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

me repeatedly he’s got zero desire to continue as a judge, and I’d never continue as a judge without him. Not that the show would want me without Savage, anyway.

“Are you going to the wrap party now?” I ask Aloha and her husband, eager to change the subject.

“No way, dude, I’m outta here,” Aloha says. She snuggles her gorgeous husband. “All I want to do is go home with my man, crank up the fireplace, and have a quiet night, just the two of us.”

“That’s our plan, too,” I say, snuggling into Savage’s side in the same way Aloha is doing with Zander. “It’s our last night at our fancy mansion. Tomorrow, we’re moving into my little condo. So, I’ve asked our chef to make our favorite meal—cioppino—and get a nice bottle of champagne for us. We’re going to eat and drink and relax in our hot tub.”

Aloha shoots me a little wink, letting me know she’s well aware I’ve ended my sentence before getting to the best part of all—the part where Savage makes me scream the way she overheard that night, from across the hall. It’s crazy to think that drunken night at Reed’s house was only three months ago on the calendar, considering it feels like a lifetime ago. Savage and I have not only fallen deeply in love since then, which is earth-quaking news, in and of itself, but we’re also irrevocably in love. Committed to nurturing and safeguarding our love, always. No matter what. Forever. If I’d had a crystal ball three months ago, and saw where our relationship would end up, I never would have believed it. Not in a million years.

After a bit more conversation, Aloha and Zander head off, hand in hand, while Savage and I do the same. We change clothes in our respective dressing rooms for the last time and gather our stuff. We say goodbye to staff and crew and administer hugs here and there. We thank Nadine and a couple other producers we run across, all of whom say basically the same thing: they’re eager to put together a multi-year deal with us for many seasons to come. And what does Savage say to that? A noncommittal, “Send your offer to our agents and we’ll have them take a look.”

Finally, we head to the back of the studio and slide inside our usual SUV to begin our drive to our reality TV love nest for the very last time. As our car pulls away from the curb, Savage looks at me and exhales a long, slow, deep breath. “We did it, Fitzy. Hallelujah.”

Leaning my head on his broad shoulder, I whisper, “What a ride.”

“Baby,” Savage says, kissing the top of my head. “I promise the best of our ride is yet to come.”

Thirty-Five

Savage

Laila and I are sitting in the backseat of our SUV with our usual driver and bodyguard, supposedly heading to our reality TV mansion in Malibu for the last time. In actuality, though, we’re headed a few miles down the road to my new, kickass pad—the fully furnished, four bedroom, cliffside home Reed helped me find and purchase, and which Amalia and Georgina helped me personalize and perfect. And I’m losing my fucking mind.

When we arrive at my new house, I’m not only going to tell Laila the shocking news that the place is mine, and that I want her to move in with me, I’m also going to get down on my knee and ask Laila to be my wife. Not for pretend. Not for a bonus. And certainly not with a ring supplied to me by a sponsor of Sing Your Heart Out. No, I’m going to ask Laila to marry me for real, with a million-dollar rock I personally paid for and picked out for her, although I admit I made my final decision about which ring to purchase with the help of Amalia, Georgina, and Sasha on FaceTime. Because, for fuck’s sake, a guy’s got to put it all on the line when he asks the woman of his dreams to marry him, including laying down his own goddamned money. Plus, I never would have forfeited the chance to see Mimi’s little diamond shining like the most beautiful star in heaven in the setting of my future wife’s ring.

“. . . during the celebration,” Laila is saying, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Hmm? Sorry. I was zoning out.”

Laila smiles. “I said I liked seeing you having fun with Fish and Colin during the celebration. It seems like you’ve buried the hatchet with Colin.”

“Yeah, you were spot-on about that whole thing. Plus, Dr. Reynolds told me I should mend fences whenever I can, so . . .”

Laila’s smile broadens. She’s already made it clear she’s beyond thrilled I’ve started seeing a therapist once a week.

“I think you’d like seeing someone, too,” I say, reacting to Laila’s smile. “After only a few sessions with Dr. Reynolds, I’m already realizing my childhood has affected me far more than I’ve ever understood. I bet it’d be the same for you.”

Laila nods. “Aloha has a therapist she adores. I’ll ask her for the name.”

“Good.”

Our phones buzz at the same time, and we look down to find a group text from Reed, sent not only to Laila and me, but to Fish and Alessandra, as well, letting us know our cheeseball duet is now sitting at number one on the daily singles downloads chart.

“Yes!” Laila says, laughing.

“I have a feeling that sappy love song is going to make us a boatload of money, Fitzy.”

“Woohoo!” Laila says exuberantly, and we high-five. She bites her lip, contemplating something for a moment. “Is it weird I don’t feel any emotional connection whatsoever to that song?”

“I feel the same way. That’s because the song isn’t about us.”

“I’m glad it’s not,” Laila replies. “I wouldn’t have wanted to bare my entire soul and the deepest depths of my love for you for the first time on national TV.”

I furrow my brow, as the