Love Rents A Room
Chapter 232: Her Walk

Chapter 232: Her Walk

And just as Joanne had hoped... Jeffrey was looking.

Through the soft veil, she saw his eyes, misted with emotion, yet never wavering from her. His arms were firmly clenched over his front, and his smile betrayed the kind of joy words couldn’t begin to capture. There was a flicker of nervousness in him, not doubt but the momentary awareness that all eyes were on him. It only made her love him more. Because he was still standing tall. Still looking at her like she was everything.

Her lips curved as their gazes held. There was no uncertainty between them. They were each other’s certainty. After the ache of separation and the quiet triumph of reunion, they both knew: this love was worth binding, sealing, and never letting go.

When they reached the small set of stairs at the altar’s end, Jeffrey couldn’t hold still anymore. He stepped down toward her, hand outstretched, like gravity itself pulled him to her.

Joanne’s steps quickened as one night apart had felt like an eternity. She longed to be with him.

But Philip gently tightened his hold on her arm, anchoring her, reminding them both with a look: this was a sacred space, a sacred moment, and they were standing before hundreds of eyes.

Jeffrey gave a sheepish smile and stepped back. Joanne, smiling softly, allowed Philip to guide her up the final steps. And just as she reached her groom, her heart drumming with happiness, she turned to the man who had stood by her like a fortress.

Philip.

The one who had filled the space left by her family, who had shielded her and spoiled her in equal measure.

Her eyes glistened with gratitude as she looked at him. No words were needed.

He smiled in return, understanding everything.

With gentle hands, he lifted the blusher of her veil. His expression said it all—he was proud of her and was thankful she was now a Winchester.

He kissed her cheek, then placed her hand into Jeffrey’s.

"All yours now," he said, his voice rich with emotion. "Honor her with all your heart."

"I will," Jeffrey replied, his voice steady.

And perhaps it was fitting that the first vow he made that day to Joanne was not in front of others but to the man who had long prayed to see this union.

The ceremony began.

As guests watched, breath held and hearts full, they exchanged vows before the pastor. Their voices trembled only once—with joy. When it was time for the rings, they kept it simple. Gold bands. No embellishments. Just promise.

And then they were announced—Mr. and Mrs. Winchester.

Hand in hand, they stepped out of the church, the bells chiming in celebration.

As they reached the archway at the church door, Joanne blinked at the sudden flash of cameras. She hadn’t realized the Winchester name carried the weight of headlines, not just local but Page Six material. Theirs was society’s wedding of the season.

And under the applause of onlookers and the gleam of countless lenses, Jeffrey pulled her close and kissed her.

Their first kiss as husband and wife was fierce and tender, full of every vow their words could never hold.

The grand ballroom of the Winchester estate glittered like a starlit sky. Crystal chandeliers spilled warm light across polished floors, and every table gleamed with silver and deep emerald-green arrangements. The air was rich with the scent of roses, champagne, and the rustle of silk gowns brushing across marble.

Joanne stood at the edge of the dance floor, her hand in Jeffrey’s as the opening notes of "Valentine" by Jim Brickman and Martina McBride began to play.

Their first dance.

He looked at her, eyes soft and glowing beneath the gentle lights. "Ready, Mrs. Winchester?"

She nodded. "More than ready, Hubby."

He pulled her close. They swayed together, graceful, and unhurried. The music wrapped around them like a promise. She rested her head briefly against his chest, letting the warmth of him calm the flurry in her chest. It felt surreal. This time, there were no dreams to wake from. He was hers, and she was his.

But even in the magic of that moment, Joanne couldn’t ignore the quiet absence that pulsed at the edge of the room.

Brianna.

She scanned the crowd, only to confirm it—Brianna wasn’t here. She heard from the others about the incident that happened last night in the family where Philip unofficially announced Jeffrey as the heir and the murmurs from Greta.

Jeffrey followed her gaze and knew instantly what she was looking for. His hand at her waist tightened protectively. "She didn’t come," he murmured.

Her brows drew together. "Why?"

He sighed softly. "I don’t know. But Robert... he’s barely holding it together."

At the far end of the hall, Robert stood tall, composed in his tailored tuxedo, a glass of untouched champagne in his hand. He greeted guests with his usual charm, smiled at the right times, but his eyes were empty. Haunted. Not from disappointment over titles or bloodlines, but from the gaping absence of someone who should’ve been there beside him.

There were murmurs, of course. Whispered comments rippled behind fans and champagne flutes.

"He looked like thunder when Philip rebuked him, didn’t he?"

"They say he’s furious."

"Poor thing, losing the family legacy like that..."

But Joanne could see the truth. So could Jeffrey.

"It’s not about the heirship," Jeffrey said under his breath as they danced. "He’s hurting because she’s not here. That’s what’s breaking him."

Joanne nodded slowly. "Do you think... they had a fight?"

Jeffrey looked away, then back at her. "Why bother about them?" He asked playfully and swirled her. Joanne giggled and followed his lead.

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm with the music, but their hearts carried the weight of more than just the joy of their love; they bore the awareness of what they had won and what others had lost.

They were handed over a great responsibility and they needed to hone themselves to be worthy of it till the end.

When the final notes of the song faded, the guests erupted into applause. Joanne and Jeffrey bowed slightly, smiling at the crowd.

-----

The bedroom was dimly lit, hushed and warm. Outside the windows, the night was velvet-dark, and the hush of the world made it feel as though everything had paused just for them.

Joanne stood by the mirror, her tiara already gone, her veil folded neatly on the dresser. The heavy satin and lace of her gown still clung to her like a memory—one she hadn’t yet stepped out of. She could feel him behind her before she even saw him. His presence—steady, assured—was something she’d grown to lean on. Even now.

Jeffrey’s fingers brushed over the small of her back, gentle but reverent, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.