Brian was in a sour mood during the drive to the Russian Embassy.

The TV show he had been invited to the previous day was brutal. I had been in our home, shouting at the flat screen whenever the anchor asked some inappropriate question. Like, when did Brian have this resolution about being gay. Or, why did he choose a painter and not another politician or higher rank society. That one had earned him a speech from Brian filled with colorful words. I could almost see Blake and Rick strangling Brian for what he had said. Then the anchor had asked about Brian’s son, curious if he was indeed Brian's. I had a good laugh over his way of explaining as politely as possible that he was indeed Gus’s dad and that he didn’t even had to touch Gus’s mom in the process of creation.

Needless to say, he had come home close to one in the morning angry. I hadn’t been able to relax him, which resulted in the ticking bomb I had next to me at the moment.

I was afraid he would do something stupid if anyone crossed him tonight. I couldn’t have that, not when I was a mass of nerves. I needed him by my side.

When we arrived, Brian kept a hand on the small of my back, walking with his head held high, ignoring any outstretched hand. I stayed close, doing my best not to gawk at the grandeur of the place.

Vladimir Sokolov was the Ambassador of Russia. He welcomed both of us warmly. Brian had told me that Russians detested gay people, but we shouldn’t fear Vladimir’s reaction. He had recommended Brian some discreet places for his previous trips to Russia.

Vladimir’s wife was tall and slim, with sharp features, unlike her solid, round faced husband. Katrina immediately stole me, and soon I found myself in a room full of women.

“I apologize…I promised Brian to stay with him,” I backpedaled out of the door.

If they thought I was the ‘woman’ then they clearly didn’t understand what gay meant. I found Brian through a heavy door. The husbands were in here drinking vodka and smoking cigars.

“Where did you disappear?” Brian brought me back under his protective wing.

“His fucking wife thought I was the little woman and took me to the wives room,” I hissed.

Brian sighed heavily. “Whiskey?” He nodded to his glass.

“Whatever works.”

“So I hear you’re a painter,” one of the men said, joining me while Brian poured my drink.

“Right.” I glared daggers at Brian's back, urging him to hurry the fuck up.

“What is your name? I invest in art. I bet I heard of you.”

I sincerely doubted he heard of me. “Justin Taylor.”

“Of course.” The man nodded enthusiastically. “Kinney, you never said your man worked with Luke.”

Brian turned his inquisitive eyes to me, while handing me my drink.

“Luke Dawson?” I asked. “We painted a mural together some years ago.”

“Luke is Gary’s brother,” Brian explained, pointing to our companion. Oh, so I had Gary Dawson the New York Governor in front of me.

I had to get used to meeting such important people.

I couldn’t say I hadn’t met my fair share of low budget actors or entertainers, but nothing at this scale. I had to expect this since my boyfriend was the President of the Unites States of America.

As the evening progressed and we went to the dining room, I found out the other guests weren’t so happy about my presence there. I kept close to Brian, but when he was invited to talk business with the other men, I ended up with the wives.

They stared at me as if I was some rare exhibit, intrigued by my successful career and how I planned to continue painting now that I was dating the President. I made the mistake to say I wasn’t some kept wife. They stopped talking to me after that. The truth hurts, I figured.

I kept myself entertained with the wet bar. The bottle of vodka was getting emptier by the minute.

“Care to join me for a smoke outside?”

I spun around at Brian's voice from the doorway. I sprinted to him, stumbling a lot due to the vodka’s effects.

He stared at my glass. “I abandoned you to the vultures,” he said in apology.

“It wasn’t that bad. I explained to them I wasn’t a kept wife.” I shrugged, following him out on a balcony.

“I heard them complaining to their husbands about your cheek.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you are ever invited to such things, forget me home.”

“Unfortunately, you’re a package deal. Especially now in the beginning. People expect to see us together.” Brian inhaled from his cigarette.

“So I haven’t seen my shadows around,” I commented.

Brian glanced at me, at first confused, then he smiled. “Because you’re not supposed to see them. Just know they are there keeping an eye on you.”

I nodded. “Do you have to go back to these men?”

“If you want to leave, I’m sure they can survive without me. We’ve discussed what they wanted.”

“Yes, please.” I was pleasantly surprised he agreed to leave together, instead of sending me home alone.

#

I arrived at Artful Work on a gloomy Friday. Mr. Simon Walsh had accepted to see me in hopes to get a spot at his gallery.

Matt held open the backdoor of the Mercedes, an umbrella already open in his other hand. I kept the art portfolio close to my chest as we made our way to the doors of the gallery.

As I had grown used to his behavior when we were somewhere, he slipped away, supposedly looking at the art displayed. In reality, he kept an eye on me from afar. When we went to stores, he was the designated cart pusher, or if it was the small kind of store, he was always a few aisles away.

In the past few weeks, I had grown used to Matt accompanying me everywhere. Brian had spent a total number of seven days in our home. I hadn’t seen him in almost a week. He was at the White House getting ready for one of his electoral campaign trips.

“Hello! Welcome to Artful Work!” A woman dressed sharp approached me.

“Hello!” I returned her smile. “I’m Justin Taylor, here to see Mr. Walsh,” I explained.

She nodded. “Please follow me.”

She led me through the storage room toward an office space. She knocked on a door, then waved me inside.

I looked over my shoulder, suddenly uneasy not feeling Matt’s presence.

Mr. Walsh was at a sleek, chrome desk. “Mr. Taylor.” He stood up, greeting me. “Nice to meet you!”

“Hello! Nice to meet you too.”

“I half-expected you to cancel with this weather.”

I shrugged. “Why let it be an impediment for my future?”

“I like the way you think. Please.” He led me to a set of couches.

We sat down. There was a box holding a variety of tea bags on the table and a hot water pot.

We worked on our cups of tea in silence. I already liked it here, and Mr. Walsh was exactly like Brian had described him. Unlike other owners of galleries he wasn’t greedy for money.

“Should I show you some of my art? I brought only a few of the pieces that could be carried.”

He nodded, extending his hand. I placed the heavy portfolio on his palm. “I also took liberties to research you, Mr. Taylor. I hope you don’t find it as an invasion of privacy, but I know you couldn’t have brought over some of your bigger paintings.”

My heart squeezed. He knew who I was. Nowadays if anyone Googled my name, the search results would be linked to Brian’s name, not my art.

“There are some photos of most of my paintings,” I explained in a small voice, nodding to the portfolio.

I drank the tea while he looked over my art. At one point, he started asking about my old paintings, and I explained everything he wanted to know.

“You also wrote here that you dabbed with digital art.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “That’s uh, something I did in college for money. I drew the art for a comic book. My friend created the plot.”

Mr. Walsh’s eyes widened. “Rage! I knew your name was familiar.”

“You’ve heard of my comic book,” I said dumbly.

“Of course! It was so refreshing to see someone daring enough to create a gay superhero.”

I scrubbed at the back of my neck. I wasn’t going to start talking to him about my shitty life back then. “I plan on picking up on reviving Rage,” I said.

“Let me know when the new issue is coming.” Mr. Walsh grinned. He closed the portfolio with a loud thump. “Let’s talk about your plans regarding painting.”

“I’m currently trying to find a studio in town so I wouldn’t have to turn one of the rooms home into a studio. Then I plan on going back to my favorite compositions: landscapes, still nature, maybe some portraits.”

I walked into the danger zone without thinking. I realized it only when Mr. Walsh seized me up with a knowing smile.

“Do you think President Kinney could be persuaded into displaying the portrait you did for him in my gallery?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” I chose the diplomatic answer.

“That’s fair.” He nodded. “We have quite a few empty walls, but I’m thinking you might need a whole section. Did you have the time to check out the gallery?”

I shook my head, dazed. A whole section for me?

Mr. Walsh took me on a tour of the gallery. I spotted Matt here and there, but my main focus was on the art on the walls. It held the kind of paintings you found in museums. I definitely didn’t belong in such a posh place.

“This is one of the sections I want to fill.” Mr. Walsh flipped the light on in a small room. There were three large walls and five dividers in the middle of the room. “What do you think?”

“I don’t belong here,” I blurted out.

“You have no idea how well you belong here, Mr. Taylor. The first painting I stumbled upon when I searched your name was Midnight in Paradise.”

I was surprised the first picture he had found wasn’t of me cowering behind Matt or hiding my face while trying to shop for a new couch. The couch had been one of the few things in the house I didn’t like, and Brian had told me to go shopping. If I had known what a disaster it would be, I would have stuck with the flowery patterned couch.

Half an hour later, I left the gallery after securing that section as mine. Their next art show would be in less than a month, but Mr. Walsh said he expected my new collection by later in the year when a big event was held there.

In the car, Matt kept it on idle for a while, checking his phone. I chose to do the same, and was surprised to find an email from Brian.

To: Justin Taylor
From: Brian Kinney
Date: July 2

Justin,

What do you say about a couple of days in Camp David? That is unless, you’d rather visit your friends in Pittsburgh.

BK

I had no idea why he wanted to go all the way to Camp David when we could enjoy his off days at home. It looked like he had some free days coming up.

While I was trying to understand the mystery behind his email, I realized the Independence Day was in two days. I wasn’t going to say no if he wanted to spend it together somewhere.

I replied shortly that we would talk at home.

Matt cleared his throat, making me focus on him. He was turned in his seat to look at me.

“Do you still want to go to the art supplies store?”

I was surprised he remembered I mentioned that in passing the other day. “Yes.”