Love Rents A Room
Chapter 156: To Honor Her

She blinked. "Wait... what is Wimbledon?"

Jeffrey nearly choked on his laughter. He leaned back against the headboard, watching her with an amused smile as she eagerly typed it into her search bar.

She was adorable. He could already picture her reaction—and when it came, it was even better than he imagined.

"Ohhh, it’s tennis?" she said, glancing at him as if she’d known all along. "I knew that. I know the difference between lawn tennis and... that other tennis with feather... and the other one they play on tables..."

Jeffrey smothered a grin. Sure you did, Jo. You, the devoted tennis aficionado who definitely doesn’t mix it up with badminton or ping pong.

"It’s in England?" she asked next, eyebrows raised like that was the wildest part of all this.

He nodded, letting her discover it on her own. It was too entertaining to interrupt.

"So... it’s like, a big tournament? For famous tennis players? Wow, the prize money is huge!" she said, still scrolling. Then she checked the email again, tilting her head. "Men’s finals? Huh. I mean... tennis isn’t that interesting, is it? Maybe finals would be..."

She looked at him for confirmation.

Jeffrey gave a noncommittal shrug.

He could already see what his grandfather was up to. They got an invitation to Wimbledon every year, and he had joined others in the Royal Box. This wasn’t just a sporting event. It was an entrance. A statement. Wimbledon wasn’t just about tennis—it was where royalty, elites, and celebrities mingled behind polished smiles and expensive sunglasses.

And what better stage than the Royal Box to introduce the future granddaughter-in-law of the Winchesters?

Still, Joanne was taking it seriously. She was giving it her full attention—not for herself, but because Philip had invited her. That loyalty made his heart ache in the best way.

Her eyes lit up again as she kept reading. "Wait... this is really an invite? Like, only 74 people get in? And royalty will be there? Like, actual royalty—with crowns and all?" She turned to him, wide-eyed. "Wow. Why did the old man send me that? He should go! This looks impossible to get into."

She scrolled some more and gasped. "What the—there’s a dress code? You can’t even wear hats? That’s preposterous!"

With an exaggerated sigh, she flopped back against the pillows and dropped the phone beside her. "This is crazy..."

Jeffrey scooted closer to her and gently traced his finger over her forehead.

Jeffrey reached over and took her phone, placing it on the nightstand. Then he turned back to her, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"No hats, huh? Tragic," he teased, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. "Guess we’ll have to leave your giant feathered sun hat at home."

Joanne rolled her eyes but smiled. "I don’t even own a giant feathered sun hat."

"Yet," he said, drawing closer. "But I could totally see you pulling it off. Like, walking into the Royal Box, all eyes on you, Queen of Chaos."

"Stop it," she giggled, lightly pushing his shoulder. "I’d probably trip and land on a prince or something."

"Then I’d have to duel royalty," Jeffrey said with mock seriousness, making motions as if engaged in a sword fight. "In front of thousands. For honor..." He paused his air sword fight and looked into her eyes. "Because no one else gets to catch you but me."

She laughed, but the sound softened when she met his eyes. He wasn’t joking about that last part.

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers.

"You’re really going, huh?" he asked, voice dipping softer now. "You’ll stand in that box... among all those people who think the world belongs to them. And you’ll shine brighter than all of them."

Joanne’s eyes fluttered closed as she leaned against his chest, her heart oddly full.

"Nah..." she murmured.

"You won’t?" Jeffrey’s brows drew together, surprised. That wasn’t what he expected to hear.

"I won’t fit in that world," she whispered. "I’ll look like a... wannabe."

Jeffrey’s smile faltered. Her breathing had already evened out. She’d fallen asleep.

He brushed her hair from her face and pressed a soft kiss to her bandaged forehead.

But that last sentence lingered. There were layers of hurt beneath those simple words. He could hear them now.

She’d never said it directly, but he’d seen it—how people in her own town treated her. Sure, some respected her, but the ones who used to "help" her? They acted like she owed them everything. Like they had the right to belittle her now.

And his family... They’d hurt her too. He didn’t know the details, but he could guess. If he had to put money on it, he’d bet his mother had something to do with it.

Still, he wanted her there. Needed her there. Not just for his grandfather. Not for some formality. He wanted to take her hand, walk into that box beside her, and introduce her proudly—as his.

Jeffrey Winchester’s woman.

Maybe... just maybe, that would be the right place to finally tell her the truth. Not to protect himself, but to honor her.

That’s when his phone chimed—a familiar notification tone.

His grandfather.

[Make sure she gets there. Let her know that she belongs.]

Jeffrey smiled. He could just imagine his grandfather squinting at the screen, grumbling about touchscreen keyboards, pecking out each word with those chubby fingers.

He held the phone for a moment, touched by the message.

Of course he knew. His grandfather knew Joanne wouldn’t feel like she belonged there. And he’d entrusted Jeffrey with the responsibility of showing her she did.

Jeffrey’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

[How come she gets a call and I get a text?]

He grinned, then erased the message. No need to stress the old man. Philip would just fuss about typing a proper comeback.

Instead, he typed something better.

[Your wish is my command, Dearest Grandpa. Love you!]

He hit send, watched the little check mark turn blue, and set the phone aside.

Turning back to Joanne, he lay beside her, his gaze softening as he took her in.

"You do belong in my world, Jo," he whispered. "And I’m going to prove it to you. I’m taking you there."

No, he couldn’t settle as Jeffrey Daniels. He needed to be Jeffrey Winchester.

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and let himself imagine it—her in that Royal Box, elegant, radiant, unbothered by the whispers of the elite. His hand in hers. His name on her lips.

Not Jeffrey Daniels.

But Jeffrey Winchester.

Hers.