by Lauren Rowe
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 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 implication of what Laila just said hits me. “You’re saying you haven’t bared your entire soul to me yet?”
Laila shakes her head. “I’ve told you how much I love you in words. But telling you how I feel in a song would be a whole other level.” She smiles shyly. “I’ve actually written a love song to you. I’ve been working on it for a while now, but haven’t felt ready to play it for you . . . until
now.” She bites her lip. “Now that we’ve finally got the duet behind us, I’m suddenly dying to play it for you when we get home.”
My heart skips a beat as tingles skate across my skin. I’ve been feeling close to positive Laila will say yes when I propose to her tonight, but, somehow, hearing her say she’s written a love song to me, and is now ready to play it for me, obliterates any last irrational shreds of doubt I’ve been harboring. Laila is a true artist. Which means, although she’s damned good at expressing herself in words, it’s when she sings and plays her piano that her truest voice can be heard.
I take Laila’s hand and squeeze it. “I can’t wait to hear the song.”
My phone buzzes in my lap and I look down. This time, the incoming text is from my manager, Eli. When Laila and I first got into the car, I relayed Aloha’s message about her compensation package, and now, Eli is telling me he’s already in the midst of a back-and-forth with producers that makes him feel confident their next written offer, which will be coming shortly, will be in line with Aloha’s deal.
I plop my phone onto the car seat. “Eli says he’s sure the producers are going to offer me a deal in the range of Aloha’s.”
“Holy shit,” Laila gasps out.
“Have you told Daria what Aloha said?”
Laila shakes her head. “There’s no need. Daria is the one who negotiated Aloha’s deal. I trust Daria to get me whatever I’m worth.”
“No, babe.” I motion to Laila’s phone in her lap. “Text Daria and tell her you won’t take a penny less than what Aloha makes. Make that clear to her.”
Laila scoffs.
“Yes, Laila. Tell your agent to coordinate with mine before she responds to any offer. Tell her I’m instructing Eli not to take any deal unless the exact same package is offered to you.”
Laila’s eyes are wide. Her chest heaves, but she doesn’t pick up her phone.
“Laila,” I say, picking up her phone and shoving it at her. “Do it. Tell Daria not to respond to any offer until Eli gives her the green light. I’ll instruct Eli to get the best possible deal for me, nothing less than Aloha’s, and then tell the producers I’ll only take their offer if they give the exact same one to you.”
Her face flushed and her hand trembling, Laila takes her phone from me. “So . . . does that mean you’re willing to say yes to doing the show again—and for multiple seasons—if they pay you the same as Aloha?”
I shrug. “If they were to agree to pay me and you the same as Aloha, and also to leave us alone and not require any social media from us, then, yes. That is, if doing the show again, and for multiple seasons, is something you’d want.” That last part is a bit of theater. I’m one thousand percent certain Laila wants to continue doing the show. But why not give her the chance to talk it through?
Laila’s face is the portrait of a woman going out of her mind with excitement who’s pretending she’s not. “Well,” she begins, “I had a blast working with you this season. And I loved getting to spend time with Aloha, too. I thoroughly enjoyed working with my contestants.”
“You were a natural with them.”
“When Addison won, it was one of the best moments of my life.”
“I could tell.”
Laila sighs happily, apparently reliving the joy she felt for Addison when the young singer’s name was called. She continues, “Aloha loves doing the show and says it’s the easiest money she’s ever made. So, I think if we just had to show up each week and do the judge thing, the same way Aloha does, without having all that other crazy stuff hanging over our heads, we’d probably have a great time. The shooting schedule wouldn’t get in the way of our music. I’ve written my entire third album this past month, while still doing the show.”
I take in her sparkling blue eyes and hopeful expression. I’d never stand in the way of Laila getting to do this, and the producers have already made it clear they want both of us, as a package deal. Plus, if the producers truly do come back with money in the range of what Aloha gets, I’d be a fool to turn it down. Not only for myself, but because my continued exposure on the show will wind up lining my bandmates’ and manager’s pockets, too.
Laila adds, “I’d never want to force you to do something that would make you miserable, though.”
I squeeze her hand. “I could never be miserable doing anything, if I was doing it with you.” I pick up my phone and begin tapping out a text to my manager. “I’m telling Eli to be sure to coordinate with Daria on this. And not to bother me until they’ve offered everything I want.”
“Sounds good,” Laila says. She starts tapping on her phone. “I’m telling Daria to sit tight until she hears from Eli.” When she puts her phone down, she looks beside herself with excitement. In fact, she can barely sit still. “Well, damn,” she says, “I feel a whole lot better now about you not earning that bonus tonight. If we get this deal, that bonus will feel like chump change, huh?”
Shit. I was hoping Laila wouldn’t mention that stupid bonus tonight. Not when, unbeknownst to Laila, I’m going to propose to her for real in a matter of minutes.
When I say nothing, Laila fills the awkward silence. “Were you even tempted to earn the bonus tonight?”
Damn. She’s obviously not going to magically drop the subject, without me responding. “Uh, no. Once we told Mimi we were engaged, proposing to you on the show was a moot point.”
Laila presses her lips together for a long moment, during which I literally pray she drops the subject. But nope. A moment later, Laila says, “Did the producers give you a ring to give to me? I thought I saw you touching your pocket a couple times, right at the end of our song.”
Fuck. “Yeah, they did. Some jeweler supplied a ring for promo, and Nadine made me put it in my pocket before I walked onstage, in case I suddenly became overcome by the impulse to get down on bended knee.” I chuckle. “I knew Nadine would be watching me with bated breath when our song ended, so I touched my pocket a couple times, just to fuck with her.” I flash Laila a wicked smirk, thinking she’ll laugh along with me, but she doesn’t. In fact, she looks downright stressed. “Aw, come on,” I coax. “Nadine deserved that. She’s a master at messing with people’s emotions. Two can play at that game.”
Laila shoots me a tight smile but says nothing, which tells me she’s got something big on her mind.
“What is it, Laila?” I ask.
She pauses an eternal beat before blurting, “I know what you did, Savage! I know everything.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. What, exactly, does she know? Does she know about my new house? About the engagement ring in my pocket? Thankfully, Laila speaks again before I’ve stupidly started confessing everything to her.
“I overheard Nadine talking to Rhoda before we went onstage,” Laila explains. “Nadine told Rhoda she’d made a side deal with you that let them keep your entire salary—two million bucks!—in exchange for them not firing me.”
Well, shit. I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t want Laila knowing about any of that, ever. I open and close my mouth, feeling tongue-tied, and Laila forges ahead before I’ve choked out a single word.
“Nadine said she thought there was a good chance you’d propose after the song, in order to get back half the money you’d let them keep. She said they gave you a free ring and promised you could earn back a million bucks by proposing to me. But you didn’t do it!”
I’m still opening and closing my mouth like a fish on a line, incapable of forming words.
“You gave up an easy million bucks, Savage!” Laila shouts. “How could you do that? I don’t care how much you might be making on the new album or on future seasons of the show, that’s still a ton of money. Especially when you’ve already paid me two million bucks! I wish so badly you’d told me you’d forfeited your entire salary for me, because I never would have let you do that. Thank you so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. But I was already feeling so terrible about taking half your salary—”
“Lai
la, stop. We agreed not to talk about the money, remember?”
“No, you agreed. When did you make that side deal with Nadine?”
“In Chicago. Right before Mimi died. And I’d do it again. I have zero regrets.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
“Why make you feel stressed and guilty, when it was something I wanted to do, for my own happiness? Don’t you see? I made that deal with Nadine for the same reason I bought that house for Mimi. For the same reason I bought a house for Sasha. Because I love you and want to take care of you. And, also, because, selfishly, I couldn’t stand the idea of being stranded on that stupid fucking show without you.”
“Selfishly? Savage, what you did is the most selfless—”
“Please, don’t make this a thing, Laila. I did it because I love you and wanted the best for you—because I knew Nadine would be making a huge mistake to get rid of you. And I was right! The show had its best ratings ever and now they’re begging you to sign a multi-year deal. Fuck Nadine! We got the last laugh, baby!”
Her nostrils flare. “Well, I hope you know I’m going to pay you back every dime you paid me this season. That’s non-negotiable, Adrian.”
I trap my lower lip between my teeth. Laila looks incredibly beautiful right now. Fierce and determined. Feisty and self-righteous. It dawns on me there’s no need to argue with her about this right now, considering that, before the night is through, Laila will be my fiancée. And soon after that, my wife. Which means everything I have will be hers, including the two million bucks she’s now insisting on repaying me.
“Okay, baby,” I concede. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “Pay me whatever makes you feel good, as long as your repayment buys me the freedom of never, ever having to talk about that two million bucks again.”
She grins. “Deal.”
We shake on it.
“I’m grateful for what you did for me,” she says, her eyes pricking with tears. “Thank you.”
