Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
HARLOW
The incessant trill of my phone alarm penetrates my sleep-addled brain and I jerk upright as though I’ve just had a twenty volt cattle prod stuck up my ass.
“What the hell?!” I mumble, blinking, as I try to find the source of my discomfort. It’s pitch black and very clearly still the middle of the damn night, so either I’ve accidentally programmed in the wrong alarm time, or it’s not actually my alarm but someone calling me.
Throwing myself towards the faint light peeking out from beneath my phone's wraparound cover, I grab my phone, flipping it open. It’s my mother calling. I let out a groan. Of course it is.
“Mom, this better be an emergency,” I say, switching on my bedside lamp.
“An emergency? What are you talking scha-bout ?” she replies, slurring her words.
Great, she’s drunk.
“It’s the middle of the night!” I exclaim, unable to hide my annoyance as I flip back my duvet and stand. I’ve spent another day alone, which makes it four days since my conversation with Sterling in the swimming pool. Four lonely days of watching movies alone. Eating alone. Reading alone. And now is the time my mother chooses to grace me with her attention?
“Not where I am, it’s not.”
Give. Me. Strength.
“So what did you want?” I ask, pacing back and forth. Any patience I might’ve had if she’d called during the day like a reasonable human being has now been eaten up entirely by her selfishness.
I’m positive most people would hang up, and I’m considering doing just that when she says, “Robert tells me that there’s going to be a wedding soon,” she hiccups, and then giggles. If I could roll my eyes any harder they’d fall out of my head.
“Mom, couldn’t this have waited until–”
“Apparently Carl’s son, Dalton , is getting hitched and as Carl and Robert are best friends we’ve been invited to the wedding!” she interrupts.
“Dalton’s getting married?” That comes as a surprise given everything Daisy said about him.
“Yes, and by we , I mean Robert and I have been invited to the wedding. It’s going to be such a grand affair…”
My footsteps still as I let that tidbit of information sink in. I shouldn’t be bothered given I barely know Dalton, but I am more than a little upset that my mother chose to call me in the middle of the night to essentially say I haven’t been invited to his wedding. Feeling more than a little agitated, I stride over to the other side of the room, rip open the curtains before unlatching the lock and pushing open the window. A cold breeze flutters over my skin and I drag in a deep breath, trying in vain to calm myself down.
“This could’ve waited until the morning,” I remind her, peering out of the window, but unable to see much other than my reflection in the glass.
“Oh stop being such a bore! Dalton is a very wealthy young man, and his family are extremely influential–”
“And I should care because?”
“Because these people are my friends, and this is going to be quite the event,” she trills.
“ Robert’s friends, you mean?”
“My friends too now that we’re married,” she responds sharply, suddenly sobering up.
“Hmm,” I murmur, perching the edge of my bottom on the windowsill and pressing my cheek against the cool glass.
“Carl is throwing Dalton an engagement party next weekend in fact,” she rattles on. “Of course he invited us both, and whilst I do love a party as much as anyone, we’re not cutting our wonderful honeymoon short just to attend. It really wouldn’t be fair for either of us. Besides, we’re having such a wonderful time together. Robert is so attentive, so loving, so generous, Harlow, and I am so very much in love.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” I say. “So, is there anything else you wanted…?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me who Dalton’s marrying?”
“Who is he marrying?” I reply, humouring her as my breath fogs up the glass. I press my hand to the same spot, watching as my handprint lingers for a moment before fading away.
“Daisy Hammer. Drix’s younger sister,” my mother replies gleefully.
“ Daisy ? Are you sure?” I ask, pushing upright.
That can’t be right. She hates him.
“You know her then?”
“I met her at the wedding. She was really nice.”
“Nice isn’t the word I’d use to describe her, when calculated seems to fit so much better.”
“Mom, that’s—” Unkind , but of course she cuts me off. Again.
“According to Robert her late father wasn’t as wealthy as many people had thought and, well, I think that she’s marrying into the Gunn family for money . Isn’t that so distasteful?”
“That’s a very unfair assumption to make given your history,” I throw back, and even though Daisy had categorically said to me that she hates Dalton, she didn’t seem like the type to marry someone for money. Then again, it’s really none of my business. Perhaps they have history and she’s secretly in love with him, denying it to everyone she meets. Perhaps he’s secretly in love with her? Or perhaps it really is over money. Whatever the reason, I’m in no position to judge, and I won’t get drawn into idle gossip just to entertain my mother.
“Are you insinuating that I’ve only ever married for money, because if you are–”
“Goodnight, mom. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon,” I say, cutting her off before promptly hanging up and putting my phone on silent so I don’t get disturbed by her calling again.
“Why?” I mutter out loud.
Why does my mother love to make me feel bad? Why is she so intent on making me feel unworthy? I just don’t understand.
I remain where I am for a few moments, my gaze fixed on my reflection in the window as I try to steady myself. My mother really can be such a bitch, and this brief conversation with her has made two things painfully clear. First, she can’t see past her own needs and wants to even consider my feelings, let alone my sleep schedule. And second, she’s deliberately tarnishing someone’s reputation—someone she barely knows—which only reinforces what I’ve feared all along. She will never approve of me and Sterling.
Never .
And whilst I’ve always known that to be true, I can admit that there was a small, naive part of me that had hoped she'd want to see me happy now that she’s found her own happily ever after.
“So, so stupid,” I mutter as I stride back to bed.
Reaching for my bedside cabinet, I open the drawer and pull out the bottle of sleeping pills I use when sleep evades me, which frankly has been a lot lately. Popping one into my mouth, I grab the glass of water I always have beside my bed and take a sip, swallowing the pill, then I climb under the covers, allowing myself a brief moment of self-pity before I close my eyes and wait for the oblivion of sleep.
Sterling
I can’t fucking sleep. I’ve tossed and turned all damn night and nothing has helped. Not the four shots of whisky I chucked back a few hours ago, and definitely not the hand job I’d given myself in the hope that an orgasm would relax me enough to sleep. The truth is, all it had done was remind me of Harlow, and my complete and utter obsession with her. Which is great for my art, but fucking terrible for my sleep habits.
The truth is, I’ve no idea how she would react to seeing herself on canvas. Fuck, all it would take is a short walk to the edge of my father’s property where she’d find my art studio filled to the brim with paintings of her . And if she were to take the time to inspect those paintings a little closer, she might just catch the faint scent of my cum too.
It may appear unconventional to some–using my cum in that way–perhaps even unsettling, but to me, each painting is a sacred depiction of my deepest affection for Harlow. They’re an embodiment of my admiration, my reverence, and yes, my longing. These paintings aren’t mere art; they are a testament to everything I feel for her, and I will not apologise for that.
Glancing at my watch, I notice that it’s almost two am, and realising that sleep isn’t going to come tonight, I pull on my trainers, step outside my studio and take a walk. Fifteen minutes in, I start to regret not grabbing a coat, and whilst my hoodie keeps me warm inside my heated studio, it's no match for the biting winter chill as I traverse the gravel pathway that circles Adaga Hall.
I could tell myself that I took a walk in this direction out of habit, and whilst that’s partly the truth, it’s not the complete truth. The real reason I’m here isn’t just to check on Harlow; I’m here because I intend on entering her room whilst she’s fast asleep so I can get my fill of her.
I know that it’s wrong.
I know what that makes me.
But I can’t seem to stop myself.
I’m not even sure that I want to.
And just as I’m about to head inside and do exactly that, her curtains are drawn apart, and light spills out onto the grass just a few feet before me.
“Fuck,” I whisper, taking a few steps back, making sure I’m completely hidden within the darkness and nowhere near the rectangle of light spilling across the lawn.
I watch her with interest as she throws open a window, the cool breeze lifting her hair from around bare shoulders. “This could’ve waited until morning!” she says.
“Who are you talking to?” I mutter, feeling a pinch of jealousy, my cock stirring as I catch sight of her simple white nightie, her nipples peaked from the cold. Fuck.
“And I should care because?” she continues, completely oblivious to the fact I’m standing in the dark below her window and staring up at her with a semi. Whoever’s on the other end of the line is doing a spectacular job at pissing her off, and going by the tone of her voice, and the completely unreasonable time to receive a phone call, I can only determine that it’s her mother. My suspicion is confirmed when she goes on to say, “ Robert’s friends, you mean?”
“Of course,” I say, fuming on Harlow’s behalf, not to mention mine given my plans have been thwarted.
Rightly or wrongly, I need to see Harlow tonight, and whilst it’s not in a way that’s deemed socially acceptable in any fucking universe, it’s the only way I can give her the space she appears to need without compromising my sanity. The logical, un-stalkery, level-headed part of me knows that what I’m doing is wrong, that I’m breaking every level of trust there is, but the obsessive, possessive, compulsive parts of me are far too loud to ignore.
I’m in deep. So fucking deep, it’s scary.
So I don’t leave like I should. Instead, I watch as Harlow sits on the window ledge and presses her cheek against the glass, and something about the way her shoulders curve inwards has my heart thundering in sympathy.
“I’m sure they’ll understand. So, is there anything else you wanted…?” she asks after a moment, pressing her hand against the foggy glass. The fucked-up, stalkery part of me lifts my hand, fingers spread, as I imagine her palm pressed against mine.
“Who is he marrying?” I hear her say, and my hand drops as it dawns on me that her mother must be telling her about Dalton and Daisy’s upcoming wedding.
News sure does travel fast, though I shouldn’t be all that surprised given Carl and Robert are close. Well, as close as any man can be without a beating fucking heart.
“ Daisy ? Are you sure?” Harlow asks as she stands, and right before she steps away from the window, I see the confusion on her face.
“Fuck,” I grumble, agitated not only because Melody has interrupted Harlow’s sleep, but because tonight she’s interrupted my plans too. But that doesn’t stop me from waiting for Harlow’s light to go out, and it certainly doesn’t stop me from creeping into her room an hour later either.