Jeffrey didn’t waste a mont. He called the photographer that very day. Only then did it dawn on both of them—they had no pictures or video of the proposal, no captured mory of the mont she said "Yes."
"It’s such a sha..." Joanne murmured, half-amused, half-regretful. For a generation practically glued to their phones, it was almost absurd that neither of them had thought to record it. A mont so monuntal—unpreserved by anything but mory.
"We lived it, truly," Jeffrey said, finding comfort in the rawness of it. In truth, he believed it was fitting. They were never quite like the rest. There was sothing tiless about them—two old souls who had sohow found each other. No wonder his grandfather adored them both.
Joanne nodded, letting the thought go with a small smile. She didn’t need a video. That mont had etched itself into her heart—every word, every breath. She’d carry it with her for the rest of her life.
When it ca ti for the photoshoot, they deliberated over their outfits longer than expected. Joanne wrestled between her many selves: the composed CEO in a sharp pantsuit, the grounded farm girl in jeans, and the woman simply in love. In the end, she chose a semi-formal dress—green, of course. Her color. Not for who she was individually, but for who they were together. This wasn’t about her or about him—it was about them, and the love they had quietly, fiercely built.
Her makeup was kept minimal, her hair let down in soft waves that suited the neckline of her dress. Jeffrey, ever attuned to detail, chose a pocket square to match the shade of her gown. He looked striking in his tailored three-piece suit, the vintage brooch on his lapel lending him the quiet dignity of old-world charm.
Joanne looked at him then, heart full, smile tender.
"Can’t believe I managed to make you fall in love with ," she said, the wonder still fresh in her voice.
And he, as always, smiled like he had been waiting for her all his life.
They weren’t even surprised when Philip and Christina insisted on having the photoshoot at the Winchester Estate mansion. Joanne had heard that the wealthy had their own way of making statents—quiet, elegant, and impossible to ignore.
Philip’s ssage was clear: this engagent would be announced from his estate, not just as a celebration, but as a declaration. Jeffrey was not rely a grandson. He was a future heir.
And Joanne... she felt nothing but pride. Pride for the man who had chosen her, who had climbed with quiet determination to a height where admiration was no longer optional—it was instinctive. The world would now look at him with the respect he had always deserved. What more could she want as his future wife? She loved watching him be seen. Watching the light of recognition settle where it belonged... on Jeffrey.
In her quiet awe, she barely gave a second thought to the brooch Christina had handed her earlier to wear. Ornate, antique, and deceptively delicate, Joanne pinned it on without question. It wasn’t until later that she understood: the brooch, like everything in Christina’s world, had aning. It wasn’t rely an accessory. It was a ssage.
A warning, really.
Christina knew exactly how won of her world operated—how they whispered and tested and judged, especially when soone new, soone unfamiliar, dared to enter their circle. And Joanne, as accomplished as she was, would always be seen by so as the outsider. The farm girl. The CEO, sure, but not one of them. And that made her a target.
But Christina, sharp as ever, wasn’t going to let her favorite grandson’s wife face their cruelty alone. That brooch had history. Everyone in their circle would recognize it. It was the sa brooch Christina wore the day she nearly toppled Lady Elsa’s empire. And if Lady Elsa saw it today, so would the rest.
Christina, lending that particular brooch to Joanne, spoke without words: Don’t test this woman. She’s under my protection.
The photographer did his best to make the couple feel at ease, giving gentle prompts and encouragent. But Joanne remained stiff, her mind too full. She’d always found it hard to pose for photos, especially when the weight of a mont hung so visibly in the air.
It was Jeffrey who saved it.
He stepped toward her quietly, placing a hand at the small of her back. His voice, low and calming, pulled her from the noise in her head. "It’s just us," he said, like a vow. "Just you and ."
He held her gaze until her shoulders dropped, her breath eased. The corners of her lips curved into sothing soft, unguarded. And in that mont, the shutter clicked.
The money shot was captured—truth, love, legacy—all in one fra.
Then Philip and Jeffrey exchanged a glance, brief but heavy with aning. Joanne noticed it imdiately. When they gestured for her to follow them into Philip’s office, she understood: sothing serious was about to be discussed.
Philip didn’t waste ti. Once they were inside, he looked her directly in the eye and asked, "What do you think of having the pre-wedding festivities at our Wimbledon Winchester estate? And getting married in the chapel there, on our property?"
Joanne’s heart skipped a beat. He had gone straight to it, without preamble. But how did he know?
She had forgotten the quiet conversation from the night before—how she’d ntioned, almost wistfully, that girls like her used to dream of fairytale weddings in grand English mansions. Sohow, Philip had listened and rembered.
Jeffrey began to speak, ready to explain that she’d likely prefer Rockchapel, the quiet town where she was born and raised. Why would she want to cross the ocean to marry on unfamiliar soil?
"I’d love it," Joanne said before he could finish. Her voice was steady, certain.
She knew Philip loved them—truly loved them both. And she knew what it would an to him, hosting the ceremony on his grounds. This was not just a venue; it was a gesture of belonging.
"Good," Philip said, nodding once before glancing at Jeffrey, who let out a quiet breath—half relief, half amazent. There was a strange and beautiful understanding between Joanne and his grandfather. Jeffrey loved witnessing it.
Then Joanne hesitated. Her voice was softer now, a little unsteady.
"Speaking of the wedding..." she began, turning to Philip. "I know you’re Jeffrey’s grandfather, and this might be... unconventional, but... You’re the closest I have next to my grandfather..."
She paused to swallow the lump rising in her throat. "Would you walk down the aisle, Philip?"
Philip’s reaction wasn’t imdiate. He went still, and so quiet that uncertainty began to flicker in Joanne’s chest.
Had she asked too much? Was it inappropriate? Did she cross an invisible line?
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