I blink. "What did you say?"
"I told you I had you investigated before I asked you to marry me. I’ve known for a while that you have alopecia."
Of all the things he could have told me, this is the one thing I didn’t anticipate.
"You… you knew?" I grip the straps of my bag. "How did you—" I stiffen. “So, that’s what you meant when you told me that you knew everything about me, even whatever it was that I hadn’t told you?”
“That slipped through without my intending it to.” He looks between my eyes. “I wanted it to be you who told me about your condition. I wanted you to trust me enough to share your deepest secrets with me.”
“That’s why you told me about being taken and held prisoner when you were a teen?”
He hesitates. “No, that happened naturally. I felt I could trust you, and I wanted you to realize that you could trust me. Afterward, I hoped that opening up to you about my past would encourage you to do the same.”
“And all this time Iwasso stressed about how to share the details of my condition with you.”
He opens his mouth to answer, and I raise my hand. "No, don’t tell me. I should have known you’d find out about it. You probably found out about my visits to the doctor and the wig store.
When he doesn’t reply, I know I’m right.
"That’s such an invasion of my privacy."
"You knew what you were signing up for when you said you’d marry me."
He’s right. I knew I was going to have my personal life picked apart by the media. I had to live with the fact that, not only did I have to tell Liam, but also, at any moment the media could find out about it, and that would be even worse. It’s why I needed to control the narrative. It’s why I wanted to take the initiative and share it with the world first.
But the fact that he knew it all along and he didn’t tell me? I can’t get my head around it. I swallow down the ball of emotion that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my throat.
"Damn, but you’re a fine actor, aren’t you? You didn’t even let slip once that you knew. Not a hint."
"That’s not true. I kept giving you openings to tell me. I told you you could trust me, that I’d protect you. I wanted you to share it with me of your own accord. And to be honest, it wasn’t a big deal to me. And I didn’t want you to think it was."
He reaches for me, and I step back. "Don’t. Don’t touch me, Liam."
"Isla, please give me a chance to explain."
"There’s nothing to explain. You look like that, and I look like this. I will not be pitied by you, or by anyone else. I will not have people compare the two of us and be found lacking."
"You could never be lacking in anything, baby. You’re the most courageous, most vital, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met."
"That’s not what I see when I look in the mirror."
"That’s what I see. Why can’t you allow yourself to see what I see? You are not your hair, Isla."
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve repeated those words to myself in the mirror. And remained unable to believe it. And here is this man, throwing it in my face, as if it’s a simple matter-of-fact realization.
"How would you know what I am or not?"
I fold my arms about my waist. "We barely know each other enough. Sure, the sex is great—more than great, actually, if I’m being honest. And your kinks are something that adds an unexpected spice to our relationship. But other than that, you don’t really know me."
"I know enough," he murmurs.
"I hid this from you."
"You were hiding it from yourself. I knew you were courageous enough to face what you are in the mirror. I had a sense that, perhaps one day, you’d want to go public with it, too. For yourself. To own who you are to the world."
"Stop—" I hold up my hand. "Don’t second guess me, Liam."
"Isla, baby, I’m trying to help."