Page 48 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

"Holy shit, woman, you’re on fire."

I walked into Zara’s apartment, and she runs over. She waves her phone in my face, the screen open to my social media feed.

I glance at the phone, then back at her face. My heart jumps into my throat. My stomach bottoms out with such speed, it feels as if I’ve swallowed a rock.

I must go pale because she grips my elbow and guides me to a sofa. Then she disappears inside the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. I glug down half of it, then place it on the side table.

"Better?" She studies my features.

"I’m fine," I lie.

"You’re not" —she laughs— "but you will be."

"What do you mean?"

She sinks down on the settee next to me. "Promise you won’t freak out."

Sweat beads my palms.

"It’s okay. Whatever it is, I can take it." I swallow.

"It’s all good, honey, I promise."

She begins to hand the phone over to me, and I stop her. "Umm, maybe you should read out the comments?"

"If you want."

"I do." I fold my hands in my lap and brace myself. "Hit me with it."

"You sure?"

"I’m sure."

After another few seconds of scrutinizing my features, she nods. "Here goes." She dips her gaze down to the screen and begins to read.

Thank you for sharing your positivity with the world. Your vulnerability and bravery are appreciated beyond words. Thank you!

You are beautiful! Your hair doesn’t define you.

My heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Girl… you’re brave and gorgeous! I’m in the same situation as you, thank you for sharing. [Heart emoji]

Beautiful. [Heart-eyes emoji]

First, you look amazing! Second, I wish I was as brave as you. I would never feel comfortable posting pics without my wig.

I rub my palm across my head and wince when I realize I haven’t yet worn my wig. I took public transport like this, and you know what? No one gave me a second glance.

Magnificent! [ fire emoji]

Yesss girl, you’re so inspiring! You’re so strong, keep it up. [Heart emoji]

Why are you so beautiful? [ Loudly crying face emoji]

Beautiful inside and out. [ blue heart]

You are an inspiration. [ Heart emoji. Heart emoji.]

I love—

"Stop—" I burst out.

She glances up at me. "You okay?"

I nod. "All the messages are—"

"Positive."

"How many messages are there?"

"A couple of thousand? Maybe more?"

"Couple of thousand?" I squeak. "Which means—"

"You have a hundred thousand likes and counting on the post."

"Oh, wow." That empty feeling in my stomach begins to fill with butterflies. "Bu…but…the wedding post had…"

"Half that number of likes and comments."

"Oh." I sink back in my seat. "There must be some negative comments. Some trolls having fun at my expense."

She frowns, then scrolls down the feed. "To be honest I don’t see any.

Okay, maybe a couple. But people are commenting on them and shutting them down.

" She looks up at me, a smile on her face. "You’ve won over people already. You have the community with you. They understand and appreciate how much courage it took to do what you did. And those who don’t see it, frankly, it’s their loss. "

The butterflies in my stomach take flight.

My heart feels like it’s expanding and getting bigger and crushing everything else.

I try to breathe, gasp, try again, and draw in breath.

I swallow, and it goes down the wrong way.

I begin to cough, reach for the glass before Zara can, and empty the rest of the water.

I place the glass down, and by the time I turn to her, I feel more composed.

"Wow, I…" I shake my head. "I’m gobsmacked."

"Why are you so surprised?" she asks gently.

"I was sure they’d hate me. I was sure people would make fun of me. I was resigned to people saying it was a publicity stunt. That I was ugly. That the most eligible bachelor in London deserved better than me.”

“On the contrary, as this comment says, You are a rockstar. Liam is lucky to have you."

My throat closes. My pulse flutters so hard at my temples, I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"Isla?" Zara asks in a worried voice.

"I’m fine," I manage. "Really, I’m good. It’s just… I never imagined."

"In all honesty, I don’t think people care one way or the other. When you walked in, I didn’t even notice that you didn’t have your wig on."

I tilt my head. When I walked in, I noticed she looked at me closely, but after that, she didn’t react with surprise or treat me differently. "I thought it was because you were my friend. That maybe you were being polite."

She snorts. "Me and polite? You know how outspoken I can be."

"Don’t I?" I half-smile. "Maybe it’s because you were too taken in by my social feed. Maybe I was too taken in by how you had pounced on me and thrust your phone in my face.”

She stares at me.

I flush. "Point taken."

"Good." She places her phone on the table, then takes my hand in hers. "Darling, you are gorgeous, brave, and clearly, more than a pretty face. And if you paid attention to what every bitch on the internet said about you, you’d never step out or check social media again."

"I know that." I swallow. "It doesn’t stop me from being overly sensitive to criticism, and that was before I showed the world how I look without my wig."

"And now, you’re so fucking fabulous my eyes ache. Fuck these people. Fuck society. Who are they to judge you anyway?"

I can’t help it, I laugh. "This is why I love you."

"You love me because I’m fabulous." She tips up her nose in a regal gesture.

"That, too."

"Seriously though," —she narrows her gaze— "you’re media savvy; you knew what you were doing. At least, I think you did. You had an idea how they would react, didn’t you?"

"I did."

"So what’s really eating at you?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I had half-hoped the reaction to the post would be positive. I mean, I didn’t dare to hope, but I did… Know what I mean?"

She nods. "It took a lot of balls to do what you did. But people love an authentic voice and that" —she nods toward the phone— "is the fucking pinnacle of authenticity. Even more than your previous lovey-dovey video which, by the way, also seemed pretty damned genuine."

"Because it was. They both were. And yes, ultimately, I am media savvy, so I went with my gut. I didn’t plan to post when I took off my wig. I didn’t warn Liam."

"He does look taken aback in the post," she concedes.

"Only because I didn’t tell him that’s what I was going to do."

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he already knew about my… alopecia." See? It does get easier. At least, I can admit it aloud in the privacy of my friend’s apartment. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to say it in front of the world.

"He did?" She blinks.

"He had me investigated. Turns out, he knows a lot more about me than I know about him."

"Okay, hold on a second…" She puts distance between us. "He knew you had alopecia all along?"

I nod.

"And he never let on?"

I shake my head.

"And you never guessed that he knew?"

"No." I throw up my hands. "I mean, I was so stressed about him finding out—not that I wasn’t going to tell him, but I wanted to do it in my own time. So I was trying my best to hide it from him all this time.”

"And I want to ask, why? Why would you want to keep it from him?"

Because the marriage between us started out as farce.

I rub my temple. "Initially, it was because I didn’t know him and I wasn’t sure if I could trust him.

Later, it was because I was worried he’d find me wanting.

I suppose, on some level, I felt he was so handsome and I was so ugly.

I was scared of being judged and found inferior. "

She stares at me.

My flush deepens. "Fine, I know what you’ll say. Exactly what he said. Don’t give away my power."

"Huh? Mr. Dickwad actually makes sense sometimes."

"Don’t call him Dickwad, and he makes sense most of the time."

Her lips quirk, then she wipes the smile off her face.

"Why are you smiling that snide smile of yours?"

"I’m not smiling."

This time, she curves her lips and doesn’t even bother to hide it.

"See?" I stab my finger in her direction, "You are smiling."

"Okay, you’ve got me." She holds up both of her hands, palms facing me. "So, I’m assuming Doucheca— I mean, your husband—told you not to give away your power. But all this time, he knew about your secret."

I nod.

"So he knew about it, but it didn’t bother him. And he didn’t push you to mention it. And he didn’t confront you with it, either?"

"Y-e-s," I say slowly.

"But you’re pissed at him because you were expecting him to be shocked at your appearance when you pulled your big reveal and he wasn’t."

I shuffle my feet. "Yes, again."

"Okay."

"Okay? That’s it?"

She shrugs. "What do you want me to say?"

"Wouldn’t you be upset if you were in my place?"

"Well, I never would’ve gotten married, period."

I blink. I mean, I know Zara’s a feminist, but this is the first time I’m hearing her declare this out loud.

"No need to look so shocked. Marriage doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. You know that, right? Not that I’m referring to your marriage, of course."

"Of course…" I purse my lips. "You don’t believe that, do you?"

"Oh, honey. Of course, I do." She swipes her hair back from her face. “I also happen to believe practically all relationships are based on a foundation of lies and mutually accepted delusions."

I look at her closely. "Who hurt you, Zara?"

She looks stunned, then lowers her eyelids. "Is it that obvious? I’m normally better at hiding it."

"Not from me," I murmur.

"Guess not." She half-smiles. "I guess it’s the fact that he accepted you so wholeheartedly that’s making me reconsider whether all men are bastards."

"Unlike the arsewipe who caused you distress."

She waves her hand in the air. "I’m over him. Although, clearly, I’m carrying the scars of his emotional rejection, and PS, don’t change the topic."

I blow out a breath. "I wasn’t changing the topic."

"Yes, you were."

I narrow my gaze on her, but she stares right back at me.

"Fine." I hunch my shoulders. "So maybe I was. But you do realize, your attitude is unhealthy."

She scoffs, "As long as it works for me, I’m good."

"But—"

She holds up her hand. "Enough about me already. Back to the relationship between you and that tosser, Liam. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don’t know." I rub the part of my finger where I wore his ring. The ring I left behind. The ring I wore for only a few days. So why do I already miss it?

My phone vibrates in my bag. I pick it up, glance at the screen, then raise my eyebrows at Zara. "It’s my mother."