Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Ithink we need to reconsider the entire approach,” Victor said, his ice-blue eyes serious as he gestured to the completed shoe recreation on the workbench.
We were in the back room of Sebastian and Victor’s boutique, surrounded by mannequins draped in vintage-inspired pieces, their elegant lines softened by contemporary touches. The space smelled like expensive fabric and the lavender sachets Penny said Sebastian insisted on using everywhere.
“The whole murder investigation situation has changed everything,” Sebastian added, leaning against the antique desk they used for consultations. His amber eyes were troubled. “Now that we know the original owner was murdered…” He trailed off delicately.
“It feels exploitative,” I finished. “Like we’re using his death as a spectacle.”
“Exactly.” The ice in Victor’s normally stoic features cracked for a brief, unguarded moment. “The shoes are beautiful. Your work is exceptional. But displaying a murder victim’s shoes at a celebration seems…”
“Wrong,” Sebastian supplied. “We don’t want to sensationalize his death.”
Victor’s fingers brushed along the leather edge, his brow furrowing. “But tossing them into some bin...” He shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line. “That carries its own kind of disrespect.”
I looked down at the shoes, nearly complete on the workbench. The leather was perfect, the stitching meticulous, every detail matching the photographs of my grandfather’s original work. They were some of the best pieces I’d ever created.
I’d crafted them to a size 7—the most common size for male omegas—a practical choice should Victor and Sebastian eventually decide to sell them.
“What if we pivot?” I suggested. “Instead of putting them on display in your Grand Opening, you could feature them in the historical fashion exhibit.”
My gaze traveled from the rich patina to their faces. “The shoes can stand on their own merit, telling their part of our neighborhood’s story without highlighting the Thomas Wong connection at all.”
Sebastian’s face lit up immediately. “Magnifique! We could include small informative plaques with each exhibit—Thomas’s shoes could be part of the 1970s section, with information about his work as an architect and his contributions to the preservation project.”
He turned to Victor. “We’ve already laid much of the groundwork with the exhibition.”
“It wouldn’t take much to pivot,” Victor said, nodding as his fingers tapped thoughtfully against the table. “I like it.”
“We’d need to coordinate with your aunt and Mrs. Henderson,” I added. “Adelaide’s planning the memorial service. The shoes and any information about Thomas should probably align with what she’s organizing.”
“I’ll reach out to her this afternoon,” Victor said, already making notes on his tablet. He paused, turning to his husband. “Your parents—when do they arrive from France?”
“Next week, mon c?ur.” Sebastian moved to stand beside Victor, his hand settling naturally on his husband’s shoulder.
The gesture was one of casual intimacy, almost habitual, but I watched Victor visibly tense.
Sebastian’s fingers withdrew, the space between them suddenly charged with unspoken tension.
“Maman and Papa are bringing some pieces from their collection. They’ve convinced the Beaumonts to come as well. ”
“Philippe Beaumont? The Philippe Beaumont? From Maison Beaumont?”
I looked toward the doorway to see Penny staggering in, his small frame nearly disappearing behind towers of vintage fabric rolls. His knuckles whitened around the precious bundles, cheeks glowing with effort beneath wisps of pink hair that had escaped his usually immaculate pixie cut.
“The very one.” Sebastian immediately glided over, his hands sliding beneath the precarious tower. “Let me help.”
“Careful with the blue silk!” Penny’s fingers hovered in the air, twitching with anxiety as Sebastian repositioned his grip. “I just steamed out all the wrinkles.”
Sebastian chuckled, his voice warm with amusement. “Oui, oui, petit colibri,” he said, fingers deftly arranging the fabric without disturbing a single fold.
Penny’s eyes widened, flicking between Sebastian and Victor. “How exactly do you know Philippe Beaumont?”
The air thickened as Victor and Sebastian exchanged a loaded glance, something unspoken passing between them in that brief moment.
“The Beaumonts are friends of Seb’s family,” Victor said, his tone deliberately casual. “Philippe still has connections at several fashion houses. He might be able to secure loans of historical pieces.”
“Philippe Beaumont owes my father several favors,” Sebastian said with a slight smile. “I’m certain we can convince him.”
Victor’s expression remained neutral, but I noticed how his posture had stiffened slightly when Sebastian mentioned his parents’ friends. Sebastian’s smile remained in place, but the warmth didn’t quite reach the emerald green of his eyes anymore.
“Actually,” Victor said, setting down his tablet with deliberate care. “Sebastian and I have been discussing our opening timeline as well. Given the current… circumstances… we think a soft launch might be more appropriate than a grand opening.”
“Soft launch?” I asked.
“Something intimate,” Sebastian explained.
“For friends, family, select clients. We’d still open during the centennial celebration for the fashion exhibition, of course.
But the full grand opening—with a new line reveal and proper launch party—that would happen after the new year.
Perhaps in September, during Fashion Week. ”
I blinked. “There’s a Fashion Week in September?”
“New York Fashion Week,” Penny said, his voice slightly awed. “It’s one of the ‘Big Four’—New York, London, Milan, Paris. There’s one in February and one in September…”
“Launching during in September means press and industry attention for a new collection.” Victor said.
“More time to build inventory and refine our vision,” Sebastian added. “The centennial exhibition is good practice for the full launch.”
It made sense, actually. A soft launch would take pressure off, especially with the ongoing investigation putting a damper on the celebratory cheer. And launching a new fashion line during Fashion Week season, even without showing there directly, was smart business.
“I think that’s wise,” I said. “And it means less stress trying to have everything perfect by the centennial deadline.”
“Exactly.” Victor looked relieved that I understood. “We’ll still have plenty of pieces for the historical fashion exhibition, and we can use it to gauge community interest before the full opening.”
We discussed logistics for another twenty minutes—timeline adjustments, which fashion trends to feature for each decade, how to coordinate with the Historical Society.
Sebastian’s natural warmth made planning easy, while Victor’s strategic mind kept everything organized and practical.
By the time Penny and I left the boutique, my mind was spinning with possibilities.
“That went well,” Penny said as I tapped out a message to Marcus. “Though did you notice how Victor got all tense when Sebastian mentioned his parents’ friends?”
“Hard to miss,” I said. “I think Victor’s intimidated by Sebastian’s fashion world connections.”
“Or jealous,” Penny muttered. “Did you see Sebastian’s face when he was talking about Henri Beaumont? That wasn’t just professional interest.”
“Penny—”
“I know, I know. Married. Off limits. I’m just observing.” But his scent carried complicated emotions—longing, guilt, frustration.
My phone dinged with a text.
“Our ride is gonna be delayed,” I said, reading Marcus’ reply. “Tire blowout. He’s waiting for roadside assistance.”
“Oh? What you wanna do until then?” Penny asked.
My stomach suddenly growled. Loudly.
Penny’s eyebrows shot up as he eyed my midsection. “Did you even eat breakfast?” he asked, exasperation coloring his voice.
“I had toast,” I defended. Then paused, thinking. “Actually, I’m really craving Italian food. Specifically puttanesca. With extra olives and capers.”
“That’s… very specific.”
“The baby wants it.” I was already scrolling on my phone, searching for Italian restaurants with the best ratings nearby. “Oh! Bella Vista is only five minutes from here. We have time before Dominic gets here.”
Penny hesitated. “Leo, my dearest, most bestest friend. Bella Vista is Vicente Antonelli’s restaurant.”
“I know.” I met his gaze. “Everyone knows Vicente owns it. But it’s also legitimately the best rated Italian food in Millcrest, and the baby is demanding puttanesca right now.”
“The baby is demanding we eat at a mob boss’s restaurant,” Penny said flatly.
“The baby has sophisticated taste.” I started walking in the direction of Bella Vista. “Come on. It’s lunch. Public place, lots of witnesses. What could happen?”
Penny remained silent for a long moment before I heard him release a theatrical sigh.
His vintage oxfords clicked rapidly against the sidewalk as he quickened his pace, shoulder brushing against mine as he fell into stride beside me.
“When Dominic kills us, I want you to remember that I voiced my objections.”
I playfully bumped my shoulder against Penny’s, the corners of my mouth lifting. “Noted.”