Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
H er father’s hair had gone completely gray, and his shoulders, which he’d always held erect, seemed stooped, his height diminished.
But her mother hadn’t changed at all, her hair dark and lustrous like Saskia’s, her face still carved in stark, unforgiving lines.
But, on a closer look, Saskia saw gray roots sprouting from the part in her long hair.
Saskia had the irreverent thought that she looked like Elvira, the campy vampire movie queen.
Voice familiar yet more gravelly than she remembered, her father said, “Oh my dear, all these years, we’ve never known where you were. But the moment we saw that press conference, we had to come.”
Even as they stood on one side of the threshold and she on the other, his words stunned her. So did her thoughts. Oh my God, they’re here. They finally love me.
Maybe they’d recognized how they’d abandoned her, leaving her to fend for herself.
Maybe they understood now how badly they’d scarred her.
Then she’d fallen prey to Hugo. She’d been desperate for love, and he’d spouted so many pretty words in the beginning.
About how perfect she was. All the words she’d wanted her parents to say.
Now they were here. Finally. After all the years she’d felt so abandoned.
“We’re stunned at what you’ve accomplished.” Her father spread his hands. “It doesn’t seem possible. How could you have made so much money from your art ?” he asked, the last bit said with the slightest sneer. As if he could barely use the word art to describe what she did, what she loved.
Her stomach plummeted, past the floors, through the basement, down to the very ground the building stood on, taking with it all her hope.
Because he still didn’t care about her. It was only about her art, which was now surpassing theirs.
They wanted to reconnect only because their fame was on the wane, while hers was rising.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t looked them up on the internet over the years.
They were still famous, but the art world didn’t clamor for their art the way it once had. Her parents were relics.
And they were here to use her.
She ached deep in her bones, in her soul, maybe even worse than on the day they’d kicked her out.
Because now she’d admitted how badly she wanted to please them, even after all these years.
She wanted them to throw their arms around her and tell her she was amazing, that they’d been wrong, that they were sorry.
Yet that subtle sneer in her father’s voice crushed her magical thinking. They’d come for her fame and her money. Nothing more.
She sensed Clay move up beside her, felt his caring, his strength, his love. He drew a breath, opening his mouth to speak, to tell them to shove it where the sun didn’t shine.
Stopping him with a hand on his arm, she said softly, “Don’t. They’re not worth it.” She had to handle them herself, the way she hadn’t been able to when she was young.
She spoke to her parents for the first time since they’d knocked on the door. “You need to go.”
More words whispered in her mind. Go crawl back under the rock you came from . But she didn’t say those words. Her parents weren’t worth it.
Her father opened his mouth, more useless words pouring forth. “But we want to be here for you. Help you. Mentor you.”
If only he’d said those words sixteen years ago. They would have meant the world to her. But they meant nothing now.
“I said, you need to go.”
The great Julian Oliver puckered his lips and huffed out an annoyed breath. “You should know we’ve done a lot of thinking. Your mother and I would like to talk to you about what happened all those years ago.” But he made no apologies.
Her mother didn’t echo his words. In fact, she said nothing at all. Her expression hadn’t changed during the entire exchange, her lips a grim line bisecting her face. No smile, not even a frown. Maybe she’d had Botox.
“We’ll let you think it over,” her father said. Then he handed her his card. Saskia reached out automatically to take it as he added, “Call us. We’re staying at the Palace Hotel.”
Just before her fingers touched the card stock, she hesitated. Then she withdrew as he let it go, and the card fell to the floor between them. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
Her father didn’t look down or bend to pick it up. “Please. Call us.”
Then they turned together, her father’s hand on her mother’s elbow, their movements synchronized as if they were one unit. Saskia didn’t move as they headed down the corridor to the elevator and their footsteps faded away.
Her father had looked back once, her mother not at all. Just as she hadn’t spoken the entire time. Not one word. Obviously, Patricia Oliver wasn’t ready to admit she’d been wrong. She never would be.
Even if Saskia let them in, if she told them about her art and her life and what she’d been doing, after they got what they wanted, they would desert her.
But she would not let them suck her dry again.
Clay ached for her, but he was immensely proud of her too.
He’d seen hope in the slight curve of her lips when she’d first seen them.
He’d seen the hope die. Then she’d stoically sent them away.
She had emotions about the episode, but she hadn’t let them devastate her.
She was tougher than that. Not hard, but tough.
After a deep breath and a long exhale, she said, “I just realized I’ve been mourning a relationship with my parents that I never actually had. All they care about is the money I make. They’ll bleed me dry to get it.”
He could see the intense emotion roiling inside her, but it was the emotion of release. Her parents had trampled her when they’d kicked her out—not just her art, her . Hugo Lewis had ripped her asunder all over again when he’d stolen her name.
But her suffering had made her a strong woman, tough enough to take all the blows thrown her way. That made her a very special woman indeed. The woman he loved.
He had to give her the words her parents wouldn’t. “I’m so sorry. I know what your parents did was even worse than what Lewis did.”
Behind him, Adrian snorted. “Hugo was a jerk. Your only mistake was not realizing it from the start.”
Clay wrapped Saskia’s hand in his. “You have to forgive yourself for that too.”
All she’d ever wanted was someone’s love and appreciation, the things she’d never gotten from her parents. It had made her an easy target for a man like Lewis.
A small smile creased the corners of Saskia’s lips. “Hugo was a total douche.” Then she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get out of here. I just—” She cut herself off, turning and dropping his hand. Then her boots echoed down the hallway as she strode away at a fast clip.
“I’m going after her,” he said to Gareth and Adrian.
Adrian grabbed Saskia’s bag off the couch and handed it to him. “Take care of her.”
He would.
Part of him wanted to run after her parents and tear into them for what they’d done. But he’d figure out how to deal with them later.
Saskia needed him more right now.
Ahead, she took the stairs instead of the elevator, and he followed her down. As they stepped into the lobby below, her parents were just leaving through the outside door. Saskia stood for a moment, watching them.
Beautiful. Strong. His.
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.