Chapter 13 #2
Her heart went out to Gareth, and she thought of how her parents had said her art would never be good enough. But it just wasn’t good enough for them . The rest of the world didn’t agree.
“I’m so sorry for him,” she said, her voice breathy with emotion.
“They never actually belittled his art. They never said it,” he emphasized.
“But it was there in the way they harped on him, comparing him to van Gogh, who died a pauper. Nothing about how great his art was, only that he’d starved for it.
If only he could paint more like this artist or that artist. Gareth was too offbeat, too out of step.
” He leaned his head back against the sofa, sighing heavily.
She felt his heart break for his friend. Her heart broke, too, for Gareth, another soul whose parents just couldn’t handle who their kid really was.
“I hear how much it hurt you to watch him with his parents,” she murmured, her voice soothing.
He laughed, soft yet full of derision. “Maybe I encouraged him even more because of how much they discouraged him. I wanted him to sell and be a great success. I knew his art was worth that.”
“You gave him what his parents couldn’t.”
He shook his head. “I pushed him too hard. I helped get that show together for him.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.
“But the critics absolutely trashed him, said his work was just a copy of much better artists. That if he wanted to be like van Gogh, he should just cut off his ear and be done with it. It was excruciating.”
She leaned into him, rubbed her cheek against his. “I’m so sorry. That must have been so horrible for him. And for you.”
She felt him swallow, how hard it was going down, and his voice choked as he said, “I found him in his room with some pill bottles lined up. He hadn’t taken anything. I just saw those bottles all in a row. I don’t know where he got them or what the pills actually were.”
“But he didn’t take them. You stopped him.”
Again, he shook his head. “Maybe he never intended to. But it hit me like a gut punch. I kept thinking how I’d pushed him to put his stuff out there. I allowed him to be subjected to what they threw at him.”
She felt everything right along with him. She understood Gareth’s despair, how badly it hurt when you weren’t allowed to be what you needed to be. She’d gone the starving artist route, while Gareth had left his art behind. That must have ripped him in half. It had ripped Clay apart too.
Then she saw the truth. She pulled back enough for him to see her face as she spoke. “That’s why you built your warehouses for artists. To give them space, to help them find their own place. Because of Gareth.”
He let out a breath. “I saw him totally trashed, and his parents adding fuel to the fire, telling him that if he’d listened to them, he’d never have been so hurt.
” Something glimmered in his eyes—not tears, maybe just the pain he’d felt all those years ago.
“If I could have given a spot to Gareth, I would have. But he never considered it. He threw out all his art supplies long ago. That’s why I thought he’d destroyed all his paintings.
” He stroked her face. “I never would have known if you hadn’t talked to him. ”
He’d begun the conversation by saying she was amazing.
But in the circle of his arms, hearing his story, she knew he was the amazing one.
He had loved his friend so much that he’d built warehouses all over the country for artists.
He’d used the money he received for his nutrition app to start his platform for them.
Even though he’d thought his friend would never use a studio, he’d built them anyway.
Her first impression of a man using artists for his own gain had been completely and totally wrong. He’d created all of this with the purest of hearts. Out of friendship. He wasn’t a user. He was a giver.
Her mind raced. How could she incorporate that into the mural? How could she show this community of artists? It wasn’t just the artists themselves, it was all the people who believed in them too. It was friends like Clay.
In that moment, she so badly wanted to reveal herself as San Holo. She’d hated lying to him when she was sleeping with him. She hated it even more after seeing the kind of man he truly was.
Yet she’d trapped herself in this web. Her anonymity was San Holo’s trademark.
It was the artist’s mystique. It also protected her from men like Hugo Lewis.
But Clay was nothing like Hugo. He wouldn’t steal from her.
But her secret had tied her up with no way out.
She couldn’t tell Clay without Clay telling Dylan.
From there, it would grow, the way releasing that image of her latest work on social media had grown.
She wouldn’t be able to control it.
And Clay would hate her for her lies.
Maybe he felt some of her inner turmoil, because he reached up to caress her cheek. “In some ways, you and Gareth are alike. He didn’t think his art was good enough. Neither do you.”
She saw the similarities—their unacceptable art, parents who didn’t believe in them.
But there was a bigger difference. She had believed in her art.
Her parents had disowned her for it. She wanted to laugh, an incredibly sad laugh.
Not only had they disowned her, they’d never wanted her in the first place.
She’d been an accident. They’d even thought about getting rid of her—then had the nerve to tell her how grateful she should be that they hadn’t.
Clay’s voice pulled her back. “You were so good at encouraging Gareth. Dylan too. Maybe you need some encouragement to try your art again.”
It was almost like he was forcing another lie out of her. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
But he wouldn’t let it go. “I don’t understand why San Holo doesn’t encourage you.” Then, on a lighter note, he added, “I really need to have a talk with San about how he should treat his employees. Maybe I’ll look at your stuff and tell him he needs to find a new assistant.”
She almost laughed. “Are you paying me back for saying you need a new lawyer?”
His smile warmed her, especially after the emotion they’d just gone through together. “Tell me who San Holo is so I can have that talk with him.”
She wagged a finger in his face. “You’re so tricky, but no, I’ll never tell you.” Then she had to say, “Really, my art is nothing like Gareth’s. A person knows their own limits.”
Though they were joking, the guilt stabbed her again. I’ll never tell you . It sounded so final. How could she keep on sleeping with a man who didn’t know who she really was? The thought was an ache in her soul.
For the first time in five years, since she’d become San Holo, she wanted to tell, wanted to take credit. She wanted Clay to look at her like she was a genius, wanted to feel his admiration. To know that she was San Holo—not some man, but her .
But wanting all those things from Clay was like walking on hot coals and expecting them not to burn her feet. She’d been alone a long time, and it had worked well for her. Even though Clay was nothing like Hugo, he was still a threat to the life she’d built for herself.
She put the final question to him. “If San Holo does agree to do your mural, are you going to turn the whole thing down because he won’t meet with you?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “I want the mural. But I also want Dylan to meet his hero.” She actually winced as he went on, “I’m hoping that after he starts the mural, he’ll change his mind.
” Then he smiled, the sexy, wicked smile that got her blood pumping.
“And I’m going to work on you about taking up your art again. ”
He wasn’t just dangerous; he was a triple threat.
But she knew what she had to do.
Saskia couldn’t even remember the excuse she gave Clay for leaving his flat only an hour after Gareth.
The moment she was out on the street, she called Adrian.
“In thirty minutes,” she said before Adrian could get out a word, “I want you to call Clay and tell him that San Holo will paint his mural.”
She could almost hear Adrian fall out of her seat. Her friend laughed. Then they laughed together. Saskia added, feeling the smile shooting to Adrian all the way through the phone, “I’ve also found you a new client.”
Gareth Tate really needed to give up his law career.
And San Holo needed to fill the walls of Clay’s entire warehouse with all the images wanting to burst out of her.