Page 20 of Perfectly Wrong

He cupped my face and made me look into his eyes. “Never apologize for crying about what happened. It wasn’t your fault, and I’ll never let you feel like it was. And as for the drunk crying, we’ve all been there.”

Something warm and comforting blossomed inside me. I wasn’t sure if it was his steady voice or the concern in his eyes. He cared about me, deeply. I pulled him closer and kissed him, letting the alcohol blur the lines between us. Everything felt hazy, and I knew I’d regret it in the morning, but right now, I just wanted him.

A knock at the door startled us.

“Are you expecting someone?” Sam asked.

“No. Go hide in the bathroom; I’ll see who it is.”

“What? I’m not hiding in the bathroom!”

“Yes, you are.” I disentangled myself from his arms, and as soon as I stood, the room spun. Sam quickly steadied me. “I’m fine. God, how do you do this?”

“Do what?” He looked amused.

“Drink and still manage to walk straight.” Sam laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Seriously, go to the bathroom. I can’t explain why you’re in my room at this hour. It’s almost…”

“Eight.” He glanced at my phone and frowned. “You have sixteen missed calls from an unknown number.”

Another knock.

“I’ll deal with it later. Just go!”

Reluctantly, Sam slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. I took a deep breath and cracked open the door. My stomach dropped.

“Rento, what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Elena,” he slurred, trying to sound sensual but failing miserably. “Can I come in?”

“Um, no.” I was both shocked and, honestly, very drunk. “What’s going on? What do you want?”

“Marry me?” Rento’s smile was crooked, and he reeked of alcohol. “Just marry me, Elena.”

His voice was getting louder, and I started to panic. He was clearly more wasted than I was and was making a scene in the hotel hallway.

“Please, let me in.” He pushed against the door, and I held firm.

“Rento, you need to go home. I’m not marrying you. I don’t even know you!”

He completely misread the situation. After I spoke, he pushed harder and barged into the room, grabbing my wrist.

“Hey! Get out now!”

“I can fuck you, then we’ll get to know each other.” He tried to drag me further inside, his grip painfully tight. I was furious and stunned at the same time. A man like him couldn’t even notice the clothes on the chair beside the bed—another man’s clothes.

“Rento, let go of me!” I shouted, but I didn’t have to repeat myself. The next second, he was yanked away from me.

“She told you to get the hell out!” Sam’s voice echoed in the room as he restrained my colleague. His anger was palpable, and I shivered at the intensity.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my future wife’s room?” Rento yelled back.

When I turned to shut him up, the sight was surreal: Rento was flailing wildly, and Sam, with a towel wrapped around his head, was trying not to destroy him. Somehow, Rento broke free and managed to land a punch, splitting the skin above Sam’s eyebrow. Sam retaliated, hitting him twice—once in the face, then in the stomach—before throwing him out of the room. All I could do was stand there, wide-eyed.

Sam pulled off the towel and came over to me. “Are you okay?” He checked me over, his face bloody and worried. I let out an involuntary laugh, and his concern deepened.

“Is this what happens when people get drunk? Random guys show up proposing marriage?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Never happened to me, but they say everyone’s different when they’re drunk.” He kissed my forehead and wrapped me in a hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

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