Page 15 of Laced With Secrets

Had Thomas Wong imagined shoes like these forhisbaby? Had he wondered what his child would look like, what name they might have?

My vision blurred.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Penny’s hand gripped my elbow, his scent shifting to protective concern.

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t explain that the sight of infant shoes had somehow crystallized everything I’d been trying not to feel—the fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming knowledge that I was pregnant and couldn’t even tell my alpha because I was a coward.

“I need…” My voice came out strangled. “I need some air. I’ll just step outside for a minute.”

“Want me to come with you?” Penny asked, worry clear in his eyes.

“No, I’m fine. Just need to clear my head.” I forced a smile. “Keep working. I’ll be right back.”

Before he could argue, I headed for the attic stairs, needing to escape the dust and the emotions and the tiny shoes that made everything feel too real.

The Fairfax grounds were extensive, the winter-bare trees creating stark silhouettes against the gray sky. I followed a gravel path away from the house, pulling out my phone to text Dominic before realizing I had no signal.

A wave of irrational panic hit me. My heart raced at the sight of my phone screen—no bars, no connection—my fingers hovering uselessly over Dominic’s contact information. The lack of a signal felt like abandonment even though I knew it wasn’t.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to calm myself. The baby didn’t need this stress. Neither did I.

The path curved through landscaped gardens before opening onto a large Victorian greenhouse, its elaborate ironwork and curved glass panels beautiful even in winter. Through the mistyglass, I could see lush greenery—a stark contrast to the dormant grounds outside.

The door was unlocked. I stepped inside, immediately enveloped by humid warmth and the rich scent of growing things. Everything was meticulously organized, with brass plaques identifying each plant species.

Richard knelt beside a bed of delicate white flowers, his hands bare despite the cold, completely absorbed in his work. He wore old gardening clothes that had clearly seen better days, and there was dirt on his expensive watch.

“Trillium grandiflorum,” he said without looking up, his voice cultured but distant. “White trillium. Native to eastern North America but increasingly threatened in the wild.”

I swallowed. “They’re beautiful.”

“They are.” He sat back, finally looking at me with ice-blue eyes that reminded me uncomfortably of Victor’s calculating gaze. “You’re Joe and Benji’s grandson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me.” He stood, brushing dirt from his hands with careful precision. “Call me Richard, please.”

“You make a habit of tending flowers on gloomy days?”

“Avoiding the attic work, more accurately.” He gestured to the trilliums. “Ex situ conservation. The populations in the Millwater Gorge have been declining—habitat disruption, too much foot traffic. I’m growing them here, hoping to reestablish viable populations in protected areas.”

“Millwater Gorge? That’s on your family’s land?”

“About two miles south. The gorge has been wild for a century—one of the few things my family has done right, preserving it instead of developing.” His expression turned wry. “Though it creates complications. The topology and geology create interference with cell signals. You get spotty coverage on the estate, nothing at all in the outer buildings like this greenhouse.”

“I noticed.” I pulled out my phone, confirming the lack of signal with a flutter of anxiety in my stomach.

“Adelaide insists on preserving the gorge’s isolation. No cell towers, no development, no encroachment.” He turned back to his plants. “It’s one of the few things we agree on.”

I watched him work for a moment, the careful way he tended each plant. “The trilliums are lucky to have someone who cares so much about preserving them.”

“They’re fragile things. They need specific conditions to survive—the right soil, the right mycorrhizal fungi, the right amount of light.” His voice grew quieter. “Once you understand what they need… they repay you triple-fold.”

The way he said it made something click. This wasn’t just about flowers.

“This greenhouse is beautiful,” I said carefully. “It must take a lot of work to maintain.”

“It’s worth it.” He moved to another bed, his movements precise and practiced. “Some people appreciate spaces like this.”