Page 101 of The Painter and His Poet

“I don’t hate you for it, no. In fact, I want you to do it again, Sterling.”

“You do?”

“Tonight was the best sex of my life. Waking up to you in my room, with your body pressed against mine. I knew at that moment you’d been in here before, that you’d touched me in my sleep. That you made me come.”

“There’s something else,” I say, needing to confess.

“What?” she asks, as I push her hair behind her ear.

“I found your notebook. I read some of what you wrote. You have a gift, my little–”

“Poet?” she finishes for me.

“Yes, my little poet.”

“I thought I’d dreamed that too…” she replies, dropping another kiss to my lips. “Sterling, no one has ever made me feel the way you do. No one. I don’t want this to end.”

“It won’t,” I reply fiercely. “You’re mine.”

“I’m afraid…” she whispers out, her expression changing as she lowers her body against my chest once more, and I fold my arms tighter around her.

“I won’t let our parents come between us. I swear to you, Harlow. I promise I’ll protect what we have, no matter what.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I say vehemently, meaning every word.

Except that night I didn’t realise that she was talking about something else entirely, and that Harlow was hiding a secret that could destroy us both.

TWENTY-EIGHT

HARLOW

“You look beautiful, Harlow,” Sterling murmurs, his fingertips grazing over mine as we stroll towards the entrance of the church.

It’s Dalton and Daisy’s wedding day and according to my mother the whole town has been gossiping about their relationship, and the real reason they’re getting married. I choose to believe it’s for love, and even if it isn’t, it’s none of my business anyway, but all the gossip has only served to remind me what Sterling and I would have to face if our secret got out.

“Thank you,” I reply, my pulse spiking from his brief touch as I steal a glance at him. He’s wearing a navy blue suit that brings out the blue of his eyes, making them even more striking than usual.

I wish I could twine my fingers with his, instead I reach up and tighten the deep burgundy shawl that matches the colour of my dress around my shoulders to fend off the cold.

“I’ve missed you,” he adds, and even though we only saw each other yesterday, I know what he means.

Since that night Sterling crept into my bedroom a couple of weeks ago, we’ve only managed to steal brief moments of time with each other. But it’s never enough, and I know that we’reboth feeling the loss of each other’s company. In front of our parents, he keeps up the charade of resenting spending time with me, and in turn I hide my true feelings for him. It hasn’t been easy, and I can't help but feel a sense of impending doom looming over us that seems to increase with every passing day. I still haven't told him about the messages I've been receiving, afraid that if I do, he'll want to confront the issue directly, and I'm scared that in doing so it will destroy the fragile balance we have created. I'm not ready just yet to face the consequences of our relationship being exposed.

On top of that my mother has been demanding as usual, and I’ve been busy fielding emails, scheduling upcoming events in her diary and managing her busy schedule. So much for her becoming a lady of leisure, though Robert doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too busy with his own business dealings, and is often in his office for hours a day working. It’s apparent that their honeymoon period is well and truly over.

Meanwhile, Sterling and his father have reached a tense truce, but the animosity between them still simmers beneath the surface. They barely speak to each other, but when they do their conversations are filled with sly digs, and barbed comments, making our occasional dinners together more than a little awkward.

“I’ve missed you too,” I reply, keeping my voice quiet as wedding guests gather on the steps of the church to greet Carl, Dalton’s father, before stepping inside.

“Ah, Sterling, Harlow, so nice to see you both,” Carl says, as we reach him.

“Carl,” Sterling says tightly, his jaw clenching as Carl leans in to kiss my cheek in greeting.

“You look rather fetching, Harlow.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling wholly uncomfortable at the way he’s looking at me.

---