Page 49 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

Cass folds his arms, his expression grim. “Someone must have tipped them off. Once the original story broke, it spread like wildfire. Every outlet’s running with it now.”

I glance at Sam, whose jaw is clenched tight, his eyes dark with anger.

“Did the media show up here?” Sam asks, his voice low.

Cass nods. “A few reporters arrived earlier but couldn’t get past our security gate. Still, you should be prepared—they won’t let up anytime soon.”

My chest tightens as the reality of the situation sinks in. The peaceful illusion we'd been living in at Clay's farm has been shattered, and now we're thrust back into the harsh reality of public scrutiny.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking at Sam.

He shakes his head, his expression neutral as he meets my gaze. “Don’t apologize, Em. This isn’t your fault. We should have expected something like this.”

“But they even know about the baby...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine. “We’ll handle it,” he says firmly. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon fielding calls. Kendrick walks in. “We went through this when they found out about Cassidy,”she says with a sympathetic glance. “The world knows now, and you don’t have to hide anymore.”

But hiding had felt safer, easier. Now, the thought of everyone dissecting our lives—our marriage and our baby—makes my stomach churn.

Sam seems calmer than I expected, though I can tell he’s seething beneath the surface. He paces the living room, his phone constantly buzzing as he deals with the fallout.

“They’re going to spin this however they want,” he says after hanging up from yet another call. “No matter what we say, they will make up their own version of the truth.”

I nod, sinking onto the couch. “So, what do we do?”

“We ignore it—for now,” he says, his voice firm. “Later, we can tell our side of the story but on our terms and after this has died down.”

I blink, caught off guard by him taking control. “You really think that’s the best strategy?”

“Yes, I do,” he says, sitting beside me. “But first, we don’t let them get to us. We lay low, ignore the media storm, and get on with our lives.”

The protectiveness in his voice sends a wave of warmth through me. I nod, grateful for his steady presence, even though everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.

An hour later, we’re back in the truck. The sound of waves fills the air as Sam turns onto a narrow road lined with palm trees. The windows are down, the salty breeze tangling my hair, but I can’t enjoy it. My mind is still swirling with the media storm waiting for us back at Cass’s property.

“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing at him.

He grins, the kind of grin that immediately puts me on edge. “You’ll see.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“Just trust me, Em,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm. “Here, put this on. It’s a surprise.”

Sam hands me a bandana, wanting me to tie it around my eyes.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, reluctantly tying the bandana around my eyes as a blindfold. As the truck slows to a stop, I furrow my brow and ask, “Sam, what is this?”

“This,” he says, cutting the engine, “is where we’re staying.”

Confused, I reply, “Staying? What are you talking about? I already have a place at my brother’s.”

“Not anymore,” he says, hopping out of the truck.

“Sam!” I call after him, but a moment later, he opens the door and assists me out of the truck. “You can’t just decide things like this without telling me.”

He silently leads me up a few steps to a porch, turning me to face him with an infuriating calmness. “Why not? You’ll like it. I promise.”

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