Page 56 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

My father nods his head, then switches tracks, “So, about this marriage of yours...”

Here it comes.

“It sounds like it wasn’t exactly... planned,” Mom says gently, her tone curious rather than accusatory.

I glance at Sam, who gives me a small nod.

“No,” I admit. “It wasn’t planned. But we’re together now.”

“And we’re committed,” Sam adds, his voice firm.

Mom studies him for a moment, then looks at me. “When you called from Clay’s farm, you didn’t give us many details.”

“That’s because there’s not much to tell,” I say quickly, my words tumbling out. “We got married last year, and we’ve been figuring things out ever since.”

“Figuring things out,” Dad echoes, his brow lifting.

I resist the urge to groan. This is exactly what I was worried about—my parents reading between the lines, digging for answers I’m not ready to give.

“Well, it seems to be working,” Mom says, her smile genuine. “You look happy, both of you.”

I relax slightly, but the relief is short-lived.

“How did it happen?” Dad asks, his tone casual but curious. “The marriage, I mean.”

Sam clears his throat, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out the best way to answer without setting off alarm bells.

“It was spontaneous,” he says, his voice easy. “But we knew what we were doing.”

“Did you?” Dad asks, his gaze sharp.

“George,” Mom says, her tone warning.

“What?” Dad replies, raising his hands. “I’m just asking.”

“We’ve been married for over a year,” I cut in, my voice firmer than I expected. “And we’re having a baby. That’s what matters.”

The table falls silent for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space.

“Well,” Mom says finally, her smile returning. “I, for one, am thrilled. A grandbaby! I can’t wait.”

Dad nods, his expression softening. “It’s a lot to take in, but if this is what you want, we’re happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, his voice genuine.

After dinner, Mom insists on helping with the dishes, and I find myself standing in the kitchen with her while Sam and Dad talk on the deck.

“You seem different,” she says, her voice low.

“Different, how?” I ask, rinsing a plate.

“More settled,” she replies, her gaze thoughtful. “Like you're finding your place.”

I glance out the window, watching Sam as he laughs at something Dad says.

“Maybe,” I state noncommittally, with a shrug.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s good for you, you know.”

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