Chapter 237: Breaking Dawn
The front door opened. Franz held it for her. Arianne stepped inside.
The house was quiet. The twins were asleep in the east wing. Their door would be closed. Aunt Estella’s light was off. The hallway was dark except for the gray light coming through the windows. Dawn was breaking. The sky was pale and tired.
Arianne stopped in the foyer. Looked around. The staircase that led to the east wing. Her wing. Her study. Her bedroom. The twins’ rooms.
She’d walked through this foyer a hundred times. But right now it felt different. Like she was seeing it for the first time.
Franz closed the door behind them. The lock clicked.
He stood there. Waiting.
She didn’t say anything.
He started talking.
He told her about the calls. The entertainment outlets. The threats to kill the stories. He told her about the cease and desist from his personal lawyer. He told her about the Rochefort Group statement.
He talked fast.
"I didn’t want you to come home to that," he said. "I wanted it gone before you landed."
Arianne rubbed her temple. Her jaw was tight. Her head had been hurting since the plane.
"You used the company," she said.
"I used every name I have. Including the ones on the board."
She looked at him. "You’re on the board, Franz. You know how this works. You can’t just issue statements without a vote. Without telling me."
"The board would have voted yes."
"That’s not the point."
He knew she was right. She could see it on his face. He wasn’t arguing. He was just explaining. But the explanation didn’t matter.
"The board is going to ask questions," she said.
"Then I’ll answer them."
"They’re going to ask both of us. Together. In a room. While they wonder why the two people running the company can’t communicate about major public statements."
He stopped. His mouth closed.
She watched him process it. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d thought about protecting her from the media. He hadn’t thought about the board. He hadn’t thought about how this would look. Two people sharing authority. One of them making a decision without the other.
"I’m sorry," he said.
She sighed. Long. Tired. Her hand dropped from her temple.
"It would be nice," she said, "if you could give me a heads up. Before you do something like this. So I’m not reading about it on a plane at 4 AM. So I’m not the last person to find out what my own company did."
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I didn’t think—"
"No. You didn’t. You thought about protecting me from the media. You didn’t think about protecting me from the consequences of your protection."
He reached for her. His hand came up. Not grabbing. Just offering.
She looked at his hand.
She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t step closer. She just stood there. Looking at his fingers. His palm. The small scar on the back of his hand.
She didn’t take it.
His hand hung in the air between them.
He let it drop.
"I’m tired," she said. "I need to sleep."
She walked toward the staircase. She climbed the stairs and turned to the east wing. Her skirt moved with her. Franz’s cap was still on her head. Her shorter hair stuck out from under the brim.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t hear him follow. She didn’t hear him call her name.
She walked down the upstairs hallway. Past the twins’ closed door. Past her study. To her bedroom.
She opened the door. Went inside. Closed it behind her.
The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. The bed was made. No one had been in here while she was gone. She could tell.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Put her head in her hands.
Franz’s cap was still on her head. She took it off. Looked at it.
It was just a black cap. Nothing special. But it had been on his head. And then he put it on hers.
She set it on the nightstand.
She lay down. Didn’t bother changing clothes. Didn’t bother pulling back the covers. She just lay on top of the bed and stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling was white. There was a small crack near the corner. She’d never noticed it before. She wondered how long it had been there.
She closed her eyes.
The hurricane. The hotel with no power. The eighteen-hour flight. The photos. The crowd. The screaming. Franz’s hand in hers. His cap on her head.
She was too tired to process any of it.
She opened her eyes. Stared at the ceiling again.
The crack was still there.
She didn’t move.
Downstairs, Franz stood in the foyer.
He hadn’t moved. Not really. He’d watched her climb the stairs. Watched her walk down the east wing hallway. Heard her bedroom door close.
He didn’t follow.
She didn’t want him to. That was clear. She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. The way she walked up the stairs said it. The way she didn’t look back said it. The way she didn’t take his hand said it.
He stood there in the dark foyer. The gray light from the windows was getting brighter. Dawn was turning into morning. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was lighter. The trees outside were bare. The branches looked like lines drawn on the sky.
He looked at his hands.
The hands that made the calls. That held the phone while he threatened editors. That demanded a cease and desist. That held her hand in the airport.
He was on the board. He shared authority. He should have known better. He should have called her. He should have waited. He should have asked.
He didn’t do any of those things.
She was right. He’d been so focused on making the problem go away that he didn’t think about what would come after. The board. The questions. The perception that they couldn’t communicate. The fact that she found out from headlines instead of from him.
Franz shoved his hands in his pockets.
The west wing was on the other side of the house. His wing. His bedroom. His study. He’d been sleeping there since she left. The bed was cold on the left side. The pillow still smelled faintly of her shampoo, but the scent was almost gone. He’d stopped pressing his face into it at night. That had made it worse.
The hallway was long. The floors were hardwood. His footsteps were quiet. The house was so quiet he could only hear his footsteps.
He passed the living room. The chairs were dark. The fireplace was cold. No one had been in there since she left.
He passed the dining room. The table was set. Estella always kept it set. Forks and knives and napkins. Waiting for people to sit down.
He reached the west wing. His bedroom door was closed. He opened it. Went inside.
The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. The bed was unmade. He’d left it that way this morning. Or yesterday morning. He didn’t remember.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Didn’t lie down. Just sat there.
The house was quiet. The twins were asleep in the east wing. Arianne was in her bedroom. Her door was closed.
He didn’t follow.
He wouldn’t.
Not tonight.
He looked at his hands again. He didn’t know what to do with them.
So he just sat there. In the dark. In his room in the west wing. Alone.
The sky outside was getting lighter. Morning was coming. He didn’t know if he would sleep. He didn’t know if she would sleep. He didn’t know if the twins would wake up and ask where she was.
And waited.