Page 65 of Painted in Love

“You said your parents didn’t approve of your art.” They’d talked about that when he’d told her about Gareth.

She sucked in a breath, held it a moment. “I didn’t tell you any of this either.”

They both had so much they hadn’t said. “Tell me now.”

“It wasn’t just my art. They didn’t approve of me. They always told me I was an accident, that they hadn’t meant to have me. They acted like I was the luckiest girl in the world that they’d decided to keep me.” She raised her hands and gave a half-hearted, “Woo-hoo.” Her pain lanced through him. “You see, they were both famous artists when I came along. They expected me to do exactly what they told me to. But I just couldn’t.” She clamped her teeth and balled her fists. “I was arrested for tagging when I was sixteen, and they let me stew in custody for days. When their solicitor finally got me released, they told me I could never paint another wall.” She closed her eyes as if the thought of never creating street art again killed her. “I couldn’t stand it. I said no way, that I had to paint what I had to paint. Isn’t that how artistic talent works?”

Christ. How awful to hear that your parents actually considered getting rid of you. His parents might have lived in a world where only they mattered to each other, but they’d at least paid for nannies to take care of them. But Saskia’s parents had told her they’d never wanted her at all.

He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, tried to take her pain inside his own body so she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.

“When I refused to stop, they said I was an ungrateful wretch who wanted to deface property instead of making something of the talent they had given me, like they owned it. They told me that if I continued on my course, I couldn’t live with them. I refused to beg. So I left.”

He saw now exactly how her life had been. How she’d survived and made herself into a mega artist, how truly amazing she was. He had his whole family to surround him after their parents died. She’d had no one but Adrian, who’d been a kid herself.

He didn’t know how her story could get worse, but it did, and all he could do was hold her.

“I lived in a tiny garret with six other artists,” she told him. “We all had pallets on the floor, and I lived out of charity shops. There were never enough blankets. Adrian was always trying to give me more.” She swiped at another tear. “But I survived.”

“Oh, you are a survivor.”

He remembered again what she’d told him that first night, before he’d even known her last name. I’d like to learn to trust more and fear less. She’d had so many reasons not to trust, especially him, a man who was part of the machine that had allowed Hugo Lewis to steal her name and her work.

“I understand why you didn’t trust me in the beginning. How could you trust anyone after what happened to you? All along, I expected too much from you.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her gently.

“The worst of it,” she said, “is that my parents actually did steal some of my belief in myself. Despite all my pep talks with Dylan and Gareth, I’ve never truly owned my art. I’ve been afraid to put myself totally out there and be ridiculed.”

He realized how much it took for her to admit that. “Thank you for telling me.” He trailed his fingers down her smooth cheek. “In some ways, our paths converged. I was almost sixteen when my parents died. We both had major upheavals in our lives that shaped us. We both had parents who never made their kids a priority.”

“But that’s no excuse,” she protested. “I should have trusted you with my secrets. I should’ve told you about Hugo, about my parents.”

A sledgehammer of realization hit him. “Christ, you’re British.” He hadn’t realized exactly what that could mean. “Your parents are Patricia and Julian Oliver?”

She nodded.

The Olivers were famous British classical artists. He’d seen their paintings. They were masters. He’d never bought their art because the style didn’t suit his taste. Now he was glad he hadn’t. “I’m appalled they let their daughter live in an overcrowded garret without even adequate heating.” He wanted to pummel them as badly as he wanted to beat up Hugo Lewis. “Clearly, they were threatened by your talent.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I swore I’d never let them hold me back. I believe that made me stronger.”

He had to agree.

“And your parents—” She snorted as if they didn’t deserve the title. “—were idiots to miss out on how amazing you and your siblings are. I’m not talking about the money you’ve all amassed, but about how caring you are.”

He leaned in to kiss her. “I’m proud of you for how you moved on from what your parents did, from what Hugo Lewis did. And how much bigger you are than Lynx.”

She gripped his hand tightly. “I’ve tried to act like I was fine, but Hugo’s betrayal tore me apart.” She bit her lip. “What my parents did hurt even worse. But I’m also thankful because I wouldn’t have become San Holo if I hadn’t been trying to prove to them that I could do it.”

He understood the feeling. It was the same drive that had led all the Harrington siblings to excel in whatever they did.

Now he smiled. “All right, so tell me the real story about how you met Adrian.”

She laughed, her face brightening for the first time. “I drew a caricature of her. I used to sit on street corners and try to sell my art to tourists. Adrian said she loved the drawing even though I don’t think she actually did. She said she hated being curvy, and that’s how I drew her. Still, she liked me, and I liked her, and she took me to lunch, and—” She shrugged. “—then we were best friends. She never gave me money, but she’d always buy me food because she said I was too skinny. And she gave me clothes and stuff she said she didn’t want anymore. She took care of me, and I will always love her for being my friend in the darkest time of my life.”

She stood then, held out her hand. “Will you come inside and see where I live?”

“I’d love to.”

This was one of the biggest gifts she could give him. Her space. The place no one but her best friend had ever seen.

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