Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(76)

He didn’t argue with her and she knew she was right.

“I was so desperate to break away. I was so frightened of anything or anyone standing in my way. I went about it badly,” she said, and Preston saw clearly that what she was describing had happened twice in her life: once with her family and again with him. “My mother kept this binder, Pres. It’s clippings about the shows I was in at Tisch, and off-off Broadway. Ethan Frome and the movies I shot in Hollywood. She was following my career the whole time. Abby said she was proud of me.”

Preston turned into the motel parking lot and cut the engine. “Of course she was.”

“But I truly thought she was disapproving, strict, and cold. Why couldn’t she have told me she was proud of me? Why couldn’t she have supported me?”

“I don’t know,” said Preston. “I didn’t know her.”

“It would have meant the world to me.” She paused, smoothing her hands over the plain black binder cover. “And yet, I’m so grateful to know it now. I never believed I’d find closure, Pres. I thought I’d grieve her forever, and you know? I will, but at least I know she loved me. At least I know she was proud of me. At least I know she was watching.”

“I’m glad for that,” he said, reaching out to cup her cheek.

“You made today bearable,” she said, leaning into his hand. “Thank you for being here with me.”

She was so beautiful, her eyes wide and open as they stared back at him with a world-weariness and maturity that seemed so much deeper than the girl he’d met in an off-off Broadway dressing room two years ago. She had changed a lot, and though it frightened him to hope, he couldn’t help the words that tumbled from his mouth as he stared at her.

“I don’t want a divorce.”

“Neither do I,” she said, shaking her head, her smile suddenly brilliant. “I never did.”

“Really?”

“Really. I came back east to reconcile with you, Pres. I never wanted to let you go. I just needed time.”

She sniffled and he swiped at an escaping tear with his thumb. He tried to hold on to his smile, but it faded as he furrowed his brows together. “But I still don’t know how to be married to you. I don’t know how to make us work.”

“If I tell you that we’ll figure it out this time, will you believe me?”

“I want to,” he said.

“Anything’s possible,” she said, “where there’s love.”

“There’s love here,” he said, holding her eyes, feeling the risk of saying more and silencing the declaration that threatened to break free.

She smiled at him, covering his hand with hers. “Come lie down with me?”

He nodded, letting his hand linger on her face for an extra moment before dropping it, leaving the car and following her into the motel room.

As he closed the door behind them, Elise turned to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded as he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves and removing his watch.

“I won’t blame you, and I won’t judge you. I just need to know…”

“Anything,” he said, placing the watch on the table by the door and slipping out of his shoes. He was tired and holding her as they fell asleep sounded like the perfect way to end a long day.

She swallowed, dropping his eyes, her chest heaving as her breathing became faster and more shallow. His first instinct was to reach for her, but it was more important to give her the space she needed to stay and move, to speak and be silent, to live at her own pace, not at his.

When she lifted her eyes, they were clear but cautious, and still he waited, patient, though increasingly anxious.

“How many…” She paused, taking a deep breath before beginning again. “How many women have you been with since you were with me?”

His eyes widened for a moment before his shoulders relaxed and with a smile that held all the love in his heart, he answered, “None.”

She gasped. “None?”

“None,” he confirmed. He leaned his neck to the side, smiling at her tenderly. “I’m married.”

“M-Me too,” she said as tears slicked down her face. “I haven’t been with anyone but you.”

He took a step toward her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you so much, it felt like dying,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“Like thirst and hunger,” he said, reaching for her. “All the time.”

“Like frost. Like ice. Like there was no warmth on the earth,” she said, stepping into his arms.

“Like eternal winter,” he agreed, pulling her tightly against him.

“Like happiness was a fairytale. Like joy was a myth. Like love…”

“…was impossible,” he finished.

Elise leaned her head back, her eyes dark and wide in the dim light of the motel room. “You’re here with me.”

“I’m here with my wife.”

He’d dreamed of this moment so many times, and yet nothing he’d fantasized could compare to Elise’s upturned face telling him that she didn’t want a divorce and never had. She still wanted him, still needed him, still loved him.

Skimming his hands up her arms, their breath mingled hot and sweet between them, and Preston cradled her neck between his palms, her throbbing pulse under his thumb. He took his time leaning down, his lips moving closer and closer to hers until they touched the sweet softness that he’d missed so desperately, and he sealed his mouth over hers.