Page 34 of Perfectly Wrong

Let’s be honest for a second: I’m no chef. Not even close. I can whip up a few dishes, but nothing that would ever land me on MasterChef, that’s for sure. But when I tasted the grilled chicken with lemon cream and garlic I’d just made, I had to give myself a little credit. It was actually pretty good. I carefully plated the chicken and potatoes, adding a sprinkle of parsley on top. What a masterpiece!

Sam hadn’t let me out of his sight all weekend—figuratively speaking, of course. After our third round of sex on Friday, we ordered lunch and headed to my place to grab some clothes and essentials. We decided his apartment felt too empty and split up for a shopping trip. I took on the task of stocking the pantry since he warned me that all he had were chocolate chip muffins and some other questionable choices. While I was at Whole Foods, he picked up more furniture from that store I’d visited at Eaton Centre. We met back at his place later that evening.

On Saturday morning, Sam went to his parents’ house to get the rest of his stuff. He asked if I wanted to join him, but I declined. Meeting the parents was a big step, and I wasn’t quite ready for that level of closeness with the Martins.

As I replayed the weekend in my mind and admired my culinary efforts, I heard the gentle notes of a piano coming from the room Sam had turned into a mini studio. He’d chosen the smaller bedroom, right next to his own en suite, just off the living room.

I tiptoed over, trying not to make a sound. He usually got shy and stopped singing when he knew I was listening. But this time was different. Sam saw my reflection in the window and smiled. I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, and sighed as his voice filled the room.

“The simplicity of the notes / fills my ears / It was like the sight of her in the back of my eyes / had been there for all these years.”

His fingers glided effortlessly over the keys of his electric piano, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Well, for him, it was. For the rest of us mere mortals, it was a bit more complicated. And though I was familiar with his incredible falsettos, Sam sang full notes this time, reaching such pure tones that I got goosebumps. His neighbours were so lucky to hear him sing like this, his angelic voice filling the air. I just hoped he knew how special he was.

“Each moment we make / and each song we sing,” he continued, glancing at me through the window. “Are memories I’ll always play / Every laugh and every moment / all safe inside the melody / written deep in my heart for all time.”

Correction: his neighbours were lucky, but I was the luckiest. And maybe staying together after his tour wouldn’t be so bad. We wouldn’t have any more conflicts of interest, and it might actually work. Sam looked back at me and smiled. I walked over, leaning down to kiss the top of his head, my elbows resting on his shoulders. He took my hands and intertwined our fingers, playfully biting one of them.

“Life should be simpler,” he murmured, leaning back against me.

“Agreed,” I said, resting my chin on his head. We stayed like that, lost in our thoughts, for a few minutes. “Dinner’s ready.”

Sam glanced up at me, making a face. “I’m a little scared to find out what you’ve made.” He winced as I swatted his chest.

“Prepare to be amazed, Martin!” I teased, kissing him quickly before heading back to the kitchen, with Sam trailing right behind me.

Life pulled us out of our bubble that Monday. Sam didn’t ask me to stay, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Going back to his place after work just felt natural, so I didn’t think twice before heading there each night. It was the week of the Icon Records gala, and I had everything set—dress, shoes, accessories, even my appointment at the salon.

When my alarm went off on Wednesday, Sam was still sound asleep beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. His bed was massive, but neither of us could sleep without some part of us touching. I got up carefully, trying not to disturb him, and slipped into the en suite bathroom to shower. I took off his t-shirt, my new favourite sleepwear, and tossed it into the laundry basket. I grimaced when I noticed how full it was. We’d accumulated so much laundry that I made a mental note to remind Sam to deal with it later. I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, relaxing me and pushing away any lingering thoughts.

After drying my hair with the blow dryer I’d brought over, I got dressed. I kissed his forehead, grabbed my phone from the bedside table, and headed to the kitchen. I was scrolling through emails, completely distracted, when I bumped into something—or rather, someone.

“Oh my God!” A woman’s voice exclaimed. My heart stopped when I looked up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize my son had company.”

I must have gone as white as a sheet.

“Let’s start over, shall we? Hello, I’m Katherine.” She extended a hand with a friendly smile, her British accent catching me off guard. I forced myself to shake it, barely able to breathe. “I’m Sam’s mother. You must be Elena, right?”

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Why hadn’t he told me his mother had a key to his apartment? Better yet, why hadn’t he warned me she might show up unannounced? I just wanted to disappear, to escape from this humiliating situation as fast as possible.

Sam must have sensed something was off because he stumbled out of the bedroom, looking half-awake, his hair a mess as he rubbed his eyes. “Mom?” He sounded confused.

“Good morning, darling,” Katherine said, hugging him. “I’m sorry if I caused any awkwardness. I didn’t know you had a guest. I just thought I’d surprise you and make breakfast before work, but I ended up surprising Elena instead.”

“D-don’t worry, it’s fine,” I stammered, feeling my face flush with the heat of a thousand suns. I could barely look at her, the embarrassment overwhelming. “I was just leaving.”

I desperately wanted to vanish—out of that apartment, that building, the city, the country, the planet—anywhere but there. The level of mortification I felt was off the charts.

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve been your age, you know. Just promise me you’re being safe and everything will be fine.”

“Mom!” Sam yelped, clearly mortified.

“I really need to go,” I said quickly, bolting for the door. Sam rushed over, holding my coat and boots. As I pulled them on, I pointed a finger at him. “We’re talking about this later.”

I threw my loafers at him, and when the elevator doors opened, I stepped in without looking back, too afraid to meet the eyes of the most unexpectedly charming person I’d ever met.

“What do you mean, your parents know about us?” I was stunned. Sam and I were having dinner at my place because I refused to go back to his.

“I told my dad, and he couldn’t keep it from her,” he said, shrugging. “It’s no big deal, Lena. And my mom loved you!”

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