Page 19 of Perfectly Wrong

“I’ve never been drunk.” I shrugged.

“Seriously? Why?”

“I got married too young and never had a wild phase. To be honest, I’m already feeling a bit dizzy. Let’s see how far I can go. What’s the biggest age gap you’ve had with a partner?”

“That’s easy. Ten years.”

I blinked. “Are you talking about me?”

“Yes. You’re the oldest woman I’ve ever slept with. Congrats, I guess.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We laughed, both clearly tipsy.

“Who’s the most scandalous person you’ve ever slept with?”

Ha. Here comes revenge.

“You.”

“Liar! I’m not scandalous. I’m quiet.”

“You’re WHAT?” I laughed. “You’re ridiculously loud during sex, Sam. I wish I could record you sometime.”

“Right. Said the queen of silence who never moans my name loud enough for the neighbours to hear.”

I poked him playfully. “I never claimed to be quiet.” I grinned. “But you definitely are loud! So, what’s the most humiliating thing that’s happened to you during sex?”

“Humiliating?” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an experience like that—at least not one I can recall. Anyway, changing the subject. What’s that scar on your shoulder?”

I froze. I thought he hadn’t noticed, but how could he not? The scar started at the base of my neck and ran down to my arm—a thin line, but visible up close.

“I fell out of a second-story window and broke my collarbone. I needed surgery, and this is the result. Tell me something you couldn’t live without.”

“My family,” he said with a soft smile. “What’s the biggest secret you’re keeping from everyone in this room?”

Damn it. I stared at him, feeling the weight of the champagne in my system. I took one last, deep sip. After a few calming breaths, something pushed me to share. Maybe it was bravery—or just the alcohol loosening my tongue.

“I didn’t fall from the window. I jumped to escape my ex-husband, who was about to smash a crystal vase over my head.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Lena, I… I’m so sorry.” He struggled to process what I’d just said. It wasn’t a part of my past I ever wanted to revisit. “Is that what you dream about every night?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Do I talk in my sleep?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, looking uncomfortable. “You say things like ‘please, don’t,’ ‘don’t hurt me,’ and ‘goodbye, Noah.’”

I dropped the empty bottle onto the bed and covered my face with both hands.

“Hey.” Sam moved closer and pulled me against him. My eyes burned, and I felt a knot tightening in my throat. “It’s okay. None of it was your fault, Lena.”

Even though I knew that, I couldn’t stop the flood of tears. I sobbed into his chest, feeling raw and exposed. The memories of those days with Noah rushed back, overwhelming me even after all this time. Sam kissed the top of my head and held me, trying to soothe my trembling body.

“I think I’m drunk,” I said, my voice muffled and shaky. “I can’t stop crying, and I don’t even know why!”

“Oh, God.” He chuckled softly. “We’ve just discovered you’re a crying drunk.”

I laughed weakly. “Sorry.”

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