Page 104 of The Painter and His Poet

Next to her, Robert is currently talking with Councillor John Hoxton, whilst his wife Elodie is chatting with a woman I’ve never met before. Sterling is sitting stiffly beside me, giving monosyllabic responses to a business acquaintance of Carl’s.

Neither of us want to be here.

Even Drix, Lia and Ben made their excuses, leaving shortly after Dalton and Daisy. I wish Sterling and I had the chance to do the same, but as usual my mother and his father made that impossible, and so here we are.

“What on earth was Dalton thinking? His father has paid an awful lot of money for this reception,” she babbles on. “And did you see her dress? What a monstrosity–”

“Mom, stop it,” I warn, the last thing I want right now is to get drawn into a conversation about Daisy and Dalton’s absence, especially not when Carl is approaching the table, and neither do I want to listen to her making fun of Daisy’s beautiful wedding dress.

“Are you enjoying yourselves?” Carl asks, his words a little slurred as he grips the back of Robert’s chair and glances around the table. I notice that his tie is undone, and the top bottom of his shirt loosened.

“The meal was delicious, and the company even better. We’re having a wonderful time,” my mother replies with practised ease, her smile drifting into place as Carl glances at her, his eyes more than a little glassy.

“Well, I’m glad someone is,” he retorts with a scoff.

“Carl, let’s go for a walk,” Robert says, easing back his chair as he moves to stand. It’s obvious he’s attempting to get Carl out of the room before he says or does something to embarrass himself. I consider asking Robert to take my mother with them.

“Actually, I was coming over here to ask if Harlow would sing,” Carl replies, looking over at me.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” I say, shaking my head. It was one thing to sing at Bandits Bar for a small crowd of people as a favour to Ben, quite another in front of a group of people who prefer to gossip about things that don’t concern them.

“Well, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Harlow isn’t used to singing for such a large audience. Besides it’s just a hobby,” my mother states, her mouth pressing into a hard line.

“She sang at your wedding, and there were over a hundred more people there,” Carl points out, his gaze coasting over me in a way that makes me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

“Yes, I for one wouldloveto hear you sing again,” Councillor Hoxton adds, giving me a smile that is more snakelike than friendly. I suppress a shudder. “I’m sure Robert would too, he’s always boasting about your singing ability, Harlow. Dare I say he’s quite the proud step-father.”

“He does?” my mother asks, barely able to disguise her surprise, or the way she snaps her head around to stare at Robert.

His gaze moves between us, a flicker of annoyance crossing his expression at my mother’s reaction. “Of course I’m proud. Webothare,” Robert adds, pointedly looking at my mother.

Sterling stiffens beside me, and I can’t bring myself to look at his expression. It must feel awful for him to hear that Robert has been complimenting my singing to his business partners, when all he can do is throw snide remarks his way every day.

“Thank you, but even so. I’d rather not,” I insist, shaking my head.

Beneath the table, I feel Sterling’s hand press against my thigh, which up until this moment I hadn’t realised was jiggling up and down with anxiety. I don’t know why I feel so anxious, it’s not like any of them can force me to sing.

“Oh, but you must, we’d all love to hear you sing once more. Wouldn’t we, Elodie?” Councillor Hoxton continues, his gaze flicking to his wife.

Beside him Elodie nods. “Yes, of course.” Yet, when her husband’s attention is back on me, she shakes her head. It’s minute, the movement, but I catch it nevertheless. So did Sterling too, given the way he squeezes my thigh.

“Do you take requests? I’d love to hearSongbird. Elodie and I walked down the aisle to that song, didn’t we, my love,” Councillor Hoxton says, his eyebrows lifting as he stares at me.

I feel all the colour drain from my face.

Songbird?

Oh my God, is he…?

My anxiety turns to outright panic as I push back from the table, standing abruptly. “I’m actually not feeling all that well. I’m sorry. I can’t sing for you,” I say directly to Carl who’s knocking back another mouthful of whatever alcohol he has in glass.

Sterling’s hand remains under the table, and I feel his knuckles gently brush against the side of my thigh before he stands too. “Would you like me to take you home?”

“That’s not necessary,” Robert interjects, looking between us both. “I’m happy to do so.”

“Robert!” my mother exclaims, clearly put out. “She’s quite capable of calling a cab. Why ruin our evening too?”

“I’m sorry I thought you mademeher designated chauffeur?” Sterling retorts, making sure to add that little tidbit for everyone to digest. “Stay with your wife, I’ll make sure Harlow gets home safe.”

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