Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle

Chapter 398: That’s All They Do

Arianne and Lexx stayed at the hospital for three more days.

The doctors wanted to observe them both: Arianne for her recovery, Lexx for the standard newborn checks every baby went through before being discharged. It was routine, they said. Nothing to worry about. Franz worried anyway, but he was learning to manage it, channeling the anxiety into practical action the way he’d learned to do during the pregnancy.

Only close family visited. The twins came every afternoon with Vincent and Amanda, their faces bright with excitement each time they pushed open the door. Lily brought a different book each day, determined to read to the baby even when he slept through most of her performances. Leo stationed himself beside the bassinet like a small, watchful guard, his eyes on his brother with an intensity he brought to everything.

Amanda always brought something: flowers, food, a soft blanket she’d found at a shop near the hospital. Vincent came without gifts but with a presence that filled the room in his own way. He didn’t say much. He never had. But he was there every afternoon, sitting in the chair near the window while Amanda fussed over the baby.

It was Vincent who surprised Arianne the most.

She had assumed — wrongly, as it turned out — that Vincent wouldn’t know how to hold a baby. He was the patriarch of the Rochefort family, the former CEO, a man who had spent decades in boardrooms and negotiations. He had always seemed, to her, like someone who kept a certain distance from the messier, more physical aspects of parenthood.

But on the second day, when Lexx woke from his nap crying — a thin, reedy wail that filled the small room — Vincent had risen from his chair without hesitation.

"May I?" he’d asked Arianne, his voice gruff but low.

She’d nodded.

Vincent lifted Lexx from the bassinet with practiced hands, cradling the baby’s head with the same care Amanda had shown Franz. He settled Lexx against his chest and began to rock him, a slow, steady rhythm that came from muscle memory rather than conscious thought. The crying tapered off into hiccups, then silence. Within minutes, Lexx was asleep.

"You’ve done that before," Arianne said.

"Three children," Vincent replied. "Alex, Franz, and—" He paused, and something moved across his face. "We lost one. Between Alex and Franz. A girl. She was born too early."

The room went to silence. Franz, watching from the chair beside Arianne’s bed, looked at his father with an expression Arianne couldn’t quite read.

"I didn’t know," Franz said.

"You were young. It wasn’t something we talked about." Vincent looked down at Lexx, asleep against his chest. "But I held her too. Just like this. For as long as they’d let me."

Amanda moved to her husband’s side and placed her hand on his arm. Neither of them spoke. The silence that followed was full, weighted with memory and grief and the persistence of love. Then Lexx stirred, made a small sound, and Vincent resumed his rocking.

Amanda and Aunt Estella took turns caring for the baby during those three days. They moved around each other with the ease of long practice, an efficient team. They taught Franz everything he needed to know: how to warm the breastmilk Arianne had pumped, how to test the temperature on his wrist, how to hold the bottle at the right angle so Lexx wouldn’t swallow air.

"Support his head," Amanda said, adjusting Franz’s arm for the third time. "You keep forgetting."

"I’m not forgetting. I’m just—"

"Nervous. I know. You’ll get used to it."

They taught him how to burp the baby after every feeding, a firm, rhythmic patting on the back that seemed to take forever but was apparently essential. They taught him how to change diapers, which was significantly more complicated than he’d expected. His hands were too big for the tiny fasteners, and he fumbled with the wipes, and Lexx chose the exact moment of the first diaper change to pee directly onto Franz’s shirt.

"He got you," Amanda said, laughing.

"I noticed."

"It’s good luck. The first time."

"I don’t feel lucky. I feel wet."

But he was smiling. Even with the wet shirt, even with the fumbling and the awkwardness and the constant, low-level anxiety that hummed beneath everything, he was smiling.

Lily brought a different storybook each day and read aloud to Lexx in her clear, expressive voice. The baby was rarely awake for these performances. He slept through most of them, his tiny face peaceful, his miniature fingers curled into fists, but Lily didn’t mind.

"The book says reading to babies is good for their brains," she explained to Arianne. "Even if they’re sleeping. Their brains hear the words."

"Where did you read that?"

"In a book. About babies. I’ve been reading."

"Of course you have."

On the third day, Lily paused mid-sentence and looked up from her book. "Why does he sleep so much? He’s always sleeping. Is he sick?"

"He’s not sick," Aunt Estella said, from her chair near the window. "That’s how babies are. They eat, they sleep, they pee, they poo, and they repeat. Over and over. Sleeping is how they grow."

"That’s it? That’s all they do?"

"That’s all they do. For now."

"That seems boring."

"It’s not boring for them. Everything is new when you’re a baby. Even sleeping is new."

Lily considered this, then turned back to her book. "Well, he’s going to have very good dreams, then. Because I’m reading him the best stories."

Franz, sitting near the window, looked across the room at Arianne. She was watching Lily with an expression he didn’t see on her face often, something unguarded and warm. She caught his eye and the expression didn’t change. She just let him see it.

He held that the way you hold something fragile. Then he looked back at his daughter, reading aloud to a sleeping baby who would not remember any of it, and thought: this is what it’s supposed to be.