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

“And the winner this season is . . .” Sunshine, says onstage, as the two finalists—mine and Savage’s—huddle together next to the host, both contestants looking like they’re going to barf. Sunshine looks up from the opened envelope in her hands and shrieks, “Addison Swain!”

As streamers and glitter burst from the ceiling above the stage, I feel swept away in my excitement for Addison and forget about my own concerns for a moment. I hug Savage standing next to me, crying tears of joy for my blue-haired favorite, and a moment later, the PA nudges me and says, “Go congratulate Addison now, Laila! Go, go, go!”

As the house band begins playing an upbeat, celebratory dance song, I stride gleefully onto the stage to my darling pixie and take her into my arms. For a long moment, we cry together. I don’t know about Addison, but this feels like the finish line of a legit marathon to me.

Out of nowhere, Sunshine shoves a microphone in Addison’s face, and she breaks from our hug to thank me profusely for making her win possible. She goes on to thank the audience at home for voting for her, week after week. And her family for their support, too. She thanks the writer of every song she’s ever performed, and Sunshine and the producers of the show, and I laugh and cry with her, through it all.

When it’s my turn to take Sunshine’s microphone, I tell Addison she was already a star the minute she walked onstage that very first time and blew me away. “Your victory today has nothing to do with me, honey,” I say, and I mean it with all my heart.

Once I’ve made my little speech, the whole cast descends onto the stage—the other three judges and all four mentors—and we commence a not-so spontaneous dance party in celebration of Addison’s win, as well as yet another successful season of the show. The most successful season yet, as a matter of fact, in terms of ratings and popularity. In fact, from what Daria has told me, Nadine has already indicated her fervent desire to have Savage and me return next season. And not only that, to sign both of us to a multi-year deal.

As music and dancing and laughter continue swirling around me onstage, I glance at Savage across the crowd to find him laughing with genuine abandon with Kendrick, Fish, and Colin, and my heart skips a beat at his easygoing demeanor. It’s especially gratifying to catch him, once again, looking comfortable and friendly with Colin. After my birthday party, I asked Savage if he’d said something to Colin to bury the hatchet, and Savage confirmed he had, and that Colin had been extremely receptive and appreciative.

While I’m still looking at my boyfriend, his gaze finds mine. For a moment, time stops as we smile at each other from across the crowded stage, both of us basking in not only our love, but also our newfound freedom from the pressure-cooker of the show. The constant social media posts we’ve been required to make. The fishbowl nature of it all. On the one hand, it’s been the happiest three months of my life, living and working with Savage. And I know Savage feels the exact same way. But I’m also more than relieved to move onto the next phase of our relationship, a much more private one that’s not for show, but only for us. I can’t wait to find out who we are when we’re living together in my tiny condo, rather than a sprawling reality TV mansion. I can’t wait to find out who Savage and Laila are when nobody is watching.

The director yells, “We’re clear!” and a loud cheer rises up onstage.

Without hesitation, Savage beelines over to me, weaving in and out of happy people. When he reaches me, he swings me around, whooping with joy.

“Free at last!” he booms, before pulling me into him for an exuberant kiss.

“I love you!” I shout amidst the din. And he returns my words, as well as my beaming smile. In the midst of our canoodling, Savage and I are interrupted by Aloha and her husband, Zander, both of whom hug me, and then Savage, and congratulate us on our first season.

“Have you signed on for next season yet?” Aloha asks, putting her palms together in prayer. “Daria told me they’re rabid to have you.”

I look at Savage and say, “We’re still thinking about it.” But, in reality, I know it would take a miracle to make Savage say yes to another season—an offer he truly can’t refuse. I add, “Our agents are haggling with Nadine, probably as we speak.”

“Well, don’t sell yourselves short, guys. They had their best ratings, ever, this season. And that certainly wasn’t because of me. It was because of you two.” Aloha addresses Savage, specifically. “Laila and I share an agent, Daria, so she already knows what I make on the show, since Daria’s the one who negotiated my deal. But if it helps your agent in negotiations for you, tell him or her I’ve got a five-year deal, ten mill per season. You and Laila are both worth the same as me now. So, tell your agent not to accept a penny less.” She looks at me. “That goes for you, too, girlie. Get yourself paid.”

“Holy fuck,” I blurt, simply because it never occurred to me to tell Daria to demand what Aloha makes. Aloha is already a legit icon in the industry, after all, and I’m still a relative newbie next to her.

To my surprise, Savage reacts calmly to Aloha’s suggestion. “Thanks for the intel,” he replies smoothly, his tone tacitly admitting he agrees with Aloha’s assessment. “I’ll pass it along to my agent.”

My chest tightens at the idea of me ever being that rich. Growing up, my mom, sister, and I saved our spare change in a jar to afford my piano lessons! But, regardless, it’s a moot point because Savage has told