Prompt Fiction - "They Don't Know ..."
It's been a while since I've done a prompt, so I figured why not. Here we go ...

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The gentle scrape of her fingernails running through his short hair and across his scalp was the only sound in the room. He liked these quiet moments the best because it was only then he felt truly understood. There were no cameras watching, no souls judging. Media wasn't requesting, fans weren't demanding. Here, with her, he was only a man.

Hers.

The weight of her wedding band pressing to his head as she held him felt soothing. A reminder of sorts. It was nothing too special or fancy, just a simple golden band. She already had so much because of him, there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to something that meant more to him and her than anyone else could ever possibly understand.

He wore no ring.

People liked to speculate. Bloggers would go crazy if he ever stepped out on the town alone. Heaven forbid she wasn't at one of his shows or many appearances. Why their life was so important to people they couldn't really affect beyond what they witnessed on television or social media, he couldn't begin to fathom. The public placed far too much attention on the lives of celebrities and not nearly enough on their own. Maybe if he gave them a bit more to see, they would back off. Frankly, he doubted it. Giving someone an inch usually meant they'd yank about a mile.

A mile too much.

It was the one thing he hated the most about his talent and stardom. Painstakingly, he'd taken special care to keep his private life as his own--his wife as only his. Between PR people, the assistants, and pre-interview preparations, his team managed to ensure the media understood not to question him beyond his current tour or whatever he was promoting.

They certainly knew not to ask about her, or how they met at his very first sold out show. Backed into a corner behind the curtain, terrified and shaking in his suit at the dull roar of a crowd waiting for a man who had once been the child progeny of classical music. Eighty-thousand fans was the largest he'd ever preformed for at the time. She found him there as she was doing a last minute check of the lights in the back. A beautiful smile, the touch of her hand, and the sound of her voice was all he needed to get the show done.

The moment he stepped off the stage, he went in search of her, found her, and demanded she let him take her out. She did. The rest was history.

"You'll be perfect," she assured, tapping his tuxedo covered chest with her palm.
Only because she was there.

The public, fans, media, and the world--they didn't know. They didn't have a single clue she was the only reason he still preformed, or how she inspired every piece he put to paper. They couldn't possibly know his world officially tilted and revolved around her the moment they met.

It wasn't their business to know.

"Kill it, huh?" she said with a wink, her fingers in his hair tightening to leave behind a sting as a reminder while he played.

He smiled. "For you, always."
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