Despite being on vacation, Franz was working.

Arianne had known this would be the case before they left Montclair. His schedule had always been as demanding as hers—sometimes more so, given the unpredictable nature of filming and the endless demands of the entertainment industry. He had spent the morning in the estate’s small study attending online meetings and reviewing documents that Finn had sent over, his voice a low murmur through the closed door. She had taken the twins to the beach with Julian and Kyle, letting the morning pass in salt water and sand and the particular exhaustion of children who had been promised whales and were determined to see one.

By afternoon, the twins were napping, Kyle was napping, and Julian had collapsed into a hammock on the veranda with the look of a man who had been defeated by the sun. Arianne had retreated to the master suite, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. Instead, she sat on the balcony watching the waves roll in and out, her hand resting absently on the small curve of her belly.

Franz found her there.

"I thought you were still napping," he said, stepping through the balcony doors.

"I slept more than enough. My body doesn’t know what to do with all this rest."

He pulled the second chair closer to hers and sat down, his knee brushing against her leg. She didn’t move away. Instead, she let her leg rest against his, feeling the heat of him through the fabric of his pants. Below them, the beach stretched out in a pale crescent, the water catching the afternoon sun. The twins had woken from their naps and were back on the sand with Kyle and Julian. Lily and Leo each held a wooden stick, drawing uneven lines and curves at the water’s edge. Kyle was attempting to build a sandcastle with his small hands, but the shape kept collapsing.

"That doesn’t look like a castle!" Lily called out, her voice carrying up to the balcony.

Kyle’s face crumpled. "You can’t make one either!"

Leo stood up from his drawing. He typed something on his tablet and held it up: CAN DO!

What followed was a sandcastle competition of intense seriousness. Lily and Leo claimed one patch of sand, while Kyle claimed another and dragged Julian into the effort by sheer force of four-year-old will. Julian, who had been hoping for a peaceful afternoon, found himself on his knees in the sand patting towers into shape while Kyle issued increasingly elaborate instructions.

"He’s going to demand a reward if they win," Arianne said, watching Lily direct Leo with the authority of a project manager.

"Probably. Julian will pay up. He’s weak."

"Everyone is weak when it comes to the twins. Including you."

"Especially me." Franz leaned back in his chair. "We should come back here next year. With the baby."

Arianne looked at him. "The baby will be very small next year. It won’t remember anything."

"Then we’ll remember for it."

"The baby will probably try to eat the sand. That’s what babies do apparently—put everything in their mouths."

Franz laughed. "Then we’ll bring a blanket and keep the baby on the blanket. Supervised sand consumption only."

"That’s not a thing."

"It is now. I’m inventing it."

She shook her head, but her mouth twitched. Below them, Kyle’s sandcastle collapsed again, and Julian let out a groan that was audible even from the balcony.

Night came with the sound of waves and the distant call of some tropical bird Arianne couldn’t name. The children had been put to bed hours ago, exhausted from the sun and the sand and the emotional turmoil of the sandcastle competition. Julian had indeed been forced to pay up—Lily had negotiated a reward of ice cream after dinner, and Julian had conceded with the air of a man who had learned not to argue with five-year-olds.

Arianne was in bed, but she couldn’t sleep.

She kept turning. First one side, then the other, then onto her back, then back to her side. Her belly wasn’t large enough yet to make sleeping difficult, but her body felt unfamiliar in ways she couldn’t quite articulate. Sitting too long made her legs cramp. Lying on one side made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. Even the temperature of the room seemed wrong—too hot one moment, too cool the next. She kicked off the sheet, then pulled it back up, then kicked it off again.

Franz found her mid-turn with the sheets twisted around her legs and her expression caught somewhere between frustration and defeat.

"What’s wrong?"

"I can’t find a comfortable position." She moved again, settling on her left side with a pillow wedged under her belly. "Sitting too long cramps my legs. Lying on one side makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Even the temperature annoys me. Nothing is consistent. My body isn’t consistent. It doesn’t feel like mine anymore."

He climbed onto the bed beside her and settled against the headboard. "How can I help?"

"I don’t know." She pressed her face into the pillow. "I don’t understand what’s happening to me."

He said nothing. Then he reached out and placed his hand on her hip, a light and grounding touch. "Is there anything else?"

She turned to look up at him. "You probably see me differently now."

He blinked. "What?"

"I’m pregnant. My body is changing. I’m going to get larger—probably as large as Leo’s whale by the end of it." She paused. "We haven’t been intimate since before Gilbert and Audrey’s wedding. I thought maybe—"

"Arianne." His voice was soft but firm. "Stop."

She stopped.

He drew her into his arms and pulled her against his chest. She let him, her body settling against his with the familiarity of long practice. He kissed her temple, and her eyes closed before she could stop them.

"The past weeks without touching you have been torture," he said. "Every night and every morning, seeing you and not being able to—" He paused. "When you told me about the bleeding, I was terrified. I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt you or the baby."

"The doctor gave clearance weeks ago."

"I know." His voice dropped. "I was also worried about myself."

She turned to look up at him. "What do you mean?"

A flush crept across his face. "Before you were pregnant, I could be—" He stopped and searched for the word. "Intense. Sometimes rough. You never complained, but I didn’t trust myself to hold back. I didn’t want to hurt you."

Arianne looked at him. At the blush spreading across his cheeks. At the way he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Then she laughed—not a mocking laugh, but a surprised, delighted one.

"Franz. You’re the one who put the baby inside me. Why are you being shy about this now?"

His flush deepened. "You’re teasing me."

"Yes. I am." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You’ve been torturing yourself for weeks because you were worried you’d be too rough with me. Do you know how ridiculous that is?"

"It’s not ridiculous. It’s responsible."

"It’s ridiculous. And also very sweet." She pulled him closer. "But unnecessary."

His hand found her belly and rested on the small curve. "Sometimes I can’t believe it. Our child is in there, growing, because of you."

"Because of us."

"Because of us." He kissed her. It started gentle, a soft press of lips, a question. Then deeper. Needier. His hand slid from her belly to her back, and his fingers found the zipper of her dress.

When she pulled back, the zipper was already halfway down.

"Allow me," he said, his voice low, "to remind you how much I love you."

He eased her onto her back and pinned her beneath him with the careful, focused attention he brought to everything that mattered. No complex positions. No roughness. Just him and her and the slow, gentle rhythm of two people reconnecting after too long apart.

The waves crashed outside the window. His breath hit her neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

She let herself be loved the way she had learned to let herself be loved. Completely. Without reservation. Without fear.