“Our future,” I echo, the words warming me from within.
A foreman spots us and waves, making his way over with blueprints tucked under his arm.
“Mr. Frost, Mr. Chambers,” he nods respectfully. “We’re ahead of schedule. The foundation pour is set for tomorrow.”
Julian discusses technical details while I stand transfixed by the sight before me. Where I expected to find destruction, I’ve found renewal. Where I feared confronting an ending, I’m witnessing a beginning.
The gallery—my life’s work—isn’t gone. It’s evolving into something bigger, something we’re building together.
The foreman introduces us to Sophia Lin, the architect, who spreads the blueprints across a temporary table set up beside a construction trailer.
“Mr. Chambers, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she says, extending her hand. “Julian has been incredibly specific about your vision for the space.”
I glance at Julian, surprised. “My vision?”
Julian’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I might have shared some of our conversations.”
Sophia points to various sections of the blueprint. “We’ve designed the main gallery with a floating ceiling system that maximizes natural light while protecting the artwork. The track lighting can be reconfigured for each exhibition.”
Her finger traces over to a substantial wing on the eastern side. “This is the dedicated space for LGBTQ+ artists that Julian insisted upon. Nearly forty percent of your exhibition space, with its own entrance and signage.”
My throat tightens as I take in the scale of it. This isn’t just a replacement—it’s a statement.
“And here,” Sophia continues, pointing to the western corner, “we’ve incorporated a café area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a small sculpture garden. It creates a community space where visitors can discuss the exhibitions.”
I try to speak, but words fail me. This gallery—this dream—is beyond anything I could have created alone. My mother tried to destroy not just my gallery but my identity. Now Julian has helped transform that act of hate into something more beautiful and authentic than before.
“The construction team estimates completion in three months,” Sophia adds. “We’ve prioritized sustainable materials and energy efficiency throughout.”
I run my fingers over the blueprint, tracing the outline of this future we’re building. “It’s perfect,” I finally manage, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
Julian squeezes my hand, and I look up at him through blurry eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper, knowing those two words cannot possibly convey the depth of what I’m feeling.
Once Sophia and the foreman walk back toward the construction trailer, Julian’s hand slides from my back to my waist, his grip tightening possessively.
“Want to see the view from above?” he murmurs into my ear, nodding toward the metal scaffolding climbing the skeleton of the building.
My pulse quickens. “Are we allowed up there?”
“You own the building, Elliot. We can go wherever we want.” His eyes darken with unmistakable intent.
I glance around. Only a handful of workers are present this early, all focused on the far end of the site. “Lead the way.”
Julian guides me to the scaffolding, checking that it’s secure before starting up the metal framework. I follow him, the steel cold beneath my palms as we climb to the second level. We reach a temporary platform that provides a perfect overview of what will become my new gallery.
“It’s incredible from up here,” I say, taking in the scope of the project.
Julian moves behind me, his breath hot against my neck. “Bend over,” he commands, his voice dropping to that tone that makes my body respond instantly.
“Here? Now?” I whisper, even as arousal floods through me.
“Right here. Right now.” His hands are already on my belt. “I want you to see exactly what we’re building together while I’m inside you.”
I grip the safety railing, the metal cold against my palms and stomach as Julian pushes me forward. He kicks my feet apart, positioning me. The danger of being seen sends an illicit thrill up my spine—we’re exposed, visible to anyone who might look up.
I hear the unmistakable click of a bottle cap behind me.
