Page 130 of The Painter and His Poet

“How about some music?” he suggests, eyeing the jukebox in the corner of the bar before pulling a face. “Sorry, Sterling, probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“Actually, I thought maybe I could sing?” Harlow says, rising to her feet. She gives me a questioning look, always aware of my condition, and checking in on my wellbeing. “It’s been a while, and I guess I just wanted to…” Her voice trails off as she chews on her lip.

“We’d love that,” I tell her, offering my reassurance. I’m aware that singing for her is not just a way to express her feelings, but is also a source of comfort. I haven’t heard her sing since that night at the hotel. I’ve missed her voice—and, if I’m being honest, the colours it brings to life. I haven’t been able to paint in weeks, despite my attempts. Even though music still triggers my synesthesia, nothing captures the vividness of colour quite like Harlow’s voice. Nothing.

Ben grins, ducking back behind the bar to fetch a microphone, before handing it to her. Then he takes a seat next to me, whilst Lia drops onto Drix’s lap and Dalton pulls Daisy into his side.

“I’m going to sing acapella, if that’s okay,” she asks, looking between us.

Everyone mutters their approval. “Of course,” I say.

Harlow looks into my eyes, her gaze filled with a tenderness that takes my breath away. “If it weren’t for your synesthesia, you might never have walked intoSmokey Joe’sthe night we first met, and I may have never known this love, this feeling I have for you now,” she says, dragging in a steadying breath.“I need you to understand that I love you for everything you are. There’s nothing about you that doesn’t have my heart. This song... it’s everything I want to say to you. You may create masterpieces, Sterling... But you, you aremywork of art,” she continues.

A beat later she raises the microphone to her lips and begins to sing, and by God, the colour that appears before my eyes pales in comparison to the beauty of her voice as she singsWork of Artby Benson Boone.

Her beautiful voice is like a conductor of my synesthesia and I absorb every breathtaking colour, every enchanting note that dances in the air around us. The room seems to fade away, leaving only me and Harlow. I can feel her love pouring out of her. Every word, and every note, painting a vibrant masterpiece in my mind that no brush could ever replicate.

As the last note fades into the air, a hush falls over the bar. Harlow’s voice lingers like a whisper, carrying with it a depth of emotion that leaves us all spellbound. I catch Daisy swiping a tear from her eye and Lia clutching Drix’s hand tightly.

My chest heaves as I stare at the woman I love. A golden glow, sparkling with silver, flows around her, beckoning me to my feet. Only a few weeks ago, I’d have to suppress my emotions around her, I’d have to hide my love, but I don’t have to do that any longer.

Harlow sets the microphone down gently, and without a word, I cross the distance between us, palming her cheeks, as I say, “My love for you is more vibrant than any colour on the spectrum. You are my muse, Harlow, the beating heart that fuels my very existence, and I love you with everything and all that I am.”

Then I press my lips against hers in a heart-stopping kiss, claiming her as mine.

EPILOGUE

HARLOW

There months later

“You have made Sterling so happy, Harlow,” Sterling’s mother says, grasping my hands tightly in hers as we sit on the steps of Sydney Opera House. “Thank you for seeing him the way I do.”

“He’s everything to me,” I reassure her, the late evening sun warming our skin as we wait for Sterling to join us. He’s taking a photograph of the sun setting across the harbour, and I can’t help but notice how handsome he looks in his loose slacks and t-shirt, his hair tousled by the warm evening breeze. Today is the final day we get to spend together before Sterling and I head home to Adaga Hall, and his mother travels on to New Zealand for the next part of her trip. There’s a bittersweet tinge to the air that settles around us both. Sterling and I will miss spending time with Clara, and I know she feels the same way too.

“I always knew he’d find his way, that he’d find someone who will love him as much as I do. I’m just terribly sorry for how things worked out with his father…” Her voice trails off as her eyes mist with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Clara. For everything,” I whisper.

“Don’t be. What Robert did was unforgivable. I’m not sad about his death, despite once upon a time loving him. The world is a better place without Robert in it. More importantly, my son is the best version of himself now, and that has so much to do with you, Harlow,” she reassures me. “I have waited a long time to see the light in his eyes shine as brightly as it does now. Before you, I saw so much sadness still harboured in his heart, a sadness his father put there, but you filled them with light and I will be forever grateful to you for that.”

“Oh, Clara,” I cry, pulling her in for a hug.

“Should I be concerned?” Sterling asks aswe pull apart, swiping at our eyes.

Clara gives him a wavering smile. “Not at all, we were just righting the wrongs of the world, as women tend to do.”

He nods, laughing. “Okay.”

“Shall we head to the restaurant then? I think our table is booked for seven, is it not?” Clara asks, moving to stand.

Sterling takes her hand in his, helping Clara up. “There’s something I wanted to do first. Mum, would you mind taking a photo of me and Harlow,” he asks, handing her the camera. “I’d think it’d make a great picture with the sun setting behind the opera house.”

“Of course, darling,” she replies as he drops to his knees a couple of steps below me.

“Don’t you think you should be facing that way?” I ask, motioning towards his mother who’s currently pointing the camera at his back.

“Actually, I think this is the perfect position,” he replies, grinning at me as he reaches for something tucked into his back pocket.

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