Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(62)

So much that she hadn’t even been able to give them a chance.

Angry with himself for not putting their emotional intimacy first, Preston had booked a ticket to L.A., opting to surprise her with a visit, and hoping to have a chance to really talk to her, reassure her and get things between them back on track between them. He’d arrived on Saturday around lunchtime and taken a cab to her house, only to find it locked and dark. After three hours, he’d finally given in and texted her: Here in L.A. Can’t wait to see you.

The text had gone unanswered for three more hours when his phone finally buzzed at a nearby café with the message: You’re here? Why didn’t you tell me? Still at rehearsal for three more hours. See you at nine?

He’d been disappointed to have to wait even longer, but had returned to her house around eight o’clock, sitting on her front porch with her favorite herbal tea and hoping she might be earlier. She wasn’t. It was almost eleven when she finally showed up in a cab.

But Elise’s smile—her larger-than-life, beaming smile and glistening eyes—had suddenly made it all worthwhile. She’d hurtled herself into his arms, and he’d held her and kissed her, running his hands through her darkened hair as he inhaled the sweet smell of his wife.

“I missed you!” she said, drawing back to look at him.

He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she appeared to be considerably leaner than she’d been two weeks ago.

“I hated the way we left things,” he said, searching her eyes for a sign that she did too.

Her expression had clouded for a moment, her smile faltering. She drew away from him, fishing her keys out of her pocket, then facing him again. “How long are you here?”

“My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

She dropped his eyes. “My call is at six a.m.”

“Elise, we have to talk,” he said.

“We have seven hours,” she’d murmured, her eyes swimming with tears when she raised them to look at him.

“Call in sick tomorrow. You get sick days, don’t you?”

“Not an option,” she’d said softly, but firmly.

Her refusal frustrated Preston mightily. They’d had a scorching fight the day after their wedding that was completely unresolved, hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, he’d flown all the way out here, waited around for eleven hours to see her, and she needed to go back to work in seven hours?

Putting his frustration aside, however, he looked at her more closely: exhausted and emotional, her bottom lip trembled as she shrugged her thin shoulders with regret and…and what? Defeat. She looked like she was giving up on something, and since it wasn’t her career, it must be…

Them.

Desperately, he tried to buy time. “How about you sleep a little, and then we’ll… we’ll…talk.”

“Okay,” she’d murmured, and he’d put his arm around her shoulder as they walked inside her house.

Even now, sitting at his father’s desk almost two years later, he could remember the feeling of despair, of frustration, of disappointment that had infused him as he’d walked into her house. It was as sharp today as it had been then. It hurt just as much. He’d felt her slipping away in New York, but by the time he’d gotten to L.A., she was almost gone…and unfortunately, it had just made him try to hold on tighter.

And after he’d left L.A.? She’d never called him or written to take back the ugly words she’d used to push him away. Until tonight.

How many times had she said “I’m sorry” tonight? He counted at least three, plus she’d corrected his impression of sympathy as remorse. What was she sorry about? He considered her words: For hurting him. For leaving him. For everything.

Did she still love him? Could she possibly be here in an attempt to reconcile? His palm moved on its own to cover his aching, yearning heart, which was still desperately in love with her. He hated how much he still wanted her, how much he hoped that her work was only secondary to their reconciliation.

“Stop it. You know her better than that,” he whispered bitterly into the darkness.

He did. Unfortunately, he did.

He knew her too well to let himself believe even for a moment that she was here for him. She wasn’t here to reconcile with him. She was here to work, first and foremost, and secondly—it appeared from the haste with which she’d accepted his invitation to sign the divorce papers on Monday—for her freedom. He could see her motivations as clear as day. She wasn’t here for him. She was here to say goodbye to him once and for all.

Glancing at his watch he realized he’d been in his father’s office for almost half an hour and surely Beth would be looking for him. Though he had no interest in spending the night with her anymore, he wasn’t interested in hurting her feelings either.

He stood from his father’s desk and crossed the quiet office.

Elise is here for work and a divorce, not for you.

Preston vowed to be cold as ice as he watched her walk away for the final time.

And God help me, this time I will let her go.

***

Being kicked out of Westerly on Saturday night had been unexpected.

Thought Elise had expected Preston to be surprised and yes, angry with her, she hadn’t expected the level of vitriol she’d received. Looks aside, he seemed like a totally different person from the playful, charming, patiently persistent man she’d fallen in love with in New York. Not to mention, with perfect Beth on his arm, it certainly seemed too late for a ninth hour reconciliation.