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After some more small talk, we sit down at the kitchen table and eat the meal our chef has prepared. As we eat, I keep catching Savage staring at me, his eyes begging for forgiveness. And I must admit, despite everything, my anger thaws a bit every time I look into his dark, tormented eyes. My solution? I try to avoid looking into Savage’s eyes, as much as possible. However much living with Savage in this TV mansion has made me swoon, today made me realize there’s too much baggage between us, too much jealousy and hypocrisy and popcorn lies, for us to move forward together, as a real couple, outside of this carefully curated bubble. Which means I’d better get my heart extricated now from this situation, before it’s too late.
After our meal ends, our foursome heads into the living room to get to work, with Savage and Fish grabbing acoustic guitars, Alessandra taking an armchair with her laptop, and me taking a seat behind the baby grand.
“Okay,” Fish says on an exhale, tuning the guitar in his lap. “Reed said this song should be a ‘classic love song.’ He said he wants it ‘sweet and romantic.’”
“Pure, gooey goodness,” Alessandra chimes in.
Fish looks at Savage and me. “Is that your understanding, too?”
“Yep,” Savage says.
“Cool,” Fish replies. “Let’s write a hit love song, guys.”
“Thank God you and Alessandra came over to help us out,” I say. “Left to our own devices, Savage and I couldn’t write ‘pure, gooey goodness’ to save our lives.”
Savage looks like I’ve slapped him in the face. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he mutters, and I quickly look away from his pained expression.
“It shouldn’t be too hard for the four of us geniuses to write something, on-brand, if we put our heads together,” Fish says. And Alessandra concurs. But when the pair looks at Savage and me for confirmation . . . they get crickets. Nothing. In fact, with each passing second of silence, the air in the room is becoming increasingly thick and stilted.
Alessandra clears her throat. “So, have you two worked up any ideas to get us started, or . . . ?”
“We’ve got nothing,” I reply, letting my eyes return to Savage’s. And when the words leave my lips, he physically winces in reply, like I’ve lashed him with a whip. Crap. Maybe that was a bit harsh of me. My heart aching, I peel my eyes off Savage’s tormented face and return to Fish and Alessandra. “We’ve tried to write this song, over and over again. But everything we’ve come up with has been all wrong. Way too intense and passionate and angsty for the assignment.”
“I think a little angst would be okay, here and there,” Alessandra says.
“Yeah, well, angst is all we’ve got, unfortunately.”
Alessandra looks at 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.
