Falling Into Love With You

LAILA

I’m sitting next to Savage in the backseat of a large, black SUV with tinted windows, headed toward whatever home the producers have secured as our fake love nest for the next three months. The same driver and bodyguard from yesterday are seated up front. Savage is looking out the window on his side of the car. And I’m freaking out.

Which parts of Savage’s speech during the press conference—the one where he itemized all the things he supposedly “loves” about me—were based in truth? For my part, every word I said about Savage in my speech was tethered to truth. I don’t ~love ~Savage, obviously, but now that I know about his devotion to his ailing grandma—like, seriously, where did ~that ~come from?—I realize he’s not quite the monster I’d come to believe by the end of the tour. In fact, I think he might be a whole lot more like the dude I shared a bottle of whiskey with in Providence, than the asshole who tore me a new one in Atlanta.

Also, those two kisses Savage and I shared during the press conference are messing with my head. I’ve never swooned so hard in my life as I did during those kisses! My brain knew it was all for show, but my heart exploded like a nuclear bomb. I felt urgency and ~need ~in Savage’s lips and tongue. I felt ~passion. ~And now, as I sit here next to Savage, driving to who-knows-where, I’m realizing, much to my dismay, I’m in for a very confusing three months, exactly as Aloha warned.

I look at Savage sitting next to me to find him tapping on his phone with a cute little smile on his face—the kind of grin I’ve seen on him only when he’s interacting with one of his bandmates, but especially with Kendrick or Ruby.

“Are you texting with Kendrick?” I venture, looking for any excuse to start a conversation.

Savage looks up, still looking adorable. “My cousin, Sasha. She lives with our grandmother in Chicago. They watched the press conference and now my cousin is texting in all caps.” He snorts. “She’s so funny. Both Sasha and my grandma are losing it about the ‘amazing girlfriend’ I’ve never bothered to tell them about.”

I glance at the two men at the front of the car and lean in to whisper. Surely, our companions are bound by an ironclad non-disclosure agreement, but better safe than sorry. “What are you telling your family about our ‘relationship’?”

Savage flushes a deep crimson, telegraphing the answer to my question is: I’ve let them believe we’re an actual couple.

“You haven’t told them the truth?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, looking sheepish. “I was going to give my cousin a heads-up about us before the press conference, but I got distracted when I ran into Kendrick and found out he’d sent you the album. And now, they’re both so excited about everything…” He exhales. “Mimi—my grandma—she’s my father’s mother—she always says she wants me to settle down and find the ‘great love of my life,’ the kind she had with her husband, Jasper, who died young. Apparently, after watching the press conference, Mimi told Sasha she felt like she could finally stop worrying about me, now that I’ve found a woman who can ‘see past all that silly rock star business’ to the ‘real me.’” He chuckles. “Apparently, that comment you made about my laugh ‘parting the clouds,’ or whatever you said, made quite an impression on Mimi.”

I chuckle with him. “Honestly, I’m relieved you haven’t told your family the truth about us. It makes it a whole lot easier for me to ask you to lie to myfamily about us for the next three months.”

Savage laughs. “You haven’t told yourfamily the truth, either?”

I shake my head. “I could tell my sister, but my mom is always on me about my supposedly horrible taste in men. I’m hoping our ‘blissful relationship’ will give me a breather from constantly hearing about how I need to stop falling for jerks and find myself someone ‘nice’ who ‘treats me right.’”

“Your supposedly horrible taste in men?” Savage scoffs. “If Malik is any indication, there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it, Fitzy.”

I bite back a smile. Is it wrong of me to continue letting Savage think I had an actual relationship with Malik—and even more so that said relationship lasted well beyond Malik’s horrible behavior in New York? If so, I don’t want to be right. Not when Savage banged that flirty waitress in New York the very same night I kicked Malik to the curb.

“Are you sure your mom wouldn’t think I’m further evidence of your horrible taste in men?” Savage asks, his eyebrow raised.

“Well, yes, normally you would be. You’re exactly my type—which isn’t a compliment. But after all that amazing stuff you said about me during the press conference, my mother and sister are convinced I’ve finally found the perfect man who totally gets the real me. So, if you don’t mind, I’d be grateful for you to play along whenever I talk to my family, in exchange for me playing along when you talk to yours.”

“Deal. Although I should mention, I sing Mimi to sleep on FaceTime, pretty much every night when I’m not on tour.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Don’t worry. I’d love to say hi to your grandma, every single night.”

Savage shoots me a smolder that flash-melts my panties. “Thank you.”

“You’re paying me two million bucks. It’s the least I can do.”

Savage grabs my hand. “Let’s not talk about the money anymore, okay? I’m over it. Your agent was right—this is an equal partnership. I was an asshole to whine about it.”

I look into his dark eyes, feeling my heart beating like a hummingbird’s. “No, you weren’t. It was a huge and unexpected pay cut for you. It was only natural for you to feel upset about it. I tell you what. To help you recoup some of the money you’re paying to me, why don’t you leave my name in ‘Hate Sex High’ and make it your leadoff single? The song is amazing, and with all the publicity swirling around us, I bet that sexy little Easter egg buried in the mix will give the song even more buzz. It might even become your biggest hit yet.”

Savage looks excited. “Are you sure you don’t mind your name being in there?”

“Ha! You admit you sang my name!”

“No, I’m merely adopting your crazy megalomaniacal version of reality for the purposes of my question.”

He’s so full of it. Any sane human would hear my name at the end of those “la la” parts, as clear as a bell. But there’s no point in arguing with him. He’ll obviously never concede the point. “Yes, I’m sure,” I say. “After what you said about me at the press conference, everyone thinks you’re desperately in love with me. So, in that case, I’m now thinking it’d be kind of cool for people to think I’m not only the great love of your life, I’m also the freak in the sheets you made come three times. Plus, like I said, the smartest move in terms of marketing is making that song the leadoff single, with my name all over it.”

He snickers. “Reed already picked that song as the first single. He was furious when I told him I needed to rerecord the ‘la la’ lines to take out the part some insane megalomaniac had interpreted as her name.”

“You already told Reed about rerecording those parts? That was fast.”

Savage makes a face like it’s not a big deal. “You said you wanted it out and the album is set to drop soon, so…”

“I’m sorry if I freaked everyone out about changing it. Now that I’ve had a minute to get used to the idea, I don’t mind the world knowing the song is about me. In fact, I kind of like the idea of them knowing.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it thrills you to no end that I’m now going to look like as big a liar as you.”

“Huh?”

“At the press conference, I said there are no songs on the album about you. And now, suddenly, I’m going to release an album that some people ~might ~interpret as containing the name ~Laila~?”

I snort. “You’re never going to admit you’re singing Laila in those parts, are you?”

“I’m simply conceding there are probably lots more nutjobs in this world than you who’ll wrongly hear your name in those same parts, the way you did.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, it serves you right to look like a liar, seeing as how you are one, for denying you’re singing ‘Laila.’ Plus, it’s only fair, since I had to admit I was a liar on ~Sylvia~. But don’t worry, people will think you only lied during the press conference to protect my privacy, which only makes you an even more swoonworthy boyfriend.”

“More swoonworthy?” he says. “You admit I was ~already ~swoonworthy?”

“I admit nothing. I’m merely conceding there are probably plenty more nutjobs in this world than you who’d think so.”

Savage belly laughs. “Touché, Fitzy. Too-fucking-shay.”

Butterflies.

They’ve just now whooshed into my belly at the sound of his laughter.

With a little wink to me, Savage returns to his phone, so I look out the car window for a while, biting back a huge smile. After a few minutes of staring at the coastline, I realize our car has headed far enough north that we must be heading into Malibu. “Do you think we’re going to be staying in Malibu?”

Savage looks up from his phone and looks around for a beat. “It sure looks like we’re headed there.”

“I hope that’s where we’ll be living,” I say. “I love Malibu.”

“Me, too. I love the ocean.”

“So do I. I wish I could wake up every day of my life and see it, first thing.”

“You can. By the end of the season, you’ll have two million bucks in your bank account. Buy yourself a beachfront condo, if that’s your pleasure.”

I press my lips together. That’s not going to happen, for several reasons. After taxes and commissions, and a few important things I want to do for my family, there won’t be much left of that two million bucks. Certainly, not enough to upgrade my small condo in the Valley to something along the coast. Beachfront property isn’t cheap. Plus, Savage is assuming I’ll make it to the end of the season on the show. When in reality, that’s not a certainty.

Unfortunately, when Daria and I finally got my contract from the show yesterday, it contained a buy-out clause that would allow the show to terminate me at any time for a payment of a hundred grand. Daria said the clause was non-negotiable. A dealbreaker. So, I signed on the dotted line. Luckily, Daria also assured me the chances the producers would exercise the buy-out were virtually nil. But, still, to be safe, I’m not going to spend a dime of my earnings from the show unless and until I’m positive I’m going to be around for the long haul. And even then, most of my salary will go toward helping my family in ways I’ve dreamed of doing for a while now, so a beachfront condo will have to wait.

The car makes a turn off the highway that makes it clear my Malibu guess was right, and ten minutes later, our SUV pulls to a stop in front of a large, gated home that’s instantly recognizable to me—a cliffside mansion I’ve seen countless times on one of my favorite reality TV shows.

“Oh my gosh!” I blurt, my butt dancing on the car seat beneath me. “This is the mansion from The Engagement Experiment!”