Page 73 of Painted in Love

As the Olivers turned left on the crowded street, she crossed the lobby, opened the door, and turned right. Maybe it was an intentional separation, he couldn’t tell, but she headed to the coffee shop. Clay was reminded of the day the self-driving car had almost mowed her down. The most important day of his life.

They entered the coffee shop, and she still hadn’t said anything to him. At the counter, she ordered two flat whites, and when they were ready, she took a corner table.

Sitting beside her, he held her hand. He didn’t ask if she was okay; he knew she was. Even if she was brimming with emotion that wanted to spill over, she was okay.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

His heart broke for her as, despite her strength, everything she felt flooded out of her.

“They didn’t come all that way for me.” She tapped her fist to her chest. “They came to see what they could get out of me.”

“They’re parasites. You’re the world-famous San Holo, bigger than they ever were, and they want to leech off your fame.”

She sucked in a breath, and he feared for a moment that he’d hurt her. But when she spoke, he was surprised there wasn’t a forlorn note in her voice, just a statement. “Why didn’t they love me enough? What was wrong with me? Now, suddenly, I’m good enough for them because other people recognize my art?”

“There was always a piece of you that thought your parents were right—that you weren’t good enough.” He ached to make them pay for stripping away her self-confidence at such a young age. They’d stolen from her in ways even more harmful than Hugo had.

She swallowed as if her throat had suddenly gone dry. “They didn’t think I was a real artist because I wasn’t a classical painter.” She huffed in a breath, held it, then let it out in a rush. “For just a moment, I wanted to tell them how much money I make and ask if I’m good enough now.” She looked at him, her dark eyes piercing. “That’s why I needed them to leave. Because I would rather die than say that. But at the same time, it means I have no family now.”

He squeezed her hand. “But you do.”

She nodded. “I’ll always have Adrian. She’s my family.”

She wasn’t getting it. He had to remind her. “I have two brothers and two sisters and the Mavericks as well. Without a doubt, they’ll all bring you into the fold. You’ll have more family than you know how to handle.”

She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. I’m meeting them all tomorrow at the birthday party.”

He raised her hand to his lips, kissed her fragrant skin. “They’ll love you the way you’ve never been loved before.” Then he sat back, looked at her. “You want me to pack up your parents in wooden crates and ship them back to England?”

She laughed, then leaned over to kiss him. “You always know exactly what to say right when I need to hear it.” As he relished the sweet taste of her on his lips, she said, “Let’s go home to the warehouse.” His home was her home. “You should make love to me so I forget about all this.”

He would give her everything she asked for. Always.

Adrian stomped across the office and picked up the card Julian Oliver had left, a physical representation of Saskia’s parents. She shredded it into tiny pieces and threw them in the rubbish bin. “She won’t need this. I always knew her parents sucked, but now I see just how creepy they really are.”

She turned back to Gareth, pasting a smile on her face. “All right, let’s talk about your career.”

He was right there, far closer than she’d realized.

The beautiful man cupped her face. “You’re hard as nails when you go to bat for your clients. But you love them like family, and that means you’re actually as soft as a marshmallow on the inside.”

Then he kissed her.

She had one last thought before she sank into the heat of his arms around her.

I absolutely am a marshmallow. And right now, I’m going to melt all over you like s’mores.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Saskia had to admit that the birthday party, held at Dane Harrington’s luxurious Napa resort, was a tad overwhelming. The Mavericks had taken over a large ballroom that opened onto a patio outside. Dane and Cammie had done wonders with the decorations. Banners stretched across the walls, streamers hung from the ceiling, and confetti sprinkled the tables.

Clay hadn’t introduced her to everyone yet, though he had pointed out most of the Mavericks and the Harringtons. There were just so many of them. With the kids’ birthdays, not to mention the babies, she wasn’t sure she’d remember all their names.

As Clay wrapped his hand around hers, she named them off in her head. Noah and Jorge were the eldest, both eight years old. Noah was Matt Tremont’s son, and Matt was married to Ari, who was Gideon Jones’s sister. They had a nine-month-old, Penelope. Jorge belonged to Gideon and Rosie. Okay, got that. Then there were the twins, Keegan and… Savannah, that was it. A year old, the twins belonged to Evan and Paige Collins. Okay, check. Twins clearly ran in the family, as Evan’s younger siblings, Tony and Kelsey, were also twins.

Dylan practically bounced over to them, dragging Gideon Jones with him. “Gideon, this is Saskia. She’s actually San Holo.” The fan-boy gleam in his eyes lit up his whole face.

The big man stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Saskia San Holo.” He was tall, blond, and as handsome as all the Mavericks and Harringtons.

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