Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
He wanted to crow at her compliment. Though it was undeniably true, it held so much more weight coming from the incomparable Susan Spencer. “Thank you, Susan. But we all know you are the heart of this family.”
She squeezed his arm, leaning a little closer. “How about if we share that heart, you and I?”
He couldn’t help but say, “I find that immensely pleasing, my dear sweet lady.”
She winked. “If there’s anything in your life that you’d like to talk over, I’m always here for you.”
The image of a certain woman from long ago came suddenly to Fernsby.
As though she could pluck that very image from his mind, Susan said, “Anything. Absolutely anything.”
Something inside him crumbled. “You’re very good at seeing straight into someone’s soul, aren’t you?”
She just smiled. Such an endearing smile. A lovely woman indeed.
“One day, dear Susan, you and I will get smashingly drunk.” He bared his teeth in what he hoped was a smile. “And I will tell you all my secrets.”
She beamed back at him. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saskia was shaking in her boots. Literally. She stared at the video monitor in the small room in which she, Clay, Adrian, and Gareth were sequestered. “Look at all those people.”
She balled her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Adrian had gone a few steps bigger and better than a press conference and booked a morning talk show. Hugo had outed her on Friday, and now, on Tuesday, she would out him.
If she didn’t faint from terror first.
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?”