Lisbon stared at the back of the seat in front of her, seeing nothing, but feeling far too many eyes on her.
Of course it was too late. Of course it was. And what was 'it', anyway? A declaration, and then…? An office romance, on display for everyone? Back to the old normal of smiles lasting a little too long but him on his couch and her in her bed? Being talked and tricked into ever-escalating schemes? In other words, 'it' could be a disaster.
And she was engaged!
Though, she had to admit, that was also a disaster in the making. As soon as the acceptance of Marcus's proposal had left her mouth, her stomach had lurched. What did you just do? She had wanted to cry, trapped by her own childish desire to prove to Jane that he couldn't manipulate her by doing exactly what he didn't want. She had felt faint with the realisation of the trap she had leapt into, when the beauty of the trees passing by had caught her attention. The beauty of what she was running away from.
Well, an imagined beauty. A beauty she had suspected. She'd thought when he'd returned to the States that things would be different somehow. All those letters… But then no, she'd been wrong, he didn't want anything from her except her assistance in pretending to harvest organs from living people! His favourite little enabler.
But she had been right. He did…
So what? Did having what she'd wondered (feared?) all along proven real change anything? It was still all about him. Even the fervent truths he'd finally gotten the courage to tell her were still self-focused. It felt good for him to say those things to her. Of course they did! They were just one more method of keeping her there. If there was one motto that Patrick Jane lived by, it was that the end justified the means if it was an end that he wanted. Even if he had told the truth, he was only telling her now, when he had to, when it suited him.
She had a chance to get him out of her head, to begin a life with a man who was open and upfront. Even if he was a little too upfront sometimes, at least had never made her think she was infected with a deadly biohazard. She wouldn't have to terrify and be terrified on a monthly basis by Jane's latest highly illegal and morally-suspect scheme. She'd had to cover for him so many times, do so many things that she would never have thought in a million years would feel like the right thing to do.
She would never have done any of them for Marcus. Not a single one.
Suddenly she was on her feet, running down the aisle of the plane.
Suddenly everyone was clapping and cheering.
Her cheeks burned, but not as hotly as the feeling in her chest. They'd hate her in an hour's time, when ground staff was still trying to rescue her bag from the hold… But she would've hated herself even more if she'd stayed seated, flying to the one she liked but didn't…
Do you really mean it, Patrick? Do you? Because I do too.
