Chapter 33
The thought was terrifying. If she had miscalculated, if she had walked away from the one chance she had at having a family, she didn’t know if she could forgive herself. And yet, another part of her clung stubbornly to her resolve. Graham’s care didn’t mean he loved her—not in the way she longed for. She wanted more than gestures and duty; she wanted to be seen, valued, cherished.
Her stomach twisted as the helicopter continued its ascent, carrying her farther away from Graham and the life she could have chosen. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, unwilling to let herself break.
The view outside grew blurrier as the tears she refused to shed clouded her vision. The world below looked distant and surreal, and for a moment, so did her life.
As Isla leaned back against the plush leather seat of the helicopter, she felt something pressing into her back—a sharp, almost imperceptible nudge that disrupted her spiraling thoughts. Frowning, she shifted and patted the seat behind her, her fingers brushing against a smooth, firm object. Pulling it out, she discovered a green file, slightly worn at the edges but still neat.
Curiosity piqued, she turned it over in her hands, noting the faintly embossed company logo on the cover. Flipping it open, she found pages filled with meticulous details about shipments—routes, quantities, dates—all written in Graham’s precise, almost mechanical handwriting.
The pilot, catching her confusion through the mirror, smiled. “Probably belongs to Mr. Lancaster,” he said. “I saw him with it just a few nights ago when I flew him to D.C. Just set it aside. I’ll make sure he gets it when I return.”
Isla sighed, a soft huff of irritation escaping her lips. She tossed the file onto the seat next to her, intending to forget about it entirely. But the universe seemed determined to test her patience—the file landed askew, spilling its contents in a messy cascade of papers. Loose sheets fluttered across the seat, some slipping onto the floor.
“Of course,” Isla muttered, gritting her teeth. She bent down, her fingers scrambling to gather the scattered documents. Her movements were quick and agitated, her mind consumed by the weight of everything that had happened.
It wasn’t until she had nearly finished that something unusual caught her eye. Tucked at the very back of the file, partially hidden behind the shipment forms, were a series of colorful brochures. Isla’s hand froze mid-reach as she carefully pulled them out.
They were college brochures—bright, glossy, and neatly arranged. Marymount Manhattan College, the University of Rochester, Colgate University, Hamilton College. Her brows furrowed as she leafed through them, her confusion giving way to a strange, tentative curiosity.
But it wasn’t the brochures themselves that stole her breath—it was the scrawled note on the back of one. Graham’s unmistakable handwriting, confident and bold, marked the page in dark ink.
Take Isla on a tour on Sunday to see if she likes any of the schools.
Isla stared at the words, her vision blurring as tears welled up in her eyes. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, and before she could stop it, a sob broke free, raw and aching. She clutched the brochures to her chest, her body trembling as she wept, tears streaming down her cheeks like an unstoppable flood.
The weight of Graham’s gesture hit her like a tidal wave. In a world where she had so often felt overlooked and dismissed, this simple, thoughtful act felt monumental. No one had ever done something like this for her. No one had cared enough to think about her future in such a tangible, meaningful way.
Her mind flashed back to her childhood—years of longing for a family, for someone who would look at her and see not just her struggles, but her dreams. She thought of the countless times she had felt invisible, like her hopes and desires didn’t matter to anyone. And now, here was this man, this infuriating, enigmatic man who she had convinced herself didn’t care. And yet he had done this.
He had planned to take her on a tour of colleges. He had wanted her to have choices, to find a place where she could thrive and be happy.
The thought unraveled something deep within her. Graham wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t cold. He cared—in his own reserved, deliberate way, he cared more than she had ever allowed herself to believe.
Her tears came harder, shaking her shoulders as she sobbed quietly in the helicopter. Her heart felt like it was breaking and healing all at once, a chaotic whirlwind of emotions that left her breathless.
He cared.
She sat rigidly in the plush leather seat of the helicopter, the steady whir of the rotors filling the cabin as the cityscape blurred into a patchwork of green and gray below. Isla’s hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles white with tension. The urge to speak, to ask the pilot to turn the helicopter around, pressed against her chest like a weight. Her lips parted several times, but no words came. She wasn’t sure how far they’d flown or if it was even feasible to turn back now. All she knew was that she wanted to go back—needed to go back.
The thought of leaving things unresolved gnawed at her. She had to see Graham. She had to face him, to tell him everything: her fears, her doubts, the questions that kept her awake at night. What did he truly feel for her? Did she mean anything more to him than a responsibility, a charge he had inherited from the past? The uncertainty was eating her alive. She knew there was only one way to find peace: to talk to him face-to-face.
Her thoughts churned, swirling in a storm of longing and fear. The truth was, she did want him. She had wanted him for as long as she could remember. Since she was thirteen, an awkward, starry-eyed girl, she had looked up to Graham with a mix of admiration and awe. Over time, that admiration had deepened into something more profound, something she hadn’t dared to name. And now, for the first time, when he had looked at her with a glimmer of something—desire, hope, promise—her heart had soared so high it felt like it might never come down.
For a single, fleeting moment, she had allowed herself to believe it was real. That everything she had ever dreamed of, everything she had ever wanted, was within reach. But with that realization came another truth, sharper and more painful. She didn’t just want a future with Graham; she wanted love.
She wanted to be loved—not out of obligation, not because it was the right thing to do, but because someone truly wanted her for who she was. She wanted to fill the gaping void in her heart left by the loss of her family, the aching loneliness that had haunted her for so long. She wanted a home, not just a roof over her head, but a place where she belonged, where she was cherished.
And Graham? Graham had never once spoken of love. He hadn’t uttered a word that hinted at deeper feelings. His proposal had been couched in terms of responsibility, of duty. He had offered her a life of security, of stability, but not of love. And yet…
Her gaze drifted to the green file resting on her lap. The memory of its contents sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over her. The brochures for colleges, the handwritten note in his confident script: Take Isla on a tour on Sunday, to see if she likes any of the schools. The care and thought behind those words spoke louder than anything he could have said.
He hadn’t needed to do that. He hadn’t needed to research schools, to plan a tour for her, to ensure that she had a chance to chase her dreams. And then there were the smaller details, like informing the pilot about her hearing loss and ensuring there was a way for her to communicate comfortably during the flight. These weren’t the actions of a man who felt nothing. These were the actions of someone who cared deeply, even if he didn’t say it outright.
Her chest tightened with the weight of her emotions. Graham had always been a man of few words, a man who kept his feelings hidden behind a wall of stoicism. She couldn’t expect him to pour his heart out to her, not when she had rejected him so many times, so decisively. But his actions—they were impossible to ignore.
She looked into the mirror mounted at the front of the helicopter. The pilot’s face was etched with concern as his lips moved rapidly, his words forming questions she couldn’t quite catch. She focused, her eyes locking on the reflection. “Are you okay, miss? Are you in pain?” he was mouthing.
Isla shook her head, the motion stiff and awkward. She hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers. Her voice felt fragile as she answered, “I’m okay. Sorry for breaking down like that.”
The pilot nodded, his expression softening but still tinged with worry. “Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be there,” he said slowly, making sure she could read his lips clearly.
Fifteen minutes. They were so close to her destination now, the end of this chapter, the beginning of another. Isla sighed deeply, her chest rising and falling as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. Relief and regret warred within her, tangled into an indecipherable knot.
A part of her—timid, hesitant, terrified—felt an almost absurd sense of reprieve. She didn’t need to face Graham just yet. The opportunity to turn around and confront him was slipping through her fingers, but instead of panic, there was an odd sense of solace. It’s too late now, she told herself. I’ll call him later. I’ll explain everything over the phone.
But deep down, she knew these were excuses. Cowardice had wrapped itself tightly around her heart, silencing the words she desperately wanted to say. Turn around. The phrase repeated itself in her mind like a plea, but every time she opened her mouth to speak, the words caught in her throat. The thought of asking the pilot to turn back, to take her to Graham, was almost paralyzing.
Her fear bubbled up like molten lava, hot and unrelenting, threatening to consume her. What if she went back only to be met with rejection? What if she misread everything—the brochures, the accommodations he had made for her—and he truly saw her as nothing more than an obligation? The prospect of exposing her vulnerabilities and having them dismissed was a risk she wasn’t sure she could take.
The helicopter blades churned the air into a frenzied chaos, bending the blades of grass into wild submission as the machine began its descent onto the open field. Isla sat rigidly, her heart pounding against her ribs as the ground neared. The distant silhouette of Thornfield Manor stood across the horizon, steady and imposing, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.
The moment the pilot gave her a thumbs-up, she unbuckled her seatbelt and bolted out of the helicopter, her feet sinking slightly into the soft earth as she landed. Her breath was short, her legs moving on instinct as she sprinted across the field, the house looming closer with every step. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was running—to the safety of her room, to the comfort of familiarity, or simply away from the whirlwind of her emotions. Perhaps she was running from herself.