Franz changed the sheets while Arianne drifted in and out of sleep on the nearby armchair.
She was too tired to move, her body loose and heavy against the chair. He guided her gently to the bed— lifted her when he needed to, rolled her to one side and then the other, her murmured protests barely words. By the time he'd finished, she was already gone, her breathing deep and even, her face slack with exhaustion.
He lay down beside her. The sheets were cool and clean. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand. Outside, the spring night was quiet. No wind. No traffic. Just the soft hum of the estate settling into its bones.
He should sleep. He was exhausted too. But he couldn't.
He watched her instead. The way her hair spread across the pillow, dark against the white cotton. The way her face was relaxed in sleep — no tension in her jaw, no furrow between her brows. She looked younger like this. Unguarded.
