Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

Fish. And then back at me. “I do think the song should feel authentic to you two, regardless of the assignment, since you’re the ones who’ll be singing it. And you’re both extremely intense and passionate people. Why don’t you guys let Fish and me get the ball rolling, to lay the groundwork for something on the lighter side, and then we’ll let you two sprinkle in some details in the verses that are more personal to you. Little details here and there that will make the song feel tailored to you?”

“Love it, babe,” Fish says. He looks at Savage and me, but we say nothing. “Is that approach cool with you guys?”

“Great,” I say, while Savage strums his guitar and mutters, “Whatever you want to do.”

Alessandra and Fish look at each other again for a long beat, their expressions clearly saying, “What the heck?” But after her nonverbal conversation with Fish, Alessandra turns to the group and suggests everyone think about a person we love unconditionally and without complication. “Not necessarily in a romantic way,” Alessandra prompts. “I want you to think about the purest, easiest form of love in your life and meditate on the way that kind of love makes you feel, deep in your soul.”

I quiet my mind and think about my infant niece, Everly, who’s already the light of my life in the most uncomplicated way possible. I look at Savage and instantly know who he’s thinking about. Mimi. And, damn it, despite everything, my heart swells for him, as I think about how much that poor man loves his grandmother and can’t stand the thought of losing her.

I lay my fingers on the piano keys and play the little melody Savage always sings to his grandmother at bedtime and Savage’s attention snaps to me, his face as beautiful and heartbreaking as I’ve ever seen it.

“I love that!” Alessandra says. “Let’s build on that!”

“Yeah, that’s a perfect riff for the chorus,” Fish agrees. “It feels like a lullaby.”

“Exactly!” Alessandra says excitedly.

And that’s all it takes. The minute we’ve got some mutual inspiration going, the song basically writes itself. In a flurry, we brainstorm some themes for our lyrics, based on our ideas about uncomplicated love. We shout out words like unconditional and endless. Eternal and infinite. And Alessandra notes everything on her laptop. We jam for a bit, building on that little lullaby sequence, and faster than I would have thought possible, the musical structure for the song and vocal melody begin taking shape.

As suggested by Alessandra earlier, Savage and I throw in a few angsty lyrics to complement the gooey-sweet ones we’ve already written. But, nonetheless, in the end, the song the group creates feels far more about the sweet love shared by Fish and Alessandra than about anything felt by Savage and me. But that’s okay. The assignment was to write a classic love song that will make us truckloads of money after we perform it on Sing Your Heart Out. And I’m pretty confident we’ve done exactly that.

We run through the song several times, making tweaks, here and there, until, finally, everybody agrees we wouldn’t change a thing.

“Let’s record a quick demo and send it off to Reed for his feedback,” Fish suggests. “If we need to change anything after Reed’s notes, we can do that remotely while you guys are out of town.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. And when my eyes flicker to Savage, it’s clear he’s deeply relieved by the implication of my comment: I’m still planning to travel with him to Chicago, like I assured him earlier in the car.

We record a rough demo of the song on Fish’s iPad, with me playing piano and the guys on their guitars—and Savage and I barely look at each other as we sing our parts. Fish says he’ll add a few bells and whistles to the demo—stuff like programmed drums and a bassline—in order to give Reed an idea of the general vibe we’re envisioning for the full production. And, finally, after Fish and Alessandra have gathered up their stuff, Savage and I walk them to the front door.

We say our goodbyes to our friends. Give them high-fives about the song. And, finally, Fish and Alessandra head out the door and into the starry night, to drive to the home they share together on the beach—to enjoy the sweet, uncomplicated, gooey goodness that is their love story.

I close the front door behind our friends and lean against it, exhaling. “What time is our flight?”

“Noon.”

“Thank goodness it’s not at the crack of dawn. Today was a long day.” I press my lips together and wait. Savage looks like he’s going to say something—something important. But in the end, he closes his mouth, bites the inside of his cheek, and sighs.

“Okay, well, goodnight,” I say. “I’ll wake you up when I get up, so don’t worry about setting an alarm.”

“Laila.”

I turn around.

Savage’s Adam’s apple bobs. He clears his throat. “I’m so sorry I punched a hole in that wall. I can’t believe I did that. I hope you can find your way to forgiving me for that, at some point. I promise on my love for Mimi I’ll never, ever do that again, or anything else that would scare you. I’ll never break a promise to you again, Laila. I’m giving you my solemn word on that.”

I twist my mouth. His promises don’t mean a whole lot to me. But I don’t feel like fighting right now. I just want to go to sleep. “Thank you for that,” I say calmly. “I need to get some sleep now. We can talk some more about that another time, maybe.”

He nods. “Any time you want.”

“Goodnight, Adrian.”

“Goodnight, Laila.”

As I walk away, I bite my lip, and somehow keep myself from crying until I get safely into one of the bedrooms down the hallway from the master. Which is where I throw myself onto the bed and cry myself to sleep.

Twenty-Three

Laila

Evanston, Illinois

“Is this still