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

palms. “Laila Fitzgerald, if I’m ever so much as cranky toward you, if I’m ever even remotely close to being an asshole in your presence, ever, please, please, say ‘Buckley multi track stems’ and I promise on my life I’ll instantly stop whatever shitty or immature thing I’m saying or doing, drop to my knees, and kiss your feet.”

She makes an adorable sound of pure joy. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“And rightly so.”

We kiss again. But, suddenly, Laila says, “Oh! There’s one more gift you need to open.”

“No. Stop. No more.”

“This one is a small token. It cost me approximately twenty dollars.”

She grabs the book-sized wrapped gift from the corner of the bed, and hands it to me. “I had this made for you when we were in Chicago. But I decided to wait a little bit to give it to you.”

My heart thumping, I open the wrapping paper to find the inside of an old birthday card, given to me by Mimi on the first birthday I spent with her. My thirteenth. Laila’s gotten the card framed behind glass like it’s an exquisite work of art. Which it is, to me.

The handwritten note on the card from Mimi reads:

      My dearest Adrian,

Happy 13th birthday, my love. I thank God everyday he brought you to me, so you could light up my life like a shooting star. Whenever you get frustrated or angry, if you’re feeling like the world is against you, take a deep breath and remember you’re never going to be alone again. You’ve got me now. And I’m not going anywhere. Even when I’m gone from this earth, my love for you will remain. You’re the light of my life, Adrian. I love you, forever and always.

Love,

Mimi

Thirty-One

Laila

One month later

It’s around nine in the morning on my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m sitting at the baby grand in the corner of the living room while Savage sleeps upstairs. For the past hour or so, I’ve been working on a song for my third album that came to me in a dream.

Ever since I got back from Mexico a month ago, and Savage and I shared that incredible, magical night, during which we must have said “I love you” to each other a thousand times, I’ve been flooded with musical inspiration. All of it, about love. Or if not that, directly, happiness and joy. And it’s no surprise, considering how great everything has been going in my life. Not only with Savage, but with the show, too. When it started airing, the ratings hit record numbers and never dipped. Which, thankfully, has insulated Savage and me from any more meddling from Nadine. In fact, she’s left Savage and me alone to be happy and authentic on-camera, exactly the way she said she’d do when she called me in Chicago. And now, I can’t write one of my usual “fuck you!” kind of songs to save my life.

“Happy birthday,” Savage says, entering the living room, and I quickly stop playing the song I was working on—the passionate love song about Savage that came to me in my sleep.

When Savage reaches me, he kisses me in greeting and then makes me scootch over on the piano bench so he can join me. “The big two-five,” he says, settling himself next to me. “I should have gotten you a walker for your birthday.”

“You didn’t? Darn.”

Savage tickles the ivories playfully. “Nope. Unfortunately, all I got you was a baby grand, just like this one, that’ll be delivered to your place when we’re booted out of here in a few weeks.”

I gasp. “No.”

Savage grins. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Squealing, I hug him and thank him profusely, and we talk about my exciting gift for several minutes. “So, hey,” I say, “speaking of us being booted out of here in a few weeks.” I take a deep breath. I’ve been wanting to broach this topic with Savage for a few weeks now. He’s told me in the past he hates feeling “tied down” or “locked in,” but we’ve been so happy together, I can’t stand the thought of not waking up to his face every morning after we leave here. Savage couldn’t possibly want to live apart when our contractual relationship is over, could he? I walk my fingers up the piano keys, mustering my courage. “When we leave this house, where are you planning to live?”

When he’s silent, I gather the courage to peek at Savage’s face and find him red and flustered.

“A hotel?” I ask, returning to the piano keys.

“Uh . . . yeah. A hotel.”

“I figured. I’ve been thinking, though . . . maybe it would be fun if you came to live with me at my condo.” Savage says nothing, so I peek at him again. This time, he looks like his mind is racing. Like he’s been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Uh oh, did I scare you away?” I’ve tried to make my tone sound light and bright. Like this is no biggie. Ha, ha. Just a wild idea. But, truthfully, I feel disappointed he hasn’t replied with a quick and simple yes. But oh well, at least he hasn’t given me an immediate no. So, that’s something.

Savage’s features soften when he sees whatever look of anxiety has crept onto my face. “Of course, you didn’t scare me away, Fitzy,” he says. “Nothing you could say or do could possibly scare me away. I just don’t want to be a mooch, that’s all.”

I sigh with relief. “Don’t think of it like that, babe. I have a place and you don’t. This makes sense. One plus one equals two.”

Savage bites his lower lip. “You know what? You’re right. Of course, we should live together after the show, since I don’t have a place of my own.”

“Exactly.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Savage snickers.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just excited. Thanks for asking me to live with you.”

“Thanks for saying yes.” I shudder with excitement. “This is going to be so fun!”

Savage smiles