well, she made it and we watched. Leo cut the carrots."
"He cut the carrots?"
"He tried. They were uneven."
Franz carried Lily inside. Leo walked beside him, his hand now gripping the edge of Franz’s jacket. The door closed behind them.
Dinner was chaos in the way that only dinner with five-year-olds could be.
The twins had claimed the seats on either side of Franz. Lily had physically moved her chair closer to his before sitting down. Leo had placed the whale on the table beside his plate, a sentinel watching over the meal. Neither of them had stopped talking since Franz walked through the door.
"Did you fight anyone in the show? Like Aunt Aria fought those men?"
"There’s some action scenes. Nothing like Aunt Aria."
"Did you see the whales? We’re supposed to see whales this summer. Real ones. Leo wants to see them in person. Not pictures."
"Not yet. That’s for summer."
"When is the hospital episode? You said three months. Is it three months now? How many days is three months?"
"Less than it was. We’re getting closer."
Leo typed something and held up his tablet: STAYING.
Franz looked at the screen. At Leo’s steady gaze. "I’m staying," he said. "I’ll be here in the morning. I promise."
Leo held his gaze for a moment longer. Then he nodded. Returned to his dinner.
Arianne sat across from Franz. She ate quietly, her spoon moving from bowl to mouth in slow, measured motions. She didn’t interject. She let the twins have him. Every few minutes, she glanced up and found him looking at her.
Neither of them spoke.
Under the table, his foot found hers. Pressed gently against her ankle. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t acknowledge it in her expression. But her foot stayed where it was, warm against his.
The night routine took longer than usual.
The twins were electric with the energy of Franz’s return. Lily kept popping up from her pillow, her hair wild, Petal clutched in one hand.
"Is Uncle Franz really staying? He’s not leaving again in the morning? What about the hospital episode? Can we visit the set? Leo wants to see the cameras. I want to see the costumes. Can we—"
"Lily." Arianne’s voice was calm. "He’s staying. You’ll see him in the morning. Lie down."
Lily lay down. Three seconds passed. "But what if—"
"He’s not leaving. Lie down."
Leo was quieter but no less resistant to sleep. He lay on his back, the Lion tucked beside him, his eyes wide open. He typed something on his tablet and held it up: UNCLE FRANZ HERE.
"Yes. He’s here. He’ll be here when you wake up."
Leo stared at her. Then he typed: GOOD.
Arianne pulled the blanket up to his chin. The Lion’s mended arm was visible, the new button eye catching the lamplight. She smoothed Leo’s hair back from his forehead.
"Go to sleep. Both of you."
It took another ten minutes. Lily asked three more questions. Leo didn’t type anything else, but his eyes stayed open long after Lily’s had closed. Finally, his breathing evened out. The Lion rose and fell with his chest.
Arianne stood. Crossed to the door. Paused with her hand on the light switch. Looked back at the twins — Lily sprawled across her pillow, Petal under her chin. Leo curled on his side, the Lion in the crook of his elbow.
She turned off the light. Left the door cracked.
Her study was across the hall from the twins’ room. She’d left the desk lamp on earlier, and the room was dim, the corners in shadow. Papers were spread across the surface — the Conway documents she’d been reviewing before dinner, her notes in the margins. She began tidying them into neat stacks, her back to the door.
The door opened.
She didn’t turn. She heard his footsteps, soft against the floor. The door clicked shut. She kept tidying.
His hands found the desk on either side of her, trapping her between his body and the wood. She felt the warmth of him before he touched her. He didn’t touch her yet. He just stood there, close enough that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
She looked up. Raised a brow.
"I thought you’d be happy to see me," he said.
"I am."
"You didn’t come to the door."
"The twins were there."
"You kept looking at me during dinner."
"I was making sure you were eating."
"You were staring."
"I was observing."
He turned her around. Gently. His hands on her shoulders, guiding her until her back was against the desk and she was facing him. His hair was longer. It fell across his forehead. She’d noticed. She hadn’t said anything.
He cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. The touch was light, almost tentative, the way he always was with her — giving her room to pull away. She didn’t pull away.
"Mrs. Rochefort," he said. "You are quite cruel to me."
His forehead pressed against hers. She sighed. Her hands found his shoulders. Drew him closer.
He kissed her forehead first. Then her closed eyes. The corner of her mouth. Then her lips.
The kiss started gentle and became something else. His mouth moved against hers with a hunger he’d been holding back since the driveway. Her fingers slid into his hair — longer now, she’d been right — and pulled him closer. His tongue slid against hers. Her back pressed into the edge of the desk.
He unbuttoned the top buttons of her dress shirt, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw to the curve of her neck. She gasped. Her head tipped back.
He felt her shiver. Smiled against her skin.
"Your body is more honest than usual, love."
She didn’t answer. Her fingers tightened in his hair, a reaction to the sudden endearment from him.
His voice dropped lower. "You should keep your voice down. Unless you want the twins to know what we’re doing."
The implication hung in the air. The study. The desk. The twins’ room across the hall, door cracked, two children finally asleep.
She flushed and he saw it.
Afterward, she retrieved her undergarments from the floor. Adjusted her shirt. Her fingers were slightly unsteady on the buttons. She’d never done that before. Not here. Not outside a bedroom. Intimacy had always been contained — his room, his bed, the spaces where doors locked and twins didn’t wander in.
Franz watched her from the edge of the desk. He hadn’t moved. His shirt was rumpled. His hair was a mess. He looked like a man who had barely started.
She glanced at him. Looked away.
He crossed to her in two steps. Pinned her against the door. Kissed her until she couldn’t breathe.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough. "We can move to my room. If you’re uncomfortable."
She shook her head. "No."
He waited.
"My room is closer."
He stilled.
Her room. The one she’d retreated to every night he’d been gone. The one where she’d slept because his bed was too empty, his pillow still holding the faint trace of him. She’d never invited him in. Not like this. Not by choice.
He didn’t make a speech. He didn’t ask if she was sure. He just looked at her for a long moment, his hand still on the door beside her head.
"Okay," he said.
She opened the door. Led him across the hall.
Her bedroom was dim. The curtains were open, the evening light barely visible through the trees outside. The bed was made. The room smelled like her — the faint trace of whatever soap she used, the particular stillness of a space that was hers alone.
Franz stopped in the doorway. Looked around. He’d been inside this room before she moved in, but never like this. Never by invitation. Never with the door closing behind him.
She was standing beside the bed, her shirt still rumpled, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked like someone who had been kissed thoroughly and was about to be kissed again.
She reached for him.
He met her halfway.
