Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(35)

Wasn’t he?

Of course he was.

But then, he’d been very quiet at the reception and now in the cab. As she started coming down from her high, she realized that he hadn’t said very much since they’d left the theater. She turned to him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He had been looking out the window, but now he turned to her, squeezing her hand and smiling. “You were brilliant.”

His smile was genuine, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. And so was everyone else in attendance, or did you miss that standing ovation?”

“Nope,” she said, searching his face. Come to think of it, he hadn’t kissed her since the play either. Was something wrong or was she searching for problems where none existed? “I noticed. It’s burned on the happy side of my brain.”

“It was well-deserved,” he said, squeezing her hand again before turning away to look out the window.

“Pres,” she said, “is everything okay?”

He turned to her and nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You were epic, Elise. Really. You blew me—and everyone else—away.”

He turned to look out his window again, and so she did the same. They were still holding hands. He was saying all of the right things. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something was wrong?

The cab stopped at his apartment and Preston dropped her hand to pay the cabbie, sliding out of the backseat and holding the door open for her. As the cab pulled away, he took her hand and pulled her toward the building, but she stayed rooted on the sidewalk until he turned around to look at her.

“Are you coming inside?”

“As soon as you tell me what’s going on,” she said softly, giving him the no-nonsense look her mother used to give her and her sisters when she was waiting for an explanation.

Preston stared at her for moment in surprise, opened his mouth like he was about to say something, thought better of it, then pursed his lips together.

She tilted her head to the side, still holding his hand, but refusing to move or say anything else until he was straight with her. Preston didn’t know this about her yet, but Elise was good at patience. She was very, very good at waiting and had every confidence that she’d eventually outlast him.

They stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other for a good two or three minutes before Preston finally dropped her eyes and bent his head forward, muttering softly, “I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think so,” said Elise, “but if you insist, maybe you could explain why.”

“I’m a selfish prick.”

“Hard to believe since you’re one of the most selfless people I know, but again, I’ll reserve judgment if you want to make your case.”

“Can you just let it go? I’ll get over it without infecting you.”

“You may be underestimating me. Perhaps I have a natural immunity to whatever’s ailing you.” Her teasing grin dimmed and she shook her head sadly. “No, I can’t let it go, Preston. I could only let it go if you were less important to my heart.”

“You mean that?” he whispered, taking a step closer to her.

“You doubt that you’re important to my heart?”

“You kissed that guy three times tonight,” he blurted out. “Three. The third time with tongue. And you looked like… damn it, it looked like you enjoyed it, Elise,” he said, wincing as he looked down at the sidewalk.

“Oh.” Elise took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “This is about jealousy.”

He nodded, refusing to look at her.

“I see,” she said, then, “Come on.”

She tugged on his hand, walking into the building as the doorman swept the door open, but refused to look at him as they waited for the elevator. She kept her chin high and her eyes forward. He needed to sweat this out a little. He needed to remember what she was about to tell him and he’d remember it better if his feelings were feverish by the time she started talking.

As the elevator rose slowly, Preston cleared his throat. “I said I was an idiot. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin your Opening Night because it really was amazing, Elise. It was so great, and now I’m wrecking it with this stupid—”

She turned to him and placed her finger over her lips, telling him to shush, then turned her eyes forward again. When the doors opened, she pulled him out of the elevator, took her new keys out of her purse and opened their apartment door. Placing her purse on the table in the front hallway, she didn’t let go of his hand. She led him through the living room, then opened the French doors to the balcony and he followed her outside.

“Preston,” she said, “look at me.”

He did, and the expression in his eyes made her breath catch: guilt, shame, anger, jealousy, frustration…they were all there staring back at her from deep, dark pools of green.

Letting go of his hand, she reached for his cheek, smoothing her palm over the black stubble.

“This morning you told me that you’re falling in love with me.”

“I am,” he whispered, before closing his mouth and frowning at her as he tightened his jaw.

“I’m an actress. Occasionally I kiss people. Occasionally I kill them. It doesn’t mean I actually love them or actually hate them when I do these things. It’s pretend.”