The Gallery Director – Part 1: Terms

"I should tell you that I'm used to being in charge," said Veronica.

"I'd noticed," said Ethan. "You rearranged my hanging plan in four minutes."

"It was an improvement."

"It was a great improvement."

She laughed, and so did he. It was the third dinner of what both of them had started to call, carefully, a relationship. The restaurant was small and dark, with a candle between them. Veronica, thirty-nine, directed one of the best galleries in the city. She was elegant, decisive and unapologetically bossy. Ethan, thirty-six, was the new curator, soft-spoken and funny, with ink-stained cuffs and a talent for noticing things.

"I'd like to be straightforward," said Veronica. "In the bedroom, I like to lead. Completely. It's what I'm good at and what makes me happy. If that's not for you, that's fine. I'd rather know now."

Ethan put down his fork. His ears had gone pink. "I'd like that very much," he said. "Honestly. I've never said so aloud."

"Then we should talk properly. Terms."

"Terms?"

"Limits. A word. How we check in. How we talk after." She smiled. "I'm a director. I like a good brief."

They talked through the dessert, then through coffee, then on a long walk home along the river. He said what he enjoyed and what he didn't. She listened carefully, asking only questions. They chose their safe word. Canvas. They agreed that outside the bedroom they were equals, and that either one could end any evening, any time, for any reason, with no explanation needed.

At her door she took his face in both hands. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you for asking."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Private View.