Page 112 of The Painter and His Poet

“I love you.”

He presses his kiss against my lips briefly, before pulling back. “Again, louder this time.”

“I love you!” I laugh, all my fears slipping away as he gently lays me back on the bed, his body poised over mine, the silver streaks in his blue eyes sparkling.

“Stay right there, Harlow,” he says, before pushing upright and pulling out his phone from his pocket. “I just need to make a quick call.”

“A call?”

“Room service,” he says by way of explanation as he heads towards the bathroom.

“I’ve already called for food,” I say.

“It’s not that kind of room service,” he replies rather cryptically, and when I frown he just grins. “Trust me okay?”

“I do trust you.”

“Good. I’ll just be a moment.”

“What on earth?” I whisper, and despite feeling a little shaky still, I can’t help but smile to myself. Things don’t seem as scary now that Sterling knows the truth, and somehow, the weight that had been pressing on my chest is a hell of a lot lighter knowingthat Sterling is in love with me, and that I’m hopelessly in love with him too.

THIRTY-ONE

STERLING

By the time room service has been delivered and we’ve shared the burger and truffle chips that Harlow had ordered, it’s nearing dusk. Outside, the street lamps flicker to life, illuminating the bustling streets below, whilst the distant hum of traffic fades into background noise.

“That’s just awful,” Harlow murmurs after I tell her about Dalton and Daisy’s miscarriage. “They must be devastated.”

“They are. On the drive over, I spoke with Drix who’s keeping them both company at the hospital. He said they’ve decided to tell Carl that Daisy had an appendectomy.”

“Why?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine, a frown knitting her brows together.

“Because if Carl found out the truth—that Daisy miscarried and may never be able to have children again—he’d force them to divorce so Dalton could remarry and give him the heir he’s so desperate for.”

“Wait, what?!” Harlow asks, her face draining of colour as she shifts in her seat. “He would actually do that? What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who only cares about himself. The same kind of person as my father. They’re friends for a reason,Harlow. Both of them have been corrupted by wealth, but it’s the power they wield that makes them so cruel. I know that might be hard for you to understand given that so far my father has been good to you.”

“I believe everything you’ve told me about your father,” Harlow says, “And I would never devalue your experiences with him just because I’ve only ever experienced kindness.”

“But?” I question, feeling anxiety unfurling in my chest as I wonder where this is going.

“There are no buts. Believe me,” she continues, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I’m fully aware of what it’s like to have a parent who’s seen one way by the rest of the world but who you experience completely differently. My mother is a perfect example of that, and I’m sorry your father is as harsh and cold toward you as she can be with me.”

“She’s a bitch to you, Harlow. She treats you like an employee, not a daughter. She puts you down, she outright ignores you, and God forbid if anyone compliments you. Fuck, I’ve never met someone who is so jealous that she’ll twist any compliments you might receive into an opportunity to belittle you, I fucking hate it.”

“I know,” she agrees, setting her wine glass down with a soft sigh. “And I’m partly responsible for the way she treats me.”

“Her behaviour is not your fault,” I respond, my voice sharp.

“But—”

“No, Harlow. You are not to blame. Could you be more assertive with your mother? Sure. But should you have to be? Hell no. A parent’s job is to love their child, not to seize every chance to make them feel worthless, and it sure as fuck isn’t your job to make excuses for her behaviour, especially not when you lay the blame at your own feet.”

Harlow lets out a shuddering breath. “I know you’re right. I guess I’ve spent so much time letting the mother I have nowtreat me terribly, all while wishing the mom I used to know would return. She hasn’t always been this way and it feels as though I’ve been mourning that person, all while still holding onto the hope that she hasn’t completely disappeared.”

“I understand, Harlow. I really do. Hell, I've longed for a different father myself. But while you may have once had a loving mother, I've never known what it's like to have a loving father."

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