Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(72)

But her mother had just died.

And her history with her mother was fraught and unresolved.

As much as he wanted to believe her, he couldn’t. Not right now. Not here. Not while her grief was a jagged, open wound, and her high emotions could lead her to say things she would regret tomorrow.

“Okay,” he said, managing to give her a small, reassuring smile. “Okay.”

“You heard me?”

He nodded. “I did. Thank you for telling me.”

The color in her cheeks deepened, and she dropped his eyes, looking down at her hands clenched in her lap. “Okay.”

Part of him wanted to open his arms and draw her into them. Hold her, kiss her, tell her that he loved her too, that he’d never stopped and never would, that she was the girl of his dreams come to life, and no matter what had happened after, the day he married her was still the happiest day of his life. But he’d lived in daily, unceasing pain since he’d lost her, and he wasn’t sure he’d survive it a second time.

“I think we should get going,” he said. “We can… I mean, we’ll have lots of time to talk. Over the next few days.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking away from him, angling her body toward the window.

He didn’t know if she was hurt or embarrassed. Maybe disappointed. Maybe a mixture of all three. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to add to her pain right now.

“Hey, Elise.”

As she turned to him, he saw that her eyes were guarded and uncertain.

“Remember on the steps of the library?”

She nodded, a small smile lifting the edges of her mouth for the first time in hours.

“Our timing was never good, was it?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “It was always shit.”

He smiled back at her, letting the tenderness he felt for her soften his eyes. “I promise we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

The strain on her face eased and she nodded again. “Okay.”

She turned back to the window, and he started driving again, but there was a tension thick between them now that hadn’t accompanied them before, and with Für Elise long finished the car was dark and quiet as they left Pennsylvania behind and crossed into New York state.

I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t expect anything. But the truth is that I’m still in love with you and I need you to know that.

The words circled in Preston’s head as he drove on through the darkening night, the red and white lights of cars ahead of him and behind him streaking the highway.

I was happiest with you…I’m still in love with you.

His heart clenched with a hope that he’d barely dared to dream of, and he felt a growing lightness in his soul for the first time in years. Was it possible that their epically bad luck with timing had been the ultimate saboteur and not their feelings for each other? Was it possible that their feelings had been pure and true, only obscured by life’s demands and expectations and pressures? God, he hoped so.

And yet…he wasn’t actually sure where they could go from here. Resume a marriage that had never started? Start a marriage that had barely been born? How? She was a Hollywood actress. He was a Philadelphia lawyer. And if memory served, neither was very good at compromise.

Don’t let go of your heart yet, his head warned, remembering the dark days of drunken rages at Westerly as he wallowed in self-pity, suffering over her rejection and desperately missing his wife. You can’t leap before looking this time. You must be smarter and more careful.

Preston was fairly certain that Elise was asleep, so it startled him when she said, “I made a terrible mess of things. My mother would be so disappointed in me.”

Without a thought, he lifted his hand and held it out to her, his heart fisting with gratitude when she clasped it, lacing her fingers through his and resting both on her thigh.

“The thing is,” he said, gently, “it’s never too late to make the right choices.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, her voice breathy and tired.

“I do.”

She lifted their joined hands to her lips and pressed a long, soft kiss to the back of his hand before resettling them on her lap.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes.

I love you too, he thought. But love was never our problem.





Chapter 18


Love


“Elise…Elise, wake up. We’re here. Elise…”

It was Preston’s voice, which meant she was dreaming, because she hadn’t seen her strong, beautiful, tender husband since she’d pulled his heart out of his chest on a chilly Los Angeles morning and ripped it in half.

“Sweetheart,” he intoned, low and close to her ear, “wake up.”

Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she turned her face toward his voice, and the bristles of his beard skimmed her cheek.

“Oh, Pres,” she sobbed softly. “I need you so much.”

“I’m here,” he said, his lips moving against her cheek. “I’m right here. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

It took effort to open her aching eyes, but when she did, Preston was standing beside her, leaning into the passenger side of the car, and relief flooded her body, making her sag against the car seat. He was here. He wasn’t a dream.