Page 7 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. How am I supposed to explain that a part of me doesn’t think this was a mistake?

But instead, I deflect. “It means we were drunk and stupid. Happens all the time in Vegas, right?”

Her shoulders relax slightly, but her eyes are still wary. “I guess.”

Emily doesn’t say another word as we continue walking, but her silence feels loaded, like a storm about to break. I let her simmer for a while, even though the tension builds inside me.

The truth is, I remember more of last night than I’ve let on. The way her cheeks flushed when I called her out, her fiery retorts, and how that fire ignited a passion in both of us when we kissed. It wasn’t just some drunken mistake. It felt like years of frustration boiling over, years of pretending we couldn’t stand each other when, deep down, the opposite was true. The words we said to each other, what we shared…

She dared me, yes—but there was more to it than that.

And now, here we are, Mr. and Mrs.

I glance over at her again and catch her studying me. She quickly looks away, her jaw tightening.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks, her voice sharp.

“Just thinking,” I say casually.

“About how to get out of this mess?”

“No,” I reply truthfully. “About how we got here in the first place.”

“You mean how we ended up married and in bed together?” She huffs out a laugh, bitter and short. “Bad decisions.”

“You say that now,” I shoot back, “But you certainly weren’t protesting at the time–multiple times.”

Her steps falter, just for a second, and I know I’ve scored a point.

“Last night didn’t mean anything,” she says firmly.

But the way her voice shakes and her cheeks flush tells me she’s lying.

We reach the hotel, and the constant dinging of slot machines fills the air. Emily heads straight for the elevator, not waiting to see if I follow. I do, of course. I’m not about to let her storm off without finishing this conversation.

The elevator doors close, trapping us in the confined space. Her perfume teases my senses—vanilla and something floral that brings back vivid flashbacks of burying my face in her neck last night.

She finally turns to me. “What do we do now?”

Her voice is quiet, almost vulnerable, and it startles me. Emily Wild doesn’t do vulnerable.

“We figure it out,” I say, leaning against the wall. “One step at a time.”

She sharply exhales like she doesn’t believe me. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I still can’t stand you.”

I chuckle. “And yet, here we are. Married. Till death do us part.”

Her glare could cut glass, but there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes. Something I can’t quite name. It makes me wonder what else is going through her mind. Like maybe, how good it felt to wake up next to each other.

“Over my dead body,” she finally mutters under her breath. “For now, I just want to pretend it didn’t happen. Alright?”

Giving her a considering look, I hesitate for a moment but then give an abrupt nod. “Fine. Just let me know once you’ve got it all figured out.”

She frowns up at me, biting her lip. “Sam, my brother, and the band–they can’t know. Nobody can know.”

Without waiting for me to reply, she stubbornly crosses her arms. The elevator doors swish open, and a man, unsteady onhis feet, steps in. As the elevator ascends, he stumbles, falling into us and pushing Emily into my side.

I catch her instinctively, my hands finding her waist. She’s soft and warm against me, fitting perfectly in my arms just like she did hours ago. The contact sends electricity through my body, and memories flood back—how she gasped when I touched her, and later her nails raking down my back as she called out my name—

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