Page 61 of Painted in Love

Adrian didn’t react. “You saw the press conference. Did you talk to Saskia? Is she okay?” Her voice rose slightly on the question.

“I sure as hell did talk to her. She actually claims she was going to tell me.” He was as angry as he could ever remember being, not only with Saskia but also with Adrian, who’d helped perpetuate the lie, and with himself for believing it. “The two of you are running the biggest racket in the business. How can you live with yourselves?”

Still, Adrian remained calm. “I protect my clients and friends. Any answers you want, you’ll have to get from Saskia—if she’s willing to give them to you. Believe me, she has her reasons. Good ones. You’ve heard from her ex, so now you’ve seen what a jerk he is.”

He wanted to smack his fist on the table. “You both lied to me before Hugo Lewis ever came on the scene. In fact, you’ve been lying to all your clients for years. You want to protect your artists. Great. But what about protecting your clients?”

“None of our clients has ever been harmed by Saskia’s anonymity. In fact, they like it.”

“I didn’t.” He was revealing far too much, but he couldn’t stop. “There’s no excuse.”

He could almost see Adrian shaking her head. “Hugo did this because he’s jealous that she’s so big, and she did it without him. Once he claimed he was Lynx and put new art out there, it lost all its value. He’s trying to do the same to her by stripping away her anonymity.” She took a breath, and he could have jumped in, but he let her finish. “She trusted him, and he abused that trust. You have to see why trusting anyone else—even though you’ve become closer over the past week than I’ve seen her with anyone since Hugo—is nearly impossible for her.”

He remembered what Saskia had said that night at the bar, that she wished she could trust more and fear less. It seemed so long ago. Yet it was little over a week.

He didn’t want to come off like some bad guy who couldn’t forgive her for being afraid to open her heart again. He should have remembered what she’d said that first night. He should have tied it all together with what Hugo Lewis had done, what her parents had done. Because she’d revealed enough for him to get it. But he hadn’t given her a chance to tell him all the details.

He wasn’t sure he could now.

He pointed a finger as if Adrian could see him. “I can forgive a lot of sins. But not straight up being lied to from the start.”

Then he punched the End button before Adrian could say another word.

And before he could forgive Saskia right there on the phone.

She went out with her spray cans in the middle of the night. Tagging had always been how she dealt with fear and anger. Only this time it wasn’t working.

Her mind spiraled from hurt to shame and guilt to anger to hating how unfair love truly was. She’d always had these spirals, but never before had she added love into the mix.

But she had to face it. She loved Clay. Even if falling in love in little more than a week seemed straight out of a romance novel.

Everything she painted looked like Clay’s face. Even when she tried painting only letters, his face worked itself into the art. Along with hearts.

Disgust for herself filled her. She loved him, dammit, but she’d messed it all up. Why should he forgive her? She’d done nothing to earn his trust. Since Hugo, it had always been about people earning her trust. She’d never even tried to earn Clay’s.

She sprayed black over everything she’d painted, as black as her soul felt.

Then she stood in front of all that unrelenting black. If she’d told him everything right there under the streetlight, no sketchy thumbnails, just the entire story—about her parents throwing her out when she was sixteen, about Hugo not only claiming her art, but stealing Lynx? If she’d totally revealed herself, maybe Clay would have understood.

Instead, she’d done what she always did—doubled down, told him the bare minimum, expecting him to figure out the rest.

She hadn’t told him her truth. Maybe she’d been afraid even that wouldn’t change his mind.

Leaving the alley, she sat in the glow of a streetlight halfway between Clay’s place and Haight-Ashbury. Busy throwing the blackness of her soul against a wall, she hadn’t picked up any of Adrian’s calls. Now she looked at the latest text.

Clay called me. Where are you? Are you okay?

I was out doing art. Hopefully Adrian would think that meant she was okay. Her stomach knotted. It’s over between us, isn’t it?

Adrian texted back immediately, as if she’d been waiting. Maybe. It all depends on what you want.

Saskia didn’t hesitate. I want him. I love him.

It hit her again like the impact of a comet. She loved the man he was—the tender lover, the caring patron, the intelligent businessman, the amazing friend.

Adrian’s text pinged. Then do whatever it takes.

Even as she typed them, her words sounded whiny. What if he doesn’t love me back?

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