Page 120 of The Painter and His Poet

“Everyone has been very welcoming,” I reply, almost jumping out of my skin when Sterling reaches beneath the table and gently brushes his knuckles against my thigh, my cheeks heating at the brief contact.

“Well, we’re all happy to have you here, aren’t we, Sterling?” Ben says, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he tips his head with a wink. My cheeks flame even more. “So what now? A game of billiards?” he adds.

“I’d really love to hear Harlow sing. You have a beautiful voice.” Daisy murmurs softly, and my gaze flicks to her. She looks so incredibly sad, and my heart squeezes in sympathy. All night she’s been quiet, distracted. I can only imagine the pain she must feel.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sterling cuts in as he moves to stand. “I’ll go and set up a game.”

Despite knowing his abruptness is all part of the act, I can’t help but frown.

“Personally, I would love to hear you sing again,” Lia interjects, giving me a warm smile, clearly confused by Sterling’s urgent need to leave the room. “Daisy’s right, you have an incredible voice.”

“I don’t know…” I begin, glancing at Sterling who smiles tensely.

“Yeah, maybe not tonight, eh?” Drix says, seemingly picking up on Sterling’s discomfort.

“Please, I’d really like it if you could sing for us,” Daisy comments. She’s so forlorn, and if my singing could make her feel a fraction better, then how can I possibly refuse her?

“Okay, sure. The parlour has a piano…” I reply, pushing back my chair as I stand.

“You play the piano too?” Lia asks, eyes widening. “Wow, I’ve always wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument.”

“You still can,” Drix says, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“I could teach you,” I offer. Both Lia and Daisy seem like really nice people, and it’s about time I made some friends of my own. What would be the harm?

“Really? That would be wonderful!” she exclaims, grinning.

“I guess we’re listening to you sing then,” Sterling mumbles, and we all head into the parlour.

Pulling out the stool beneath the baby grand piano, I settle onto the seat, a hushed silence descending as my fingers hover over the keys. Everyone else is seated on the huge sectional waiting patiently, and I take a moment to briefly glance at Sterling. His expression is fixed in place, but there’s no hiding the look in his eyes. It’s as though he’s bracing himself, and I’m acutely aware of the effect my singing will have on him. This time there’s no easing him in like I did at the hotel.

Resting my fingers gently on the keys, I begin to play the opening verse ofSomeone You Lovedby Lewis Capaldi. As the music swells, I pour every raw emotion I’ve been holding insideinto my voice. The ache of loving Sterling but having to hide that love echoes within every note I sing. Each press of the keys, each breath I take, becomes a silent confession of a love I can't speak out loud, but can only show through this song.

I wish everyone could understand. I wish they could see the depth of our love. How the moments we’ve stolen away from the world have slipped through our fingers too quickly, days blending into nights, and weeks fading into months, all while our love remains hidden. With each passing line, I let go, surrendering to the music, allowing it to speak for me until eventually the song comes to an end, and I rest my trembling hands in my lap, waiting for someone to break the silence that quivers with suppressed emotion.

“Damn,” Ben mutters whilst tension crackles in the air.

I feel the heat of Sterling’s stare, and can’t help but look at him. His mouth is slightly parted, his fingers curling into the arm rest, knuckles white. I want to ask him if he’s okay, but Lia starts applauding, preventing me from doing so.

“You’re amazing!” she exclaims, jumping up from the couch and rushing towards me. I stand, and she pulls me into a hug as the others rise to their feet, murmuring their agreement. I’m still not used to receiving compliments, but Lia’s kind words are a welcome relief.

“Thank you,” I say softly, my gaze gravitating back to Sterling who remains frozen in his seat. My throat constricts at the agony in his gaze. I sway on my feet, wanting nothing more than to go to him.

“I… I need some air,” he manages to rasp out, before striding from the room.

Ten minutes later, everyone has left, the evening cut short by Sterling’s abrupt departure. After spending the next half an hour helping Stephanie clear the dishes despite her assurances that she’s happy to do it alone, I slip on my coat and head towardsSterling’s studio, knowing he’ll be there purging all the colours my singing has stirred within him tonight.

THIRTY-FOUR

STERLING

My chest heaves as I stare at the canvas before me. My naked torso and arms are covered in bright crimson paint, the colour blending with the sweat that slides over my skin. Harlow’s performance tonight has unleashed a rage within me.

Not at her,neverher, but at everything else.

At my father for being the coldhearted bastard he is.

At Melody for treating Harlow with such contempt.

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