Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (15 page)

Coming home to a dark bungalow after a successful shoot felt empty when she remembered the way he’d wait up for her after every show. Celebrating small victories on her own was so depressing, she had stopped celebrating them. Even praise for her work didn’t matter to her anymore; there was no one to share it with her. No one to read to, or sit with on long cab rides. No one waiting outside the soundstage to take her out to dinner, or wrap his arms around her when she’d had a bad day. Without his support and gentle kisses, hard body and deep well of love for her, her success had become all but meaningless. It had been a hard two years of self-discovery and self-recrimination, and what she had realized, beyond any shadow of doubt, was that giving up Preston had been the biggest mistake of her life.

She was finally ready to be Elise Winslow…

…two years too late.

When Elise was so lonesome for Preston she thought it would break her, she  would hike up into the Hollywood hills, find a quiet spot, and meditate. Most often, she’d close her eyes and think of her mother back on the farm in Lowville, imagining the advice her mother would give her if they had the sort of wise, loving, mother-daughter relationship that included long conversations about matter of the heart. Sometimes it comforted her. Sometimes it made her feel worse. But it always helped her sort out her feelings.

Sitting on the white leather couch in Gene Miller’s office, Elise closed her eyes, focusing on her mother’s face, and whispered words dropped from her lips:

“I still love him, Mama. I miss him awful. And I ruined things between us. Me. I h-hurt him. I pushed him away, Mama. It makes me ache inside to think about what I said to him when he came all the way out here to see me.” Bile rose in her throat and she winced as her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how to get him back. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry after all this time. I don’t want to give up my career, but I would, Mama. Now I would. I hate it out here. I m-miss the stage and New York and I miss P-Preston more than anything because I was really happy with him, Mama. Really, really happy. I’ve made a mess of my whole life…and I just—I j-just don’t know what to do.”

Picturing her mother’s weathered face, she saw her mother’s eyes soften for just a moment before turning to gray steel. Her no-nonsense voice echoed in Elise’s head:

Stop your crying. This isn’t a stage, and as usual, you’re making your life so much more difficult than it needs to be, Liebling.

You say you’re sorry. You ask for forgiveness.

You talk to him. You hope he listens.

You offer honesty. You hope for trust.

You offer love. You hope that it’s returned.

You understand that making room for someone you love isn’t giving up something, it’s getting something far better in return; it’s the very core and basis of marriage. You each give up a little of yourselves to make way for something new, to make way for love, to make it work.

Say you’re sorry.

Ask for forgiveness.

Talk.

Be honest.

Love.

Make room.

Make it work.

Opening her eyes, she was almost surprised to find herself in Gene’s office, because a profound peace had settled upon her as she’d meditated. Peace. And hope.

Gene was literally handing her the opportunity to reconnect with Preston on a silver platter. She’d go to Philadelphia to work, yes, but she’d make time to look for Preston, find him, talk to him…and maybe—just maybe—she’d figure out a way to get him back. After all…legally, at least, they still belonged to each other.

Elise  looked up just as the office door opened again and Gene walked back in, followed by a stunning, dark-haired woman, whom Elise guessed to be about her age.

Elise stood up, taking the other woman’s proffered hand.

“Jax Rousseau, meet Elise Klassan. Elise, this is Jax,” said Gene.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” said Jax, with a smile that doubled her considerable beauty. “I loved you in
The Awakening
. Hey! Let’s take a selfie!”

Surprised but charmed by Jax Rousseau’s exuberant request, Elise nodded. “Sure.”

Cheek to cheek, Elise smiled for Jax’s camera and watched the brunette load the picture onto Facebook before they sat down side by side on the couch. Gene pulled up a chair across from them.

“So, Elise…like I said, Jax is one of the Assistant Producers on the project, and she’s also our legal contact in Philly.” He turned to Jax. “Want to fill her in on the rest of the details, precious?”

“I’d love it!” said Jax, flashing her million megawatt smile and turning her whole body to face Elise. “
High Society
is my favorite movie of all time, so obvi I love
The Philadelphia Story
…when I bought the rights to re-make a modern version and sold them to Warner, it was under the condition that all shooting would take place on-site at my family’s estate in Pennsylvania. You know, my little way of memorializing my childhood home.”

“Wow,” said Elise, realizing that despite this woman’s apparent youth, she was a mover and shaker. “I love it…but, the rest of your family doesn’t mind? Filming on location can be…intrusive.”

Jax shrugged. “We don’t actually live there anymore. My oldest brother recently relocated to New York. My twin sister and I have a condo in Philly. My other brother lives with his fiancé, but they’re getting married at Chateau Nouvelle this winter, which is why we need to start filming right away. I promised Étienne and Kate we’d be finished by October at the latest.”

“Chateau Nouvelle?”

“The name of the estate,” explained Jax. “They all have names in Haverford.”

Elise had been smiling in a friendly, encouraging sort of way, but at the mention of Haverford, she felt her breath hitch and her face fall. Her voice cracked as she repeated, “Ha-Haverford?”

Preston’s home town.

Jax nodded. “You know it?”

“No,” she whispered, looking down at her lap and trying unsuccessfully to compose herself.

She
should have
known Haverford. She should have known Haverford very well, but she’d left before she’d given Pres the chance to introduce her to his brothers and family home in Haverford.

“Here’s the scoop…well, wait. First, can you be ready to go east in two weeks?” asked Jax, breaking into her thoughts.

“She can and she…
will
?” asked Gene, raising his eyebrows and giving Elise a cajoling smile.

“Two weeks?” asked Elise weakly.

Only two weeks to figure out how to win back the love of my life after two years apart.

“Yes! Let me explain why…the daughter of our neighbors is getting married in September but they’re having this massive Main Line-style engagement party on July thirtieth. I mean, this is some serious
Great Gatsby
-style shit—er, uh, stuff. Anyway, I thought you could attend as my guest, Elise. It’ll be
perfect
for research! And then you can stay at Chateau Nouvelle until filming begins…you know, become familiar with the house and neighborhood so you can really embody Tracy when we start filming on August tenth!”

“It’s a great idea, of course, and I’d love the chance to settle into my surroundings, but won’t your friends mind my barging in on their family celebration?”

“The Winslows?” asked Jax, shaking her head. “No way. We’ve lived next door to them for decades. Friends forever. They won’t mind a bit.”

Elise. Stopped. Breathing.

The Winslows.

Good God, it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Her hand fluttered up to her chest and covered her heart which was racing like crazy.

“The Winslows.”

Jax nodded. “Yes! Maybe you’ve heard of Brooks Winslow? The Olympian?”

Brooks Winslow. Preston’s brother.
She’d heard of him, all right.

Elise could barely breathe now, and she stared back at Jax in shock.
You’re an actress
, bellowed a voice in her head.
Act!

She wasn’t sure how she managed it, but she offered Jax a confident, beaming smile. “The Olympian. Of course.”

“And he has a gaggle of
gorgeous
brothers.”

Yes, he does
, thought Elise, sitting up a little straighter.
And one of them, technically, belongs to me.

“And as far as I know? They’re still single,” said Jax, winking at Elise. “I swear you’ll have a blast and it’ll be the perfect opportunity to do research!”

And get reacquainted with my husband
, she thought, shock giving way to excitement.

Elise had kept that smile frozen on her face as Gene and Jax had finalized the details, but her mind raced with questions and possibilities and ignored warnings, her heart thundering with hope, hope, blessed hope.

***

A week later, she’d signed the contract attaching her to
The Philly Story
, packed up her bungalow, broken her lease, and shipped all of her belongings to a storage facility outside of Philadelphia. Returning to L.A. wasn’t part of the plan.

She only had one plan, and reviewed it in her head as she looked out the window as the plane taxied to the waiting gate at the Philadelphia International Airport:

Say you’re sorry.

Ask for forgiveness.

Talk.

Be honest.

Love.

Make room.

Make it work.

Eight steps. Eight steps that she would follow no matter what. Eight steps that would filet open her heart for Preston to take or turn away. Eight steps that would either restore her marriage or end in divorce.

Eight steps that suddenly held the balance of her entire life’s happiness.

When the Winslows hosted large parties, Westerly was often called “the palace” by visiting friends and neighbors—possibly because Olivia Winslow was British, but more likely because no expense was spared and no detail overlooked. Every celebration was fit for royalty.

The light music of glasses clinking together was just a tone above the five-piece string ensemble that played Broadway tunes only loud enough to be heard, not overtake conversation. Tuxedo-clad waiters passed hot h’ors devours and waitresses in black cocktail dresses offered bite-sized desserts on gleaming silver trays to the three hundred or so guests in attendance.

At the entrance to Westerly’s grand ballroom, Alex and Jessica received their guests, flanked on one side by Preston’s mother, Olivia, and Brooks, and on the other side by Tom and Eleanora English, Alex’s parents. Preston didn’t envy them the long hour they’d stood there with perma-smiles frozen to their faces as they graciously shook hands with people. Briefly remembering his own impromptu engagement made his heart tighten and clutch—not that he’d wanted an event as lavish as tonight, but he’d never even gotten the chance to introduce his fiancée to his family.

Preston clenched his jaw, sharply ending his train of thought before it went any further, turning away from his little sister and back to the conversation between Christopher and the Atwell cousins. He had warmly greeted Beth and Constance the moment they walked into the ballroom this evening, and Beth had stayed close to Preston ever since. He wasn’t unhappy to see her, and he didn’t mind acting as her escort.

Frankly, Beth looked great. Her light blonde hair had been cut since the last time he saw her, and the short style complimented her gamine face. He’d always gotten along with Beth—she wasn’t especially fascinating to him and his attraction to her wasn’t off-the-charts, but she was amusing and she had a good heart. If Preston was actually in the market for a girlfriend right now, Beth would be a decent choice. It wouldn’t be a high-maintenance relationship; he’d only see her on weekends, since she still lived in New York and he was based in Philly. It was certainly something to consider. Hell, he could ask her to stay over tonight and they could slide seamlessly back to the place they’d been before…before—

“Pres? Help me out here! What do
you
think?”

Preston started, turning his glance to Christopher. “Sorry. I was miles away. What do I think about what?”

“So distracted tonight,” said Beth, taking his arm as she looked up at him with a playful grin.

“How could I not be…distracted?” he asked, letting his eyes slip suggestively down the neckline of her dress and linger before returning. The least he could do was make an effort, right?

Beth’s cheeks flushed. “Tease.”

“Pres,” said Connie, her voice annoyed, her eyes narrowed and shrewd, “Christopher needs to think bigger, don’t you think? City Controller is nothing. It’s a glorified bookkeeper. Chris has more ambition than that!”

“Ambition isn’t everything,” said Preston tightly.
It certainly doesn’t always bring you happiness.

“Here, here, Pres,” said Chris, clinking his beer bottle against his older brother’s. “And being the Chief Fiscal Watchdog of Philly hardly makes me a slouch, Con.”

Connie Atwell pouted. “But you could be so much mooooore.” Suddenly her expression soured drastically. “Oh, God. Weston English. Kill me now.”

Preston looked up to see two of Alex’s brothers, Fitz and Weston English, approaching the bar beside their small group and Preston nodded to them in greeting. Bypassing the bar, the brothers headed for Preston and Christopher say hello.

“Congratulations,” said Preston, smiling at his old friends. “Alex is a very lucky guy.”

Fitz chuckled. “No argument here.”

“Where’s your lovely wife tonight?” asked Christopher, shaking Fitz’s hand.

“She and Molly just headed back to Haverford Park to check on Caroline. I’m sure she’s absolutely fine with Susannah Edwards, but Daisy’s a new mom. She worries.”

“Well,” said Connie, skewering her ex-boyfriend, Weston, with a glare, “luckily she has a
milkmaid
with her if she runs into any maternal troubles.”

Connie was referring to Weston’s current girlfriend, Molly, who had grown up on a farm in Ohio…and had solidly ousted Connie from her place in Weston’s heart.

“Connie, you surprise me!” said Weston smoothly. “I wouldn’t have thought the word ‘maternal’ was in your vocabulary.”

Connie’s eyes widened in fury, but she wrinkled her nose, glancing at her cousin conspiratorially. “She grew up on a
farm
. Can you imagine?”

Preston couldn’t help the way his mind zipped back to the first time he ever walked Elise home.
We grew cows on forty acres…

“
I
can imagine,” he heard himself saying, cutting his eyes to Connie and letting her know that ridiculing Weston’s girlfriend any further wouldn’t be tolerated in his family’s home. “There’s nothing wrong with honest work.”

Connie shrugged, an irritated pout back on her pretty face as she grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Let’s go freshen up, Beth.”

“Oh, I…” Beth looked up at Preston, her eyes soft and apologetic.

“It’s okay,” he said, gently extracting her arm from his and watching as Connie pulled her away.

“Well thanks, Wes,” said Christopher, taking a few steps over to the bar and ordering a double scotch. “Connie’s all pissed off now, which means I’m probably not getting any tonight. Thanks. Really.”

“You’re not missing out on anything special,” said Weston under his breath, and Fitz turned back to the Winslows and quickly changed the subject. “So! Have I been hearing rumors about you running for City Controller, Chris?”

Christopher nodded. “Though Connie thinks I should aim higher.”

“Higher than the most important elected position in the whole city?” asked Weston acidly. “Stop listening to her!”

Preston suppressed a chuckle as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Palming it, he looked down at a new message from Brooks:
I need to talk to you!

Looking over the heads of his mother’s guests to the entrance where Brooks stood with Jess and Alex, he saw his brother shaking hands with two women—a blonde and a brunette—both of whom had their backs to Preston. From the rear, they both looked incredibly intriguing—one in a very, very short, tight black cocktail dress, and the other in a thigh-length, very tight, blue and white dress, swirled with flowers. He couldn’t see their faces, obviously, but there was still lots to admire from this vantage point.

His phone buzzed again, and he glanced down to see the single word:
Now!

Was this another plot of Jessica’s to set him up with yet another eligible Philadelphia bachelorette? Or two? And had she somehow roped Brooks into helping her?

What’s the rush?
he typed, looking up again to see that the two women were now shaking hands with the Englishes. Preston watched as Eleanora English’s face broke out into a surprised smile, before shaking the hand of the blonde woman and leaning forward to engage her in animated conversation.

Suddenly the brunette turned around, and Preston realized it was Jax Rousseau, his next door neighbor from adjacent Chateau Nouvelle. He had recently heard that Jax had joined a competing firm in entertainment law, though he hadn’t had a chance to congratulate her yet…or tease her a little bit about stealing her clients.

“I’ll be back,” he said to Chris, putting his phone back in his pocket and making his way across the ballroom to say hello to Jax. As long as he was over there, he could find out what was going on with Brooks, too.

As he moved closer and closer, he caught Jax’s eye, and she grinned at him, waving hello. But then suddenly, her companion turned around and Preston froze in his tracks as all the air was sucked out of Westerly’s ballroom. He blinked twice, wondering for just a moment if he was hallucinating. He wasn’t.

The hot blonde in the tight dress was Elise Klassan.

His wife had just walked into Westerly.

***

“Remember those gorgeous brothers I mentioned?” asked Jax, nudging Elise in the hip as she turned away from Eleanora English. “Brace yourself. Here comes one now.”

And that was how Elise Klassan came face-to-face with her husband, on the evening of their second anniversary, after two miserable years apart.

He was still stunningly handsome, his hair as thick and dark as she remembered, with that rogue curl still kissing his forehead. Tall and broad, he looked like heaven in a suit, and her fingers twitched, remembering how it felt to push his suit jacket down his muscular arms and listen to it pool on the floor. Gathering her courage, she raised her gaze to his face, locking her blue eyes on his green.

“Pres,” she whispered softly, breathlessly, working to keep her face from crumpling or launching herself into his arms.

He stared back at her in shock, unspeaking, unmoving, his face stony and unwelcoming.

“Wait a second! Do you two know each other?” asked Jax.

“We’ve met,” said Preston.

Elise scanned his face—his beautiful face—that was so cold and distant.

“In New York,” she added.

“Oh! When you were on Broadway?” asked Jax, wrangling two champagne flutes off a passing tray and handing one to Elise.

Preston’s eyes widened, then narrowed with disapproval, as she touched the glass to her lips and let the bubbles tumble down her throat. In the movie
I Hate You, Tijuana
, Elise’s character had had an insatiable love of Champagne, and although Elise had never drunk more than a few sips, she had to admit, it
was
delicious.

“Off-
Off
Broadway,” said Preston derisively.

Elise lowered the glass, her cheeks flushing as she remembered the humiliation of playing Matilda to half-full houses…and how Preston had come to see her not once, but twice.

“I bet she was still amazeballs,” said Jax, leaning forward to touch her cheek to Preston’s and ask about his law firm, which gave Elise a moment to recover as she studied him.

He looked so angry, so remote, nothing like the warm, open man she’d fallen in love with two years ago. It hurt her heart to realize that she’d done this to him—stolen the sparkle from his eyes and the warmth from his voice.

“…film it
here
, so of course I thought tonight would be an
epic
opportunity to see the Main Line in action, and your mother didn’t mind at all. She’s always been the
sweetest
. Oh! Cort Ambler is here? Be a
doll
and chat with Elise for a moment, would you?”

Jax sailed away on a cloud of Dior Poison, leaving Preston and Elise facing one another in a veritable sea of awkward.

What the hell was she thinking, showing up here without an invitation? My God, how inconsiderate, how foolish. Her fingers trembled, she could barely breathe, and she had a sudden urge to thrust her glass at him, race across the ballroom to the nearest exit and escape from this person who clearly despised her.

But first she had something to say to him, and she wasn’t leaving until she said it.

“Pres,” she started, barely able to keep her voice from breaking. “It was a mistake to come here, but I just wanted to say that I’m—”

“Leaving? What a surprise. That’s your M.O., isn’t it?”

“No, I—”

Preston grabbed her wrist. “You’re a guest of my mother’s. And you’ve already caught the attention of almost everyone in the room. If you leave now, you’ll cause a scene.”

“Please let go.” She let her chin drop to her chest. “I’m going to cry.”

“No, you’re not,” he said in a cold, deeply irritated voice. “You’re a much better actress than that and we both know it.”

She winced, but his words—said with such quiet disgust—were exactly what she needed to blink back her tears and raise her chin. “I’m
not
acting.”

He dropped her wrist. “It’s so hard to tell.”

What had she expected? Understanding? Forgiveness? That he’d take one glimpse at her face, tell her he still loved her, and beg her never to leave him again? He’d already done that. Twice. And both times she’d walked—no,
run
—away.

Feeling utterly miserable, she took a deep breath and pursed her gloss-covered lips. “You look well, Pres.”

“Thanks,” he said, his face barely civil. “You look…” He raked his eyes down her bare neck to the swell of her breasts, lower still to the curve of her hips, then back up again. “
Lovely
.”

Lovely.

The ridiculous word she’d used to describe their marriage before he left her in L.A..

It hurt her just as much now as it must have hurt him then.

“Thank you,” she whispered, refusing to break down in the middle of his mother’s ballroom.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”