Chapter 38 Julian
JULIAN
The gold rim of my wine glass catches the light as I raise it, taking a measured sip of a particularly excellent Barolo. Two weeks since Elliot’s rescue, and the rope burns around his wrists have faded to pale pink lines. Progress.
“To new beginnings,” I offer, tilting my glass toward the center of the table.
Ristorante Del Mare’s private dining room provides the perfect blend of intimacy and opulence—crystal chandeliers, hand-painted Italian murals, and the gentle notes of a distant violin. It’s the type of place where the waitstaff appears precisely when needed and vanishes when not.
Elliot’s laugh ripples across the table, warming something previously frozen in my chest. He’s been doing that more lately—laughing. The sound still surprises me each time.
“Are we seriously not going to discuss the disaster at the Winters Gallery?” Knox grins at Bianca across the table, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. “Tell them about the fire extinguisher incident.”
Bianca points her fork accusingly at Knox. “That was entirely your fault. You can’t walk up behind someone working with oil paints and whisper ‘boo’ in their ear.”
“The canvas caught fire,” Knox explains to us, barely containing his glee. “And then she tried using water—”
“On an oil fire, yes.” Bianca rolls her eyes. “We’ve established I panicked. But at least I don’t proudly display a velvet Elvis above my bed.”
Elliot chokes slightly on his wine. “You don’t.”
“He absolutely does ever since he found it a few weeks ago,” Bianca confirms, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Elvis in a white jumpsuit with actual rhinestones glued on. And he claims it’s—”
“A masterpiece of American folk art,” Knox interrupts, completely unashamed. “That painting has soul.”
“That painting has googly eyes,” Bianca counters. “They follow you around the room.”
I watch Elliot’s shoulders shake with genuine laughter, and something possessive tightens in my chest. This—his happiness—I did this. Not alone, perhaps, but I played my part.
“At least I didn’t accidentally donate a nude self-portrait to the children’s hospital fundraiser,” Knox retorts, and Bianca’s face flushes scarlet.
“Remember last year’s Hunt when Victor somehow ended up hanging from the chandelier?” Knox leans back in his chair. “Still no idea how he got up there.”
“Wasn’t that the same night Dominic lost his pants to that hedge fund manager’s daughter?” I add, swirling my wine.
Bianca’s eyes widen. “Lost them how, exactly?”
“She literally stole them while he was... occupied,” I explain with practiced nonchalance. “He had to walk back through the main hall wearing nothing but a borrowed tablecloth.”
Bianca nearly chokes on her Barolo, hand flying to her mouth. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were,” Elliot adds, his shoulders finally loosening. “I had to witness the whole spectacle. The tablecloth had the Purgatory logo right across his ass.”
I watch Elliot’s face as he speaks, a subtle pride washing through me at seeing him engage so naturally. Two weeks ago, he could barely maintain eye contact. It makes my heart happy to see him finding his back to himself so soon.
“What about you?” Knox asks Bianca. “Any gallery nightmares to rival Elliot’s?”
“Well,” Bianca leans forward, “there was the time a very drunk socialite tried to purchase what she thought was an avant-garde sculpture, which was actually just a maintenance ladder with a tarp draped over it.”
Elliot laughs, his eyes crinkling. “That’s nothing. I once had a collector insist that a water stain on the ceiling was part of a minimalist installation. He offered six figures before I could correct him.”
The rhythm of their banter flows easily, professional war stories trading back and forth. I find myself simply watching Elliot’s face, cataloging each genuine smile.
After several minutes, Bianca reaches across the table, her hand covering Elliot’s. Her voice softens. “How are you really doing, though? It’s been a lot to process.”
Elliot’s smile fades slightly, his eyes dropping to the tablecloth.
“I’m... getting there. Some days are better than others.
” He pauses, fingers tightening around his water glass.
“I still expect to see her everywhere. Walking down the street, outside the gallery construction site. I’ll catch a glimpse of someone with the same hair or perfume, and my heart stops. ”
Knox swirls his whiskey, expression suddenly pensive. “At least you knew her. I never even met my parents. Dad died before I was born—motorcycle accident. Mom died giving birth to me.”
The revelation hangs in the air. Knox Blackwood, the eternal trickster, rarely spoke with such vulnerability.
“Xavier, Landon, and Vane raised me.” Knox shrugs, a practiced casualness that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I was better off, you know? Can’t miss what you never had.”
Bianca squeezes Knox’s hand.
A weighted silence falls over the table. I’ve known about Knox’s background for years, but hearing him speak of it so plainly catches me off guard. The vulnerability feels foreign coming from a Blackwood.
“I’m sorry you never got to meet them,” Elliot says, his eyes soft with genuine compassion.
I nod in agreement. “It’s a unique loss,” I offer, thinking of my own mother’s unwavering support when I came out as bisexual. The contrast between our experiences couldn’t be starker.
“I’m sorry too,” Bianca adds, her gaze steady on Knox. “Though, for what it’s worth, your brothers did an impressive job. Not many men could raise a child while being children themselves and then build an empire.”
Knox’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “An illegal empire.”
“Details, potato-potatto,” Bianca waves a graceful hand dismissively, making us all chuckle.
I watch Elliot’s reaction closely. His relationship with his mother was nothing but toxicity and pain, yet there’s still genuine empathy in his expression for Knox’s different kind of loss.
“Xavier used to read me bedtime stories,” Knox admits, looking slightly embarrassed. “Complete with different voices for all the characters. Vane taught me to ride motorcycles when I was eight, which was definitely illegal. And Landon would help me with math homework.”
Bianca reaches for her wine glass, lifting it gracefully. “I think we should make a toast,” she announces, eyes bright with emotion. “To unconventional families. The ones we’re born into, the ones we create, and the ones that find us when we need them most.”
We all raise our glasses, the crystal catching the light.
“To found family,” Elliot adds softly, his eyes meeting mine.
“To found family,” we echo, glasses clinking in a perfect ring of sound.
I feel something shift in my chest—unfamiliar yet not unwelcome. These people around this table, they’re becoming something I never expected to have. Something I never knew I wanted.
Theo’s nightclub, Euphoria, pulses with blue and purple lights as we enter, the bass line thrumming through the floor.
Unlike Purgatory’s exclusive darkness, this place offers a more accessible kind of hedonism—designer drugs and hookups instead of elaborate ritual.
But the crowd parts for us just the same.
Knox and Bianca lead the way to the VIP section while Elliot’s fingers interlace with mine.
A familiar figure stands at the private bar, shoulders hunched slightly. Victor Kaine. All six-foot-five of muscle suddenly looks like he wants to disappear into his whiskey glass.
“Well, well,” I murmur, loud enough for Elliot to hear but not the others. “This is unexpected.”
Victor’s eyes dart up, meeting mine briefly before shifting away. His massive frame seems to shrink further as Theo emerges from a doorway behind him, clapping a hand on Victor’s shoulder.
“Julian! Perfect timing.” Theo’s greeting holds nothing but his usual warmth, no hint of awkwardness. “I’ve added a new bourbon to the collection that you’ll appreciate.”
I raise an eyebrow, memories of my last encounter with these two flooding back—Victor’s initial protests about not being gay dissolving into enthusiastic participation as Theo rode him in the middle of my living room.
The Kylie twins provided background entertainment with Jenson while Victor discovered previously untapped interests.
“Interesting choice of establishment,” I comment as we reach them. “I’d have thought you’d be too busy to visit Theo’s club, Victor.”
Victor downs his drink in one gulp. “Just stopping by.”
The flush creeping up his neck tells a different story.
Elliot leans close to my ear. “What am I missing here?”
I turn so my lips brush against his earlobe.
“Remember, I mentioned an impromptu party at my place after the Hunt?” I keep my voice low.
“Victor swore he wasn’t interested in men right before Theo gave him the ride of his life on my Italian leather armchair.
Seems he’s developed a taste for more than just fighting. ”
Elliot’s eyes widen, darting between Victor’s embarrassed demeanor and Theo’s satisfied smile. “Oh,” he whispers, suppressing a laugh. “And now?”
“Now I think our friend Victor has been making regular visits that have nothing to do with the quality of Theo’s liquor selection.”
Theo looks pleased with himself, a secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he leans against Victor’s massive frame. The contrast between them is almost comical—Theo’s lean, artistic build dwarfed by Victor’s hulking, muscular physique. Yet somehow, they fit perfectly.
“Another round,” Knox announces, signaling to the attendant as we settle into the plush couches of the VIP section.
Two bottles of top-shelf liquor appear almost instantly. The alcohol flows freely, loosening tongues and inhibitions with each passing drink.
“You know,” Knox says after his third whiskey, his arm draped casually around Bianca’s shoulder, “during the Hunt, Bianca here proved quite the adventurous spirit.” He grins at her, and she blushes but doesn’t contradict him.
Bianca takes a deep breath and picks up the story. “Knox decided I was too much woman for just one man.” Her voice carries a hint of pride. “He invited Jenson, Victor, and Marcus to join us.”
Elliot shifts slightly beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. I can feel the unasked question in his body language.
“So,” Knox turns his attention to us, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Would you share Elliot? Maybe for a special occasion? I’ve heard he’s quite the revelation since coming out.”
Something primal flares inside me. My hand tightens possessively on Elliot’s knee.
“No fucking way,” I growl, the words emerging harsher than intended. “That door closed after the Hunt and his fun with Theo. I’m too possessive now.”
Theo raises his glass in mock salute. “Can’t blame a man for asking.”
“Let me be clear,” I continue, looking each of them in the eye. “I’ll display my man for all to see—I have no issue with an audience. But nobody—and I mean nobody—touches him but me.”
Elliot’s breath catches audibly, his pupils dilating at my words.
“Interesting,” Bianca observes, her gaze analytical.
The table falls into easy laughter at my possessive display. Even Victor cracks a smile, his massive shoulders finally relaxing as he leans into Theo’s space.
“Well, that settles that,” Knox raises his glass in a mock toast. “To Julian, staking his claim.”
“You’re one to talk,” Bianca counters, raising an eyebrow. “I distinctly recall someone marking my collarbone so thoroughly last week that I had to wear turtlenecks to three client meetings, and it wasn’t even cold outside.”
Knox doesn’t deny it, merely smirks into his whiskey glass.
Elliot shifts against me, his body warm and pliant. The tension that normally lives in his shoulders has melted away with the alcohol and company. His hand finds mine beneath the table, fingers intertwining naturally.
“Remember when Julian would go through prey like designer suits?” Theo muses. “One Hunt to the next, never the same person twice.”
I shoot him a warning look, but Elliot surprises me by laughing.
“He had to wait for perfection,” Elliot says.
A warm, unfamiliar sensation blooms in my chest. Pride, perhaps. Or something dangerously close to happiness.
As midnight approaches, I catch Elliot trying to stifle a yawn.
“Time to head out,” I announce, standing and pulling Elliot up with me. “Some of us have a gallery to rebuild in the morning.”
The goodbyes are easy and brief. Outside, I raise my hand for a cab, and one materializes almost instantly—another benefit of the Frost name.
In the back seat, Elliot surprises me by leaning in first, his lips finding mine confidently. There’s nothing hesitant in the way he kisses me now. His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone as his tongue teases the seam of my lips.
I pull back slightly, studying his face in the shifting glow of passing streetlights. “Bold move, Chambers. What happened to the man who couldn’t even say the word ‘gay’ two months ago?”
Elliot’s smile reaches his eyes. “He found someone worth being brave for.”
He leans in again, this time initiating a deeper kiss. When he pulls away, his eyes hold mine without a trace of shame or uncertainty. The cab driver glances in the rearview mirror, then quickly away, but Elliot doesn’t flinch or retreat.
“Look at you,” I murmur against his lips. “Making out in the back of cabs like a teenager.”
“Making up for lost time,” he corrects, nipping at my bottom lip.
God, I love this man more than I thought possible.