Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2)

by Rowe, Lauren

  “Laila, did you hear a word I said? I did it for me.”

  She chuckles, and a tear falls down her cheek. She wipes it and sighs. “Would you ever have told me what you did for me, if I hadn’t overheard Nadine and Rhoda tonight?”

  “No. Never.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Would you have done the same thing for me, if the situation had been reversed?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Then, you do understand.”

  We share a huge smile, and two seconds later, our car takes a different turn than our usual route.

  “Where are we going, Mike?” Laila calls to the driver.

  “I’ve asked him to take a detour, so I can show you something,” I interject. “I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

  “How long will the detour take?” she asks. “I’ve arranged for dinner to be waiting for us at home.”

  “Only a few minutes,” I say, even though I’m thinking, “Only the rest of our lives.”

  The car makes a turn, and then another, before coming to a stop in front of my new house.

  “Surprise,” I say, gesturing out the car window.

  Laila follows the trajectory of my gesture and looks straight at my house. But it’s clear from her facial expression she has no idea what she’s seeing. “Where are we?” she asks. “Who lives here?”

  I try not to smile too big. “Let’s go inside and find out.”

  Laila’s jaw drops. “Did Kendrick buy a house?”

  I chuckle at Laila’s shocked reaction. If she’s this excited for Kendrick to buy himself a new, beautiful house in Malibu, she’s going to have a straight-up aneurysm when she finds out the true owner of this beauty. “You guessed it,” I say. “Nothing gets past you. Do you like it?”

  “I love it. It’s gorgeous. Wow. Good for Kendrick.”

  “Let’s go inside and say hi.”

  “Yes! How exciting!”

  We get out of the car and walk, hand in hand, toward our new home, as Laila babbles happily about the beauty of the house and its spectacular location. As she rambles, it takes all my willpower not to interrupt her to scream, “The house is ours, you fool! I want you to live here with me, forever!”

  My new house isn’t huge, like Reed’s place. It’s not small, by any stretch. But nobody would ever call it a mansion. Which suits me perfectly. As far as I’m concerned, the place is the perfect size for Laila and me and our needs. We’ve got enough room for ourselves and any guest we might have—Sasha or Laila’s family. Plus, some extra rooms for music- and pottery-making. And best of all, there’s a perfect place in the living room for Laila’s baby grand—a spot in a corner overlooking the ocean. The house is so perfect for Laila and me, in fact, I wanted it the second I walked through the front door. The minute I entered the house, I said to Reed and Georgina and Reed’s real estate agent, “We’re done for the day. I’m home.” And that feeling only grew and solidified as we visited subsequent houses throughout the day, just in case, none of which held a candle to the cliffside house that had instantly felt like home to me.

  When Laila and I arrive at the front door of our new house, she rings the doorbell. And when I punch a code on the box by the door, she rolls her eyes and says, “Of course, Kendrick gave you the code. You two are so cute.”

  I open the door and follow her inside, and while she gushes about how gorgeous it is, how spectacular the view, how much she loves the furnishings, I say, “I’m glad you like it. Because it’s not Kendrick’s new house. It’s ours.”

  “What?” she shrieks.

  “I bought it for us, baby. So we could live here together. Please say yes.”

  She throws herself at me and screams, “Yes!” And I laugh and hug her to me.

  We kiss and hug for a long moment. She asks me a thousand questions about when I bought it, how long I’ve kept this secret. Until, finally, I laugh and say, “Come on, baby. Let me give you a tour of your fancy new house.”

  Thirty-Six

  Savage

  “Our living room. Obviously.” I gesture toward the room we’re standing in. “You won’t believe the ocean view in the daytime. It’s a little slice of heaven.”

  Laila rushes to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of our living room, and when she gets there, she presses every inch of her body against the glass, like she’s one of those rubber lizard toys that adheres to glass with suctions cups. Of course, I can’t help belly laughing at her exuberance.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she whispers. “Oh my God. I can see so many stars!” She turns around, her face aglow. “I can’t wait to sit out on the balcony and watch the sunset with you!”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  She sprints across the room and flings herself at me, almost knocking me over. “I love it!” Her eyes land on the baby grand piano in a corner behind me and she gasps. Squealing, she disengages from me and lopes over to it, bounding across the room with exaggerated movements, like she’s a gazelle bounding through tall grass. And, once again, I belly laugh at her enthusiasm.

  “I hope you don’t mind I had it delivered here, rather than to your condo,” I say, even though her body language makes it clear she’s thrilled.

  “Thank you!” she shrieks happily, hugging and kissing her beautiful new instrument like it’s her long lost child. “I love you, baby!” she coos. But she’s not talking to me. She’s talking to her new piano.

  Without hesitation, Laila slides onto the piano bench and whips off the introduction to one of her biggest hits. “Listen to that sound! It’s glorious!” She gasps. “Should I play you the song I wrote for you?” I open my mouth, but before I’ve said a word, she answers her own question. “No, let’s wait. I’m way too excited to see the rest of the house. I won’t even remember my lyrics. Come on!”

  She leaps up and takes my hand and drags me into the adjacent kitchen. And then proceeds to hug the island and every professional-grade appliance. She opens cupboards and drawers and fawns over every little detail. She holds up a cheese grater. And then a can opener. A couple pots and pans. All of which make her “ooh” and “aah” like she’s watching a spectacular fireworks display.

  “How do you have all this stuff already?” she says.

  “I bought it fully furnished, with Reed’s help, and then Amalia and Georgina helped me with the finishing touches.” I tell her the story of how I wound up staying a couple days at Reed’s house after Mimi died, while Laila was still in Cabo. “Great news,” I say. “Amalia said she’ll come over once a week to hang out with me. I mean, technically, she said she’ll come over to ‘help me with the house.’ But I’m going to make her sit down and hang out with me whenever she comes.”

  Laila giggles. “I can’t believe you’ve kept this secret from me, all this time.”

  “It’s been excruciating,” I admit. “I’ve almost blown it, like, a thousand times.” I kiss her cheek. “Sorry about the meal we’re not eating back at the mansion. I’ll text the chef and tell him to take it home to his family.”

  “Why don’t we order cioppino to be delivered from Salvatore’s?” she asks.

  “I already did.”

  Laila laughs at that coincidence, that we’ve both planned the same celebratory meal for tonight, while I pull out my phone and send a text to our chef. We finish the tour of the house, with Laila reacting to each and every room with even more excitement than I’d hoped. And, finally, when the tour is done, I realize it’s time. This is it.

  “While we wait for the food to arrive,” I say, “I have a little surprise for you, out on the balcony.”

  “So many surprises!” Laila gushes, taking my hand and letting me lead her.

  When we get to the balcony, I tell her to stay put at the railing. And then, with my heart crashing even louder than the waves in the nearby ocean, I grab a rectangular, wrapped box from behind a chair and bring it to her.

  “For you,” I say, handing her the wrapped box.

/>   After thanking me, Laila rips open the paper . . . and immediately bursts into tears when she beholds the token of my affection inside. It’s a rose encased in glass. The real-life version of the enchanted rose from Beauty and the Beast.

  “Oh, Adrian.”

  “Laila,” I say, my voice becoming thick with emotion. “Thanks to you, I’ve learned to love and to be loved, before the last petal has fallen. Thanks to you, I’ve transformed from The Beast into your prince. Hopefully, the kind of prince who won’t disappoint you.”

  She touches her heart and whispers, “You could never disappoint me.”

  “I hope this goes without saying, but I promise to keep fucking you like a Beast, forevermore, even if I’m going to be the Prince now, in all other ways.”

  Laila laughs and nods with tears in her eyes. “I love you so much.”

  I inhale a deep breath, take the box from Laila and put it down, and then take both her hands in mine. “Laila, what I’m trying to say with this Beast metaphor is that, from this day forward, you’re not only ‘allowed’ to go into the West Wing, it’s yours. Because the entire castle is yours. Literally and figuratively. Everything I own, everything I am, it’s all yours. Forever.”

  “Oh, Adrian. I love you.”

  Shaking, I pull a ring box from my pocket—the one containing the million-dollar rock I bought for Laila with my own money. The one I chose for her, that wasn’t supplied to me by some jeweler looking for a promotional opportunity.

  When Laila sees the box, she gasps. And when I open the lid and she sees the rock nestled inside, she lets out a garbled sound of excitement and shock, the likes of which I’ve never heard from her.

  I swallow hard. “I didn’t propose to you on the show tonight because I didn’t want you thinking, even for a second, my proposal was fake. And I didn’t want to do it for real for a TV audience. I’m sick of sharing our love story with the world, Laila. I’m not doing this for money or fame. None of that stuff matters to me, if you’re not there with me, enjoying it all, right by my side, forever.”

  With that, I sink to my knee, making Laila burst into sobs. I hold up the ring and smile up at her, emotion turning into a hard lump in my throat. “Laila Fitzgerald,” I whisper. “Not too long ago, I felt coerced into a fifty-fifty partnership with you. But I want you to know, I’m now one hundred percent yours, voluntarily. With this ring, I give you all of me. I want you to take everything I am and everything I’m going to be. It’s all yours, just as long as you say yes to being my wife.” My hopeful smile broadens. “Laila Fitzgerald, will you marry me?”

  “Yes!” she screams. “Yes!”

  Tears threaten my eyes, but, somehow, I swallow them down while standing and sliding the ring onto her finger. The ring in place, and our agreement made, I pull my fiancée into me for a deep kiss, and then wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.

  After a moment, when I’ve gathered enough control of myself to speak again, I take Laila’s hand and point at a cluster of diamonds nestled around the central rock. “See this little diamond here? That’s from the ring Jasper gave to Mimi—the diamond that was in her wedding ring.”

  “Oh my gosh.” She physically convulses with emotion.

  “Mimi wanted you to have that diamond in your ring, so you’d always know she was smiling down on us from heaven.”

  Laila throws her arms around me. “I love it. And I love you. Thank you so much.” She pauses. Pulls back. “But what about Sasha? Shouldn’t Sasha have Mimi’s diamond?”

  “No, Sasha wants you to have this.”

  Laila returns to hugging me and loses herself to sobs.

  I hold her shaking, quivering body for a long moment, feeling happier in this moment than I’ve ever felt in my life. I feel Mimi’s love and guidance all around me. I feel certain I’m on the right path, with the great love of my life—a woman I’m going to love and protect, forever. I pull back and look into Laila’s tear-filled eyes. “I love you, Laila, and I always will. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I love you, too.” She wipes a tear. “I’ve got a savage love for you, Adrian Savage. It’s infinite.” She touches my cheek. “And everlasting.”

  Epilogue

  Laila

  Kendrick, as Savage’s best man, raises his champagne flute to Savage and me, and everyone in attendance at our small wedding, which we’re having at Reed’s sprawling home, follows suit.

  “To Savage and Laila,” Kendrick says. “You two are perfect for each other. I sincerely believe that. Laila, you make Savage a better man.” Kendrick looks at his best friend, the groom, and smiles. “And, Savage, you make Laila make you a better man.”

  Everyone laughs.

  Raising his glass even higher, Kendrick bellows, “Cheers to the bride and groom!”

  The party erupts and Savage and I kiss.

  We’re outside on Reed’s large patio, underneath twinkling lights. Savage and I both have shiny new rings on our third fingers and perma-grins on our faces. Our wedding this evening has been a fairly simple affair, attended by our closest friends and family. And it’s been perfect. Straight out of a fairytale.

  We pulled our wedding together a bit faster than we maybe envisioned when Savage proposed four months ago, once we realized how busy we were going to be in the coming year. My third album just released and it’s already soaring. “Savage Love” is my biggest hit, by far, and I’ve been hard at work on designing a makeup line, too.

  Savage and his band are working on their next album. And I have no doubt it’s going to be another smash hit. Soon, my husband and I begin shooting the next season of Sing Your Heart Out. Our first of four seasons we signed on to do. And once shooting on the show ends, Fugitive Summer and I are going to participate in a “festival style” tour with a slew of other artists, including 22 Goats, Aloha, and Alessandra—a new touring concept that will make the process of bringing live music to our fans a whole lot more fun and less of a grind for everyone involved.

  All things considered, Savage and I realized we had to get married pretty quickly, and in a relatively simple fashion, or else wait another year and a half to do it in grand style. So, here we are. And, frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The past four months in our new house have been magical for us, to the point where we’ve both felt an urgent desire to call each other “husband” and “wife,” sooner rather than later.

  If you ask me, it’s not necessary to be married to someone to love them wholeheartedly. Unconditionally. Or even to commit to them “forever.” One need only say those words, and make those sacred promises, in quiet moments together, with nobody else around, to make them real and unbreakable. Certainly, based on what I saw of my mother and father’s marriage, I’m not a believer that marriage turns a bad relationship into a good one. But, still, I must confess, the little girl in me has always wanted to marry my prince. And today, that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  As simple and small as our wedding has been, it’s turned out to be as magical as I’ve ever dreamed it would be. Standing face to face with Savage, looking into his soulful, brown eyes, and hearing him say, “Laila, I promise to love and cherish you, forever, through sickness and health, and richer or poorer,” felt every bit as soul-stirring and beautiful as I’d dreamed the words would sound. Even more so, actually, thanks to the look on Savage’s face when he said them. He looked so beautiful in that moment. So overcome with love and happiness. I could barely hold it together to say my own vows.

  I’ve decided to take Savage’s name, though not professionally. My stage name will always be Laila Fitzgerald. But on all legal documents, I’m now, officially, Laila Savage. And it feels even more awesome than I could have predicted. Now, whenever Savage picks up his guitar and serenades me with his rendition of my song, “Savage Love,” which he often does, it’ll feel even more like he’s singing a love song he wrote for me.

  When Kendrick finishes his best-man speech, Kai and Titus get up to say a few wo
rds. And then, my bridesmaids: my sister, Aloha, Sasha, Alessandra, and Ruby. Savage made fun of me for having so many bridesmaids, especially for such a small wedding. But I told him, “It’s like ‘Birthday Truth or Dare.’ As long as I don’t maim, kill, or send anyone to prison, nothing is off-limits at my own wedding.” And, of course, Savage replied to that, “Knock yourself out, Fitzy. It’s your day.” To that, I replied, “No, it’s our day.” And Savage replied, “Mostly yours, though.” I didn’t continue arguing the point, because I knew he was right. Savage would marry me on the beach in front of our house, if given the option, and then throw a party in our living room to celebrate. Anything more than that has pretty much been for me. The girl who grew up enchanted by Beauty and the Beast.

  My mom takes the mic from Sasha and tearfully tries to tell Savage and me how happy she is, but she can’t get more than five words out. Which, honestly, is even more meaningful to me than whatever words she’s got written on that little scrap of paper in her hand.

  I head over to my weeping mother and hug her as she cries. I understand her emotion completely. The magnitude of this occasion for her. She’s not only weeping about my marriage to Savage, although she’s obviously over the moon about it. Even more than that, though, I know my mother is crying because I didn’t follow in her footsteps. Because I didn’t wind up married to a man like my father, or to one of the many assholes I dated before my husband. My mom is crying because I’ve married a man who’ll love me and treat me right, forever—which means all her dreams for me have now come true, every bit as much as Mimi’s dreams for Savage have, as well.

  As I’m comforting my mother, the familiar first notes of “Savage Love” begin blaring through the reception. I pull away from my mom, wiping my eyes, and instantly notice Savage standing on the edge of the dance floor, grinning at me. He gestures to the dance floor, clearly inviting me to dance with him. So, I take my husband’s hand and let him guide me to the middle of the floor for our first dance as husband and wife.