CHAPTER 227: BEING THERE FOR EACH OTHER

"That savant was a beast when he taught me violin. Look," Joanne extended her hand and pointed to a tiny scar between her knuckles. "He hit me with the bow once when I missed a note. Said my ears were too perfect to allow mistakes."

"He hit you?" Jeffrey frowned.

"Oh, not hard," she waved it off. "He was intense, that’s all. A little crazy for his genius. He said I had raw talent and wanted me to go to Juilliard. Promised me a full recommendation, even. But I didn’t love it the way he did."

"Wow," Jeffrey breathed, still in the aftermath of her performance. "What else are you hiding from me?"

Joanne leaned closer, her voice lowering like she was sharing a forbidden secret. "I only know how to play two... three tunes. That’s it. That tune Brianna played? Never even heard it before."

Jeffrey blinked, stunned. "You’re joking."

She smiled. "Nope."

He stared at her. "But what you played just now... that was harder. Way harder. I mean, Brianna picked a moderate Bach piece, and you went full-level romantic beast with Franck. Do you even know how insane that is?"

Joanne shrugged, almost sheepish. "Is it?" Her tone was light, but not coy. She wasn’t fishing for praise—she genuinely didn’t care for it. "I never honed my classical skills. He’d probably kill me if he saw me now..." she whispered with a scandalous, wicked grin. "He said I was a waste of talent."

Jeffrey shook his head, laughing under his breath, disbelieving and enamored. He reached for her chin, tilted her face up gently, and kissed her. Not just a peck. Not reserved. He forgot the audience. Forgot the wine glasses. Forgot the quiet background music or the murmurs still swirling around them.

The kiss was firm, lingering—possessive. A man too proud, too in love, too filled to the brim to pretend otherwise.

A few guests gasped. Someone chuckled. But neither of them cared.

When he finally pulled back, his voice had dropped, rough and low and far too intimate for the occasion. "What else?" he asked. His hazel eyes were darker now, a slow-burning hunger in their depths. "What else are you hiding, Jo?"

Joanne’s pupils dilated. She looked at him like she could read his mind and knew exactly where it had wandered. Her fingers curled around his lapel, subtle but firm.

"Wouldn’t you like to know..." she said, her voice a velvet tease. A little dangerous.

He leaned closer, just enough to press his forehead against hers.

"God, I could take you right here," he muttered.

"You really shouldn’t," she whispered back, breathless but smiling, eyes flickering toward the watching crowd with a hint of playfulness. "But you really could."

Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, everything else fading to a hum.

Patrick cleared his throat. Joanne grinned and gained her composure.

"What else are you hiding?" Fixing his jacket, Jeffrey asked, clearing his throat.

"Well...Back home, you saw that signed book by Thorne Alderidge, right?"

"The novelist?"

"Yeah... he stayed with us for a while, too. Tried to make me write. Thought I’d be a prodigy. But turns out I’m not that creative." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Thankfully, he figured that out too and let me be."

By now, more and more eyes were on her. Guests, family, and even the musicians were whispering to each other.

"Well," she added with a little theatrical flourish, "I can speak perfect Queen’s English..." And then, with perfect diction and tone, she continued in that exact, posh, clean accent. "It was dreadfully difficult to suppress the habit here in Wimbledon."

Jeffrey laughed and kissed her cheek, too proud to care who was watching. "You are a master at hiding talents."

"I just don’t like to lead with them," she shrugged.

Brianna was practically electrified with unvoiced fury, her entire being thrumming with rage. Yet Joanne was oblivious, refusing to glance her way even once. Nicole sat in silence, a shadow among the chaos, while Greta filled the air with low mutterings, her words slurring as she knocked back glass after glass of wine.

But Joanne was unfazed, unbothered by the whispers around her. She didn’t need to pay attention; the music soared, resonating with her defiance. And in that electrifying moment, the family—his family—finally recognized her presence.

They’d seen her right.

Joanne, with her image of calloused hands and muddy boots and untamed curls, had walked into a room of silk and diamonds and played like she was born from royal blood.

But she was never trying to prove herself to them.

She only played for one person.

And he... he was still looking at her like he might never look away again.

And that was all she cared about.

Jeffrey walked her back to the room, his hand never once leaving hers. She brought up his mother again, gently, as if trying to peel back a layer he didn’t want to show. But he didn’t offer much in return.

Joanne had done her part. She’d tried to make conversation with Nicole, choosing to forgive her past coldness and scathing remarks. But the woman still acted as if Joanne had personally robbed her of something—her inheritance, maybe, or her status. Haughty, distant, and forever looking down her nose.

Jeffrey had asked her to stop engaging with his mother, but Joanne hadn’t seen the reason. She believed in trying, in not giving up on people so easily.

Still, she was glad Nicole came to the rehearsal dinner. A mother should be present at her son’s wedding, even if just to witness it.

"She was quiet today," Joanne commented as Jeffrey carefully unzipped her dress. She had excused herself early, wanting a full night’s rest before the wedding.

Jeffrey didn’t falter. The motion of his hands was smooth and unbothered by the question. She thought—maybe hoped—his relationship with his mother still meant something. But the truth was, he was done. He had long since made peace with the fact that sometimes, for the sake of one’s sanity, even family had to be kept at a distance. Even if that family was your mother.

He let the dress fall from her shoulders, then stepped around to face her, eyes steady.

"I told her I’d cut off her allowance if she opened her mouth today or tomorrow," he said evenly. "She loves her money too much to risk that."

He watched Joanne’s face, searching for the reaction he knew would come. She always had that softness for family, even when it came at a cost. He remembered how she’d invited Sam to the wedding despite everything—the lawsuit, the sleepless nights, the pain. Sam hadn’t RSVP’d and had gone around lying that she never invited him. Jeffrey wanted to knock sense into her sometimes, but this was who she was. She had to try. Otherwise, she’d regret it.

Joanne pressed her lips together and let out a long breath.

"Do you think I’m being an ass?" he asked, voice low.