Page 94 of The Painter and His Poet

I don’t bother to tell him that I had told my mom on several occasions.

My mother’s scowl drops as she evens her features and gives him a smile that most definitely doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve already confirmed to the Olderburys that we're dining with them this evening. We can’t cancel now.”

Robert nods. “Indeed. Perhaps another time?”

I mumble something in response before pushing back from my seat as I stand. “I should probably get going. Ben wanted me to arrive a little earlier to set up…” My voice trails off as I look at Sterling. He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding looking at me.

“Sterling, you will accompany Harlow,” Robert demands.

“I have plans,” he cuts back, and I can’t help but flinch at his response.

He’s been like this all week whenever we’ve been around each other. Apart from that brief moment in the kitchen the other day when he’d stuck up for after my mom was being her usual bitchy self, he has acted with the same kind of disinterest. It’s like he’s a different person, and I’m reeling from it.

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

“Your plans have changed, Sterling,” Robert cuts back, a note of warning in his voice. “Take Harlow to Bandits Bar. Stay for the performance. Then bring her home safely.”

Sterling huffs out a breath, then stands. “It would be my pleasure,” he replies sarcastically, plastering on a smile that would ordinarily make me melt, but instead makes me feel cold inside.

Was everything he said to me a lie? God, I feel so foolish.

I cringe. “It’s fine,” I repeat. “I can take a cab there and back.”

“Absolutely not,” Robert snaps. “I shan't have my step-daughter entering Bandits Bar unaccompanied–”

“Harlow is a grown woman, she doesn’t need a chaperone,” my mother interjects, but I get the distinct impression it isn’t to support my right to travel without someone babysitting me, and more about Robert showing concern for my well-being. Which he has been doing a lot of lately. It’s confusing given everything Sterling has told me about his father, but right now he’s the only one who seems to give a damn about my happiness.

“Sterling will take Harlow, and that’s the end of it,” Robert replies, brooking no arguments.

“Then let's go,” Sterling adds, striding around the dining table and heading towards the door.

When I don’t immediately follow, he turns around and says, “Are you coming?”

“See you both later?” I ask, flicking my gaze between Robert and my mother, feeling more than a little awkward as Sterling glares at me impatiently.

“Actually, we’ll be staying at the Olderbury’s tonight. Stuart is accompanying us both to the breeders tomorrow, he is quite the equine expert according to Robert,” my mother trills, her voice pitching with excitement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow some time then,” I reply before following Sterling out.

A couple of minutes later we’re climbing into Sterling’s silver Tesla, the air thick with tension as he drives us down the private road that runs through the grounds of Adaga Hall and onto the main thoroughfare.

“Harlow,” he begins, the tone of his voice apologetic.

“It’s fine. I get it,” I reply, waving my hand in the air between us. “Next time I’ll just get a cab.”

“That’s not what I was about to say,” he says, reaching over and palming my knee, squeezing gently. My body instantly reacts, and I hate that my cheeks flush from his touch.

“Then what is it?” I ask, willing my pulse to calm down.

“It has to be this way right now,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing circles over my jean clad thighs.

“Treating me as though you hate me?” I ask, feeling the pinch of my unhappiness sharpening my response.

“You know I don’t hate you, Harlow.”

“Do I? You’ve barely said a word to me since our parents came home, and any time we’ve been in the same room it’s as though it’s torturous for you.”

“Itistorturous!” he shouts, causing anger to bubble inside my own chest.

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