Page 64 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“We have extra bunks on the tour bus...” Emily says hesitantly, glancing at me. “We could sleep on the bus.”

The clerk hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, if you’re sure…” she says, looking genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Emily says quickly, not wanting to make a scene.

I shoot her a disbelieving look, but I don’t argue as we turn and head back to the tour bus.

Outside, the night air does little to soothe my frustration. “Dammit,” I mutter, pulling Emily close against my side. “I was really looking forward to sleeping with my wife–regularly.”

She gives a weak smile at my attempt at humor, but she looks too exhausted to do more than lean against me.

The bus feels cramped and stuffy after the promise of a hotel room and being alone with Emily. Vince is already sprawled across one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, while Luke and Nate argue over which bunk belongs to whom.

“Guess we’re stuck here tonight,” I mumble as I grab a blanket for Emily from a small closet.

She doesn’t respond, too exhausted to even attempt a witty comeback. Climbing into one of the bunks, she pulls the curtain shut, but not before I see her shoot me a longing glance.

Just that one look and I ache to join her. Glancing around, I frown, resigning myself to sleeping alone. There’s no damn privacy in this bus at all.

Morning comes way too early, as the jolting motion of the bus awakens us. I hear the faint sounds of urgent footsteps running toward the small bathroom.

It sounds like Emily has a nasty bout of morning sickness.

Quickly rolling from my lone bunk, I stand.

“Emily?” I question in a soft voice, tinged with concern, as she barely makes it to the bathroom on time.

By the time I appear in the doorway, she’s clutching the edge of the sink for balance. Her knees quake and her face is pale. I frown at her, my expression a mix of worry and helplessness.

“Morning sickness?” I ask gently.

She nods, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. “Seems like it.”

“Dammit, I hate there was a mix-up with our room.” I step closer, my hand brushing gently against her back. “What can I do?”

“Just... give me a minute,” Emily says, her voice shaky.

I don’t leave. My hand remains steady on her back, offering quiet reassurance until the worst of it passes.

“Better?” I ask when she straightens.

“A little,” she admits, managing a weak smile.

“Come on,” I tell her, taking her hand. “I’ll fix your morning tea and find you some crackers.”

Later, after she isn’t quite as pale, I lead her outside for some fresh air.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emily states, leaning against the side of the bus and nursing her second cup of tea.

“Of course I did,” I reply firmly. “You’re my wife, Emily. And you’re carrying my baby. That means I’m here for you.” I grin, leaning toward her. “While I’d prefer other ways of helping with your morning sickness—fixing your tea or getting crackers is no big deal.”

She blinks quickly, trying to hide sudden tears that threaten to fall.

“Thank you,” she whispers, wiping the wetness from her cheeks with embarrassment, “It must be the baby hormones making me weepy.”

I reach out, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s sweet when you’re weepy.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the cramped bus and having to sleep alone. All I can see is her carrying my baby inside her. And despite her pallor, she’s beautiful, steady, and sure, the one constant in the middle of all this disorder.

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