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.
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?”