“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.”
“I know.”
He flinched, tightening his jaw as he searched her eyes. “Why are you here, Elise? Why the hell would you walk into my sister’s engagement party without—”
“Without?”
Preston looked around quickly, then reached for her wrist again, moving her hand to his elbow. “We’re attracting attention. Come with me.”
She tried not to think about the warm muscle encased in his dark blue suit sleeve. She remembered what it felt like to be held by that arm, to feel it around her shoulders at the end of a long day, the hot weight of it slung across her bare breasts as she fell asleep beside him.
“Why the hell are you here?” he leaned down to whisper, guiding her toward a French door that presumably led outside.
“I’m shooting a movie next door, and Jax is producing it. She thought… I mean, she thought that coming tonight would be good research…” She let her voice trail off. It sounded so contrived and made her feel foolish and thoughtless.
Preston held the door for her, and Elise preceded him outside onto a quiet patio, bathed in lavender twilight.
“Did you know whose engagement party this was?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
Say you’re sorry.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
His face, so fiercely angry, softened for just a moment before turning to stone again. He jerked his chin toward Chateau Nouvelle. “I’ll tell Jax you weren’t feeling well.”
She gulped, scanning his face. “You’re kicking me out?”
“This is my home,” he said, locking his eyes with hers and throwing back the words she’d said to him in L.A.. “My life. And you’re not a part of it.”
“I’m still your wife,” she answered softly, shocked by the words, wondering where in the world they came from.
His eyes narrowed and he scoffed. “That’s a joke, right?”
“Pres…”
“That’s a joke,” he said more forcefully, taking a step toward her.
She stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him, tilting back her head to look up into his face.
Say it again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, you can fix that by leaving. Now.”