Twelve days into the vigil, Franz's condition hadn't changed enough to report, and Arianne had stopped expecting the doctors to walk in with anything new when they made their rounds. She'd learned the rhythm of the private wing by then the way she'd once learned Rochefort Group's boardroom — which nurse came at which hour, which chair in the family suite kept its cushion longest, how to read Gilbert's face for whatever he hadn't said yet before he said it.
Vincent had taken to spending his mornings at the hospital before the board even convened, and Amanda had claimed the chair nearest Franz's window as her own, needlepoint she never seemed to finish balanced on her knee while she talked to him about nothing in particular. Both of them had gone down to the cafeteria when Lucas arrived, Lexx riding along in the stroller between them, which was the only reason Arianne was alone in the family suite to hear it first.
