Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (14 page)

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Why didn’t you come to me?”

“And say what? I got married and it didn’t work out? My wife left and didn’t come back?”

I’m dying inside because I’m hoping every day for a call…a text…an email…anything. My heart is breaking because it wants her and needs her and she’s gone.

“So…when are you sending her the divorce papers?”

“I don’t know.”

The memory faded as Preston walked farther and farther away from the house and Jessica’s irritating interrogation.

As the sun set over Westerly, the air cooled, but the mosquitoes were coming out and Preston wished he had some bug spray. But, fuck it. He wasn’t going back to the house just to get some.

As for Brooks’ question? Weeks later, Preston still hadn’t answered it. The papers were still sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk where Brooks had found them. He looked at them once or twice a week, and had even addressed a yellow envelope care of Donny in New York, but he couldn’t bring himself to send them yet. Why? He didn’t know and he truly didn’t care to think about it.

He took another sip of beer and kept walking, back to a secret garden, beyond the bridle path, in the rear corner of Westerly that had a hidden hammock. It was a great place to be alone…

…unless your little sister totally ignored your warning and decided to follow you outside.

“You don’t have to call Beth,” said Jess, climbing next to him on the hammock and handing him a can of bug spray.

He sprayed himself quickly, then pillowed his elbow under her head as they swung back and forth. “I’m sorry I said that stupid comment about Alex shackling himself to you. He’s the luckiest bastard in the world, Jess.”

“I know,” she said in an over-confident, singsong voice that made Preston chuckle softly.

They rocked back and forth in silence as the woods chirped and hooted around them and the sun slowly set until they were alone together in the twilight. How many times had Preston and Jess rocked together in this very spot? A thousand, he’d wager. It was their favorite spot to catch up.

“I’ll be nice to Beth,” he said softly. “A deal’s a deal.”

And it was time to sign the divorce papers and send them to Donny. It was time to get back out there and start dating again. It was time to take back the heart that Elise had trampled. It was time to find someone else who might want it.

It didn’t matter that tomorrow was the second wedding anniversary of his failed marriage.

In a strange way, maybe it was almost perfect.

It was time to start living again.

“Folks, we’re about to begin our descent into the greater Philadelphia area. Local time here is ten ‘till nine, and we should be at the gate, oh, just a little after the hour. Please take a moment to lift and lock your tray tables, move your seats to their full and upright position, and buckle up. We know you have choices when it comes to air travel, and we thank you for choosing United. Have a great weekend here in Philly, the city of brotherly love!”

Elise Klassan looked out the first class window. It was dark on the ground, but the city of Philadelphia sparkled like it had been painted with a fluorescent orange highlighter. She wished she could appreciate the beauty of it, but her stomach clenched a little tighter with every inch the plane descended.

It was her first time back on the east coast in almost exactly two years. It was her first time ever in Philadelphia. Swallowing over the enormous lump in her throat, she wondered what the next few days would hold and prayed, with all her might, that she was doing the right thing.

Almost two weeks ago, her west coast agent, Gene Miller, had requested a meeting with Elise to pitch a new part in an upcoming movie. She thought it would be another period piece, or maybe even a guest spot as “the rambunctious American” on
Downton Abbey
or
Selfridge’s
, but it wasn’t. Not at all. Not even close.

“Elise!” said Gene, standing from his desk to welcome her into his office with a hug. “My shining star.”

She doubted she’d ever get used to all of the disingenuous hugging and air kissing and hand holding in Hollywood. It didn’t come naturally to her, and deep down it made her terribly uncomfortable, even after two years.

“Hello, Gene,” she said, pulling away from him to push her sunglasses to the top of her head, and smooth her designer linen sheath.

He gestured to a white leather couch and she took a seat, accepting a bottle of Evian as he crossed his legs toward her.

“You look well,” he said. “All recovered from
Grapes
?”

“I guess,” she said. “It was a tough shoot.”

“No one ever claimed that Steinbeck was cheery…but it’s a career-maker, Elise. You know that.”

A
career-maker
.

According to Gene, they’d
all
been career-makers.

After working with Gene on
The Awakening
, she’d segued right into filming a biopic of Consuelo Vanderbilt, and followed it up with a supporting role in Woody Allen’s
I Loathe You, Tijuana
. She’d planned to take a few weeks off then, but she’d been offered the role of Rose of Sharon Joad in a re-make of
The Grapes of Wrath
. Unable to turn down the part, despite her exhaustion and increasing depression, Elise had accepted it and spent the ensuing six months in a simulated dust bowl on a Hollywood soundstage.

“A career-maker,” she repeated tonelessly.

“What’s the matter, princess? You seem down.”

She
was
down. After four projects and twenty-four months in L.A., she was so very lonely and so terribly tired.

“I think I need to take a break,” she said softly, knowing that Gene would be upset by her reticence to take another part right away.  She didn’t want to upset Gene—he’d been very good to her. But unsupported and alone in the vast plastic pressure-cooker of L.A., her almighty ambition was running on fumes, and she just didn’t have the energy to jump back into another project.

“A break? No, no, no, Elise! The iron’s hot! Red hot! White hot! We have to keep striking, darling!”

She dropped his eyes, feeling an ever-present weariness surround her like a shroud. “Gene, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I really think—”

“Darling, you’re just starting to break through. Now is
not
the time to slow down! I’m your agent. I have your very best interests at heart, and I have an amazing part for you.” He leaned forward, patting her thigh consolingly. “And it’s not another depressing shoot, darling, I promise. In fact, it’s farce! It’s fun! Scouts honor.”

Like Gene Miller had ever been a boy scout.

She eyes him warily. She had money and security now, and the reviews of
The Awakening
had been fantastic, but Elise had never been more unhappy. She missed the stage…she missed a live audience…she missed New York…and she desperately missed—

“Elise? Darling, you’re so spacey today!”

“Gene,” she said. “The reality is, I miss the east. I want to go—”

“Well, then…you’re going to
love
this part! Hear me out?”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she twisted open the cap on her water bottle. “Go ahead.”

“Drumroll please!” he said, his eyes sparkling as he did jazz hands in the air between them, “
The Philadelphia Story
!”

At the very mention of Philadelphia, she gasped, sucking a gulp of water into her lungs and launching into a full-blown coughing fit.

“Oh, honey!” said Gene, reaching over to thump on the back and yank away the offending bottle of water.

Philadelphia.

She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears in her eyes.

Philadelphia.

“Are you okay, love?” asked Gene, fussing over her.

“I’m fine,” Elise sputtered, clearing her throat.

“Fine? You’re coughing up a lung, poor princess.”

“
The Philadelphia Story
?” she asked weakly, after taking two more deep breaths.

“Actually, they’re calling it
The Philly Story
! It’s a re-make!” He nodded, his eyes sparkling and animated. “And you’d be playing Tracy! The star, darling! The star!”

Elise knew the original movie starring Katherine Hepburn, and the musical re-make,
High Society
, starring Grace Kelley. She’d loved both when she watched them in a “Re-boots and Re-makes” class at Tiscsh, and the idea of acting in lighter fare did appeal to her.

“And the best part since you’re missing the east? It’s being filmed on location in Philadelphia! Isn’t that divine?”

In Philadelphia.

Preston’s face flashed before her eyes and she held back a whimper of longing.

“Divine,” she murmured.

The door to Gene’s office opened and his assistant, Melinda, peeked her bespectacled face through the crack. “Mr. Miller, you asked to be alerted when Miss Rousseau arrived?”

“Ah, yes!” Gene winked at Elise. “The plot thickens,” he said dramatically, rubbing his hands together with glee. “I’m going to say hello to Miss Rousseau for a moment, and then—as long as it’s okay with you, darling—I’d like to introduce you to each other. She’s local legal for this project in Philly, and I understand she was just given an Assistant Producer credit for a Very. Important. Reason.”

“Yes, of course,” said Elise, grateful for a few minutes alone.

As the door closed, she took a deep breath, settling back into the couch and giving her misery full reign.

Originally, Elise had thought that Hollywood would be a legitimate escape from the panicked, trapped feeling she’d had the moment she said “I do” to Preston, but it wasn’t. Being apart from Preston had only magnified their love affair: forced her to review his persistent, patient courtship, his whole-hearted devotion, his thoughtfulness, his tenderness, his love. Missing him so terribly kept the best memories of him on constant repeat, and by the time she’d been in L.A. for two weeks, she was starting to recognize the terrible mistake she’d made: it hadn’t been in marrying him; it had been in leaving him before she’d given them both a chance to adjust to their whirlwind nuptials.

Except by then she’d signed the contract for
The Awakening
. She was on-set filming for twelve hours a day and trying to figure out her way around L.A. the rest of the time. For better or worse, she’d made her decision and it was too late to change it: too late to go back to New York, too late to be Preston’s wife, too late to choose her heart over her career. She’d told him as much when he’d visited her.

You’re not happy here. I can tell. Come home, Elise. Come home with me.

You’re
making me unhappy
, she’d responded frantically,
by putting this pressure on me! I can’t be your wife. Don’t you see that? I don’t choose you. I choose acting. This is my home. This is my life, and you’re not a part of it.

So what was I?
he’d asked tightly.
What were we?

Lovely,
she’d answered, watching his face flinch with pain, then harden in anger.

The moment the taxi whooshed away, she’d cried her eyes out, but the reality was that she’d already chosen her destiny, and it didn’t include a New York-based husband who wanted her living with him back east.

In those dark days after he left L.A., she expected divorce papers to arrive in her mailbox every day. After shooting, she’d come home to her rented bungalow and open her mailbox with trembling fingers. And every day that she didn’t find a manila envelope with his return address felt like a reprieve and gave her hope. False hope, probably, but hope nonetheless.

Maybe he wouldn’t stop loving her.

Maybe he loved her enough to hold on.

Maybe someday they would find each other again.

But then she would remember his face as he stepped into the taxi. His shattered face. His cold green eyes. She saw hate in those eyes—or something close to it—and the memory made her want to die because his love had been the purest and best thing her life had ever known.

Days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into a year, and losing Preston—something that Elise had willfully engineered—became the biggest regret, the biggest heartbreak of her life. But the more time that stretched between them without contact or correspondence of any kind, the more impossible it felt to address it, let alone fix it.

The night she wrapped up filming on
The Grapes of Wrath
and returned to her dark, quiet home without the distraction of an early call the next morning, she’d stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, the question circling in her head as she longed for her husband’s arms around her:

You haven’t seen or heard from him in almost two years. And sure,
you’ve
finally realized what you lost, but there’s no chance he will ever forgive you for walking out on your marriage…so what now?
Elise had no answer for that question, so that’s where her internal dialogue had ended.

Since it was impossible for her to entertain thoughts of a future with him, her thoughts of Preston were confined to the past. With a perspective that came with time, Elise had been able to look at their courtship and marriage objectively over the past two years, and she’d come to fully understand her raw urge to run to L.A. when the opportunity was offered.

Two years ago, she simply hadn’t been ready for marriage. She’d loved dating Preston, being his girlfriend, even living with him. And she’d been in love with him for certain, but she hadn’t been ready to prioritize her marriage to him over her career. Her Broadway career had barely taken off. She’d invested years of her life—and all but severed ties with her family—in order to be a star, and it was finally on the verge of happening. She didn’t need to be distracted by a hot, loving, thoughtful lawyer who wanted to give her the world. She’d feared him getting in the way of her ambition, or in any way interfering with her career. She’d almost resented the power of his love for her, and hers for him, because it was a weakness that could eventually jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for.

What had confused things terribly in her head, was that she had been more than ready to lose her virginity to Preston at the time…something her Mennonite conscience wouldn’t countenance without a formal commitment between them. Most girls would have gone ahead and had sex with him as the next logical part of their relationship, but she wasn’t able to do that. So when he’d proposed so romantically, she’d reviewed her feelings—
deeply in love, check
—and her ever-increasing desire for him—
scorching, check
—and jumped into matrimony without a sober review of her readiness to be someone’s wife.

It made her profoundly sad to think about all of this, to realize that despite their deep love for each other that their timing had been, once again, epically shitty. Preston had wanted their marriage vows to suddenly mean that they had morphed overnight into this happily bound unit…whereas Elise was too independent and ambitious to let anyone, even her husband, get in the way of her dreams.

Two years ago, Elise Klassan wasn’t ready to be Elise Winslow, and rushing into marriage had been a mistake.

Two years later, with the gift of time and perspective, what she wanted most in the world, was another chance with Preston Winslow.

At some point, she’d realized that her career, which she’d always assumed would be enough,
wasn’t
enough. Knowing Preston, living with Preston, coming home to Preston, being loved by Preston had ruined her for Hollywood, had ruined her for Broadway…had ruined her for anything that didn’t include him. It wasn’t that she didn’t have talent, she did. She had work and accolade and praise, too. But she didn’t have happiness. Her happiness, with her heart, remained with him.