Page 95 of The Painter and His Poet

“I’m so sorry to be such a fucking burden!” I yell.

“A burden? You’re not a burden. Damn it, Harlow. I’m trying to protect you!”

“Protect me?” My pulse quickens as he flashes me an agonised look. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“No! Fuck, no! Ofcourse,I want you.”

Sterling releases my thigh and presses his foot on the gas, only to turn the wheel sharply to the left at a small road a minute later, leading to what looks like a secluded picnic area. Parking the car, he pulls up the handbrake, switches off the lights, but keeps the engine running. The outside world is pitched intodarkness, the only light coming from the full moon that’s shining brightly in the night sky.

“Sterling what are you doing?”

“Iwantyou Harlow,” he says, unhooking his seat belt and turning to face me.

“But–”

“I want you,” he repeats, reaching over the centre console and cupping my cheek, the heat from his palm instantly soothing. “If our parents hadn’t walked in on us, I would’ve continued to show you how fucking much. I’ve been acting the way I have to throw my father off. He suspected something.”

“He knows about us?” I ask, eyes widening.

“If he knew the truth, there’s no fucking way he’d insist on me spending time with you. My father hates to see me happy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That night when they returned home from their honeymoon, and my father wanted to speak with me, I pretended that I disliked you so he wouldn’t know the truth. I told him that I didn’t want to play happy families and in return he threatened to cut my mother off, saying he would stop paying her monthly allowance following their divorce if I refused.”

“He did what?” My mouth drops open as Sterling’s gaze fills with a mixture of anger and pain.

“This is what he does, Harlow. He uses what you love most against you. I’ve had to act this way so he doesn’t suspect the depths of my feelings for you. If I were too eager to spend time with you, he’d know. This way he thinks he’s forcing me to spend time with you, when in actual fact it’sallI want.”

“God, I’m sorry,” I say, my anger retreating as quickly as it came.

“Don’t be. None of this is your doing. Do you hear me? None. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to speak to you about this without either your mother or my father interrupting us. Butthat isn’t an excuse. I should’ve found a way to get you alone to explain.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just hard for me to believe that…”You actually care, but I don’t say that out loud. Instead I sigh.

“You think after everything that I said to you, that I would willingly hurt you? Do you really think that I don’t want to tell your mother where to stick her nasty comments, or wrap you in my arms and protect you from them? Harlow, I meant everything that I said. Just bare with me, okay?”

“So what are we then?” I ask after a beat, needing to know what this is exactly. I feel so out of my depth, and I’ve no idea how we move forward. There’s so much stacked against us.

“What do you want us to be?” he replies, leaning closer as he brushes his lips against mine.

“Each other’s?” I offer. It’s the best I can do. We can’t be official in any capacity, so it’s not as if I can call him my boyfriend, but we’re more than lovers, that much is becoming abundantly clear.

“Yes, we are. But for now, in secret, okay?” he says, brushing his lips against mine.

“Okay,” I agree, sighing against his lips, wishing we didn’t have to hide. “What about your friends? What are you going to tell them?”

“They already know how I feel about you,” Sterling answers. “But at this stage it’s too risky to let them know any more than that. As far as they’re concerned I want you, but that’s it. I’m not going to tell them that we’re together. Not yet, anyway.”

I frown. “You don’t trust them?”

“It's not about me not trusting them. I don't trust my father, and if he suspects anything, they'll be the first people he'll put pressure on. They've got enough going on in their own lives right now. The last thing they need is my father's attention."

“What if I were to talk to Robert?”

He shakes his head, his fingers digging into my scalp, as his eyes flash with concern. “Absolutely not. No, Harlow.”

“But maybe I could?—”

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