Page 50 of Laced With Secrets

“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. Yourwork 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 cœur.” 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?ThePhilippe 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.