Page 105 of The Painter and His Poet

“Yes, exactly. Sterling should take Harlow home,” my mother adds, waving her hand in the air as though she’s trying her best to waft us both out of the ballroom like annoying specs of dust.

Robert clears his throat. “Fine, of course.”

“Harlow,” Sterling says, his fingers briefly cupping my elbow. I flinch from his touch, feeling more than a little jumpy as Councillor Hoxton continues to stare at me. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my spine, and with every passing second I’m beginning to feel more and more nauseous.

It’s him.He’smy stalker. I know it.

Sterling’s hand falls away, and Robert smiles. “You know it’s terribly heartwarming to see you looking after your sister so well.”

“She’s not my–”

“Nice to meet you all again,” I cut in, before striding off and ending the conversation altogether.

“Harlow, talk to me, what’s going on? You were quiet the whole way home,” Sterling says as he follows me into my bedroom half an hour later.

“I just don’t feel well. I have a headache and I’m a little nauseous,” I whisper, turning my back to him as I head into my ensuite.

My hands are trembling and I do feel like throwing up, but not because I have some sudden stomach bug. All I keep thinking about are the messages I’ve received, how I’ve been suppressing how frightened they’ve made me feel, and that Councillor Hoxton said that his wedding song wasSongbird. I knew the moment I met him that something was off about him, and his behaviour tonight has only cemented my fears.

He’smy stalker.

God, what am I going to do? He’s a business acquaintance of Robert’s, and someone I’ll likely see again. There’s clearly something going on with him and his wife, she is always so jumpy around him. Does he hurt her? Does he want to hurt me too? Then my mind decides at that point to remind me of every message he’s sent.

Will you scream when I force my dick inside of you? Will you enjoy it?

Do you need proof of how much I want to fuck you, is that it? Because, believe me when I say, I’m hard right now…

Bile rises up my throat, and I throw a hand over my mouth but it’s no use, I can’t stop it. Dropping to my knees, I lift the toilet seat and throw up.

“Jesus, Harlow,” Sterling exclaims, dropping to his knees beside me, his hand resting on my back as I empty my stomach.

When we’re finally together, you’ll sing for me every day my sweet songbird. Perhaps I’ll even build you a cage?

I retch again, tears spilling from my eyes as Sterling keeps rubbing my back. What the hell am I going to do? This is so fucked up.

“Oh God,” I murmur, dragging in deep lungfuls of air.

“Easy,” Sterlings says, his voice soothing as I push back upright onto my haunches.

I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, noticing that there’s some puke in my hair. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? You’re not feeling well, Harlow. You don’t need to apologise to me,” he replies, his gaze coasting over my features.

“What must you think of me?”

“I think that you’re sick, and that you need me to take care of you,” he replies, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get you undressed and into bed, okay? Then I’ll go and make you some toast, see if that helps to settle your stomach.”

“I’m not sure I can stomach any food. I think I should take a shower, I have puke in my hair,” I point out, acutely aware of how disgusting I must look.

Sterling frowns as I sway on my feet, another bout of nausea washing over me. “Then I’ll get in with you. I don’t want you passing out.”

“Sterling, our parents will be home soon. You can’t.”

He frowns, then gently urges me back onto the lip of the bath. “Stay there, I’m going to lock your bedroom door. If they come home early and try to check on you, we’ll at least have some warning.”

“Sterling…”

“It’ll be okay. Just give me a moment,” he replies. A moment later he returns, having already removed his suit jacket and shoes. “Let’s get you undressed.”

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