Page 51 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

He looks at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “For what?”

“For this,” I say, motioning to the house, the view, everything. “The house, for thinking about me. For giving us a place of our own—where I can breathe.”

He shrugs, but I can see the emotion flicker in his eyes. “You deserve it, Em. You and the baby.”

The mention of the baby sends a flutter through my chest, and I rest a hand on my still-flat stomach, my gaze drifting back to the ocean.

“We’re going to try and make this work, aren't we?” I ask softly.

He reaches for my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “We are.”

And as I allow him to take my hand, I feel something settle in my chest. Maybe this is what falling in love is supposed to feel like—not just the wild passion of that night in Vegas, but this quiet certainty that we're exactly where we're meant to be.

Sixteen

Sam

The morning light filters through the windows as I sprawl on the couch, one leg stretched out, nursing my second cup of coffee while the ocean hums softly in the background. It’s been a week since we moved into the beach house, and life feels good.

Emily is in the kitchen, humming a silly tune I don’t recognize as she waters one of the many plants she’s somehow accumulated in the past few days. They’re everywhere—on the porch, hanging from hooks by the windows, even on the bathroom counter.

“You’re turning this place into a greenhouse,” I tell her, watching as she leans over to adjust a fern on the windowsill.

She glances at me, one brow arched. “They make it feel homey.”

“It already is homey,” I argue, though the truth is, I like the plants. They soften the sharp edges of the house, adding a bit of warmth and greenery that I didn’t realize it needed.

“You like them.” Emily boasts, her eyes sparkling. “You just act like you don’t because you know I’m right.”

I shake my head, grinning. “You’re cute when you’re cheeky.”

“And you’re welcome,” she quips, bending over to tend to yet another of her plants.

My eyes rake appreciatively over her lush curves.

Over the past week, we’ve learned a lot about each other—things we didn’t know or never took the time to notice before. Not just how to please each other in bed—which has been great. But other stuff, like the fact that she talks to her plants as she waters them, whispering encouragement like they’re new friends. Or how she has a knack for finding the perfect spot for everything, from the throw pillows on the couch to the framed pictures she’s hung in the hallway.

It’s little stuff, but it makes the house feel less like a rental and more like ours. It also feels like a real marriage—a normal one.

We’ve fallen into an easy rhythm, an unspoken routine that feels natural. Mornings start with coffee for me and tea for her on the deck, the ocean breeze ruffling our hair as we talk about everything and nothing. Afternoons are spent lazily walking the beach, my hat pulled low and sunglasses firmly in place to keepfrom being recognized. So far, the reporters haven’t figured out where we are, and I’m not in any rush to give them a clue.

Emily walks into the living room and sits down beside me.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, leaning back against the couch.

“Of course,” she replies, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

“What did your parents say... about us?”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard.

“When you told them about the baby and… us,” I clarify.

She hesitates for a moment, then exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I called them while we were at your dad’s farm,” she admits. “I wanted them to hear it from me first.”

“What did they say?”

She smiles faintly, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “They were surprised, obviously. I mean, how do you not react to news like that?”

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