Elle couldn’t help but wonder if she was referring to Luke. She suppressed the suspicion brewing inside her, making an informed decision to trust Luke. But the pictures of them laughing and chatting at the bar crept back into her brain.
“Good for you.” Elle returned to her seat, ready to finish the exchange and return to her script. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Table read, nine o’clock.”
Gina narrowed her eyes, and Elle suspected she was studying her for vulnerability. She’d let hell freeze over before allowing Gina Romano to see her emotions and conflict over Luke. Only those she trusted the most in the world were allowed to see her at her most exposed. And Gina would never be on that tiny list of people. Elle watched her as she left the office, leaving the door wide open so Elle would have to close it.
Such a pain in the ass.
Elle grabbed another Twizzler before closing the door. She placed the tissue box next to her monitor, took a deep breath, and returned to Desmond’s final words.
“Whitney Bartolina.”
Elle was so choked up as she clutched the phone to her ear, she almost couldn’t get the words out. But she needed her best friend. She needed her support, her understanding, her love. She cleared her throat and attempted to speak without sobbing.
“Can you go to lunch?”
“Ellie.” Whitney only used that name when Elle was upset or in a panic. It was her version of handling Elle with kid gloves. It was endearing and comforted Elle in an inexplicable way. “What’s going on?”
“I need you.”
“Gimme five.”
“Okay.”
Elle placed the phone back in the cradle and closed the finished document for Desmond’s final script. She knew saying good-bye to his character would be emotional, but she didn’t expect this. She didn’t expect the devastation that consumed her. She wasn’t ready—the script was beautiful and she had every confidence it would play out well on-screen, but she wasn’t ready to let go.
Whitney arrived, rushing into the office and placing her hands on Elle’s shoulders, peering into her eyes.
“I’m here. What’s happening?”
“Desmond, I—I wrote his last words. It’s over.”
“Oh,” Whitney said with a deliberate nod. Elle knew she understood, at least to some degree, the gravity of the situation. She knew how haunted Elle had been the past ten years, and that Desmond was Elle’s connection to Troy. Despite the fact the real Troy had resurfaced, the character of Desmond was a lifeline for Elle. A connection to their past and the love they had shared.
“Want to get out of here? Go somewhere quiet?”
“I don’t care.” Elle dabbed at her face with more tissue. The box was almost empty.
“Tell you what. Let’s order in.”
“No pizza!” Elle said quickly, before covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, just . . . no pizza.”
“I get it. I’ll take care of it. Give me two minutes.”
Whitney walked outside and spoke briefly to Nicole. Elle opened the candy drawer, pouring every bit of sugary comfort onto her desk. When Whitney returned, she tilted her head, eyed the desk and the brightly colored packages covering it, and took a seat, opening a fresh package of Swedish Fish.
“Nicole’s placing an order with the deli down the block. And she’s clearing your schedule for the rest of the day. Now, talk to me, honey.”
Elle nodded, feeling a knot form in the back of her throat. “I didn’t think—” She paused. “I didn’t think I’d be like this, ya know? I mean, I knew it’d be hard. I knew that, but . . . still, I just . . .”
“Ellie, you’re spinning. Take a second, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
“This character . . . he’s more than a character . . . to me.”
“I know he is.”
Elle stopped, took a deep breath. “I’m ready to tell you about Vegas. About what happened there. None of this will make sense if I don’t.”
“I’m all ears.”
Bright sunlight streamed through Troy’s bedroom window. Elle rolled over to avoid starting the day, but was soon quite aware of the time when Troy opened the bedroom door.
“Rise and shine, sleepy.”
“Coffee, I smell coffee.” Her voice was deep and raspy from a restful night’s sleep. Troy entered the room, carrying a small tray. A tiny vase with one simple pink rose grabbed her attention immediately.
“Breakfast in bed. But you have to sit up.”
“You cooked? I love when you cook.” Elle eased up to a seated position and Troy placed the tray above her legs and a small kiss on her lips. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Happy anniversary. We started dating a year ago today.”
Troy always was the romantic in their relationship. Elle couldn’t believe they’d been dating for an entire year. Where had the time gone? She was the happiest she’d ever been in almost twenty-five years. Which reminded her . . .
“And my birthday’s tomorrow.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, this time on the forehead. “It’s a big weekend. In fact, I thought we could talk about that.”
Elle took a large sip of coffee, savoring Troy’s ability to mix her favorite hazelnut roast with the perfect amount of cream and sugar. “Heaven in a cup” is what she called it, and no one made it as perfectly as he did. Not even she could duplicate his recipe.
“Talk about what? I’ll be twenty-five, no big deal. Let’s just go to dinner or something.”
“I had a better idea.”
Elle narrowed her eyes at Troy, whose expression had changed in an instant. He looked anxious as his fingers tapped quickly on his thigh.
“How about a trip?”
“Like a getaway?” Elle brightened at the idea, then bit her bottom lip, wondering where they might go.
“Something like that,” Troy replied. His fingers continued to tap anxiously as Elle pondered the possibilities. Where would they go? Perhaps a road trip up to Door County for wine sampling. Perhaps a trip down to Champaign to visit their alma mater. No matter the location, she could think of no better way to spend the weekend. Until she saw it.
Troy reached into his pocket, placing a velvet box on the tray.
“Oh my God,” Elle said, her voice deadpan and her eyes wide as she looked down at the unexpected gift. “Is that—?”
“Look, I know we’ve never talked about this, but . . . it’s all I can think about. You, me, a future together. I want to marry you, Rigby.”
Elle’s palms were sweating and adrenaline coursed through her veins.
Marriage? Really?
“Troy, I—”
“I remember back in college, you said you hated fancy weddings . . . you wanted to get married on a whim. You said it was ‘the epitome of romance.’”
Elle remembered saying that, but was astounded Troy remembered as well. He’d paid attention.
“Let’s do it, Rigby. Let’s get married today. I’m so in love with you.”
“Today?” Elle’s heart pounded and her belly flipped. She scrunched her nose as she pondered something she knew she wasn’t quite ready for. “I mean, I—”
Troy’s eyes were wide and bright, sparkling in the morning sunshine. Elle’s mouth went dry, overwhelmed by the proposal. They’d spent an entire year together, and unlike the past when all they could do was argue, they’d had three hundred and sixty-four days of absolute joy. Picnics in the park, museums on the weekends, nights on the couch with Chinese takeout or a Chicago-style pizza. Troy was thoughtful, protective, and romantic. And she loved him . . . more than she could ever imagine loving another person.