Love Rents A Room
Chapter 221: A New Life

Chapter 221: A New Life

The dining hall had emptied out slowly, like a tide receding after a storm. The family drifted in clusters—some toward the parlors, others to their guest suites, their goodbyes layered with polite tension and paper-thin civility.

The dust of Brianna’s earlier suggestion still hung faintly in the air, but the fire had burned out. Diplomacy, tradition, and subtle rebukes had done their work.

Jeffrey glanced at Joanne as she stood beside him, exchanging soft words with Christina near the ornate double doors. Her smile was graceful, her posture elegant, but he could tell—she was tired. And he knew the kind of tired this was. Not just fatigue. It was that deep, bone-weary kind of exhaustion that came from fighting to maintain poise all evening.

When Christina finally gave her a parting kiss on the cheek and left with Philip, Jeffrey stepped closer and gently took Joanne’s hand.

"You still up for it?" he asked under his breath.

She met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between them. Her fingers curled around his. "Let’s go."

They didn’t take the front entrance. The valet had already been dismissed, and most of the household staff had retreated. Jeffrey guided her through one of the back corridors, down a hallway rarely used unless one was sneaking out of a party or into someone’s bedroom. Joanne stifled a soft laugh as he opened a side door and helped her into the waiting car.

"You planned this?" she asked, amused.

"I made a call. Told Dr. Lenwick I’d rather not have this in any report or traced calendar. He understood."

"And you trust him?"

"With my life," Jeffrey said as he pulled out into the moonlit drive. "And now, with yours."

The car cut through the quiet streets, the city glittering like scattered jewels under the indigo sky. Joanne’s hands rested over her stomach, protective in a way she wasn’t even conscious of. Thirty-two days. Barely more than a whisper of life, but everything about her already moved with instinct.

"Do you think it’s okay to go this early?" she asked.

"I need to know," Jeffrey replied softly. "I need to see that everything’s okay. I need you to know. We’ll keep this private, at least until the wedding, but I couldn’t sleep another night wondering."

Joanne turned to him then, really looking at him. His jaw was clenched, but his voice was gentle. He wasn’t doing this out of fear. He was doing it out of reverence for her, and for their child, for the strange and miraculous new world blooming between them.

It was a bit scary in a way. She looked at Jeffrey and that fear melted away. They could do it together. Also, they literally had a village to help.

When they arrived at the clinic, it was quiet and dark but for one lit window. A discreet door opened as they approached, and a woman in a pale blue coat gave them a nod, ushering them inside without a word.

Everything inside was hushed, cocooned in warm light. Joanne was led to a private room, and Jeffrey stayed with her, holding her coat, rubbing her hands when he sensed the chill in her fingertips.

Dr. Lenwick was kind and efficient, explaining everything softly before beginning the early scan. Joanne lay back, her gaze flickering from the monitor to Jeffrey, and then back again, as the sound broke through the stillness.

A tiny, rapid beat. So faint, yet clear. Like the flutter of wings behind glass.

Jeffrey stood frozen for a second, one hand still wrapped in Joanne’s. Then he exhaled slowly, lowering his head as if in silent prayer.

"There you are," he whispered.

Joanne swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "It’s real."

Dr. Lenwick gave them space, offering notes in his clipped voice, but neither of them were truly listening. Jeffrey was still staring at that small cluster of light on the screen, already memorizing its rhythm. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand—absent-minded, reverent.

"We’re going to be okay," he said quietly.

Joanne turned her head. "Are you saying that to me or to yourself?"

His eyes flicked to hers, a rare vulnerability flickering in the hazel depths. "Both."

She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers feather-light. "Then say it again."

"We’re going to be okay."

This time, she believed him.

They returned to the mansion in the quiet hours of the night, slipping in through the side entrance they had used to leave. The house had grown still, the only sound the faint rustle of trees outside and the distant creak of the old bones of the estate settling into the dark.

But before they turned in, Jeffrey knocked on his grandparents’ bedroom to meet them briefly. Despite the hour, both were still awake—Philip with a glass of brandy, and Christina flipping through a book. Neither of them asked questions when they saw Jeffrey’s expression. He wasn’t worried; he was glowing.

Joanne sat beside Christina on the couch while Jeffrey stood, the protective arc of his body curving subtly toward her.

"We just got back from the doctor," he began, his voice low, almost reverent. "It’s early—barely thirty-two days—but the doctor says everything looks fine. The baby is strong. Healthy."

Christina pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening. "Oh, thank God."

Philip set his glass down gently. "That’s the best news I’ve heard all day," he said, and then looked at Joanne. "Thank you for taking care of yourself... and of what you’re carrying."

Joanne smiled softly, touched. "We’re both trying our best."

There was a moment of quiet as Christina stood to kiss her forehead, and Philip gave Jeffrey a rare clap on the shoulder—unspoken approval in its own language. After that, the couple was urged to rest.

And so they returned to their room.

Joanne stepped out of her shoes and let her hair down while Jeffrey quietly ran warm water in the antique porcelain tub. The steam carried a faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus—he’d added the oils she liked without asking. The water looked like silk.

"Your bath awaits, my lady," he said, drying his hands.

Joanne chuckled softly and touched her belly. "You’re spoiling me."

"I plan to make a habit of it," he replied, helping her in.

As she sank into the warmth, her eyes drifted to her hand. The ring caught the low light of the sconces—a shimmering promise etched in gold and stone. Her fingers brushed over it, over the tiny heart that beat beneath her skin. Everything felt surreal. Dreamlike.

When she stepped out of the bath, wrapped in one of his shirts and smelling of lavender, he was waiting. She walked to him, slowly, and kissed him—just a press of her lips against his, soft and lingering.

He deepened the kiss without meaning to, his arms slipping around her waist with practiced ease. But when he pulled back, his breath was uneven.

"Jo..." His voice was hoarse. "You’re tired. It’s been a long day."

"I’m fine," she whispered, brushing her nose against his. "The doctor said everything’s fine. And..." she hesitated, her fingers tracing the line of his collar, "we never really celebrated our engagement."

His brows lifted slightly. "You want to celebrate now?"

"I do."

Jeffrey gave a soft laugh, but she saw the flicker of conflict in his eyes. "You sure?"

"Yes," she murmured, standing on her toes to kiss him again, deeper this time. "I want to feel you close. I want us to... I want you."

His hesitation melted slowly, replaced by the heat and devotion that only she had ever drawn from him so effortlessly. He kissed her again, like a man starved for the feel of home, and she welcomed him, her hands finding his, guiding him forward.

They celebrated the way only two people deeply in love could—tenderly, reverently, and with full knowledge of what they were building together.

Afterward, wrapped in the hush of the room, they lay together in silence. Joanne’s head rested against his chest, his fingers drawing gentle circles on her back. Outside the window, the wind brushed softly against the glass, as if offering its own quiet blessing.

And in that silence, beneath the warmth of blankets and love, both of them drifted into sleep, their hearts full and souls anchored.

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