The Secret 05 Ella and Micha: Infinitely and Always by Jessica Sorensen Page B
Authors: Jessica Sorensen
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the other nipple and wrap my lips around it, giving it the same treatment.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Micha, open the door. We need to talk,” Mike calls out.
“In a minute,” I shout back, growing frustrated because he’s ruining the mood. And it’s the only mood Ella and I are going to have for a while.
“I know Ella’s in there,” he says, “but I promised the house manager that you’d sign autographs for an hour, so you need to get out here. It’s good for your image, too. It shows the fans you appreciate their support.”
Letting out a frustrated grunt, my forehead falls against Ella’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’m really getting tired of this shit.”
“Of what?” she asks, smoothing her hand over my head. “Of signing autographs?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I stand up straight. “Mike, the label, my image.”
Her bottom lip juts out, and it’s so damn sexy I almost forget I’m upset. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I don’t ever want you to be unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” I assure her. The last thing I want Ella to do is worry. “I’m just not sure—”
“Micha, get your ass out here.” Mike bangs on the door and keeps banging.
“Fuck.” I kiss Ella one last time then back up to the door. “Wait for me?”
“Of course,” she responds, hopping off the table and reaching for her bra on the floor. “Where else would I go?”
Smiling, I open the door and walk out of the room. The smile vanishes from my face the moment I enter the hallway and leave the only person I really want to see behind. Because I only feel like myself when I’m with Ella—only then do I feel whole—which leaves me wondering if maybe it’s time to quit.
But then what? What would I be if I didn’t have my music? A good husband. I’m not even sure if I am since I’m never home. I want to be home more. I want to be a great fucking husband, have a job I love and one where I can see my wife every day. I want to know my home. Take care of it. Start my own family.
I just wish I could get the guts to do it.
Chapter 2
Ella
Poor Micha. He looks so sad and has for quite a while. It nearly kills me to see him so depressed, especially since I know firsthand how dark depression can be. I still struggle with my own sadness here and there, particularly when I’ve been alone for too long. I’ve learned how to be strong, though, to support Micha and his dream like he’s done for me.
“I need to find a way to help him,” I mutter to myself as I sit at the dimly lit bar, drinking an ice-cold beer while waiting for Micha to finish up signing for the fans.
The bar is attached to the space where the concert took place. The area has been cleared out, most of the lights turned off, and the air is ghostly quiet. The silence is soothing to me along with the alcohol in my veins. I needed soothing tonight after a crazy fan tried to put me in my place on the way backstage. Micha has gotten enough publicity that the hardcore fans recognize me now.
“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” she sneered as the bouncer moved aside to let me through.
Choosing to ignore her, I tucked my identification into my back pocket and headed for the door.
“Excuse me. I’m talking to you.” She reached over the roped area and grabbed my hair. Yes, actually freaking grabbed my hair!
When my head whipped in her direction and my hands balled into fists, she let me go.
“Touch me again, and that face of yours won’t be so pretty anymore.”
The bouncer stepped in then and shoved her back, but she made sure to get in her final words.
“He slept with me, you know!” she cried out as she stumbled back from the rope. “You’re husband. And he fucking loved it. He loves me.”
She was short and curvy with wavy blonde hair and wearing too much eye shadow. So not Micha’s type.
Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the building and let the door slam shut behind me. I was pissed off.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Micha, open the door. We need to talk,” Mike calls out.
“In a minute,” I shout back, growing frustrated because he’s ruining the mood. And it’s the only mood Ella and I are going to have for a while.
“I know Ella’s in there,” he says, “but I promised the house manager that you’d sign autographs for an hour, so you need to get out here. It’s good for your image, too. It shows the fans you appreciate their support.”
Letting out a frustrated grunt, my forehead falls against Ella’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’m really getting tired of this shit.”
“Of what?” she asks, smoothing her hand over my head. “Of signing autographs?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I stand up straight. “Mike, the label, my image.”
Her bottom lip juts out, and it’s so damn sexy I almost forget I’m upset. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I don’t ever want you to be unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” I assure her. The last thing I want Ella to do is worry. “I’m just not sure—”
“Micha, get your ass out here.” Mike bangs on the door and keeps banging.
“Fuck.” I kiss Ella one last time then back up to the door. “Wait for me?”
“Of course,” she responds, hopping off the table and reaching for her bra on the floor. “Where else would I go?”
Smiling, I open the door and walk out of the room. The smile vanishes from my face the moment I enter the hallway and leave the only person I really want to see behind. Because I only feel like myself when I’m with Ella—only then do I feel whole—which leaves me wondering if maybe it’s time to quit.
But then what? What would I be if I didn’t have my music? A good husband. I’m not even sure if I am since I’m never home. I want to be home more. I want to be a great fucking husband, have a job I love and one where I can see my wife every day. I want to know my home. Take care of it. Start my own family.
I just wish I could get the guts to do it.
Chapter 2
Ella
Poor Micha. He looks so sad and has for quite a while. It nearly kills me to see him so depressed, especially since I know firsthand how dark depression can be. I still struggle with my own sadness here and there, particularly when I’ve been alone for too long. I’ve learned how to be strong, though, to support Micha and his dream like he’s done for me.
“I need to find a way to help him,” I mutter to myself as I sit at the dimly lit bar, drinking an ice-cold beer while waiting for Micha to finish up signing for the fans.
The bar is attached to the space where the concert took place. The area has been cleared out, most of the lights turned off, and the air is ghostly quiet. The silence is soothing to me along with the alcohol in my veins. I needed soothing tonight after a crazy fan tried to put me in my place on the way backstage. Micha has gotten enough publicity that the hardcore fans recognize me now.
“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” she sneered as the bouncer moved aside to let me through.
Choosing to ignore her, I tucked my identification into my back pocket and headed for the door.
“Excuse me. I’m talking to you.” She reached over the roped area and grabbed my hair. Yes, actually freaking grabbed my hair!
When my head whipped in her direction and my hands balled into fists, she let me go.
“Touch me again, and that face of yours won’t be so pretty anymore.”
The bouncer stepped in then and shoved her back, but she made sure to get in her final words.
“He slept with me, you know!” she cried out as she stumbled back from the rope. “You’re husband. And he fucking loved it. He loves me.”
She was short and curvy with wavy blonde hair and wearing too much eye shadow. So not Micha’s type.
Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the building and let the door slam shut behind me. I was pissed off.
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