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

this story were real. I wish I’d asked Laila to marry me, spur of the moment, over dinner the other night. I wish I’d been smart enough to realize, back then, that I can’t live without her. That I don’t want her to be my girlfriend—I want her to be my wife.

“I did have one condition for Adrian,” Laila says. “One thing I told him he’ll need to do before we say ‘I do.’” She looks at me. “I told him, ‘You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met and I don’t want anyone else, ever. But if we’re going to have a shot at living happily ever after, without some of the traumas of our childhoods getting in our way, then I think we should both agree to go to therapy.’ I think Adrian could use some help with anger management, honestly. And I could certainly use some help dealing with a few things from my childhood, as well.”

My heart is galloping. “I had no problem saying yes to that, Mimi.” I look at Laila. “I told her, ‘No problem. I’ll do anything to make this work.’ I wanted Laila to know she can always trust me—that I’d never hurt her or do anything to push her away or scare her. I wanted her to know I screw up sometimes, yes, but I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything, ever, so I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Holy fuck,” Sasha whispers.

Laila’s flushed. She says, “When Adrian said all that, I told him, ‘Well, it’s not like I’m perfect or anything. I’ve got some major hang-ups and insecurities I haven’t dealt with very well. So, I think this idea would be good for both of us.’”

“I’m so proud of you both,” Mimi says, patting Savage’s hand. “Don’t let the past rob you of the future you both deserve.”

“We won’t, Mimi,” I say.

“Good.” Mimi looks at Laila. “I’m guessing you’ve started to figure this out, sweetheart, but, still, it’s worth mentioning. When Adrian promises something, he sometimes messes up and breaks his promise. But once he does that, if he promises again, that’s when his word becomes unbreakable. He sometimes needs to make a mistake, once, to figure himself out.”

Laila looks at me and says softly, “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that about him.”

“Don’t put up with his crap, Laila,” Mimi says quietly. “But when you can, show him patience and grace, and you’ll be greatly rewarded.” With that, Mimi’s eyelids flutter, and it’s clear she’s exhausted her energy for now.

“Sleep now,” I say, gently caressing her cheek. “When you wake up, we’ll watch the first episode of the show.” I sing softly to her—the little lullaby I always sing to her—and soon, it’s clear Mimi has already drifted off to sleep.

I address Stuart, Mimi’s caregiver. “She’s gonna wake up, right?”

“I’m sure she will,” Stuart replies.

I exhale a long breath and look at Laila and my cousin. “Do you two ladies want to go downstairs, drink some whiskey, and smoke a big, fat blunt with me? Because fuck me, I need to unwind.”

“Hell yeah,” Sasha says.

I look at Laila. “You’re not gonna rat me out to the producers for breaching the sobriety clause in my contract, are you, babysitter?”

“Dude, fiancée trumps babysitter.”

Smiling, I pull Laila to me and plant a little peck on her lips, and, to my relief, she puckers and returns my kiss. With a deep exhale, I rise along with Laila, and accept a big hug from my cousin. When Sasha releases me, I walk out of the room with her, my arm around my cousin’s shoulders, and with Laila trailing behind. As we head down the grand staircase, I tell Sasha how much I’ve missed her. I thank her for taking such good care of our grandmother and apologize for my initial reaction when I first heard the news about Mimi’s decline.

“It was a lot to process,” Sasha replies. She squeezes my trapezius muscle, the one near my neck that always tightens up the most, and says, “Ooph. You’re knotted-up like crazy.”

“This is the worst I’ve been in forever. The show is killing me.”

“Well, let me at that famous body!” Sasha says, like she always does. “And I’ll fix you right up!”

I chuckle and reply the way I always do: “Knock yourself out, Sasha.”

When we get to the base of the staircase, I turn around to say something to Laila. But she’s not there. On the contrary, she’s frozen in the middle of the staircase, looking like she’s just seen a ghost.

“Laila?” I say, my heart in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

Laila’s mouth is hanging open. Her face is pale. For a long moment, she doesn’t reply. “Sasha,” she finally whispers. “It was Sasha.”

“What?” I say.

“Sasha is a massage therapist,” she murmurs.

“Right,” I say. “I told you that.”

“I’d be happy to massage you first,” Sasha says. “Fuck Adrian. He gets enough attention, right?”

“You’ll be in good hands,” I say. “Sasha is the best.”

Laila remains frozen and pale on the staircase, not moving a muscle.

“I know it’s weird,” Sasha says, filling the awkward silence, “but my favorite thing in the world is working out knots.”

Laila blinks a few times in rapid succession, exhales, and slowly begins descending the steps. As she walks, I disengage from Sasha to meet her in the middle, perplexed by the expression of pure shock on her face.

“What is it?” I ask.

Rather than replying to my question, Laila takes my face in her hands, pulls me to her, and kisses me deeply. Passionately. Without holding back. Like she’s kissing her actual fiancé. The great love of her life.

I have no idea what’s prompted this reaction, especially on a day when Laila has barely spoken to me. Was it something Mimi said? Maybe that thing about me tending to fuck up once, but not twice? Or did Mimi’s frail condition remind Laila that life is short—that we’re all mortal and imperfect and flawed—and should therefore not sweat the small stuff, but, instead, grab happiness, wherever we