Chapter 11
ELEVEN
STERLING
The next couple of hours pass in a blur.
I eat just enough to try to fend off what I know will be a god awful hangover, chasing down the few mouthfuls of food I managed to consume with the free-flowing alcohol. I know I’m on dangerous ground, that getting drunk is a stupid thing to do, but I need to dull my senses, and the constant bombardment of conversation, laughter and background music is making my head spin far more than the alcohol. Not to mention sitting in such close proximity to Harlow and not being able to continue what we started in Dalton’s office.
Fuck .
I can still taste her on my tongue.
Perhaps I should feel guilty, but I don’t, because I know that she couldn’t stop herself any more than I could. The attraction between us blazed to life the moment we were alone together, and whilst a part of me wanted to remain angry at her for walking out that night the way she did, that anger dissolved as soon as she explained why. I just couldn’t hold on any longer, my need to claim her far outweighing every feeling of hurt that she’d caused.
Fuck, the way it had felt to hold her in my arms again, to kiss her, to taste her, knowing that she didn’t use me, that she’d felt what I’d felt too, was a fucking relief. She might’ve walked away from me again when Dalton caught us alone together, but I meant it when I said it wasn’t over, despite her arguing otherwise. There isn’t a chance in hell that I’m letting her go, not now that I’ve found her again.
Sitting three seats to my left, Harlow is currently in conversation with Walter Pike, Ben’s father. He’s one of the few people in attendance that I actually like. Whilst an extremely wealthy man in his own right, he isn’t as pompous or arrogant as my dad, far from it in fact. I always envied Ben and his relationship. So easy, so loving, so normal .
I spent hours at their home, Wildridge Estate, growing up, and even though it is as palatial as Adaga Hall, it always felt like a home should, filled with laughter and so much love. In contrast, Adaga Hall is bland in its finery, built to impress, and filled with expensive furniture and works of art that have little meaning other than my father’s desire to show off his wealth.
Perfect home. Perfect life.
Imperfect son.
And just as those thoughts pinball around my head, the fucking universe decides it’s time to test my limits again as music begins to play. My spine stiffens as my father and Melody head to the dancefloor for their first dance.
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I mutter under my breath, and with a shaky hand I knock back the last dregs of my red wine, grateful that it’s dulling my senses just enough to enable me to seek out an escape.
Flicking my gaze to the door, I get ready to flee whilst all eyes are on the couple, Harlow’s included, but Walter rises from his seat and holds his hand up, microphone in hand.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. The bride and groom ask that you now join them on the dance floor. So gather your loved one and let’s get this party underway!”
Fuck no.
Pushing to my feet, I traverse my seat, grabbing the back of the chair briefly as another rush of colour swamps me, causing my body to sway. My synesthesia is angry, as though it’s forcing me to see after spending all day trying my fucking hardest to suppress it, to deny that part of myself so that I don’t embarrass my father, his new wife, and their friends and family.
I’ve held on to my anger towards my father all day, pushing aside the colour over and over again. I’ve done everything I can to ignore it, to not react, to be normal, and all for what? To keep up appearances, to hide the real me?
But I do see.
I always have, and I know that repressing my feelings and ignoring the colour will catch up with me sooner or later. But I have to hold it off a little longer. I must.
Despite that, every shade and hue imaginable penetrates my tired brain, my wired body, my depleted soul. It’s taking an enormous amount of effort not to fold, to let my synesthesia take hold of me as my fingers grip the chair, my grasp so tight that I swear any minute now my bones will pierce through the thin layer of skin on my knuckles.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I can’t do 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?”
“For everything ,” 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 and tongue, I will drop to my knees right here and now and finish what I started back in Dalton’s office.”
“But I did finish,” 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 with just one 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–”
“Do not say 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. I don’t want to fuck my sister. I want to fuck you.”
“So this is just sex?” she snaps, her eyes blazing with anger now. “Just over an hour ago you were accusing me of the same thing.”
“You know it isn’t,” I reply, my fingers digging into the bare skin of her back. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Either way, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters–!”
“Can I cut in?”
We both still as Benedict appears to my left.
“Ben?” I question, cursing him internally for interrupting us.
He gives me a look, and I know he thinks I need a reasonable excuse to escape because of the music, but this time he’s got it so fucking wrong. I don’t want to escape this wedding unless it’s with Harlow.
“Harlow and I haven’t really had the chance to talk given your father stuck me at a table with a bunch of strangers,” he explains as Harlow gives him a polite smile.
“Now’s not the time,” I bite out.
“Pretty sure that now is exactly the right time,” Ben argues, looking at me pointedly before turning his attention back to Harlow. “I figured we should get to know each other because I know this arsehole hasn’t told you I’m his best friend.”
“Okay, um… Sure,” Harlow replies, attempting to step back, but my palm just presses against her back firmer, pinning her to me. I do not want to let her go, despite the fucking colour, the loud music, and the overstimulation from just about everything.
Ben’s gaze drops to my hand, then lifts back up to my face with an arched brow before looking at Harlow’s flaming red cheeks. “Thought as much,” he says.
“Later,” I warn him before he could say anything more.
“This isn’t what you think… We’re not…” Harlow mumbles, understanding Ben’s insinuations as I scowl at my best friend.
“Not my business,” Ben shrugs amiably. “But I would appreciate a favour.”
“A favour?” I ask, releasing my grip on Harlow a little, if only to let her breathe more freely.
“I may or may not have said something inappropriate to Elodie’s husband just now,” he explains, smirking ruefully, “And whilst I’m pretty sure he’s not going to make a scene, I think he’s less likely to try and punch my lights out if I’m dancing with Robert’s step-daughter.”
“So you want to use me as a human shield, is that it?” Harlow asks with a quirk of her lips, bringing some much needed levity to the moment.
“Partly,” Ben admits, then lowers his voice, “But if I’m being perfectly honest, this thing you got going on,” he continues, wagging his finger between us, “Is starting to become noticeable. You’re lucky that most of the people here are already drunk or are too busy stuffing their faces and getting drunk to wonder why you two are giving each other the stink-eye.”
“The stink-eye would imply we hate each other,” I argue.
“Not when you look like you want to rip each other’s clothes off as well,” he adds, humour sparkling in his eyes.
“Oh,” Harlow murmurs, throwing a look to her mother and my father, who are currently too busy looking at each other to be interested in what's going on between us. Doesn’t stop her from worrying her lip with her teeth though.
“Besides, you my friend, look like you could use some fresh air, yes?” Ben adds, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze.
In other words, get the fuck out of here before you screw shit up .
He’s not wrong. I do need air, but I also don’t want to let go of Harlow, and I can’t help but pull her closer once again, angling my body between them as my possessiveness takes over.
“Sterling,” Ben persists, his voice laced with concern.
“Fine,” I grind out, reluctantly releasing Harlow, whilst he takes her in his arms and I try not to punch him. “I shouldn’t need to tell you to be–”
“ Respectful ?” Ben throws back with a laugh. “I’m not Dalton, and whilst Harlow is stunning, you and I both know there’s only one woman for me.”
“Let me guess, Councillor Hoxton’s wife, Elodie?” Harlow says following Ben’s gaze across the room.
“Very astute, Ms Richards,” he responds. “Now let’s dance.”
With that he spins her away from me, and I make my escape.