Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (13 page)

“Pres,” she said, blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights, “that’s crazy. Your job is here. I’m not standing between you and your career.”

“Fuck my career,” he said, trying to ignore the painful tightening in his chest. “You’re leaving for L.A. for the next few months without even talking to me about it. Elise, come on. What’s going on with you?”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, then tightened into a thin line. “I wish you would try to understand.”

“I
am
trying to understand, but ten minutes ago I was about to make love to you in our bed, looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you, and now you’re leaving to go to LA, possibly for several months. I mean, I’m happy to wait—”

“You’re definitely
not
happy.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right. I’m not happy about this. Sorry. I thought… I thought today was the first day of my marriage and instead it’s—”

Her eyes were stark when she interrupted him. “Are you trying to get me to stay?”

“You’re my
wife
,” he said slowly, because he didn’t seem to be getting through to her and frustration was joining panic and dread for a fairly awful trifecta. “We’re married. I want you to
want
to stay.”

She bit her bottom lip, looking away from him. When she raised her eyes, they were sad and it went against every natural instinct that Preston had to make her sad, but watching her walk away from him without putting up a fight was unthinkable.

“Pres, I was
always
honest with you about my career,” she said defensively. “You know how important it is—”

“Yeah. But I also know that yesterday you promised to love, honor, and cherish me for the rest of your life.”

She wiggled off his lap, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. “I do! I will! I’m not going to Timbuktu! Just LA. Just for a little while. It’s not forever. Please stop blowing it out of proportion.”

He stared at her like he didn’t know her, and part of him—a large part—felt like maybe he didn’t.

When she started speaking again her voice was calmer and gentler, but he could tell it was forced, too. “Listen, we’ll talk on the phone, and maybe you can, I don’t know, come and see me in a week or two? For a weekend?” She walked over to the closet and when she turned around there were several dresses hanging over her forearm. “And when it’s over, I’ll come back.”

I’ll come back.

Three words. Three words that told him there was no room for conversation anymore. Her mind was made up. She was leaving. No. She was already gone.

“When?” he asked softly, his heart aching. “When exactly will you come back?”

“When filming’s over.”

“How long will that be, Elise?”

“My guess is three months.”

His eyes widened and it felt like she’d sucker punched him in the throat. “Three
months
? We haven’t been apart for more than a night since you moved in. We got
married
yesterday. We’re… we’re starting our life. Here. In New York. Together.”

He would have winced at the sound of his voice—the tone a man in the 1950s would have used to boss around “the little woman”—but he was too upset with the entire situation to critique his behavior.

She answered him crisply, unsmiling. “We’ll just have to start it when I get back.”

He skewered her with his eyes. “And what happens if they offer you another role after this one? Then what?”

She looked away from him. “We’ll deal with that when it happens.”

Not if
, he noted.
When.

“Elise, we never discussed L.A. as a possibility. I’m not licensed to practice law in California. I have a job here. A career here.”

“I know that!” she yelled.

Elise placed the dresses in the duffel bag and stared down at her floor, clasping her fingers together and taking a deep breath. Preston reached forward, snagging the pinkie of her left hand, and pulling her over to him. She stood between his legs and he adjusted their fingers, lacing his fingers through hers.

“I can’t pass this up,” she murmured, her voice breaking as she stared down at their fingers.

He felt a vulnerable spot and pushed his advantage.“Of course you can. What about
Our Town
at the Barrymore? You were so excited for that try-out next week. You were going to be
amazing
in that.”

“I haven’t even auditioned yet.”

She started to draw her hand away but he tightened his grip, pulling her between his legs and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“So, audition for it, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Get the part and stay here with me. Don’t go.”

She lifted her head, her eyes wide and disbelieving.
“What?”

“Stay here with me, sweetheart.
Please
don’t go.”

Her whole body stiffened and recoiled and he loosened his arms as she took a step back, searching his face like she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

“That’s what my mother said to me the day I boarded a bus to New York. ‘
Stay here with me, Liebling. Don’t go.
’ I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe you would…I can’t…” She blinked her eyes frantically, sucking in a huge gasp of air, and turning away from him. When she whipped back to face him, her cheeks were red. “You would stand in the way of my dreams? You would put yourself between me and everything I ever wanted? Everything I’ve worked for?”

“Elise—”

“What if the shoe was on the other foot? What if you
hadn’t
hurt your rotator cuff? What if you were willing and able to go to the Olympics and someone had stood in
your
way?”

He leaned back on the bed, his eyes narrowing. “Is the theoretical someone in this scenario you?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It
does
matter,” he said, his voice low and tight. “It matters if we’re talking about
you
, because you’re not just anyone, you’re my
wife
.”

“Okay, fine. Me. What if I stood in your way and asked you not to go?”

He felt—
felt
—his heart breaking. “Do you seriously not know the answer to that question?”

She stared back at him, her jaw tight, her eyes welling with tears.

“Elise, I would
do
anything for you. I would
give up
anything for you. I would
be
anything for you. Would I have given up the Olympics for you? Hell, yes. No question. Sweetheart, there’s
nothing
I wouldn’t give up for you if you asked me to.”

She took a deep, ragged breath, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Now. But, what about then?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let anything come between me and the woman I love.”

“You’re so sure.”

“It’s the truth.”

She shook her head as more tears trailed down her cheeks. “It’s easy to say because the choice was taken away from you.”

“
Easy?
You think it was
easy
for me to train for almost a decade and be sidelined at the last minute? It was a lot of things, but it wasn’t
easy
.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” She shook her head with frustration. “I know it wrecked you
at the time
. That’s my point. It wrecked you to miss out on your dream then, just like it would wreck me now. Can’t you see that? Preston, what you sensed yesterday? The ‘distance’ you mentioned? It’s because we’re in two different places. Your dream, your Plan A, is dead. You already moved on to Plan B. But
my
dream,
my
Plan A, is still very much alive.”

“As far as I knew, your Plan A never included Hollywood. You were already living your Plan A by auditioning for leading Broadway roles.”

Elise took a deep breath and sighed, her face sad and frustrated.

“What do you want from me?” she asked softly, her voice cool.

“You want me to say it? Fine.” He narrowed his eyes, his tone frank and clear. “I want you to say no to Hollywood. I want you to stay in New York. I want you to take one of the amazing roles Donny’s going to find for you, and I will support you in every possible way until our apartment is covered in Tony awards. I want you to stay here and be an amazing actress and also be my wife.” He paused, his voice dropping to a tender whisper as he searched her eyes. “Sweetheart, I am begging you not to go.”

She lifted her chin, though her eyes glistened with tears. “I have to.”

Then she picked up an outfit she’d placed on the bed, walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Preston stared at the bathroom door in a state of semi-shock, frozen in place. After a few seconds, he finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding and placed his hand over his heart. It was like she’d reached into his chest with a fist made of nails and squeezed, because he could swear  his heart was bleeding out inside his body.

He knew she was ambitious.

He knew that she had given up a lot for her career.

He’d known—from almost the first moment he met her—that her dream of becoming a successful actress was the most important thing in her life.

But somewhere along the way…perhaps when she moved in, or when she told him she loved him, or when she married him, or when she gave herself to him last night over and over again …he’d tricked himself into believing that what they had was at least as important as her career, if not more so.

He was wrong.

He was so very wrong, and he should have known, but he’d fallen so hard and so fast, he’d deluded himself that she could be ambitious but still prioritize their relationship. That she could love him just as much as he loved her. That he could be just as important to her as she was to him. And it hurt to realize he wasn’t. Oh God, it hurt so bad.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take a deep breath, dropping his hand from his chest. And suddenly it was as though he could feel an icy wall going up around his heart—around his bleeding, stupid, vulnerable heart that had rushed headlong into love—and he welcomed it. At this moment, when he understood his lack of worth to Elise, he almost would have welcomed its death, but he settled for its torpor instead, and welcomed the growing numbness that surrounded it.

She came out of the bathroom in jeans and a black T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail and her eyes red-rimmed, but determined. Pausing in the doorway, she flicked her glance to Preston, then looked away quickly as she headed for the bed, zipping up the duffel bag and hefting it onto her shoulder.

He almost reached for it—to help her, to carry it downstairs and pack it into the trunk of the car and stand there like a fucking chump waving goodbye as the love of his life drove away in a car headed to LA. But his almost-glacial heart held him back.

Forget it. Fuck it. She could carry her own goddamned bag.

“I’ll miss you,” she said softly, swiping at a tear sliding down her cheek.

His face felt like stone as he looked up at her.

“I’m sorry, Preston.”

He stared back at her in silence.

“I have to do this. Please understand.”

He couldn’t speak. One small part of his heart remained warm, holding out hope, trying to fend off the approaching frost. If he spoke, he’d scream at her, or beg her to stay, or cry like a fucking baby. None of those outcomes was acceptable. He straightened his spine and said nothing.

She walked over to him and kissed his cheek, her lips soft and warm. He closed his eyes as the last of his heart froze over, then cracked in two. When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him and he knew the expression: she was seeking his approval, his permission, his reassurance, his love.

And he couldn’t give her any of it. He kept his eyes expressionless.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” she said, her voice breaking. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise.”

I don’t believe you.

She turned at the bedroom door and looked back at him. “Pres…please.”

I love you, Mrs. Winslow…

How was it possible he’d said those words to her less than an hour ago? They circled in his head, taunting him, torturing him, making him feel stupid and vulnerable and grieved beyond words, beyond bearing.

It was too painful to hold her eyes anymore so he dropped them, staring down at his lap in misery. When he looked up again, she was gone.

The ink on their marriage certificate wasn’t even dry…and his wife was gone.

Preston Winslow didn’t date.

…a fact that didn’t stop his little sister, Jessica Winslow, from making Preston’s dating life one of her top priorities. The more he stonewalled her? The more she rose to the challenge. And as her wedding loomed—yes,
loomed
, thought Preston, ignoring the automatic bitterness which accompanied the word “wedding” in his head—closer, she was more and more one-track minded.

“But Pres,” whined Jessica, “you can’t come stag to my engagement party. It’s just weird!”

“Then I guess I’ll just be your weird big brother.”

“Nope,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and following him from his bedroom, where he’d just dropped off his bags for the weekend. He walked down the second-floor gallery of Westerly, their family’s estate, with Jess on his heels. “Sorry, but I got you a date.”

Preston stopped at the top of the stairs and whipped around to face her. “Are you nuts?”

Jessica stepped back but raised her chin bravely. “No, I’m not. Brooks is flying home tonight with Skye, Cameron is bringing Margaret Story, and Christopher’s bringing Connie Atwell.”

“And who, pray tell, am I supposed to be bringing?”

Jessica cleared her throat, having the decency to look sheepish as she murmured, “Be— At—.”

Preston cupped his hand around his ear, skewering her with a glare. “Sorry, didn’t catch that name.”

She took another step back from him and said clearly, “Beth Atwell.”

Beth. Beth Atwell, Connie’s cousin, whom he’d been dating the night he first saw…saw… He swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing all thoughts of
her
out of his mind.

“Well then you can just call Beth Atwell and cancel.”

“I can’t do that,” said Jessica, following him down the stairs. “She’s staying the weekend with Connie and it would be rude for Connie to come and not to invite Beth.”

“Not my problem,” said Preston, sidestepping a caterer who was crossing Westerly’s front hallway with a large tray of gleaming champagne glasses.

Jessica got held up momentarily behind two enormous flower arrangements, but caught up with Preston in the west parlor, which housed a large billiard table and doubled as a TV room. She jerked her head toward the pool cues racked on the wall.

“I’ll play you. If you lose, you be nice to Beth tomorrow night.”

Preston narrowed his eyes at Jessica. She didn’t need to cheat, but she often did. “No cheating.”

“Got it,” she said, pulling a cue from the wall and rubbing the tip in blue chalk.

“I mean it…if I catch you cheating, you forfeit and you can’t bother me about my dating life for a full year.”

Jessica stuck the pool cue under her arm so that she could use her incredibly annoying air quotes as she asked, “Dating life?”

Preston rolled his eyes at her and pulled the triangle off the wall so he could rack the balls.

“For me to ignore your”—air quotes again—“
dating life
, you’d need to actually have one.”

“God, you’re annoying,” said Preston, fishing the cue ball out from a tray under the table. “I don’t know how Alex stands you.”

“He loves me,” said Jess, aiming for the yellow ball at the front of the neat triangle and splitting two stripes into the back corner pockets with a sassy grin. “That’s how.”

***

Thirty minutes later, Preston had a date to Jessica’s engagement party, although he could have sworn she palmed a ball into the side pocket while he bent down to tie his topsiders. Oh, well. It was his own fault for letting his guard down for even a moment. He should know better than to trust a woman…even his own sister.

“Beth’s getting to Connie’s tonight. Why don’t you give her a ring and tell her how much you’re looking forward to renewing your acquaintance?’

“Why don’t you butt out? I said I’d be nice and I’ll be nice, but I’m not interested in her.”

“You’re not interested in anyone,” said Jessica softly, sitting next to her older brother on a brown leather couch. “How come?”

Preston looked askance at her, trying hard to look bored and annoyed, even though this particular conversation always got his heart pumping uncomfortably. “Why do you care, Jess? You and Alex will live happily ever after. You got Brooks saddled with Skye, God help him. Cam’s been following Margaret around like a puppy dog for weeks. How about leaving me alone?”

“I can’t live happily ever after if you’re
un
happy ever after,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her coal black hair was back in a ponytail, but it tickled his cheek. It had been a long time since a woman’s hair had brushed against his cheek. Since…since…

“I’m not unhappy,” he murmured. “I’m busy.”

“You’re a good lawyer, Pres.” She paused. “Everyone knows that. But, you’re lonesome.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” she said. “You…you changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s obvious, Pres.” Jessica took a deep breath and sighed. “Something happened to you. Before you came back to Philly.”

Preston’s whole body tensed at her words. Brooks was his only sibling who knew about—well, who knew what had happened. Had he told Jessica? Were all of his younger siblings talking about him and feeling sorry for him behind his back? Damn it. He’d be furious if Brooks had blabbed about Preston’s personal business. He had no interest in discussing it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Lean up. I’m getting a drink.”

Jessica increased the pressure of her head on his shoulder, trapping her bother, and Preston huffed in annoyance.

“I know it hurt when you couldn’t be in the Olympics. I know that being a lawyer was your second choice, not your first. But you seemed okay with it when you went to Columbia. Better than okay. Happy. And you were dating Beth for a while there. I remember because you two took me out for dinner when I visited you in New York. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, you quit your job in New York, sold your apartment and came back to Westerly. You were drinking too much—”

“Jess, what are you
talking
about? You weren’t even here. You were in London!”

“Cam told me.”

“Cam has a big fucking mouth.”

“Yep,” she agreed, picking up where she left off. “You drank too much, and you were living here for a while doing nothing, and then—”

“And then I got my shit together and went to work for Clifton, Jackson, and Webb. End of story.”

“Well,” she said, and he could almost feel her holding back the air quotes. “If
getting your shit together
meant that Brooks pulled strings to get you a job and you—”

He pulled away from Jessica sharply, standing and watching as she fell over onto the couch.

“You know what, Jess? I don’t need this crap from my little—”

“Gah! You’re such a
jerk
now! Such an unhappy, argumentative
, jerk
! No wonder you win all your cases. Who would want to go more than two rounds with you?”

“And yet again, I have to wonder why the hell Alex English is shackling his life to yours!”

“Like you would know
the first thing
about shackling
your
life to
anyone’s
!” she bellowed, jumping to her feet in front of him.

He felt his whole face flinch as he stared down at her.

A sudden and humiliating lump rose up to the top of his throat and Preston blinked his eyes, trying to swallow over it, but it hurt. It ached. It made his lungs burn and his heart throb. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at Jessica in misery.

He knew the first thing.

He
only
knew the first thing.

The rest was taken away from him before he could learn any more.

“Oh. Oh, Pres…” she whispered, her eyes flooding with tears as she reached out to touch his arm, realizing that she’d inadvertently pushed him too far.

He wanted to tell her to get lost, to beat it, to leave him alone, but that goddamned lump in his throat wasn’t allowing him to form words, so he blinked again, then turned away from her. Striding across the room to the wet bar in the corner, he opened the fridge and took out a Heineken. Popping open the cap, he took a long swig before turning around.

“Don’t follow me,” he said.

Then he turned and headed out the door.

***

It was hot outside compared to the artificial coolness inside Westerly, and the bottle Preston was holding immediately started to sweat as it adjusted from a cold refrigerator to the eighty-eight degree evening.

Why had he come home a day early? Because tomorrow was a dark day for Preston and he didn’t want to spend tonight or tomorrow alone. But a smarter man would have known that an engagement party for his couple-crazy little sister was the worst possible place to be. He should have just showed up at the party tomorrow night. Breezed in. Kissed Jessica and his mother hello. Shaken Alex’s hand. And left. Instead, he’d come home early to escape the heat of the city and the bleakness of his memories only to be harassed and harangued by Jess.

For just a second, he felt bad. She clearly knew nothing about his ill-fated marriage to Elise, or she never would have said such a hurtful thing. He was relieved that Brooks hadn’t spilled the beans, after all, and glad he hadn’t acted on his suspicions.

Brooks had never gotten the chance to meet Elise in person, but several weeks ago, Brooks had picked up Preston at his apartment for a night out on the town. While Preston was in the shower, Brooks had rooted around his desk for an envelope and inadvertently come across the divorce papers that Preston still hadn’t sent to his wife. When Preston returned to the living room, showered and ready to head out to dinner, Brooks had looked up from the desk where the papers were laid out in front of him.

“A divorce? Divorce papers?” His face was shocked, his eyes sorry. “Pres, you
married
her?”

“Jesus, Brooks! Snoop much?”

Preston had whipped the packet off the desk, neatened it quickly, and held it against his chest. Brooks remained seated at Preston’s desk, tenting his fingers under his chin.

“You married her,” Brooks repeated softly.

Preston had closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain that almost always accompanied his thoughts of Elise, then taken a seat on the leather loveseat across from Brooks.

“It was a mistake.”

“You were in love with her.”

Preston shrugged.

“That wasn’t a question. I remember.”

Brooks paused so long that Preston eventually raised his eyes to his big brother. “It didn’t work out.”

“Clearly,” said Brooks, flicking his eyes the papers Preston still held against his heart. “What happened?”

Preston didn’t want to talk about it. Truly, he didn’t. But suddenly he heard his voice recalling the night Donny Durran knocked on her dressing room door. He told Brooks about walking her home, their picnic the next day, and seeing her face on the steps of the library when he was sure he wouldn’t see her again.

He smiled sadly as he recalled her moving in, told Brooks about the keys, and about her unusual background. His eyes watered when he recalled his impromptu proposal and he wiped them away when he told Brooks about her leaving for L.A.

“And then what?” asked Brooks.

“That was it,” said Preston, finally standing up. It was dark now and they’d missed their dinner reservation. “I don’t feel like going out. I’ll order some Chinese. What do you want?”

“Pres,” said Brooks in the voice he reserved for telling Chris and Jess what to do—his “dad” voice, “What happened?”

Images of his disastrous trip to L.A. circled in his head, making his breath hitch and his eyes burn. How to sum up the worst three days of his life?

She didn’t want me there …

She didn’t want to be married …

She wasn’t in love with me anymore …

Or how about the ensuing two years when he hadn’t been able to forget his wife… or cheat on her, for that matter. So many times, he’d gone home with a gorgeous woman after getting plastered at a party or fundraiser, but when it came time to kiss her, to touch her, to make love to her, Elise’s face would flash through his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to follow through. Along with his general misery and close call with alcoholism, his fucking celibacy could be laid at her doorstep too.

He took a deep breath, blinking away the memories. He came very close to making himself a scotch on the rocks, but he’d sworn off hard alcohol since getting his life back in order.

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” said Brooks. “But I guess that’s why you went off the deep end for a while? Quit your job? Moved back to Philly? Tried to pickle your liver?”

Preston nodded. But the truth was that he hadn’t quit his job. He’d resigned after fucking up a major case. The partners had covered his mistake and managed to appease the client with a large, quiet settlement that Preston had paid out from his personal account. But everywhere he went reminded him of what he’d lost. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t bear to stay in New York without her. He’d put his apartment up for sale, thrown her stuff in a dumpster and moved back to Philly without a second glance.