I need you…playing the part of my wife. You can’t just leave.
The panic inside of him was whirling like a tornado now, growing by the moment; he wasn’t getting through to her. She needed to stop packing for a minute so they could actually talk about this.
He crossed the room and reached for her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She didn’t protest as he sat down on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. “Please talk to me, sweetheart. We live here. We work here. We’re married, and you’re going to do Broadway shows and I’m going to work for Mulligan & McKee. I mean…How does going to L.A. to be a movie star fit into this?”
Though she stayed in his arms, her posture was rigid. “I’m not going to be a movie star, Pres. It’s one role. But don’t you see? It could be my big break. This is what I’ve worked for my whole life. This. Right now.”
“I know that, but what about us?”
“I’m not going to L.A. forever. It’s just a little break,” she said, turning in his arms to look at him. “Maybe while I’m out there, you can come and visit me.”
A little break? Did they need a little break? And she was suggesting he “visit” like some long-distance boyfriend? He didn’t want to “visit” his wife. He wanted to live with his wife—sleep next to her, wake up next to her, make love to her every night and every morning.
He tried to swallow past his disappointment. “Is this really what you want?”
“Yes.” She nodded, offering him a small, hopeful smile. “It’s so important to me, I can’t even tell you. I never, ever, not in my wildest dreams, let myself imagine Hollywood. Please wish me luck. Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry with you, I’m trying to get my head around this. We got married yesterday. And, I mean, we’ve barely talked, but we were going to have a Marriage Summit today and—”
“We can have it over the phone,” she said, tilting her head to the side and grinning at him like everything was fine, like she wasn’t leaving for L.A on a whim the day after their wedding. What the hell was going on with her?
“Over the phone?” He searched her eyes, dread joining panic because she looked happier and more excited than she’d looked in two days. “Maybe I could go with you.”
“Pres,” she said, blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights, “that’s crazy. Your job is here. I’m not standing between you and your career.”
“Fuck my career,” he said, trying to ignore the painful tightening in his chest. “You’re leaving for L.A. for the next few months without even talking to me about it. Elise, come on. What’s going on with you?”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise, then tightened into a thin line. “I wish you would try to understand.”
“I am trying to understand, but ten minutes ago I was about to make love to you in our bed, looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you, and now you’re leaving to go to LA, possibly for several months. I mean, I’m happy to wait—”
“You’re definitely not happy.”
“Okay, fine. You’re right. I’m not happy about this. Sorry. I thought… I thought today was the first day of my marriage and instead it’s—”
Her eyes were stark when she interrupted him. “Are you trying to get me to stay?”
“You’re my wife,” he said slowly, because he didn’t seem to be getting through to her and frustration was joining panic and dread for a fairly awful trifecta. “We’re married. I want you to want to stay.”
She bit her bottom lip, looking away from him. When she raised her eyes, they were sad and it went against every natural instinct that Preston had to make her sad, but watching her walk away from him without putting up a fight was unthinkable.
“Pres, I was always honest with you about my career,” she said defensively. “You know how important it is—”
“Yeah. But I also know that yesterday you promised to love, honor, and cherish me for the rest of your life.”
She wiggled off his lap, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. “I do! I will! I’m not going to Timbuktu! Just LA. Just for a little while. It’s not forever. Please stop blowing it out of proportion.”
He stared at her like he didn’t know her, and part of him—a large part—felt like maybe he didn’t.
When she started speaking again her voice was calmer and gentler, but he could tell it was forced, too. “Listen, we’ll talk on the phone, and maybe you can, I don’t know, come and see me in a week or two? For a weekend?” She walked over to the closet and when she turned around there were several dresses hanging over her forearm. “And when it’s over, I’ll come back.”
I’ll come back.
Three words. Three words that told him there was no room for conversation anymore. Her mind was made up. She was leaving. No. She was already gone.
“When?” he asked softly, his heart aching. “When exactly will you come back?”
“When filming’s over.”
“How long will that be, Elise?”