The Ever After of Ella and Micha

by Sorensen, Jessica

  I hear someone in the crowd clap their hands as I lean in toward Ella to kiss her. She follows my lead, our lips magnetizing toward one another and we meet halfway. Underneath the trees’ branches blanketed with snow, our lips brush and our arms wrap around each other, finally getting to our wonderfully, imperfect, difficult, complex, yet beautiful and worth it ever after.

  Epilogue

  Two months later…

  Ella

  “Wake up, beautiful,” Micha says as he breathes in my ear and presses his warm body up against mine.

  “No way,” I mutter, burying my face into a pillow as I draw the sheet over my naked body. “I’m too tired.”

  “Come on, pretty girl. I have a surprise for you.” He places a delicate kiss against my neck, slipping his tongue out along my skin before rolling away from me. “Come on, it’ll be worth it. I promise.” I hear him walk away toward the bathroom. “I’m going to go take a shower. Be ready to go somewhere by the time I get out.” Moments later the door shuts and the shower turns on.

  I lie in bed for a while, telling myself that I’m not going to get up because I’m too damn tired from all the other mornings he’s woken me up this same way. It’s become a tradition. He finds a way to surprise me, whether it’s taking me out to breakfast or waking my body up with his tongue.

  I finally give in and force myself to open my eyes because I have a hard time saying no to Micha. The sunlight sparkles through the window as I stretch my arms and climb out of bed. I pull a short, black dress out of my suitcase and put it on and then side-braid my hair and secure it with an elastic. After I slip on my sandals, I sink down on the bed and wait for him to get out while I stare at the rings on my fingers. Even two months later, I still can’t help but smile when I see them there, marking one of the best days of my life. The day I told Micha how I truly felt, the day he conclusively became mine. We kissed and danced a lot that day, to a list of songs that made an appearance in our history. It was beautiful and magical and really sappy, but all weddings are. Afterward, we spent hours having sex until I felt like my body was going to break apart. It was amazing and exhausting—everything still is amazing and exhausting. And then we packed up our stuff and headed back home to start our life, but not after Micha made us stop by Mikey’s house so he could slash his tires, like I promised him he could.

  We’ve been on the road for a little over a month now and it’s been an adventure. Micha was given the option of riding the bus with a few other musicians, but because we missed our honeymoon, he decided that we could at least have a road trip so we’re traveling across the country in the Chevelle, making it our goal to have sex in every state. So far we’ve gotten up to sixteen, but after tonight it’ll be seventeen.

  After a while, Micha comes walking out with a towel in his hand, looking gorgeous and sexy in a red plaid shirt that he hasn’t buttoned yet so I get a glimpse of his muscles. His jeans ride low on his hips and my body burns as I look at him, thinking about the many times he’s used those hips to thrust into me. His hair is wet and flipped at the ends and I bite my lip, wanting to run my fingers through it.

  “I’m so happy right now that I think there might be something wrong with me,” I divulge and he snorts a laugh as he balls up the towel and tosses it onto the hotel room floor.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being happy, pretty girl,” he says, as he ruffles his blond hair into place. “It’s good that you’re happy.”

  “I know that.” I stand up and help him button up his plaid shirt while he continues to fuss with his hair. “I hope you are, too, though.”

  His brows knit as he glances down at me, his aqua eyes burning with intensity. “Of course I’m happy. You’re here with me.”

  “You know, if your fans knew you talked like that, they’d go even more wild for you.”

  “No, they’d probably laugh,” he says with a shrug. “But I really don’t care what they think. Only you.”

  “Not the female ones.” I do up the last button and then link my arms around the back of his neck, standing on my tiptoes. “Okay, where are you taking me today, because I’m dying to know.”

  “It’s a surprise,” he says, then grabs my hand and tugs me toward the door.

  “You say that every day.” I pout as he slips his shoes on.

  He grins at me as he picks up my sketchbook and drawing pencil from the dresser. “I know, and that pouty look that you always get on your face when I won’t tell you makes it so much fun.”

  “Why are you grabbing that?” I nod at the sketchbook, closing the door behind us as we step out into the hallway.

  “Because you’re going to need it,” he says, leading me down the hallway.

  I sigh and follow him down the stairs and out to the car. We climb in, he starts the engine, and then he drives down the highway, heading out of town. We’re in South Caroline right now, so even though it’s February, the air is warm and the humidity makes my skin sticky, especially because we have the windows down. The ocean’s pretty close by, the sand golden, the sky blue, and it makes my hands itch for the pencil and sketchbook Micha has in his lap.

  When he finally stops the car, we’re parked in front of a field covered in luscious grass and bushes. There’s also this lofty tree in the center, by itself, some of the branches stretching toward the sky and others drooping toward the ground. It kind of reminds me of the tree back at home for some reason and it dawns on me why he might have brought me here.

  Micha grins as he slips the keys out of the ignition. “So when you said you wanted to come on the road with me, you said you’d love to spend your time drawing things that mean something to you, along with that tree I always used to climb up to get to you. Well, since that very meaningful tree is far, far away right now, I thought maybe you could draw this.” He gestures at the field. “I found this field the other day when I was driving back from practice, searching for something that you could draw because I know you’ve been wanting to do a meaningful landscape drawing. The tree kind of reminded me of the one back home, at least I think so, but then again I’m no artist.” He pauses, waiting eagerly for my response.

  I think I might have fallen in love with him even more. I didn’t think that was possible, but every day the love I have for Micha grows stronger, especially when he does stuff like this for me.

  I lean over the console toward him. “I love you,” I say, unable to help myself. “And I love the tree.”

  “I love you, too,” he says and then he kisses me. By the time we stop for air, we’re both breathless and I’ve managed to climb over the console and onto his lap and his shirt’s unbuttoned… I don’t even know how it happened.

  His hands are under my dress, grabbing at my flesh as he stares at me a little dazed. “So are you going to draw the tree?”

  “Of course, but after I draw you first,” I say. “Because you mean more to me than anything else in the world.”

  “But don’t you have a ton of drawings of me already?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have one with you sitting under this tree.”

  “You have to be tired of drawing me, though.”

  I shake my head. “No way. I will never get tired of you. Ever.”

  “No matter how many times you say that, I will never get tired of hearing it,” he admits, and then a thoughtful expression rises on his face “So me under the tree, huh? That’s your meaningful drawing?”

  “I think it is,” I say, and then we kiss for a little bit longer before we climb out of the car and walk toward the tree, happy, peaceful, and content as we live out our forever just how we want to—together.

  About the Author

  The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jessica Sorensen lives with her husband and three kids. When she’s not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.

  Learn more at:

  jessicasorensensblog.blogspot.com

  @jessFallenStar

  http://facebook.com/JessicaSo
rensensAdultContemporaryNovels

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  The Secret of Ella and Micha

  The Forever of Ella and Micha

  The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

  The Coincidence of Callie & Kayden

  The Redemption of Callie & Kayden

  The Destiny of Violet & Luke

  Breaking Nova

  Acclaim for Jessica Sorensen

  “Sorensen’s portrayal of… relationships and long-distance love, as well as the longing to escape one’s past, raises her above her new adult peers.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Secret of Ella and Micha

  “Romantic, suspenseful and well-written—this is a story you won’t want to put down.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Coincidence of Callie & Kayden

  Please see the next page for a preview of

  The Destiny of Violet & Luke.

  Chapter 1

  Violet

  (Freshman year of college)

  I’ve got my fake smile plastered on my face and no one in the crowd of people surrounding me can tell if it’s real or not. None of them really give a shit either, just like I don’t. I’m only here, pretending to be a ray of sunshine, for three reasons: (a) I owe Preston, my last foster parent I had before I turned eighteen, big time, because he gave me a home when no one else would; and (b) because I need the money; and (c) I love the rush of knowing that at any moment I could get busted so much—so much that it’s become addicting, like an alcoholic craves booze.

  “You want a shot?” the guy—I think his name is Jason or Jessie or some other J name—calls out over the bubbly song beating through the speakers. He raises an empty glass in front of my face, his gray eyes glazed over with intoxication and stupidity, which are pretty much one and the same.

  I shake my head, my faux smile dazzling on my face. I wear it almost like a necklace, shiny and making me look pretty when I’m out in public, then when I go home I can take it off and toss it aside. “No thanks.”

  “You sure?” he questions, then slants his head back and guzzles the rest of his beer. A trail drizzles from his mouth down to his navy blue polo shirt.

  I’m about to say Yes, I’m sure, but then stop and nod, knowing it’s always good to blend in. It makes me look less sketchy and people less edgy and more trusting. “Yeah, why the hell not.” I aim to say it lightly even though I loathe the fiery taste of hard alcohol. I rarely drink it, but not just because of the taste. It’s what I do when it’s in my system, how my angry, erratic, self-destructing alter ego comes out, that makes it necessary that I stay sober. At least when I’m sober, I have control over the reckless things that I do, but when I’m drunk it’s a whole other ballgame, one I don’t feel like playing tonight. I already have a barely touched beer in my hand and have no plans on finishing it.

  Jessie or Jason smiles this big, goofy, very unflattering smile. “Fuck yeah!” he practically shouts, like we’re celebrating and I want to roll my eyes. He lifts his hand for me to high-five and I slam my palm against it with a frustrated inner sigh, even though it’s a good sign because it means he’s veering toward becoming an incoherent, drunk idiot.

  It’s always the same routine. Get them drunk and then I can get more money. It’s what Preston taught me to do and what I do pretty much every weekend now, hitting up the parties around the nearby towns. Never in the town I go to college in, though. That would be too risky and way too easy to get noticed according to Preston.

  I’m wearing a tight black dress that shows off what little curves I have, along with my leather jacket, and thigh-high lace-up boots. My curly black hair that’s streaked red hangs down my back, hiding the dragon tattoo and two small stars on the back of my neck, each star drawn to represent the people who have loved me in life. I usually wear my hair down because guys always seem to like to run their fingers through it, like they get their kicks and giggles from the softness. Personally, I have no opinion about it, although a lot of girls seem to gush over guys playing with their hair. Let them touch it if they want, just as long as I get paid at the end of this charade.

  J, as I’m going to call him because I honestly can’t remember his name, pours two shots of tequila, spilling some on the countertop. When he hands it to me I slam it back without so much as flinching, filling up my mouth with the disgusting drink, then I quickly move my beer up to my lips, pretending to chase the shot with it, when really I spit the tequila into the bottle. I smile as I move the bottle away from my mouth and set the empty shot glass down on the counter. Preston would be so proud of me right now, since he taught me that little trick as a way to stay sober when everyone else is getting drunk to avoid mistakes with the deal. And I’m glad, because mistakes with Preston never go over well.

  “Another?” J asks, pointing a finger at the glass.

  I decide it’s time to move on from shots and on to taking care of business. I dazzle him with my best plastic smile as I set my beer down on the counter. I stained my lips a bright red before I left and my dress is low-cut enough to show a sliver of my cleavage, created by a push-up bra. It’s all a distraction, a costume to keep them focused on something else besides the deal. Distractions equal mistakes.

  I grab the bottom of his shirt and bat my eyelashes at him as I lean in, trying not to scrunch my nose at the foul scent of alcohol on his breath. “How about you take me to your room?” I breathe against his cheek. “So we can take care of some business.”

  He blinks his blue eyes through his drunkenness, alarmed by my bluntness. Most people are. And that’s what I love about it. Throw them off. Never let them know what’s really hidden in me. Never let anyone in because no one really wants to get in, not for good reasons anyway.

  “Okay,” he slurs, dropping the bottle of tequila down onto the countertop, and then he drags his fingers through his clean-cut blond hair.

  I keep smiling as I grab a lime slice from off the counter and shove it into my mouth. I suck the juice off so that I can get the damn tequila taste out of my mouth. It tastes bitterly sweet, but better than the burn of the alcohol. After I’m done with it, I discard it onto the counter and scoop up the bottle of tequila.

  “Lead the way,” I say to J and he gives me another one of those goofy drunk smiles of his, probably thinking he’s going to get lucky after we make the deal. Most guys do which is why Preston loves having me do this for him. You’re a distraction, he always tells me. A very beautiful, enticing distraction.

  Deep down, I know I could do it. Fool around with J and probably feel fine afterward. I can turn off everything I’m feeling in the snap of a finger and put it away, only bringing it out when needed. I wouldn’t feel a single part of it, which makes doing things I don’t necessarily want to do easier. Plus J’s not that bad looking, although he’s a little too athletic and preppy for me. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, and lean muscles, his entire body screaming that he spends way too much time at the gym. I wonder if he’s a jock, but I’m not going to ask him. Just like I’m not going to fool around with him.

  He takes my hand, his palms clammy, and he leads me through the crowd of college-age people packed in the townhouse living room, where a game of beer pong is going on. A few of the girls shoot me dirty looks, like I don’t belong with a clean-cut guy like J who’s wearing a collared shirt and a watch that probably cost more than all the money I’ve spent in my entire life. And I’m fine with it, too high on the thrill of what I’m doing—what I’m about to do. The danger. The instability. The adrenaline.

  When we reach the hall, we disappear out of the sight of all the judgmental eyes and lucky for me, J’s not doing that great. His feet can barely carry him as he stumbles his way to the last door in the hall, hauling me with him.

  “Whoops.” He giggles like a girl as he turns the doorknob. “I’m sorry.”

  I have no idea what he’s sorry for, but I just smile. “It’s fine.”

  He grins again, stealing the bottle of tequila from out of my hand. He
tips his head back and knocks back a mouthful, gagging as he moves the bottle away from his lips. Then he aims it at me.

  Not having my beer to spit it back in, I grab the bottle and set it down on a small bookshelf nestled in the corner. “Let’s take a little break from drinking, okay?”

  “Sure,” he says, trying to stun me with an award-winning smile. “How ’bout we just get ya in here and get ya out of those clothes of yours.” His gaze scales my body and I briefly contemplate clocking him in the face. I know that look way too well, just like I know what he wants way too well.

  I give him a little shove so he stumbles across the dark, empty bedroom. I follow him as he continues to stagger back and then lands on the bed. I shut the door and lock it without taking my eyes off him as he lies there on the mattress. Soft moonlight filters in through the window and lights up the dazedness on his face.

  “Come… here…” He props up on his elbows, working to keep his head up.

  I saunter toward him, glancing around at the clothes scattered around the large room decorated with a dresser set that matches his king-size bed.

  “How about we talk some business,” I tell him, positioning myself in front of where his legs hang over the edge of the mattress.

  He shakes his head determinedly, and then flops his hand toward the leather belt looped through his slacks. I watch him fight with the buckle for a while and then growing impatient, I finally unhook the buckle myself, and jerk it from his belt loop.

  “I knew you’d like to play rough.” He laughs and starts to sit up, his fingers seeking my waist. But I gently shove him back by the chest so he’s lying flat on the bed.

  I toss the belt onto the dresser. “I didn’t come here to play.”