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“I tell you what,” I say. “I’ll pick Truth and a rain check. We’ll finish this game later, behind closed doors, when it’s just you and me, as long as you agree that Truth is an option.”
The crowd boos.
Ruby is beside herself.
The Cook brothers tell me that’s not allowed.
But I’m firm in my decision and can’t help noticing Savage looks deeply relieved.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Fitzy,” Savage says, his dark eyes sparkling.
The faux-angry crowd begins throwing napkins and empty Solo cups at me, but I don’t care. I hop off the piano bench, straight to the love of my life, and kiss his sensuous lips.
“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” I murmur. “Whatever I ask, you’ll need to tell me the whole truth, so help you God.”
“That’s the game,” he says. “All I can say, though, is be careful what you wish for.”
Thirty-Three
Laila
The house is finally empty. All partygoers have left. It’s the wee hours of the morning on the day after my twenty-fifth birthday—the best birthday of my life—and I’m presently sitting on my boyfriend’s face on our couch, having an intense orgasm.
When my body stops warping and rippling, and my groans come down, Savage guides me off him, flips me onto my hands and knees, and fucks me from behind like I’m nothing to him but a blow-up doll he purchased online. And I love it. He calls me his “dirty birthday girl” and grips my hair. He tells me I’m hot, and his, and that watching me dancing to “Hate Sex High” earlier tonight, and owning that shit like a boss, turned him on like crazy. Until finally, Savage is coming hard inside me, followed by him fingering me until I do, too.
When both our bodies are spent and we’re way too exhausted to keep going for now, we cuddle naked on the couch for a long moment, catching our breath. For a fleeting moment, I have the impulse to spring up from the couch and play him the song I’ve been writing for him. “Savage Love.” But I quickly decide, no. First off, I’m not finished tinkering with the song. But, more importantly, I’m not ready to say all that “infinite and everlasting” stuff to Savage, just yet.
When I spoke to Mimi in private, during those last days of her life, she explained that Savage has always suffered from extreme anxiety, though the world would never guess that about him, based on his swagger and showmanship. She told me the thing that helps him keep his anxieties in check is taking things one day at a time. Not making firm commitments about the future. Not feeling tied down.
“That’s why Savage proposing to you is especially wonderful,” Mimi said to me. “It’s a huge breakthrough, to know he loves you enough to be able to envision, and promise, forever to you.”
Obviously, it wasn’t true. Savage had promised no such thing to me. And the weight of that lie hit me like a ton of bricks at the time. But nonetheless, that conversation with Mimi has helped me understand Savage better, which has helped me keep my expectations about him in check. For now, the boy has agreed to move into my condo with me when the show is over in a couple weeks. Surely, if Mimi were here and somehow found out we aren’t actually engaged, she’d nonetheless feel Savage’s agreement to move in with me, on its own, was a huge breakthrough for him. A massive commitment, standing alone. And I’m determined to be satisfied with only that, without also dreaming about exchanging promises of “forever” with him, as well.
“So, what ‘Truth’ do you want to know, Fitzy?” Savage asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Birthday Truth or Dare,” he says. “What’s this all-important question you have that’s more important than getting to watch me make a fool of myself in front of all our friends?”
I pause, considering my options, and finally settle on the one thing that’s been nagging at me the most lately—actually, ever since the press conference, and then even more so after our conversation in Chicago, when Savage admitted he hasn’t slept with anyone else since first laying eyes on me at Reed’s. What’s the whole truth about what Savage said to that Instagrammer at Kai’s birthday party?
I haven’t talked to Savage about that, since those very first days when he swore, up and down, he didn’t mention my name to her, simply because I’ve been certain he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, even if I asked. Or maybe I haven’t asked Savage recently about this because I’ve been afraid the truth wouldn’t be as romantic as I’ve come to hope. If Savage did tell that woman he had to “lay low” for the show, and nothing more, I’d rather not hear that now. On the contrary, I’d rather continue fantasizing about a fairytale where my gorgeous Beast told that Instagrammer he couldn’t sleep with her that night because he had his sights set on someone named Laila.
