Chapter 351: Wonderful News
The rumors had spread overnight, the way rumors always did.
Noah Hart had left the filming set mid-production. No official statement had been released by the crew or his team, but the absence was notable enough that industry insiders had begun to whisper. Some connected it to his speech at the awards ceremony, the heartfelt confession that he had known Arianne Summers since he was eight years old. That single detail had ignited a firestorm of speculation about his background.
If he’d grown up in the same circles as the Summers and Rocheforts and Pembertons, then who was he really? Some suggested he was a Rochefort himself. Others pointed to his closeness with Sam Pemberton, the familiarity with which Gilbert treated him. Noah Hart’s private life had always been a locked door, and the public could only press their ears against it and guess.
Meanwhile, news of Arianne Summers collapsing at Rochefort Group had leaked through insider channels. The official story was vague. A health scare, a brief hospitalization, nothing more. The implications rippled outward. Chairman Vincent Rochefort had stepped in to handle the company’s affairs. Franz Rochefort, the younger brother who had rarely been seen in the building, had taken over certain responsibilities. Arianne was stepping back, at least temporarily. No explanation was given.
The fans connected the dots. Noah’s early departure from set. Arianne’s collapse. Rochefort Group’s sudden leadership change. Something had happened to her, and Noah had rushed to her side. The fan forums erupted with concern. Prayers and well-wishes and fiercely protective messages aimed at anyone who dared suggest she was anything less than beloved.
There were, of course, uglier rumors. The usual whispers from the usual corners. The Rochefort family was displeased with Arianne’s involvement with Noah Hart. They wanted her out of the public eye. They were using this as an excuse to remove her from the company. The gossips had been saying such things for months, and they were saying them again now, louder, emboldened by the lack of information.
The fans shut them down within hours. They had been protecting Noah Hart for years, and now they protected Arianne. The negative voices were overwhelmed, buried under wave of support. Get well soon, sister-in-law. We’re praying for you. Take all the time you need.
Franz was aware of the rumors. Monica had briefed him that morning, a brief update delivered in his email while the estate was just waking up. He read, nodded, and filed the information away without comment. The public could speculate all they wanted. His focus was elsewhere.
The estate was calm. Morning light filtered through the windows, pale and golden, the first real heat of mid-April settling over the gardens. The calendar on the refrigerator showed a week of crossed-off days. The ordinary rhythms of their life, unchanged by the sudden change that had shaken through them last night.
Arianne was asleep.
Franz had woken at dawn, the way he always did, and spent the first hour watching her breathe. She was in his bed—not her own, not the private space she had guarded so carefully for so long. His bed. She had let him lead her there last night after the hospital discharged her, had let him pull back the covers and settle her against the pillows. She had held his hand as she drifted off, her fingers curled loosely around his, and she had not let go.
He had expected her to retreat. After the breakdown in the hospital room, after the tears and the terror and the overwhelming weight of everything she had learned, he had expected her to withdraw into herself the way she had done so many times before. To close the door of her own room and process alone. That was who she had always been. The woman who carried her burdens in silence, who never asked for help, who had learned at a very young age that vulnerability was dangerous.
She hadn’t retreated. She had stayed. She was here, her dark hair spread across his pillow, her face relaxed in sleep, her hand loosely curled around his. She had chosen to stay close to him. Even in her fear, even in her uncertainty, she had chosen him.
He didn’t know what that meant for the weeks ahead. He didn’t know if she would find her way to joy, or if the shadows of her past would continue to hold her. She had stayed. That was enough for now.
Daryll and Monica arrived mid-morning.
Franz met them in the sitting room, pulling the door shut behind him so they wouldn’t wake Arianne. Monica was carrying two cups of coffee from the shop near the studio, one of which she handed to Franz without comment. Daryll was already checking his phone, his expression the particular blend of focused and calm that meant he was managing multiple crises simultaneously.
"The rumors are contained," Daryll said without preamble. "No official statements yet. Director Yang is keeping the set closed. No one’s confirmed anything about Arianne’s condition. The fans are handling the negative gossip themselves—they’ve been very effective."
"I know. Monica briefed me."
"Good. Then you know the situation is stable." Daryll pocketed his phone. "How is she?"
"Sleeping. She’s been sleeping since we got home."
Monica stepped forward. "Congratulations, Franz."
Franz looked at her. Her expression was knowing, the corners of her mouth curved in a small smile that suggested she had been waiting to say this for a while.
"You knew," he said.
Monica shrugged. "I’ve been pregnant once. The fatigue. The restlessness. The way she’s been falling asleep at odd hours and losing focus during the day. It looked very familiar." She paused. "I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain. It wasn’t my news to speculate about."
"You could have told me."
"You were already worried about her. Adding speculation wouldn’t have helped." She met his eyes. "But I’m glad it’s true. You’ll be wonderful parents."
Daryll, who had been listening with a furrowed brow, raised a hand. "Wait. What news?"
"Arianne is pregnant," Franz said.
Daryll blinked. Then his expression moved, surprise giving way to genuine pleasure, the kind that rarely surfaced through his professional demeanor. He stepped forward and clapped Franz on the shoulder. "Congratulations. That’s—that’s wonderful news."
"Thank you."
"How is she? Is she all right? The collapse—"
"The collapse was a combination of low blood pressure, and the pregnancy symptoms on top of her workload. She’s stable now. The doctor wants her to rest." Franz paused. "The symptoms might worsen until she reaches sixteen weeks. That’s another four weeks. I need to be here."
Daryll nodded immediately. "I’ll talk to Director Yang. Given the circumstances, he’ll accommodate a schedule adjustment. You’ve never asked for anything like this before—he’ll understand."
"Tell him I’ll make up the hours. Whatever he needs."
"He won’t ask for that. But I’ll tell him." Daryll paused. "There’s something else. I’ve officially notified Bluegate that you won’t be renewing your contract. It’s done. They took it about as well as expected—Lena Quinn was not pleased. But it’s official."
Franz felt a weight lift from his shoulders. One less thing to carry. One less uncertainty pressing down on him. "Thank you. For everything."
"You don’t need to thank me. Just take care of your wife." Daryll glanced toward the stairs, where Arianne was sleeping. "And yourself. You look like you haven’t slept."
"I slept enough."
"You slept in a chair, didn’t you?"
"It was a very comfortable chair."
Daryll shook his head, but there was something almost fond in his expression.
"Monica and I will handle the press. You focus on your family. We’ll talk about the schedule after I’ve spoken with Director Yang."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Franz. Congratulations. Really. You deserve this."
Monica followed, pausing to squeeze Franz’s arm. "She’s going to be fine. She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. And she has you. That counts for a lot."
They left. The estate settled back into its settled rhythm.
Franz waited in the kitchen for the twins to wake up.
A brighter light fell across the table now, touching Leo’s tablet and the whale where they waited. The calendar on the refrigerator showed the day’s date, mid-April, the season turning toward summer. The blanket fort in the sitting room had been partially dismantled and rebuilt twice since the new year, each iteration more elaborate than the last.
He heard them before they appeared at the stairs. Lily’s voice, already mid-sentence, floating down.
"—and I had a dream about whales, which is Leo’s favorite thing, so maybe it was a premonition. Do you think dreams can be premonitions? I read about them in a book. Sometimes people dream about things before they happen. It’s called—"
Lily appeared in her rabbit pajamas, Petal under one arm. Leo followed, the whale in one hand, his tablet in the other. He was blinking sleep from his eyes.
"Uncle Franz!" Lily’s face brightened. "You’re home! I thought you were filming today. Did you come back early? Is Mommy Aria home too? Why aren’t you at work?"
Franz knelt to their level. "I need to tell you something. About Mommy Aria."
Lily’s expression changed immediately—the brightness dimming, replaced by the careful attention she always gave to serious things. Leo stopped in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on Franz.
"She’s all right," Franz said quickly. "She’s fine. She’s sleeping upstairs. But something happened yesterday, and I want to explain it to you."
He told them about the pregnancy. About the baby that was growing in Arianne’s belly, twelve weeks along. About how Arianne had been very tired and hadn’t known why, and how the doctors had helped her understand. About how she would need to rest more in the coming weeks, and how she might feel sick sometimes, and how they could help her by being patient and kind and understanding.
Lily listened with her whole body—her eyes wide, her hands clasped around Petal, her mouth open. Leo didn’t type anything. He just stood there, the whale pressed against his chest, watching Franz intently.
"So the baby is coming," Lily said finally. "The real baby. Our baby."
"Yes."
"The one we’ve been practicing for."
"Yes."
Lily looked at Leo. Leo looked at Lily. Something passed between them—the silent communication they had shared since birth.
"We’re ready," Lily announced. "We’ve been ready for months. Leo has been practicing being a big brother. I have a list of names. We can take care of Mommy Aria while she’s sick. We’re very responsible."
"I know you are." Franz reached out and pulled them both into his arms. Lily tucked herself against his shoulder. Leo leaned into his side, the whale squashed between them. "She’s going to need all of us. She’s going to be fine. And the baby is going to be fine. And we’re going to be a family. More than we already are."
"We’re already a family," Lily said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "This is just adding a new member."
"Yes. It is."
"Good." She pulled back and looked at him with the fierce determination that was so purely Lily. "We have a lot of work to do. We need to prepare. There are books to read. And the baby’s room needs to be set up. And we have to tell Kyle. And Grandma and Grandpa. And—"
"Later," Franz said. "Right now, let’s let Mommy Aria sleep. When she wakes up, you can tell her how ready you are."
"I will," Lily said. "I have a speech prepared."
"Of course you do."
Leo typed something on his tablet and held it up: TELL MOMMY ARIA WE LOVE HER.
Franz looked at the screen. At the boy holding it. At the girl who was already planning her speech.
"I will," he said. "I promise."
