Page 37 of The Painter and His Poet

“Leave him, he clearly doesn’t have any respect for me or your mother given the disgusting way he’s just behaved,” Robert says, anger blazing across his face as my mother continues to blink away her shock.

“I think he was just caught off guard,” I mumble, trying to appease Robert, and calm my own frayed nerves. The truth is, I should’ve reached out to him the second I realised who he was. It was cowardly of me.

“His behaviour is inexcusable, Harlow. I warned you he was difficult,” Robert continues, shaking his head. “I should never have allowed him to attend our wedding.”

Guilt climbs up my throat.Noneof this is Sterling’s fault.

I was the one who left him with just a note to say goodbye. I was the one who was too terrified to reach out last night when I found out who he was. God, the shock on his face when he heard me singing, and the way he seemed to fall into his father was hard enough to witness, but to see him struggle to hold back his very warranted anger just now, that was painful.

I did this, it’s allmyfault.

“Oh, darling, don’t blame yourself,” my mother interjects, patting Robert’s arm. “I’m sure once he’s gotten used to the idea, things will be better, yes?”

Robert scowls, his response cut off by a couple approaching us.

“Robert, Melody, what a beautiful ceremony,” the man says, holding his hand out for Robert to shake.

“Thank you, John. I heard you had a delayed flight. I’m glad that you and Elodie were able to make it to our wedding on time,” Robert replies, greeting John’s wife with a kiss to her cheek. “You look stunning as always, Elodie.”

“Thank you, Robert,” she replies softly.

My mother stiffens, jealousy flaring in her eyes momentarily before she covers it up with a smile, her ability to hide her true emotions, a sign of how good an actress she is. I can see why she might feel threatened. Elodie’s a gorgeous woman, with long, curly brown hair, deep blue eyes and an incredible, hourglass figure, but more noticeably, many decades youngerthan her somewhat stout husband. Not that I’m judging either of them in any way–though I’m sure my mother is–just making an observation. I know from the guest list, and my mother’s tendency to boast about the very rich and influential friends of Robert’s, that John is a member of the British parliament, a role that’s similar to the US members of Congress.

“Your security team made sure we got here in good time. I hear we have you to thank for that,” he says, turning his attention to me as he holds out his hand to shake. “Harlow, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it was no trouble,” I reply, taking his proffered hand.

He grips my fingers, his thumb rubbing against the back of my hand, making my skin prickle with warning. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, nor do I like the fact that as I try to pull my hand away, his grip just tightens.

“I was very impressed with your singing ability. Quite the voice you have,” he states, his black gaze uncomfortably penetrating as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against my cheek.

“Thank you,” I reply, pulling my hand back with a sharp tug, and stepping back, heat rising up my chest as I flick my gaze to his wife.

Her eyes widen a little, and she gives me a look that tells me she’s as uncomfortable by her husband’s behaviour as I am.

“It was nice to meet you both,” I say quickly, “But I hope you don’t mind, I just need to ensure everything is running as planned. We should be entering the dining suite shortly, and I want to see whether the staff are ready for us.”

“Of course, perhaps we can talk more later?” John offers.

“Perhaps,” I reply.

Hell no, I think, as I turn on my heel and head towards the door Sterling left through just minutes before, needing to apologise, to try and fix things somehow.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Drix’s deep baritone voice makes my feet still as I exit the room, the door clicking shut behind me. He’s standing with Sterling in an alcove halfway down the corridor.

“You have your own problems to deal with. I’m not adding to them, Drix,” Sterling replies, tightening a piece of material around his hand, spots of crimson seeping through the white.

“You’re my friend. Your problemismy problem,” Drix counters.

So that’s what I am,a problem?

I guess I deserve that.

Swallowing my nerves, I walk towards them both, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor informing them of my presence.

“Could I have a moment with Sterling, please?” I ask as Drix flicks me a look, before glancing at Sterling who nods.

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