Page 3 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Let’s get out of here and figure this out.”

As Sam stands to put on his shirt, I see red scratch marks on his back. My eyes widen in dismay. As he turns back around toward me, the silence between us stretches thin.

Wanting to distract him. “You’re awfully calm for someone who just accidentally got married,” I mutter, shooting him a resentful glare.

He glances up, his expression mild. “Would you rather I scream and panic? Someone has to keep a level head here.” Then, under his breath. “And it’s obviously not you.”

“Level head?” I scoff, my face hardening. “Sam, we’re married. This isn’t just a bad hangover. This is—“

“Fixable,” he interrupts, his tone firm. “It’s not like we robbed a bank. We can probably get an annulment if that’s what you want,” his eyes search mine, “and it’ll be like it never happened.”

I freeze mid-step, the words affecting me more than they should. Like it never happened.

“Emily, if that’s what you want, then I’ll agree.” Sam shrugs. “Look, last night was fantastic. But we’re both adults. Whatever you decide, we can handle this without letting it blow up our lives.”

The reminder of last night sends another wave of fragmented memories flashing through my mind—Sam’s laugh, his hands as he undressed me, the way his lips tasted like whiskey, and how it felt when he knelt between my thighs—

I shove the thoughts aside. “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “But let’s get one thing straight. This doesn’t leave Vegas. No one can know about this—especially my brother.”

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, because telling my best friend that I married his baby sister sounds like a great way to spend the weekend.”

“I’m serious, Sam!”

“Alright.” He says with a shrug. “Your secret’s safe with me, Cupcake.”

“I told you—stop calling me that!” I groan helplessly, the nickname grating on my already-frayed nerves.

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. “You loved it last night.”

My face burns, and I point an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you dare—“

“Relax.” He cuts me off, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “I don’t remember everything, but I know enough to keep my mouth shut.”

“Good,” I mutter, grabbing my bag.

As we head toward the door, I suddenly pause, my hand hovering over the handle. “Do you think anyone saw us?” I ask uncertainly.

Sam arrogantly shrugs. “Who cares? We’re in Vegas. No one bats an eye at drunken weddings.”

I groan again, yanking the door open. “Let’s just go.”

The elevator ride is painfully quiet, save for the tinny music playing over the speakers. I keep my eyes trained on the glowing numbers, willing the car to descend faster.

“You’re tense,” Sam says, leaning casually against the wall.

I glance up at him, my jaw tight. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He chuckles, and I resist the urge to throttle him. How dare he look so relaxed and handsome when our entire lives are unraveling?

When the elevator dings, I practically bolt for the lobby. Sam follows at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a hat pulled low on his forehead.

“We should probably get coffee before we figure out the next step,” he suggests, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

“Coffee won’t fix this,” I snap, spinning around to face him.

“No,” he agrees, his smile sobering. “But it might help you stop looking like you’re about to implode.”

Frowning, I grudgingly follow him into the café.

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