Page 75 of Painted in Love

She felt as if she were standing on top of The Shard, London’s tallest building. She finally had the recognition she’d always sought. The Mavericks seemed to hang on her every word, and yet, she was quaking inside.

Was this how it would feel when she came out to the press and took Hugo on? Could she handle that?

With Clay’s support, she knew she could. “Certainly, I’ll show you,” she said, beaming at Cal. “Which canvas do you have?”

The talk went on from there, her anxiety lessening as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, the ladies around them dispersed, mostly because the three babies were fidgeting.

With that break in the crowd, a little woman pushing a walker decorated with streamers and spangles wheeled her way over. “My dear, I just had to meet you. Charlie has talked so much about your art.”

Clay made the introductions. “This is Francine, Charlie Ballard’s mother.”

Saskia bent down to shake the woman’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Francine.”

Charlie Ballard joined them, a beautiful woman with fiery curls, her hand engulfed in that of Sebastian Montgomery, another tall, handsome Maverick.

Charlie hugged her. “I can’t believe I actually get to meet the real San Holo.”

Saskia laughed. “I can’t believe I actually get to meet the real Charlie Ballard.” Then she prattled like a superfan. “The Discus Thrower is out of this world. I’ve never seen anything so exactly perfect for a space.”

Charlie seemed to beam. Saskia was sure she was beaming too. Then she turned to Sebastian. “You’re an amazing artist in your own right. I’ve seen your drawings. They’re brilliant.”

He smiled almost shyly. “Thank you. But Charlie’s the real star.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

Saskia thought they were shining stars together.

As the party went on, the warmth of the Maverick-and-Harrington clan filled her up. Each and every one made an effort to meet her, to welcome her, to bring her into their fold. These two groups had become one big, close-knit family.

She’d been afraid Clay’s brothers and sisters might be more wary of her, but they surrounded her with good cheer.

Her anxiety faded when his brother Troy, a couple of years older than Clay, drawled, “Thank God we were able to talk Clay off the ledge at the family mastermind.”

His older sister Ava nudged him in the ribs. “He was almost there on his own,” she admonished. The beautiful, statuesque redhead tucked her hand into the crook of Ransom Yates’s elbow. Older than most of the Harringtons, Ava’s beau was still ruggedly good-looking.

Troy, tall, dark, and handsome like all his brothers, looked down his nose at Ava, a glint of humor in his eyes. He snorted. “He was so far from seeing the light.” Then he turned to Saskia. “I give you all the credit for getting Clay to understand that criticism can be good for anyone endeavoring to reach a big goal. Like diving. If the coaches hadn’t critiqued my every move and suggested ways I could do things better, I never would have made it to the Olympics.” He threw an arm around Clay’s neck, drawing him in for a brotherly hug. “I’m proud of you, little brother, for providing tools to handle the rigors of the artistic life. Your guest lecturers and workshops sound remarkable.”

Clay ran his hand down Saskia’s back. “I never would’ve thought of them without Saskia.” He pulled her close to kiss her sweetly in front of his family. “Thank you for making me see.”

She wanted to melt against him in a puddle of goo.

Susan Spencer stepped into the group. “I hate to break up this wonderful conversation, but I’d love to whisk Saskia away for a heart-to-heart.” After the nods and smiles, as if they’d all had their own heart-to-hearts with Susan, she looped her arm through Saskia’s and drew her away. “I hope you don’t mind, dear.”

Susan was a lovely woman, somewhere in her fifties, wearing her beautiful cap of silver hair like a crown. She deserved a crown after raising all these wonderful Mavericks. Except for Daniel and Lyssa, they weren’t her natural children, but she had taken them into her care when they were preteens—taught them, supported them, admired them. Saskia recognized the love shining out of her eyes as she looked at each of her boys.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk yet.” She patted Saskia’s arm. “We’re just so glad you’ve become one of us.”

Though Saskia wanted to gush, she toned it down. “You all make me feel like I am one of you, even though Clay and I have only been dating for a couple of weeks.”

Susan wagged a finger. “It isn’t the length of time. It’s the depth. The connection I see flowing between the two of you is unbreakable.”

“Thank you,” Saskia said in a small voice, tears pricking her eyes. “That means so much to me.” Susan would never know how much. They were the words of approval she’d wished for from her own mother.

“I must confess…” Susan bumped her shoulder lightly. “Even though I have so many creative people in my family, I hadn’t been aware of your art before. But when I heard the other day that you were coming to the party, I had to look you up. I was overcome by the beauty and feeling imbued in your work. I’m so glad you decided to tell the world who you are.”

If only her father, or especially her mother, had spoken of her work like that yesterday, instead of going directly to the money. If only they’d welcomed her as Susan Spencer had, as all the Mavericks and Harringtons had, Saskia would have opened her arms to them.

Susan was the wise woman of the Mavericks. Just as Fernsby knew when to say the perfect thing, Susan seemed to know just the right thing to help a person find his or her path.

Impulsively, she hugged the Maverick matriarch. “Thank you so much. Honestly, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

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