Page 44 of The Painter and His Poet

Ican’tdo this.

With great effort I drag in a shaky breath when I feel eyes on me. Lifting my head, I’m greeted with Walter’s wide smile, oblivious to the fucking agony I’m in right now.

“Sterling, your father and stepmother would like you and Harlow to join them too.”

No.

No!

I shake my head, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and when he reaches down to cup Harlow’s elbow, offering her to me, my body moves towards her before my brain can even catch up.

“Sterling?” Harlow murmurs as she stands, her gaze shifting to the table and the empty wine bottle positioned next to my also empty glass. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

She nods, but I know she doesn’t believe me as I take a wobbly step towards the dance floor. I don’t know what’s worse, having to dance with Harlow whilst battling an episode, or not being able to haul her against my chest and bury my nose in her hair just so I can breathe her in and find some peace in her arms.

“You’re not fine,” Harlow whispers, her tone gentle as I place one hand on the centre of her back, and grasp her hand with my other, my fingers curling over hers.

“I’m not drunk,” I reply as we begin to sway to the music, music I’m desperately trying to ignore.

Gritting my jaw, I try my damndest not to pass out.

“You barely ate,” she counters.

“I’m not particularly hungry.”

She sighs, her fingers twitching in mine. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Foreverything,” she breathes. “We should never have–”

“Don’t,” I snap, my palm pressing against her lower back a little firmer, forcing our bodies closer so that I can lean in and press my lips against her ear.

“Don’t what, Sterling, tell the truth?” she sighs, her voice soft, barely audible beneath the music as she presses her palm against my chest and attempts to put space between us.

“I swear to God, Harlow,” I warn, my fingers flexing on her back. “If you’re about to tell me that we shouldn’t have kissed, that I shouldn’t have fucked your pussy with my fingers andtongue, I will drop to my knees right here and now and finish what I started back in Dalton’s office.”

“But Ididfinish,” she chokes out, her breath hitching, and just for a moment she gives me a glimpse of the woman I met that first night, the woman who said whatever’s on her mind.

“You think that I’m okay withjustone of your orgasms after searching for you for four fucking months? Believe me when I say, we’ve only just begun.”

“Sterling, we’re fam–”

“Donotsay it,” I respond, pressing my eyes shut as I battle everything.

My synesthesia.

My rage.

My burning need to kiss her again.

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true,” she whispers, as I slowly peel my eyes open, ignoring the colour swarming around us both, and the beat of the music pounding in my ears.

“We’re adults, Harlow. We met four months ago. Just because our parents got married, that doesn’t make us family. Idon’twant to fuck my sister. I want to fuck you.”

“So this is just sex?” she snaps,hereyes blazing with anger now. “Just over an hour ago you were accusing me of the same thing.”

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