Daryll and Monica arrived in the early afternoon, the autumn sun casting long shadows across the drive as they pulled up to the estate. Aunt Estella led them to Franz’s study in the west wing, where Arianne was already waiting.
She was seated on the leather couch near the window, her belly now pronounced enough that she had to angle sideways to be comfortable. The business plan—the one Franz had printed for her the night before—lay on the coffee table in front of her, its pages covered in her neat, precise handwriting. Red ink. Blue ink. Yellow highlighter in strategic places. She had been thorough.
"Ms. Summers," Monica said, taking a seat across from her. "You’re glowing."
Arianne looked up from the documents. "I feel like a whale. Glowing is not the word I’d use."
"That’s the pregnancy," Monica said with the easy confidence of someone who had been through it herself. "It gets worse before it gets better. And then the baby arrives, and you don’t sleep for six months."
"That’s very comforting."
"I’m not going to lie to you. You deserve honesty."
Daryll settled into the armchair beside Monica. "Are you ready? For the baby, I mean. Franz seems—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "He seems more on edge than usual."
"He’s anxious," Arianne said. "He keeps checking on me. Every few hours. Sometimes every few minutes." She paused, her hand moving to her belly. "He told me once, ’I can’t lose you.’ I don’t think he meant to say it out loud."
Daryll was silent for a beat. "I’ve known Franz for a long time. I’ve seen him handle crises that would break most people. The only time I’ve ever seen him lose his composure is when it comes to you." He glanced at her belly. "The baby will be added to that list. You know that."
"I know."
"He’s going to be insufferable. Even more protective than he is now."
"I’m prepared."
"No, you’re not. No one’s ever prepared for Franz Rochefort in full protective mode. It’s terrifying and also slightly touching."
Arianne almost smiled. "I’ve been dealing with it for over a year. I’ve developed coping mechanisms."
The door opened and Franz entered, carrying a tray laden with drinks and a small plate of snacks. He had changed out of his work clothes into something more casual, a soft sweater, dark trousers. His hair was neatly trimmed from his post-filming haircut, and his face was clean-shaven. He looked younger like this. Less tired.
"Sorry I’m late," he said, setting the tray on the coffee table. He handed Arianne a tall glass filled with a pale green liquid. "Lemon and cucumber. Aunt Estella said it helps with the swelling."
"I don’t have swelling."
"You mentioned your feet hurt yesterday."
"That’s not swelling. That’s carrying extra weight."
"Drink it anyway."
She took the glass. Daryll and Monica received regular lemonade. Franz settled onto the couch beside Arianne, his arm resting along the back behind her.
"The twins made a mess in the kitchen," he explained. "They were trying to make their own afternoon snacks. Lily insisted she knew how to use the blender. She did not know how to use the blender."
"Is the kitchen still standing?" Monica asked.
"Barely. Aunt Estella is supervising the cleanup."
Daryll reached for the business plan on the coffee table. "Arianne was just telling us about your—" He paused, searching for the word. "Your heightened state of alertness."
"I’m not heightened."
"You check on her every few minutes."
"That’s called being a good husband."
"That’s called being anxious."
Franz didn’t deny it. His hand dropped from the back of the couch to Arianne’s shoulder.
Daryll opened the business plan and began reading. His expression changed almost immediately, moving from professional interest to genuine surprise. He turned several pages, then stopped on a section where Arianne had written extensive notes in red ink.
"She didn’t just review it," he said, looking up at Franz. "She dissected it."
"I know," Franz said.
"You said she only had it for one night."
"She’s efficient."
Daryll flipped to another page, his eyes scanning the annotations. "There are suggestions here I didn’t even consider. Structural changes. Revenue projections I didn’t think to include." He looked at Arianne with something approaching admiration. "Franz mentioned you were thorough. He didn’t mention you were this thorough."
"I had time," Arianne said. "I’ve been on leave. There’s not much else to do."
"She read three novels last week," Franz said. "She was bored. I gave her something to do."
"You gave me work."
"You like work."
"I like useful work. This was useful."
Daryll continued reading, and the four of them fell into discussion. Monica confirmed she had scouted three potential locations for the agency—one in the city center, one in a residential district near the studio lots, and one in a renovated warehouse space that had been converted into creative offices. Each had its advantages and drawbacks. Franz would need to visit them before deciding.
"The legal documents are nearly ready," Daryll added. "We’re following your advice to delay the formal registration. No need to tip our hand before everything is in place."
Franz nodded. "What about other clients? Beyond Sam."
Daryll set down the business plan. "I’ve been looking into a few names. Formerly successful actors who lost momentum—bad agents, bad luck, bad timing. Talented people who just need someone to believe in them again." He paused. "The kind of actors who could have been great if someone had given them a chance."
"Like you," Arianne said.
Franz looked at her. "Like me?"
"Before Alex started investing in your projects. Before you had backing. You could have been one of them. Someone with talent who just needed a break."
The room went silent. Franz’s hand tightened on Arianne’s shoulder.
"That’s exactly the kind of agency I want to build," he said. "One that finds people like that."
Daryll flipped back through the business plan, pausing on a section near the end where Arianne had written several paragraphs in blue ink. He read aloud: "Consider a mentorship program for new signees. Pair them with established actors for their first few projects. Reduces risk for producers, builds goodwill in the industry, and creates loyalty within the agency."
He looked up. "This wasn’t in the original draft."
"It should have been," Arianne said. She adjusted her position on the couch, suppressing a grimace. "If the agency’s public identity is about developing talent rather than competing with the major agencies, a mentorship program reinforces that narrative. It also gives your established actors a stake in the agency’s success. They’re not just clients. They’re building the roster with you."
Monica was already typing notes on her tablet. "Would mentors be compensated differently?"
"Incentivized. Reduced commission rates for projects where they mentor a newer signee. First access to new scripts. Something that acknowledges their time without turning it into a formal obligation."
Daryll exchanged a glance with Franz. "She’s better at this than we are."
"I know," Franz said. "I’ve been telling you for months."
"You married above your station."
"I’m aware. Monica once told me." Franz looked at Arianne. "I’m very grateful."
Arianne didn’t look up from the business plan. "You should be. I’ve increased your agency’s projected viability by at least twelve percent."
"Is that an estimate?"
"It’s math."
Monica hid a smile behind her lemonade. Daryll shook his head, but he was holding the annotated pages with something approaching reverence.
"The mentorship program," he said. "Do you think Sam would be interested in participating?"
"I think Sam would be excellent at it," Arianne said. "She knows what it’s like to be underestimated. To have people assume she got where she is because of her family name. She’d be a good mentor for younger actors who are facing the same assumptions."
"Should we approach her about it now, or wait until the agency is formally established?"
"Wait. But mention it in the initial discussions. Let her know it’s part of the long-term vision."
Daryll nodded and made a note. The conversation continued—timelines, budgets, the logistics of transitioning Franz’s existing endorsements to the new agency structure. Monica had already drafted a preliminary schedule. Daryll had a list of potential staff hires. The pieces were coming together, one by one.
When the meeting finally wound down, the afternoon light had moved from gold to amber. Daryll and Monica gathered their things, tablets, notes, the annotated business plan that Daryll handled like it was something precious.
"We’ll have the final draft ready by next week," Daryll said. "Incorporating your notes. All of them."
"Good," Arianne said.
Monica paused at the door. "For what it’s worth, I think this agency is going to be something special. Not just because of the business plan. Because of the people behind it."
She left before anyone could respond. Daryll followed, nodding his farewell.
Franz closed the door behind them and turned back to Arianne. She remained on the couch, her hand on her belly, her eyes on the annotated pages spread across the coffee table.
"You increased our projected viability by twelve percent," he said.
"At least."
"You made Daryll speechless. Twice."
"He’s easily impressed."
"He’s never impressed. I’ve known him for years. He’s never impressed."
Arianne looked up at him. "He’s impressed by you. He just doesn’t show it the same way."
Franz crossed to the couch and sat beside her. The business plan lay between them, marked up and improved, a testament to everything she brought to his life that he hadn’t known he needed.
"Thank you," he said. "For doing this. For caring about it."
"It’s your agency. Of course I care about it."
"I know. I’m still grateful."
She leaned back against the couch, her body relaxing into the cushions. The baby kicked once, a small flutter against her ribs, and she pressed her hand to the spot.
"He’s awake," she said.
"He liked the meeting."
"He liked the lemonade."
Franz placed his hand beside hers on her belly. The baby kicked again, as if in greeting.
Twelve percent. She had increased his projected viability by twelve percent. He had married a genius. He had known that for some time now.