Page 122 of The Painter and His Poet

“It’s not that. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it? Talk to me, Sterling,” she begs, pulling back slightly so she can read my expression.

“I’m so fucking angry,” I admit, my body trembling with suppressed rage.

“Was it something to do with the conversation you had with the guys earlier? You seemed so tense after you spoke with them, what happened?”

I nod. “Partly.”

Cupping my cheek she strokes the pad of her thumb against my skin. “Tell me,” she urges.

“Do you remember when I told you that Dalton is afraid that if his father finds out about Daisy’s miscarriage that he’ll force him to divorce her and find another wife?”

“Yes,” she nods, her brows pinching together with concern.

“Well, part of the reason they got married in the first place was so that a debt Drix owed Carl would be paid in full, so long as Daisy agreed to marry Dalton and provide Carl with an heir to carry on the family name.”

“They married to clear a debt that Drix owes?” she repeats, shock widening her eyes.

“Yes. It would also mean that Dalton would receive his inheritance.”

“I thought he was in love with her.”

“He is, very much so.”

“But you said–”

“Daisy agreed to marry Dalton because she loves her brother and wanted to free him of the debt so he could be with Lia, and Dalton initially agreed to the marriage for selfish reasons,” I explain.

“And now?”

“And now he’s so in love with her that he’s willing to doanythingto keep her, including walking away from his riches.The problem is, if he does, then the debt Drix owes still stands. Carl holds all the fucking cards.”

“What are they going to do?” she asks.

“I’mgoing to help them.”

“How?”

“I can cover most of the debt with my own savings from paintings I’ve already sold, but I’ll also have to sell these,” I explain, watching her carefully for a reaction.

“By these, you mean the paintings ofme?”

“Yes…” My voice trails off as I let that news sink in.

Harlow thinks for a moment, her eyes drifting around the studio. She has every right to refuse, to insist that I don’t sell them, but instead she reaches up with her other hand and palms both my cheeks.

“If it will help them, then do it. Sell the paintings, Sterling.”

I should feel relief at her agreement, but all I feel is guilt because I hadn’t sought her permission before promising I’d help Dalton, least of all using the sale of these paintings as an opportunity to draw out that cunt Hoxton.

“What?” she questions, sensing there’s more.

“I should’ve consulted you first…” My voice trails off as I grit my jaw.

“Sterling, just tell me.”

“I can’t wait any longer, Harlow,” I blurt out, cupping her wrists and feeling my stomach churn with desperation. “This is the only way I could think of to force Hoxton’s hand, so that he makes a move and we can deal with the bastard once and for all. Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing.”

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