Page 90 of The Painter and His Poet

“So, Harlow…”

And there it is.

“What about her?” I ask, forcing myself not to react in any way.

“You didn’t take her to the engagement party, why?” It’s a loaded question, and we both know it. My father isn’t a fool, he could tell something is up between us, but right now he isn’t entirely sure what.

“She had a headache,” I shrug, backing up her lie. “I wasn’t going to force her when she was feeling unwell.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, taking a sip of his bourbon as he eyes me over the rim. “No hidden agenda?”

I didn’t think he’d be so bold, but here we are. So, how do I play this? I could keep pretending that I’m okay with her beingfamilyor I could turn this discussion to my advantage, and throw him off track, which happens to play nicely into my planbecause what Harlow needs most istime. Time to get to know me better, time to strengthen our bond, to become a united front, and if my dad thinks for one second that we like each other more than step-siblings should, he’ll do everything in his power to end it, and destroy us both in the process.

I grit my jaw, allowing anger to seep into my features, pretending to snap. “I spent the whole fucking day with her yesterday, playing happy-fucking-families. Do you honestly think I’dwantto take her to an engagement party too?” He lifts a brow, and I can tell he’s not quite convinced so I add a nail to the coffin, hoping to fuck he buys it. “Mum called,sheasked me to play nice. Though God knows why given you’ve treated her like shit and none of this bullshit has been easy on her. So, I played nice forMum. But if you think I’m going to accept Harlow as my fucking step-sister, let alone Melody as a stand in for mum, you can think again. That’s the first and last time I’m making an effort.”

“I should’ve known your mother was involved. You’ve always been amama’s boy.”

“It’s a damn sight better than following in your footsteps,” I throw back, allowing the familiar feelings of hate and disgust to seep into my voice. “Besides, I’mnotthe one with a hidden agenda.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he bites, his mask slipping as he takes the bait.

“Why did you marry Melody?”

“Because I’m in love with her. That’s what two people tend to do when they’re in love.”

I can’t help it, I scoff. “Oh come on, we both know you’re incapable.”

He slams his glass onto the bar. “You’ll do well not to antagonise me, son.”

“What’s your angle?” I push, cocking my head to the side. “It can’t be Melody’s money, given you have plenty of your own. Is it the status you’d gain from marrying a Hollywood starlet?” He opens his mouth to respond, but I hold my hand up, silencing him. “No, wait, it can’t be that givennothingis comparable to what you’ve achieved in life. I mean, I could be invited to paint the Cistine-fucking-Chapel and that still wouldn’t be good enough in your eyes, so I can’t imagine starring in some two-bit nineties TV series would warrant your approval.”

“Firstly, Melody’s talent can hardly be compared to your…” He waves his hand in the air dismissively, “...Sickness.”

I grit my teeth, feeling the sharp slice of pain I always do when he belittles me. I hate that he’s still so easily able to hurt me, but I allow it because it only feeds into the lie I’m creating to protect me and Harlow.

He smirks. “And secondly, she’sHollywood royalty, notsome wannabe artist who doesn’t have the balls to showcase his work because he knows that the only person who’d buy it is hismother.”

Fuck. Him.

“Are we done?” I snap.

“For now,” he replies, smirking.

I stride towards the door but as I reach it, he calls out to me.

“One last thing, son,” he says.

“What?” I reply, throwing him a glare over my shoulder.

“Whilst you’re living under my roof, you will give Melody and Harlow the respect they deserve, you will treat them both with kindness, you will fucking act with grace and charm whenever you’re around them, and youwillspend time with Harlow playing happy-fucking-families whenever the fuckItell you to.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then your precious mother will find out what it’s like to live as a fucking pauper when I stop paying her the rather generous monthly allowance she’s become accustomed to.”

My shoulders stiffen, and whilst his demands have given me the ability to spend time with Harlow without it throwing up any red flags, I don’t like the fact that he’s threatening my mother’s happiness by taking away the money she’s owed from marrying such a cold-hearted bastard. A knot tightens in my stomach, and I feel the weight of his words settling like lead in my chest. I’ve been walking this tightrope for years, always caught between loyalty to my mother and the disdain I have for him.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

---