“Needed to establish boundaries?” Elliot supplies, his voice softer but still guarded.
“Needed to push you away before you could get too close.” The truth spills out before I can filter it. “It’s what I always do.”
I watch his face carefully, searching for any sign that it’s not too late to fix what I’ve broken. The gallery is silent around us, the space between us charged with possibility.
“You don’t understand what you did to me, Julian.” His voice cracks slightly. “My entire life, I’ve been hiding. Every single day,pretending to be someone I’m not. Dating women whom I felt nothing for. Building walls so high I couldn’t even see over them anymore.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
“Then you came along and saw through every defense I’d built. You didn’t just see me—you forced me to see myself.” His eyes glisten with unshed tears. “And after I finally let myself be seen, after I came out to my friends... You treated what we shared like it was nothing. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”
The pain in his voice pierces straight through my armor like nothing I’ve ever felt before. In my world of emotional distance, this honesty leaves me defenseless.
I don’t plan what happens next. My legs give way as I drop to my knees before him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’ve never let anyone see me either. When you said those words in the alley—” I swallow hard. “I panicked because I was terrified. Please forgive me, Elliot.”
Shock registers on his face. Julian Frost, kneeling, begging. He reaches down and gently tugs me to my feet.
“I never thought I’d see the day when my king was on his knees,” he says, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
I cup his face in my hands and press my lips against his. Not to claim or possess but to connect. It’s sweet, tender—everything I’ve never allowed myself to be.
The gallery door slams open, the bell jangling violently.
“Elliot James Chambers!”
We break apart to face a well-dressed older woman; her face contorted with rage.
I instinctively step in front of Elliot, a protective gesture that surprises even me. The woman standing in the doorwayresembles Elliot around the eyes, though hers burn with a disgust that makes my blood run cold.
“Mother,” Elliot says, his voice suddenly small. “I didn’t expect you to?—”
“Clearly.” She cuts him off, taking in the gallery with a sweeping glance before her eyes lock onto me with laser focus. “So, this is what you’ve chosen? After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Mrs. Chambers,” I say, extending my hand. “Julian Frost. I’m?—”
“I know exactly who you are.” She ignores my outstretched hand like it’s contaminated. “You’re the sickness that’s infected my son.”
A dangerous heat rises in my chest. I’ve dealt with bigots before—some of them at my own dinner table growing up—but something about the way she looks at Elliot makes me want to tear her apart.
“Mother, we talked about this on the phone. I’m gay. I’ve always been gay.” Elliot’s voice shakes but holds firm. “Julian didn’t make me this way.”
She laughs, a brittle, cruel sound. “Forty years of normalcy, and suddenly you’re... this?” She gestures between us as if we’re something rotten. “What would your father think if he were here to see you?”
Elliot flinches as if struck. I feel his hand grasp the back of my jacket, seeking an anchor.
“I drove into town to talk some sense into you,” she continues, opening her designer handbag. “I’ve made an appointment with Pastor Williams. He runs a program for men like you who want to be cured.”
She pulls out a glossy brochure and places it on the reception counter.
“You have a choice, Elliot. Come with me now and get help, or I’ll make sure everyone in your precious art world knows exactly what kind of establishment you’re running.”
A cold clarity settles over me as I stare at this woman—this pathetic, hateful creature who dares call herself Elliot’s mother. The protective instinct that flared moments ago crystallizes into something darker.
“Who exactly do you think you are?” My voice drops to a dangerous register that anyone who knows me would recognize as a warning.
I step forward, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Power moves are second nature to me.
