Page 57 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“You think so?” I ask curiously, meeting my mother’s eyes.

She nods, giving me a wise look. “Oh yes. He’s laid back, and you’re—not. You balance each other out. But you also have a lot in common. You’re both witty and funny when you want to be.”

My chest tightens with emotion. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right. Besides, you two always did have a thing for each other.”

“Mom! We did not!” I protest.

Shaking her head, Mom lowers her voice, “The sexual tension between you two was off the charts.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she states. “Still is.”

“Mother!” I try to sound outraged, but there’s amusement in my tone.

“Emily, let’s just say that I’m expecting lots and lots of grandchildren from you two,” and with that, my mother definitely has the last word, as I’m speechless.

Later, after my parents leave, Sam and I sit on the deck, the string lights twinkling above us.

“Well, that went better than expected,” I say, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Your parents are tough,” Sam says with a grimace.

“Tell me about it,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “You weren’t in the kitchen with my mother.” Mom's words about Sam being good for me linger in my mind. Maybe she's right—we do balance each other out. Where I overthink, he stays steady. Where he jokes, I ground him. It's not perfect, but it works in a way I never expected.

He leans back in his chair with a chuckle, his gaze drifting to the ocean. “But they mean well. They care about you.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice soft. “They just want me to be happy.”

"And are you, Em?" he asks, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my heart flutter. At this moment, under the string lights with the ocean's rhythm in the background, I realize that happiness snuck up on me when I wasn't looking.

Eighteen

Sam

It’s a blustery day as I stand on the deck, watching the relentless pounding of the ocean waves against the sand. The sliding glass door opens behind me, and Emily steps onto the deck, holding a cold bottle of beer.

“Thought you might be thirsty,” she says, handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a grateful sip.

She leans against the railing, her gaze fixed on the ocean as the strong wind whips her hair around her face.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asks suddenly. “Being a rockstar? All the craziness, the crowds, and the spotlight?”

I think about it for a moment, then shake my head. “Not really.”

“Truly?” She looks at me, her brow furrowed.

“Truly,” I say, my voice firm. “Don’t get me wrong, I love performing. But the rest of it? The constant attention and the lack of privacy—it gets old fast. I’m just glad I’m not your brother. As lead singer, he’s got the worst of it.”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “I can see that.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the sound of the crashing waves making talk unnecessary.

“You know,” I say, setting the bottle down on the railing, “you’re pretty good at this whole nesting thing.”

She laughs, the sound light and musical. “Nesting? Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah, what else would you call it?” I tease. “You’ve got this place looking like something out of a magazine.”

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