Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(68)

She swallowed, wincing. “Are you with Beth?”

“No!” he roared.

Her eyes closed and she sighed. “Oh.” She dropped her chin to her chest as her shoulders slumped with… what? Relief? She was relieved that he wasn’t with Beth? Why would she…? What was— “Thank God,” she whispered.

When she opened her eyes, he was still staring down at her and he searched her gaze, finding it tender and soft, relieved beyond measure.

“Elise…” he said, feeling vulnerable and confused and immensely stupid for caring, but he couldn’t help asking, “What did you mean by…There could be?”

Her eyes flooded with tears and she opened her mouth to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and it drew his eyes like a beacon, tightening his body with need and making him take one step closer to her, completely closing the distance between them. She inhaled raggedly and her chest pushed into his, her breasts crushed against him as they’d been so many times before. He swam in her glassy eyes, searching them wildly, loving her, hating her, desperately hopeful for something he couldn’t bear to even put his finger on.

His breath caught as she reached up, placing her palms on his cheeks, her thumb gently stroking his stubbled skin as she pulled him down to her and— A loud guitar riff broke into the moment, making them both jump. She gasped, smiling up at him nervously.

“My phone,” she said.

The Elise he knew would drop her hands now and reach for the phone, because nothing—certainly not Preston—was as important as her next big role.

“Aren’t you going to get it?” he asked, remaining completely still as she held his face.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t answer.

The guitar riff played loudly twice more, and they waited it out, staring at each other intently. Finally it was quiet.

“Where were we?” he asked.

“There could be,” she reminded him.

“How?” he asked.

She gulped softly. “Well, I—”

The guitar riff broke into the intimacy of their conversation again and Preston stepped away from her, leaving her hands suspended in mid-air.

“As much as I want to know where this is going, you either need to turn off your phone or answer it.”

Clicking her tongue, she reached into her back pocket and pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Her face, which was annoyed and dismissive, changed instantly. Her lips slackened. Her eyebrows furrowed. The guitar riff sounded again.

She looked up at Preston. “It’s a 315 number.”

“Is that L.A.?”

“No. Upstate New York,” she said.

Where her family lived…“Answer it, Elise.”

She nodded, swiping her finger across the phone. “Hello?”

At first her face was quizzical, then her eyes darted back and forth, blinking, as though in disbelief, and she gasped. And then, as he watched, as her face totally collapsed. It crumpled in agony, just as it had the first night he’d ever seen her playing Matilda, only this time, she wasn’t acting.

“What? What do you mean?”

Her eyes, which had already been watery during their intense exchange, spilled forth, rivulets of tears falling down her cheeks.

“When?” she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob.

She placed her hand against her forehead, shielding her eyes, and turned away from Preston, her shoulders shrinking inward and shaking.

“No…” she keened. “Oh, nooo.”

Her breathing was jerky and ragged, and she made terrible, high-pitched little noises as she nodded her head slowly.

Finally she whispered, “Ja, Datt.”

Her arm dropped to her side, the phone slipping from her fingers and falling onto the grass.

“Elise?”

She turned around slowly, swaying slightly, her face a mask of despair.

“Pres,” she sobbed.

Worry knotted his gut as he searched her eyes. Something terrible had happened. He knew it in his bones and it made him feel sick with grief for her.

“What, sweetheart? What is it?”

“Pres,” she said again, her shoulders shuddering from the force of her sobs.

He opened his arms and she fell into them.

***

Elise’s mother had died of a stroke.

She had passed away early in the morning and was rushed to a nearby hospital only to be declared dead upon arrival. Elise’s sisters had seen to her arrangements before their father had called his youngest daughter to inform her that visitation would take place on Thursday and Friday and her funeral would be on Saturday.

With Preston’s arms around her, Elise cried her heart out, weeping over the loss of a woman who’d never understood her, who’d always been disappointed in her, who’d never accepted Elise’s chosen path. The recent fantasy-confidant version of her mother aside, Sarah Klassan been a hard-working, no-nonsense woman who had raised Elise, fed her, clothed her, and held her hand when she was ill. Their relationship had been fractured and fractious, but she’d still been Elise’s mother, and her loss—especially without forgiveness, peace, and understanding between them—hurt badly.

“Please tell me what’s happened,” said Preston, his strong arms like iron around her, holding her up, keeping her from drowning in her sorrow.