Page 37 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

There’s no sign of Liam, and his housekeeper doesn’t seem too happy to see me in the kitchen.

I ask her for coffee, and she tells me she’ll serve me in the conservatory adjoining the living room.

She seems to be in a hurry to get me out of her kitchen, so I leave and go to where she instructed.

It’s a beautiful space, actually, with the sun shining through the glass ceiling.

I step out onto the patio behind it. Beyond that is a lawn with flowers bordering it, which in turn, leads to an infinity pool.

Beyond the pool is the slope of Primrose Hill with a view of London.

I stare at the skyline in the distance, making out the dome of St. Paul’s and the tall sliver of white metal that is The Shard.

The housekeeper brings me my coffee and breakfast on a tray.

Before I can dig in, another member of the staff, the butler by the looks of it—how many staff did Liam have anyway?

—escorts Zara into the room. She’s on the list of friends and family I shared with Liam’s security team so they’d know to let her in without having to check first.

"Hey you!" She walks over, and I hug her. Finally, someone I know and someone who’s not one of Liam’s household staff.

"Do you want coffee?" I ask.

She nods.

I turn toward the door. Do I need to go to the kitchen to ask for another cup or—Zara walks to a button that’s tucked away to the side of the settee and depresses it.

"Umm, what did you do?"

She holds up five fingers, then four, then three, two— The housekeeper walks into the room.

"You called, Madam?" she asks me.

"She did." Zara tips up her chin. "Can I get a cup for the coffee, please?" She flashes a smile at the woman who half-bows.

"Very well, Madam." She turns and leaves.

I pick my jaw up off the floor and turn to her. “How did you know that’s what the button was for?”

“It seemed like the most probable reason for it to be tucked away out of sight.” She raises a shoulder.

"Where did you learn to do this Lady of the Manor impersonation?"

"When I was little, I used to practice in front of the mirror. I used to pretend that I had a lot of money and a staff I could order about to do my bidding."

"Really?" I blink.

"When you don’t have much, it’s exciting to live a different life in your head."

"Oh." I’m not sure what to say. In the time I’ve known her, she’s never mentioned her background.

"I know you wouldn’t think so to look at me now, but fact is, I come from modest beginnings.

" She gestures to herself. Today, she’s wearing a perfectly cut skirt-suit, probably Chanel, designer shoes which, if I’m not mistaken, are Manolo Blahnik's, and is carrying her Birkin handbag. Her makeup is flawless. She looks like a dead ringer for the woman who played the lead in the second season of Bridgerton crossed with a hipper version of the character Meryl Streep played in The Devil Wears Prada. Only Zara is a lot more vital. Energy crackles around her like she’s in a hurry to get somewhere.

"Not that we were poor. We never went hungry. And my parents worked their butts off to give me and my brother a good education."

"You have a brother?"

"He’s my twin."

"You have a twin brother?" One Zara is already a force of nature; to think there are two of them is mind-boggling.

She laughs. "He’s only a few minutes older than me, but the way he acts, you’d think he was years older.

He was very protective of me when we were younger.

" Her gaze softens. "I used to have frizzy hair, wore braces, and spectacles.

I used to get teased by all the other kids in school. He was always coming to my defense."

"That must have been so nice to have someone looking out for you."

"Maybe too much. Thanks to him, most of the boys kept away from me. Everyone but one, that is."

A weird look comes into her eyes. Guilt? Or remorse, maybe? Then it’s gone, and once more, she is Zara Chopra, superwoman. "It’s why I had to fight extra strong to be heard. Maybe that’s why I still fight so hard to stand out. Maybe that’s why I’m constantly testing the limits imposed on me."

The housekeeper arrives with a cup of coffee and places it on the table next to the food.

"Thank you…" I blink. "What’s your name again?"

She gapes at me as if I asked her to give up her firstborn.

"Umm, you okay?"

She jerks her head up and down in a rapid movement. "Yes, Madam. It’s just, you asked me my name."

"So?" I frown.

"He’s never asked me for my name."

"You mean Liam?"

She nods again.

I exchange glances with Zara, then turn to the housekeeper. "And how long have you been working here?"

"Two years, Madam."

"Two years, and he never asked you for your name?" I stare.

"N-no, Madam." She glances from me to Zara, then back to me. "Uh, please don’t tell him I said that."

"Of course, not. This stays between us girls." Zara slants me another look. "Doesn’t it, Isla?"

"Yes, of course—" I tilt my head.

"Oh, it’s Malory, Madam." The housekeeper pats the back of her silver-streaked bun.

"Thank you, Malory." I flash her a smile.

Malory all but blooms under the attention. "Thank you, Madam." She half-curtsies to me.

"Oh, and please call me Isla. And you don’t need to" —I wave a hand in her direction— "bow and stuff. I’m not royalty."

She blinks, then dips her head again. "As you wish, Madam." She walks away.

"Jeez, was that surreal or what?" I murmur as I walk over to take a seat beside the coffee table. "To think, I didn’t ask her name earlier. It’s the first thing I should have done."

"You’ll learn." She takes a sip of her coffee.

"Hopefully not. I don’t plan to be here much longer."

"What? Why?" She sets down her cup. "Wasn’t the honeymoon everything you wanted it to be? I thought it was too short, but figured he had to be back at work. But maybe I thought wrong? Maybe you guys returned because you had a fight?"

"Nothing like that. Quite the opposite. He’s everything I thought he was. No, he’s much more than I thought he’d be. He didn’t put a foot wrong. He was tender and caring, and has a way with words that’s almost as good as the way he—" I firm my lips.

"Almost as good as the way he fucks?" She smiles widely.

Color flushes my cheeks. Which is really strange.

I’m not a prude. Okay, so maybe I’ve never come as hard as I did around Liam’s dick, but I’ve had my share of boyfriends.

And I’m totally cool with discussing details of my sexual life with my friends.

It’s just, with Liam it feels wrong. Things are too new, too raw, too intimate, too personal…

So personal and so invasive, I made sure to piss him off enough that when I finally leave, he won’t be too surprised.

"So what’s the problem?" She peers into my face. "If he makes you happy, and from what I’m reading in your eyes, he does, why do you think you need to leave."

"He’s getting too close to me," I whisper.

"And that’s a problem?"

I nod. "He’s so much more than he seems. He built up the company he inherited from his father to more than it ever was before.

Not only is he powerful, but he’s actually sensitive.

He loves reading. He has a library that’s packed with books I wish I owned.

He even gets my pop-culture references and wants to act out scenes from my smut books. "

"So, clearly, he’s not perfect for you at all."

"He’s too perfect."

"So are you."

"I’m not." I hunch my shoulders. "You know I’m not."

"You’re a strong, powerful, gorgeous woman who’s an inspiration for so many others—"

I hold up my hand. "I don’t feel very strong or powerful when I don’t even have the guts to show people who I really am."

"You’ll do it when you’re ready."

"And what if I’m never ready? What if I never have the courage to come out and share all of myself with the world? What then?"