I Am...Yours (MJ & Beyonce Love Story)

The Plan

Michael's POV

I heard laughter echoing through the house. I looked up from my schedule and frowned. I stepped out and looked over the balcony to see Michelle and Kelly there. I gasped. Beyonce had Blanket in her arms. I walked down. "Well look who arrived."

Michelle and Kelly smiled. "Hey Mike," Michelle greeted. Kelly smiled and waved. "Bey, you didn't tell me the girls were stopping by." She smiled. "They surprised me actually," she whispered in a matter-of-fact tone. I nodded in an understanding manner. "Well, I'll leave you girls to your fun." Kelly shot me a look that left my blood churned.

"Will do Michael."

She smiled at me and turned her back. "Yeah.." I caught myself before I could say anything else. As I trailed up the white steps and to my room, I couldn't help but spy. Kelly had a glare in her eyes that wasn't...Kelly Rowland. I frowned as I looked at my song list. I was making my return to the studio and I knew how much this was going to effect the family and the fans. Maybe a tour to bring some money into the house. We were slowly running out.

After the girls left, Beyonce came up. "They think Blanket is a doll." She grinned as she cooed to our son. "He is, but Bey. Did you see how Kelly was looking?" Bey frowned. "What do you mean?" "She didn't look like herself. I-"

I cut myself off after I saw the look in Bey's eyes. "Maybe I'm overreacting." Bey nodded. "You just haven't gotten enough sleep lately," she whispered. "No one has." "Here hold him for a moment. I gotta show you something." I took Blanket and looked down at him. "What is she doing?" I whispered. Beyonce walked out with a red bathing suit on twirled around. I whistled. "Been working out?" She nodded and added, "I've been dieting too." "You look great." I watched as she modeled around. "Well you've got a long way to go before you can walk around in that," I added. Bey grinned and twirled around one more time.

"Go put on some clothes before you catch a cold," I joked.

Bey laughed and rolled her eyes. "Shutup," she hissed. I watched as she strutted back into the bathroom to change. "So Michael...I was thinking about y'know....the tubal ligation." My chest tightened as she came back and sat down. "Michael, I don't want you to be mad at me please." The young and vibrant Beyonce was long gone; stress lines indented her perfect face and I could see her youthfulness running out. "I'm not mad," I whispered cautiously," I'm hurt. But I can't stop you. I don't want you on the sidelines anymore than you do. You're tired of being a housewife. You want to make a name for yourself. I will let you. I promise."

Bey smiled gratefully and kissed me. "I just wish I could again," she admitted, "but I came into this business to entertain and make people happy. Not raise hell." I chuckled. "It's fine. We all need a break some time." I looked down at Blanket who was holding onto my pinkie for his dear life. I smiled. "How do you feel about me going back to the studio?" She asked. "Excited and scared. I want you to. I really do." She grinned. "I want to go back next month."

Beyonce's POV

The butterflies in my stomach grew louder and louder as Michael and I strolled into the studio. We received standing ovations and applauses from the works at the Columbia Records location in Houston. I smiled as we were escorted into our elevator. The security team stayed close but gave us our distance. Michael was in business mode. Half of his face was covered up with a silk surgical mask, because he didn't feel like being bothered. He had on a red button down, black jeans, a red letterman's jacket, and his signature loafers.

He grabbed my hand. "You look beautiful today," he whispered through the mask. I smiled. I only had on a pair of black leggings, a white oversized Tommy Hilfiger sweater, and black suede booties. I didn't even do my hair this morning; it was just in the laziest bun known to God. "Really? I look like a fabulous homeless person." Michael and I shared a soft laugh as we exited the elevator. We walked down the hall to the studio room that stated BEYONCEin bold letters. Michael and I heard music coming from the other side. "Ready?" I nodded as I opened the door. Quincy Jones, Michael's closet friend and producer was sitting down over the playback system.