Page 79 of Painted in Love

Adrian threw her arms around Saskia and whispered, “You’ll be amazing. Just answer the questions the way we talked about. The audience will love you.” She held Saskia at arm’s length. “The whole country, even the world, is going to love you.”

Clay wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, imbuing her with the strength she needed. “You’ve got this.”

With Clay by her side, as well as Adrian and Gareth, she truly did.

They were in the green room of the popular morning show Good Morning USA, supplied with delicious snacks and drinks and a TV monitor airing the show in progress.

Adrian had arranged the interview wicked fast, since it was hot news on the heels of Hugo’s press conference. It didn’t hurt that Sebastian Montgomery owned the TV network that aired the morning show. Saskia had the fourth and final slot, and number three, the woman who’d started her own line of chemical-free vegan cosmetics with only five ingredients, was just finishing up.

The camera panned the audience, highlighting faces she recognized—art dealers, agents, art journalists—all waiting with bated breath for what she had to say.

Then she saw them, taking up the first three rows center stage.

On an oddly choked breath, she murmured, “They’re here. All the Mavericks and Harringtons.”

Clay nuzzled her hair with a kiss. “Of course they are. They all support you.”

Dylan was out there, too, seated next to Gideon, as well as Susan and Bob Spencer, along with Fernsby sitting tall, straight, and immobile, his mouth a grim line. She’d come to suspect that was merely a veneer, and there was a lot more to Fernsby that lay beneath the surface.

“I’m going to cry,” she whispered.

Adrian shook her finger. “I am not bringing that makeup artist in here again.”

She’d had her makeup done, but she wore her favorite sweater, leggings, and boots. No point in dressing up when she was revealing her true self.

When the producer opened the door and said, “You’re on after the commercial break,” Saskia’s knees turned to jelly.

Clay leaned close to whisper, “You can do this.”

She would do it. Every interview after this would be easier.

The lights onstage were monstrous, blinding her to the audience, though that could be a good thing. She shook hands with the show’s hosts, Wren Gardner and Steve Stevenson.

Wren led her to a chair. “We’re so happy to have you with us, Saskia Oliver.” She added casually, as she took her seat, “Or shall we call you San Holo?”

“Thank you. I’m so glad to be on your show.” She feared her voice sounded weak, so she said more strongly, “Just call me Saskia. All my friends do.”

They wanted her to explain street art, to give a little of her history, to say why she’d always been anonymous. She didn’t reveal her personal issues—that she’d done it to hide from Hugo and her parents.

But what she said was still the truth. “Two reasons, Wren. First, I like the autonomy it gives me, allowing me to do whatever I want. Also, the art world, and especially street art, is very male-oriented. So, many female artists use pseudonyms or just their initials.”

Someone in the audience called, “You go, girl.” Cheers followed.

Then the questioning got intense. Wren asked, “Why do you think Hugo Lewis decided to tell the world who you are?”

Because Hugo is a jealous jerk who can’t stand that I’m bigger than he is, especially after he stole my work.

But she said what she’d practiced with Adrian and Clay. “I knew Hugo many years ago. Our relationship ended badly. I believe he outed me as payback for the way things ended between us.”

Wren Gardner went on relentlessly. “But how did he know that you, Saskia Oliver, are actually San Holo?”

Saskia gave the simple answer. “He knows my style. Even though it’s changed over the past five years, there are still elements that are uniquely me. When he saw my latest piece in San Francisco and also learned that I was here, he assumed the connection.”

Wren nodded thoughtfully for her audience. “I’ve also looked at your early work, and your style has changed. But there are still things I recognize. The way you render people’s faces, for example. The way your work is very inclusive.”

“Yes,” Saskia agreed. “Hugo had a lot of time to study it. In fact, most of the pieces he claims are his works are actually mine.”

The entire television studio fell silent. Wren Gardner’s mouth dropped open in shock.

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