Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(64)

Clenching her eyes shut for a moment at a stop light, she shifted her thoughts away from L.A. to the conversation that had preceded it two weeks earlier. Though many parts of that conversation had haunted her, there was one part that had circled in her head more than any others, keeping her up late at night, needling her and making her second-guess her decision to move out to L.A..

Preston had said:

As far as I knew, your Plan A never included Hollywood. You were already living your Plan A.

Reflecting on these words had helped Elise learn something significant about herself in the two years they’d been apart.

He was right.

She’d already been living her Plan A in New York. She was on her way to becoming a famous Broadway actress, which was the future she’d been working toward all her life. A career on the stage, with the energy of the audience feeding her performance and the lesser fame that accompanied a Broadway career allowing her to have a somewhat normal personal life. Plan B—Hollywood—had never been her dream, though it had offered her an escape from the pressures of her marriage under the guise of drive and ambition.

Once upon a time they’d both had a Plan A…but Preston’s had been ripped away, and Elise had done everything possible to kill her own.

Two years later, no longer blinded by enterprise, she knew what she’d had and grieved what she’d lost. She wasn’t afraid of anything anymore but living the rest of her life without her husband.

She wanted her Plan A back.

She wanted Broadway.

She wanted New York.

But most of all she wanted Preston.

It was time to ask his forgiveness.

***

Preston arrived at the office at eight o’clock as usual, but wasn’t able to get anything done. He kept glancing up at the clock, willing it to move faster, then slower, then faster. It was nine-thirty now, and his hands were sweating as he fidgeted with two paper clips on his desk, unfolding them and then trying to shape them back into their original form. There were still thirty minutes until she arrived, but he’d already taken out the divorce papers, then put them away and taken them out again. Looking at them for just a moment, he swept them off the desk and shoved them into the top middle drawer just as someone knocked on his office door.

“Come in.”

Preston’s secretary, Nicole, opened the door and peeked in.

“A Mrs. Winslow is here to see you.”

Preston frowned. “My mother?”

Nicole shook her head and opened the door a little wider to show Elise standing behind her.

Surprised, he sucked in a breath, rising to his feet.

In a shirt that matched the color of her eyes, with her hair in the same ponytail she’d always worn when he fell in love with her in New York, she was so beautiful and so familiar, it hurt his heart to look at her.

“Mrs. Winslow,” he said softly, working hard to recover from the shock of the title she’d given his secretary. “Uh, yes. It’s fine, Nicole. It’s an old joke between me and Miss Klassan.”

Nicole stepped aside and Elise walked into his office, standing across from his desk as the door closed behind her, leaving them alone.

“What the hell was that?” he asked her, trying desperately not to drop his eyes to her too-tight T-shirt.

“The truth,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“What truth? Being someone’s wife is more than just saying a few meaningless words in front of a judge.”

She flinched, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

He sort of hated it that she didn’t argue with him, but then he reminded himself bitterly, Elise didn’t stay and argue. When she was uncomfortable, she ran. A little more rudeness and she’d be halfway back to Chateau Nouvelle.

“You’re early.”

“Is that okay?”

He huffed, the sound belligerent, even in his own ears. “I was in the middle of—”

“I’ll wait,” she said. She searched his eyes for a moment, gesturing to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “May I sit down?”

“I guess you’re very anxious to get to the business at hand.”

She didn’t respond to this comment, merely looked at him inquisitively, her hand on the back of the guest chair, still waiting for permission to sit.

Setting aside his surprise that she still hadn’t run away, it occurred to him to push her away—to open his desk, hand her the papers, tell her to sign them and send them back to him via courier when she was done. But he couldn’t help himself. Damn his weak, foolish heart to hell and back, he wanted this moment alone with her. Especially since it was likely the last he’d ever have.

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

She pulled out the chair and sat down, the light, floral scent she still wore hitting his nostrils at the same time he fell back into his own chair. He loved her. Dear God, how he loved her. And how he despised himself for it.

“You were in the middle of something?” she asked, offering him a small, polite smile.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, keeping his face impassive. “It can wait.”

Elise placed her hands on his desk, one on top of the other, staring at them for a moment before lifting her eyes, and Preston realized that she was wearing the engagement ring he’d given her so long ago. They’d never actually exchanged wedding rings; he’d meant to buy them with her after their “Marriage Summit,” but he’d never gotten the chance.