Page 51 of Laced With Secrets
“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’snatural 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.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bella Vista occupied a corner building that had been gorgeously restored—one of the few buildings that had escaped demolition during the zoning for Downtown Millcrest. The restaurant’s facade was all exposed brick and arched windows. Inside, terracotta tiles stretched across the floor beneath our feet while hand-painted murals of Tuscan hillsides adorned the walls. Soft lighting made everything look warm and inviting. The lunch crowd was substantial but not overwhelming, the murmur of conversation mixing with classic Italian music playing softly overhead.
The hostess—a woman in her fifties with kind brown eyes and an elegant black dress—greeted us with a warm smile and a slight Italian accent. “Welcome to Bella Vista. Two for lunch?”
“Please,” I said.
She led us to a table near the window, handed us leather-bound menus, and promised our server would be right with us. The dining area was even more beautiful than I’d expected—white tablecloths, fresh flowers on every table, artwork that looked original and expensive.
“This place is gorgeous,” Penny whispered once we were alone.