Franz returned ho in the late afternoon, the sumr light slanting through the windows. He’d finished filming hours ago but hadn’t changed out of the costu that belonged to Noah Hart’s character, not to him. He had forty minutes before he needed to leave for Rochefort Group. Forty minutes to check on Arianne, to see the twins, to remind himself that the world outside this estate was not the only world that mattered.
He found them in the sitting room.
The scene was so unexpectedly dostic that he stopped in the doorway without announcing himself. Arianne was on the couch, a book open on her lap, her posture relaxed in a way it rarely was outside these walls. She was wearing a loose sweater, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the hem falling past her hips. The small curve of her belly was visible beneath the fabric now, a gentle swell that she no longer tried to hide.
Lily was tucked against her left side, her legs folded beneath her, her eyes fixed on the page. Leo sat on Arianne’s right, the whale beside him on the cushion, his tablet forgotten on the coffee table.
"Sound it out," Arianne was saying, her finger tracing beneath a word on the page. "Break it into pieces."
Lily leaned forward.
"Per-spec-tive. Perspective!" She looked up at Arianne with bright, expectant eyes. "What does it an?"
"It ans the way you see sothing. Your point of view."
"Oh." Lily filed this away with the efficiency of soone who had been collecting words her entire life. "So if I look at a tree from the front and Leo looks at it from the side, we have different perspectives."
"Yes."
"But it’s the sa tree."
"Yes."
"That’s interesting." Lily returned to the page, already searching for the next big word. She read the next sentence aloud, her voice clear and confident, stumbling only once on a word she didn’t recognize. "What does ’e-lab-or-ate’ an?"
"Elaborate. It ans to explain sothing in more detail."
"Like when I tell Uncle Gilbert about my day and I don’t skip any parts."
"Exactly."
Franz watched from the doorway. Arianne’s voice was patient, unhurried. She’d been teaching them for a while—the book was a favorite, the pages worn at the corners, and Lily was already halfway through it. This was new. This unhurried afternoon ritual. Soti in the past week, while he was on set and Arianne was resting between bouts of sickness, she had started teaching the twins to read.
Leo was watching his sister with intense concentration, his lips moving as he tried to copy the shapes of her words. He’d been doing this for months—practicing in the bathroom mirror, mouthing words with no sound, teaching himself to speak again where no one could see him fail. Here, now, in the afternoon light with his family around him, he was trying to do it aloud.
"L," he said. His voice was rough, the sound scraping its way out of his throat. "L-lll. Llll-ook. Look."
The word was slow. Stretched. Each syllable a small battle fought and won. It was clear. It was audible. It was spoken.
Lily stopped reading. She didn’t say anything. She just sat beside Arianne without moving, her dark eyes fixed on her brother, her hands folded in her lap.
"Good," Arianne said. "Try the next one."
Leo stared at the page. His brow furrowed. His lips moved, practicing the shape of the next word before he attempted it aloud. "Aaa-at. At. At the. At the t-t—" He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "Tree."
Two words. Three, if you counted the one Lily had already read. At the tree. A full phrase, rough and new, spoken aloud for the first ti since the accident.
Arianne reached over and placed her hand on his head. Her palm rested there, steady, her fingers brushing through his hair. "That was very good, Leo. You worked hard."
Lily exploded.
"You did it!" She launched herself across Arianne’s lap and threw her arms around her brother with the full force of a five-year-old who had been waiting for this mont for months. "You read three words! Out loud! I heard you! Leo, you’re going to talk more soon, I know you are, and if you have trouble reading you should ask because I’m very good at big words now, I just learned ’elaborate’ and ’perspective,’ and I can help you practice—"
Leo, crushed beneath his sister’s embrace, made a small sound that might have been protest or might have been laughter. His eyes t Franz’s across the room. He’d been seen.
Franz stepped into the room. "That was impressive, Leo."
Leo straightened. His cheeks were flushed, but his expression was steady. He nodded, the sa nod he’d been giving for months, the one that ant acknowledgnt and gratitude and subdued pride all at once.
"Three words," Franz said. "That’s three more than yesterday."
Leo reached for his tablet, a habit, reaching for the words he knew how to say without sound, then stopped. His lips moved. "Mmm. Mmmore. More t-tomorrow."
The sentence was broken. Stuttering. Barely a whisper at the end. It was a sentence. Spoken aloud. A promise.
"I know you will," Franz said.
Arianne looked up at him from the couch. Her hand was on Leo’s head. Her expression was calm, but there was sothing beneath it, satisfied and settled. She’d been here for this. She’d guided him through it. She’d waited, patient and steady, while he fought his way through three small words.
"How are you feeling?" Franz asked her.
"Better. The morning sickness is lessening. I actually kept breakfast down today." She paused. "I’m hungry again. Properly hungry. I was going to ask if you could bring sothing ho later. There’s a specific thing I’ve been wanting."
"What thing?"
"There’s a dish at the restaurant near the company. The one with the red awning. They do a pasta with lemon and garlic. I’ve been thinking about it for two days."
"Then I’ll get it for you."
"Thank you."
He leaned down and kissed her. It was a brief kiss, casual and familiar, the kind of kiss they exchanged a dozen tis a day now without thinking about it. His hand cupped her cheek. Her lips curved against his. The twins were right there, and neither of them reacted except for Lily, who made a small sound that might have been approval.
"I have to go to Rochefort Group," Franz said, straightening. "I might be ho a little late tonight. Father needs to sign off on so things."
"Should we wait up for you?" Lily asked.
"No. You should sleep. I’ll be ho before you wake up."
"Will you bring the pasta for Mommy Aria?"
"I will."
"And will you check on us? When you get ho? Even if we’re asleep?"
"I always do."
Lily seed satisfied with this answer. She turned back to the book, already searching for the next challenging word. Leo picked up his whale and tucked it under his arm, his eyes on the page, his lips moving silently as he practiced.
Franz looked at them—at his wife on the couch, her hand resting on the curve of her belly, her voice patient and steady as she guided Lily through another sentence. At Lily, bright and eager, already planning how she would help her brother learn to read. At Leo, who had spoken five words aloud today and promised more tomorrow.
"Look after your Mommy Aria," he said.
"We always do," Lily replied without looking up.
"I know."
He left them there, in the afternoon light, the book open on Arianne’s lap, the twins pressed close on either side. He carried the image with him all the way to Rochefort Group—Arianne’s hand on Leo’s head, Lily’s arms around her brother, the sound of Leo’s voice rough and new and full of promise.
More tomorrow.
Yes. More tomorrow.
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