Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) by Rowe, Lauren (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

our host it’s not yet time to shift focus to the other judges. And Sunshine, pro that she is, instantly changes course. “Actually, the floor still belongs to Savage and Laila! Any other questions for our happy couple?”

A reporter yells, “Laila, what did you think when you found out Savage had let the cat out of the bag about your relationship to Sheree Dawson—the influencer who then made that viral video? Were you mad? Sheree’s got a huge following and notoriously loves Savage and Fugitive Summer, so he must have known she’d post something.”

“To be clear,” Savage interjects, before I’ve replied, “I had no idea who she was. But I do admit I was drunk and bursting at the seams to tell the world about Laila and me by then. So, you do the math. I’m not known for making sound decisions on my best day—but particularly not when I’ve been drinking.”

The entire room chuckles. Surely, all of them thinking of Savage’s naked swan dive into that hotel pool.

“What exactly did you say to Sheree, Savage?” the reporter asks.

“I said she reminded me of Laila, which she did,” Savage replies. “And I guess, once I said Laila’s name to her, it was like I’d broken the seal or something—and, suddenly, I couldn’t stop myself from babbling everything about us.”

“Adrian’s always got loose lips when he drinks,” I say, pinching Savage’s chiseled cheek. “But I wasn’t mad at him when I saw the video. In fact, I thought it was sweet he couldn’t keep our secret any longer. I mean, my boyfriend spilled the beans while turning down a woman who was flirting with him. What girlfriend could be mad about that, at the end of the day?”

After a few more questions, Sunshine steers the conversation away from Savage and me toward Aloha and Jon for a bit—although, in keeping with today’s apparent theme, the first reporter called upon asks Aloha and Jon what they think of the addition of Savage and me to the show.

As Aloha and Jon talk, my mind wanders. It seemed preposterous to think Savage might have mentioned my name, at all, to that Instagrammer when I first saw the video. I assumed she was chasing her fifteen minutes of fame. But after hearing Savage’s smooth explanation of what supposedly went down—it seems logical that he might have at least commented on how much she looks like me. Could the story he told just now be based on a kernel of truth? Surely, she misheard Savage when he went on to say he had to “lay low” because of the show. But is it possible Savage thought of me when he saw that woman, and then actually said my name to her?

“Hey, Savage,” a reporter says, jerking me from my thoughts. “Are there any songs about Laila on your band’s upcoming album?”

“No,” Savage says, and I sigh with relief. “The album was written before Laila and I got together.”

Another reporter asks, “Are you two planning to release any music together, now that the world knows about you?”

To my surprise, Reed Rivers, who’s been standing at the back of the room next to Nadine Collins, answers before Savage or me. “They are!” Reed calls out. “Stay tuned for details.”

“They’re going to premiere a song during the finale!” Nadine shouts.

And that’s that. I look at Savage, as if to say, Well, that took a turn, and he smiles mischievously, letting me know he’s on board for this brazen money grab. I don’t blame him, really. If someone swooped in and unexpectedly snaked two million bucks out of my pocket, I’d be down to make some of it back with a hit song, too. Especially one advertised and performed on national TV.

A reporter stands and introduces herself to Savage and me as a writer for a popular women’s magazine. She says, “I know my readers would love to know what you two love about each other, if you wouldn’t mind speaking to that.”

“Savage?” I say, feeling my heart rate spike. How can I possibly answer that question, even for pretend?

But Savage is the portrait of ease and charm. He says, “Actually, this is an easy one. Obviously, Laila is physically gorgeous. I love that she looks like she could murder me in my sleep, right after coming home from cheerleading practice.”

Everyone in the room, including me, chuckles at that description.

“Also, she’s incredibly talented,” he continues. “I can’t tell you how many times she’s given me goosebumps with her voice. But, at the end of the day, it’s Laila’s personality that attracts me the most. I love that she’s tough and fierce, but also a softie. In fact, Laila can be downright goofy, once you get to know her. Like, when she misses a shot in a game of HORSE, for example, she’ll fall to the ground and writhe around like she’s been shot.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. How’d Savage know about that? He was nowhere near the basketball court when I did that at Reed’s party. Or, at least, not that I saw. Wasn’t he hitting on that pretty Asian woman by the pool around that time?

Savage’s dark eyes locked with mine, he says, “I also love how close Laila is with her family—her mom, sister, and baby niece. How easily she makes friends. During our tour, everyone loved Laila. Musicians, makeup artists, roadies, caterers, bus drivers. Everyone. Laila even went to weekly game nights with the crew. But did they invite me, even once? Nope.”

“You’re a huge star,” I say. “It was nothing personal.”

“That’s not why, Laila. They invited you because you make every person you meet feel special. Like they’re your friend. That’s a rare gift—and one I certainly don’t possess.”

Heat is wafting between us. Without thinking about it, I lean in and give Savage a peck on the lips. Even if that speech was a load of complete crap, it’s making my heart flutter and sending butterflies into my belly. Without hesitation, Savage grabs my