Page 46 of The Painter and His Poet

With that he spins her away from me, and I make my escape.

TWELVE

HARLOW

“So, you and Sterling, huh?” Ben questions as he dances with me.

“There is nothing–” I start to protest, but he just grins.

“Listen, I make no judgement here,” he soothes, his smile faltering when he notices my terrified expression. “Please don’t worry, I won’t out you both. Besides, Sterling’s my best friend, I wouldn’t betray his trust, and therefore I won’t betray yours. Whatever’s going on between you is your business, but tonight probably isn’t the best time to get all up and personal with each other given your parents have literally just tied the knot.”

I nod, he’s right of course. “I appreciate you stepping in when you did. This is… difficult for me.”

“For Sterling too, I imagine,” he responds, cutting a look at our parents who are still dancing. “His father likes to make his life a misery. Robert’s an arsehole.”

“I understand that their relationship is strained,” I reply, looking up at him with a question in my eyes. “Could you help me to understand why?”

Ben winces, casting Robert a disapproving look, his expression darkening. “If Sterling hasn’t opened up to you abouthis relationship with his dad, then I’m not going to. You should probably ask him.”

“That’s fair,” I agree softly.

“Just know that a friend of Sterling’s is a friend of mine, okay?” he quickly adds, giving me a beaming smile that would no doubt melt the panties off most women, and likely some men.

“Thank you.”

“So,” he begins after a beat, swiftly changing the subject as we continue to dance. “Your voice is pretty spectacular.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” I reply, my cheeks heating at his compliment.

“You sing professionally, I take it?”

“Actually, no. I work as my mother’s personal assistant. Have done so for the last seven years.”

“Well, that’s a complete waste of talent. Ever considered getting a manager?”

“Never,” I reply with a depreciating laugh.

“Why the fuck not?” he insists. “Surely it must’ve crossed your mind?”

“Back in my early twenties I reached out to a few people,” I admit. “But it ended up with me getting propositioned by some dodgy record label executives, and I decided I didn’t want to exchange my body for a record deal.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, when really it made me feel like shit.

“That’s fucked-up. If I was your manager I would’ve knocked their lights out,” he retorts, scowling, and I warm to him even more as he tucks me tighter against his chest in a completely platonic, albeit protective embrace.

“It was fucked-up,” I agree, huffing out a breath.

“So that put you off from pursuing a career as a singer?”

“Partly, but I’m not really one for all the attention.”

“You gained the attention of a lot of people today. Pretty sure everyone was struck by your voice. It’s a gift, Harlow.”

“I hadn’t intended on singing today, but Robert wanted me to.”

“Not your mother?” he questions with a frown, picking up on the fact that I don’t mention her.

“She doesn’t think much of my singing,” I explain, ignoring the hurt that blooms in my chest.

“Is she for real? Your voice is outstanding.”

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