Chapter 227: There’s Only Her
Franz stood on the front steps and watched the car disappear down the driveway.
The morning was cold. Late winter cold. The kind that bit through his jacket and made his fingers ache. His breath fogged in front of him with every exhale. The car got smaller and smaller, the red of its tail lights fading to nothing, until it turned onto the main road and was gone.
Arianne was gone.
He stood there for another minute. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders hunched. The driveway was empty. The trees along the fence line were bare. Everything looked gray and waiting.
Then he went inside.
He thought about this morning.
He had woken before the alarm. The room was dark, the curtains still drawn. Only a thin line of gray where the fabric didn’t quite meet. She was curled against his side, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing slow and even.
He didn’t move. Just lay there and listened to her breathe and watched the ceiling slowly appear as the night faded.
When she woke, she looked at him like she already knew what he was thinking. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep. Her hair spread across the pillow. She didn’t look away from him the way she did when other people were watching.
"You’re still here," she said. Her voice was rough.
"So are you."
"I have a flight."
"It’s not until nine."
She smiled. Small. Just for him.
They made love the first time slow. No rush. Just the warmth of waking up together, the sheets tangled around their legs, the light getting brighter outside the curtains. Her hands in his hair. His mouth on her shoulder. The way she said his name when she thought he wasn’t listening.
Afterward, they showered together. The water was hot. Steam filled the bathroom and fogged the mirror. She washed his hair, her fingers working through the strands, and he pressed her against the tile. The water ran down both of them, pooling at their feet.
The second time was faster. Not rushed. Just certain.
And still, when they got out, when she wrapped herself in a towel and started pinning her hair up for the day, he didn’t feel ready. He stood there dripping on the bath mat, watching her reflection in the mirror.
"Newlyweds get a month," he said.
She paused. Looked at him in the mirror. Her hands were still in her hair. "What?"
"A honeymoon. A month long." He leaned against the doorframe. "I understand it now."
She turned to face him. Her hair was half-pinned, half-falling around her shoulders. She looked annoyed. She looked beautiful.
"Franz."
"We should have one."
"We have a trip planned. A week."
"A week isn’t enough."
"A week was hard enough to squeeze between our schedules." She walked to him and put her hand flat on his chest. "A month would be impossible."
"Then we should make it possible."
She studied him for a long moment. Her hand was warm against his skin. Then she pushed him back a step. Just a little. Just enough to make her point.
"Later," she said. "Not now. I have a flight."
He caught her wrist. Didn’t pull. Just held.
"I don’t want you to go."
"I know."
She kissed him then. Short. Firm. Then she finished pinning her hair, dressed in the tailored clothes she always traveled in, and walked out of the bedroom.
He watched her go. Then he got dressed and followed.
The house was quiet after she left.
Not empty. The twins were here. Aunt Estella was in the kitchen making breakfast. But someone was missing. Franz walked down the hallway. His footsteps echoed off the hardwood. The house felt bigger than it had this morning.
He checked on the twins. Lily was in the sitting room, already drawing at the low table by the window. Leo was on the floor with a box of blocks, building something that looked like a tower but might have been a spaceship. Neither looked up when he passed.
They were fine. That was the difference.
Last time Arianne left, Leo had stood outside her closed door with the lion keychain clutched in his fist. Lily had refused to eat. There had been tears and silence and a kind of sadness that didn’t have a name.
This time, Lily was humming.
Franz watched from the doorway for a moment. The sound of her humming drifted across the room, soft and tuneless and content. Leo fit two blocks together without looking up.
Then Franz went to his study.
He worked through the morning and into the early afternoon.
The stack of documents on his desk was smaller than it would have been a month ago. He had gotten faster. He signed. He reviewed. He initialed.
He thought about Arianne. About the car driving away. About this morning in the shower. About the way she had said later like it was a promise.
He signed the last document and set down his pen. The afternoon light had changed. It was later than he thought.
He found the twins in the sitting room.
The TV was off. The only sounds were the soft scratch of crayons on paper and the click of puzzle pieces being fitted together. Late winter sun came through the windows, pale and low, stretching long shadows across the floor.
Lily was on the couch. Her legs tucked under her. A coloring book open on her lap. She was working on a lion—half-finished in shades of orange and brown, the mane already taking shape. She was humming. Not a real song. Just a tune she was making up as she went.
Leo was on the floor. A puzzle spread out in front of him on the rug—a landscape, mountains and sky, maybe a hundred pieces. He worked slow and methodical. Finding the edges first, then the corners, then filling in the middle. He didn’t look up when Franz walked in.
Neither of them showed any sign of distress.
Franz lowered himself onto the couch. Not right next to Lily. There was space between them. But close enough that she could lean against him if she wanted to.
She didn’t. She kept drawing. Kept humming.
That was fine. That was the point.
Franz picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Not because he wanted to watch. But because the silence had started to feel too heavy.
The screen cut to entertainment news. The anchor was a woman with bright blonde hair and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
"Noah Hart and Arianne Summers. The speculation continues. Sources close to the couple confirm they’ve been seen together multiple times, but neither has officially commented on the nature of their relationship."
Franz’s hand stopped on the remote. He left it on the channel.
"But another rumor has resurfaced today. Allegations that Hart has been involved with A-list actress Miranda Kline. The two worked together on a project two years ago, and sources insist the relationship has continued beyond the production."
A photo appeared on the screen. Franz and Miranda at a premiere. Standing next to each other. Not touching. Not smiling. Just two people who had been told to stand in the same spot for a photograph.
"Hart’s team has denied the rumors previously. But the timing of this resurfacing—coinciding with his rumored new relationship—has raised questions."
Franz set down the remote. His jaw was tight.
Lily raised her head. Her crayon stopped moving. She looked at the screen, at the photo, and her forehead scrunched up.
"Uncle Franz."
"Mm."
"Who’s that woman?"
Franz looked at the TV. Then at Lily. Then back at the TV. The anchor had moved on to another story, but the photo was still in the corner of the screen.
"Someone I worked with a long time ago. We did a project together. A movie."
"She’s pretty."
"I suppose."
Lily tilted her head. She was studying him now. Looking for the thing underneath the thing.
"Is she your friend?"
"No. We worked together. That’s all."
"Then why are they talking about her?"
Franz breathed out. Rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Because that’s what they do. They talk about things that aren’t true. They make up stories because stories get people to watch."
Lily thought about this for a moment. Her crayon was still in her hand. Orange. The lion’s mane wasn’t finished.
"Is it true?" she asked.
"No."
"Okay."
She went back to her lion. Didn’t ask again. Didn’t demand proof. Didn’t even look up. She just believed him.
Leo’s hand stopped moving.
He didn’t look up at the TV. He didn’t look at Franz. But his hand stopped, hovering over the puzzle, a piece held between his fingers.
Then he reached for his tablet. Typed with both thumbs. Turned the screen toward Franz.
AUNT ARIA SHOULDN’T SEE.
Franz stared at the screen. The words were simple. Blocky letters on a white background.
Then he laughed.
Not loud. Just a breath. A huff of air that carried more weight than it should have. The absurdity of it. The timing. His wife had been gone for less than a day, and the rumor mill was already trying to invent problems. But underneath the absurdity, something else. Leo, who rarely showed what he felt, protecting Arianne from across the room.
Lily looked up. "What’s funny?"
"Nothing."
"You laughed."
"I exhaled."
She narrowed her eyes. "That was a laugh."
Leo typed again. Turned the screen.
IT WAS A LAUGH.
Franz shook his head. He reached down, picked up Leo’s tablet, and typed something himself. His thumbs moved slower than Leo’s, but he got the words right.
THERE’S NO ONE ELSE.
He handed the tablet back. Leo read the words. His face didn’t change—Leo’s face rarely changed—but he nodded once. Small. Decisive.
Lily was watching both of them now. Her crayon forgotten on the couch cushion.
Franz turned to face her properly. He wanted her to hear this.
"There’s nothing going on between me and that woman. There never was. We worked together. The project ended. We haven’t talked since."
Lily waited.
"There’s only your Aunt Aria. For me. There’s only her."
Lily’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile. Something softer. Something that looked like relief.
"Good," she said. "She’s better anyway."
"She is."
Leo picked up his puzzle piece. Fitted it into place without looking at it. His attention was already back on the mountains and sky.
Franz leaned back into the couch. The remote was still in his hand. He turned off the TV.
The room went quiet again. But it wasn’t heavy anymore.
Lily hummed. Leo fit another piece. The late winter sun stretched across the floor.
Franz watched them. His wife was gone. But she was coming back. And the twins believed him when he said there was no one else.
He let his shoulders drop. Let the couch hold him.
The morning had been cold. The house had felt big. But now, with the twins humming and clicking and filling the space with small, steady sounds, it didn’t feel so empty anymore.