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"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?"
