Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(47)

“You don’t even know how much I owe,” she murmured, pausing in her haste to stare up at him.

He shrugged. “Is it less than thirty million dollars?”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“Then we’re good.”

Her blue eyes widened, searching his for a moment as if trying to figure out if he was telling the truth or not. Finally, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and ducked away from him, back into the bedroom, where she put the toiletry bag in the duffel bag on the bed.

“I can’t accept your money.”

“What?” He leaned against the bathroom doorway, that terrible, panicky feeling crashing over him like a wave. She’d been acting weird—a little off—since they’d returned to his apartment yesterday. Sexually, she’d blown his mind, but emotionally, she’d been a little distant. He’d chalked it up to a combination of new-bride jitters and losing her virginity, but now he was starting to worry. “Why not? I’m your husband.”

She looked up, clenching her jaw once before turning to the bureau that held her underwear and opening the top drawer.

“Because it’s not about the money, Pres. It’s about the job. The Awakening! My big chance. This is it.”

“I thought Ethan Frome was it. Plus, I was under the impression that you were a stage actress.” He licked his lips, recalling her very words. “The audience? The synergy? The—”

“I’m an actress,” she said, glancing at him before packing her lingerie then whirling back to the bureau. She opened the second drawer, pulling out a small pile of T-shirts and shorts before closing it. “Stage, screen, TV…whatever. I go where the work is. New York. LA. Wherever there’s a part that needs me.”

I need you…playing the part of my wife. You can’t just leave.

The panic inside of him was whirling like a tornado now, growing by the moment; he wasn’t getting through to her. She needed to stop packing for a minute so they could actually talk about this.

He crossed the room and reached for her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She didn’t protest as he sat down on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. “Please talk to me, sweetheart. We live here. We work here. We’re married, and you’re going to do Broadway shows and I’m going to work for Mulligan & McKee. I mean…How does going to L.A. to be a movie star fit into this?”

Though she stayed in his arms, her posture was rigid. “I’m not going to be a movie star, Pres. It’s one role. But don’t you see? It could be my big break. This is what I’ve worked for my whole life. This. Right now.”

“I know that, but what about us?”

“I’m not going to L.A. forever. It’s just a little break,” she said, turning in his arms to look at him. “Maybe while I’m out there, you can come and visit me.”

A little break? Did they need a little break? And she was suggesting he “visit” like some long-distance boyfriend? He didn’t want to “visit” his wife. He wanted to live with his wife—sleep next to her, wake up next to her, make love to her every night and every morning.

He tried to swallow past his disappointment. “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes.” She nodded, offering him a small, hopeful smile. “It’s so important to me, I can’t even tell you. I never, ever, not in my wildest dreams, let myself imagine Hollywood. Please wish me luck. Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you, I’m trying to get my head around this. We got married yesterday. And, I mean, we’ve barely talked, but we were going to have a Marriage Summit today and—”

“We can have it over the phone,” she said, tilting her head to the side and grinning at him like everything was fine, like she wasn’t leaving for L.A on a whim the day after their wedding. What the hell was going on with her?

“Over the phone?” He searched her eyes, dread joining panic because she looked happier and more excited than she’d looked in two days. “Maybe I could go with you.”

“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.”