For someone who had no problem verbally body-slamming Tom and Bernice, confronting Fiona was hard.
Because Fiona mattered.
Joanne had grown attached to her. She had wanted to get along with Liam's wife—not just for peace's sake, but because she genuinely liked her. She had believed she was gaining a real friend.
But that glare… that glare sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Joanne wasn't the type to shrink from a fight, but this wasn't a fight she wanted. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what she could have done to warrant such an icy reception. Had she unknowingly offended Fiona? Crossed some invisible line?
Fiona wasn't just looking at her—she was studying her. Brows furrowed, expression unreadable. Her friends weren't much better, whispering, sneering, eyes darting toward Joanne with expressions that made her stomach churn.
Joanne's first instinct? Leave.
If Fiona was mad that she was sitting with Liam, Joanne wasn't about to stick around and make things worse.
