Page 96 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“She left,” I admit, dropping into the armchair again. “I thought about following her but decided against it.”

Kendrick walks over. “You need to show her you’re in this because you want to be, Sam. That you’re not just hanging around because of the baby or because it’s the right thing to do.”

Her words hit me like a freight train. It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if Emily thinks I’m only with her because of the pregnancy. But it’s the first time someone else has said it out loud.

I nod slowly, my mind racing. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Kendrick states with a smirk. “Now go. Show her you care.”

“A grand gesture…” Climbing into my truck, I stare at my hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “How can I show Emily I care?”

Bobbi Jo’s words suddenly echo in my head.‘I didn’t see a ring on your finger.’

Damn! She’s right! My hand is bare. I’ve been so caught up in everything else—I forgot about the rings. I never gave Emily a proper wedding band.

I close my eyes, picturing the plastic rings we got out of a bubble gum machine the night of our wedding. Grinning, I start the engine, but instead of going home, I head to the jewelry store. I know exactly what I want to give Emily.

Thirty-One

Emily

The house is unusually quiet when I wake up. Stretching, I glance over at Sam’s side of the bed, only to find it empty and cold. My heart sinks a little. He must have left early. Again.

We’ve been missing each other lately, like two ships that pass in the night. I try not to dwell on it as I get ready for the day, focusing instead on the long to-do list waiting for me. I clean up the kitchen, answer emails, and organize a few things for the band’s upcoming events. But the empty house feels lonely, and no amount of chores can distract me from knowing things are still off between us.

I’m on the couch with my laptop by late afternoon, trying to finalize some scheduling details, when someone knocks on the door. I glance at the clock, frowning. I’m not expecting anyone.

Curious, I open the door to find a deliveryman holding a sleek black garment bag and a small envelope.

“For Emily Ryder,” he says, handing them to me with a polite smile before retreating to his van.

I close the door and set the garment bag on the couch, staring at it, wondering what it might be. The envelope has my name scrawled in Sam’s familiar handwriting. My heart flutters as I tear it open.

The note inside is simple but intriguing:

‘Wear this tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7. —Sam’

My fingers brush over the note, and I can't help but smile. Sam has that naughty side, the one that keeps me guessing. Unzipping the garment bag, I gasp. Inside is a breathtaking black dress—in a fabric that shimmers in the light. It’s understated but undeniably sexy, the kind of dress that makes you feel confident and alluring.

My chest tightens with anticipation. Could this be Sam’s way of trying to fix things? Of making up for the tension that’s been hanging over us like a cloud?

I decide not to overthink it. Instead, I head upstairs to start getting ready.

By the time 7 o'clock rolls around, I've pampered myself more than I have in months. My hair is styled in soft waves, my makeup is subtle but flawless, and I spritz on the floral-scented cologne Sam seems to particularly enjoy.

A confident smile plays on my lips as I stand in front of the mirror. The dress hugs my curves in a way that I know Sam will appreciate while subtly concealing my baby bump. It's short, showcasing my shapely legs, and as I turn to admire the back, a grin spreads across my face. It's snug, but I look damn good. A flicker of excitement, a thrill I haven't felt in a while, courses through me, and I shiver with anticipation.

There’s a knock at the door, and my stomach flips. When I open it, Sam is standing there in a dark suit that fits him perfectly, holding a bouquet of red roses. His reddish hair is neatly combed, but there’s still that hint of rebellion in the way it falls over his forehead.

“Wow,” he says, his voice low as his heated gaze rakes over me. “You look... stunning.”

“Thank you for the dress… it’s beautiful,” I reply, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

He grins and hands me the flowers. “For you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, burying my nose in their fragrant scent.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping aside to reveal a sleek black limo waiting at the curb.

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