Menagerie was alive, in breath and pulse, it seemed, the very heart of it beating in vibrant and rich fabrics draped over figures posed elegantly in the window and throughout the loft space. Across the white washed brick walls were black lacquered framed pieces Darcy Mercer had selected from her own sketchbook and hung, some of them studded with crystals, beading and swatches of fabric, showing the conception and creation of a work of art.

She had everything, Victory thought dizzily, trying to take it all in, from handbags to shoes, jewelry and ball gowns, trendy little jackets and suits to jeans and cable knit sweaters. It boggled the mind, to think that Darcy was capable of creating so many arresting designs as well as executing them mostly singlehandedly in her studio below.

This season was all about the luxurious and exotic, merging cool metals with jolting bursts of colour that should have clashed and warred but somehow fused brilliantly. And certainly not the sort of place she would have expected Gage's mother opening herself up to exploring to find an evening gown for the gala.

"You're just in time." Darcy swivelled from behind her counter, threw open her arms to snatch Victory and Shayne in together. Though her face was gorgeously radiant, Victory noted—from one entrepreneur to another—the faint rings of fatigue beneath the dazzling green eyes. The mark of a woman who worked, and worked hard.

"You've been up all night." Shayne commented, also a woman who knew the sort of sweat and toil that went into running your own business and was not one to miss such details either.

Darcy waved it aside. "I can sleep when I'm dead. And it was worth it when you see what I've created. Oh," disentangling herself from Victory and Shayne, her ears pricked at the shrill blast from her phone downstairs. "Damn—I have to get that. Could be Paris. Excuse me." And she was gone in a flash, bolting down the stairs to the lower studio.

"My," Aubrey beamed, linking her fingers, "this certainly is a fascinating place. Such vibrancy, and these fabrics," indulging herself, she stroked a finger over the sleeve of a velvet jacket she was beginning to covet. "Such daring vision."

"Darcy is certainly daring," Shayne agreed. "Here," stooping by the bar fridge near the cash out counter, Shayne fished out a couple of bottles of Voss water, handed one to Victory.

Grateful, she accepted it, not realizing until that moment, just how dry and tight her throat had suddenly become.

With the bottled water her halfway to her lips, Victory turned as the door chimed to see a slim woman dressed in a soft butter yellow cardigan enter the boutique. The sudden jolt of recognition surprised her, as did the absolute certainty that this was Gage's mother. Though she was circling close to sixty, Mrs. Donovan was a picture of classic and quiet beauty, with barely a line to mar the porcelain face.

Her hair skimmed just above her ears in soft, styled coif of brown streaked with sunny blonde. The same gilded tone shimmered in her quiet, clear green eyes. Eyes that were so completely Gage. Maybe not the colour of them, but the shape was there, and she had his quick, easy smile, which spread when that elegant gaze found Shayne.

Knowing it was her place to be the buffer for introductions, Shayne stepped forward to scoop her adoring mother-in-law into a hard hug. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there to greet you at the jet."

"Dear, please," Nora looped an arm around Shayne's shoulders, airily kissed her cheeks then stepped back to cup them. The gesture so easy and maternal it softened and dispelled most of Victory's unease. Then Nora's gaze shifted to rest on Victory and her mother, the shining pride tempered to cautioned curiosity.

"We are so pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Donovan," Aubrey linked her hands with Nora in the way of fast friends.

"Likewise." Nora inclined her head, mother acknowledging mother. "And this must be the dazzling Victory I've heard so much about." Her voice didn't cool so much as stiffen with a hint of formality that bespoke of a woman making a quiet and careful study as she released Aubrey's hands and folded them before her. "Come dear, let me get a good look at you."

When her feet neglected to move, Aubrey gave her daughter a poke in the ribs.

Lovely girl, was Nora's first impression, taking in the dark honey eyes framed in a compelling face, though she'd expected no less than a pretty looks for her son was nothing if not a man with discerning taste. And as often with men, he at times failed to see deeper, not that Gage wasn't capable of seeing spots on a leopard, but in her experience some were better at hiding it than others. Like any mother looking out for the best interests of her child, Nora had wanted a moment to form her own quiet assessment of this young woman herself without his love-struck gushing to blind her from forming fast and clear impressions.

Something deep in Victory's gaze intrigued her. Always a woman of impeccable character, Nora knew not to question her gut. She offered her hand, elegant with long slim fingers adored with a few simple rings. "I am so pleased to finally meet you, dear."

Palm warm and clammy, Victory absently wiped it against her thigh before accepting the gesture and found Nora's touch was soft, but the hold firm.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Donovan." And her brain sputtered, spun and stalled like a twenty year-old engine. Great, she thought, what do I say to her now? "Gage has your smile."

Apparently, that seemed to be the right straw to grasp for, judging the sudden light that shimmered in the clear green of Nora's eyes. "He does, indeed, though in my opinion his carries a bit of the devil in it where mine is all charm." There was a hint of something, Victory realized, something beneath the cool American that gave her voice and the words she formed, a lovely, soft and lilting sort of rhythm.

"I wouldn't disagree." Once again, without much to say, Victory took a swig from her water. Though Nora's easy nature had disarmed most of her unease, when Darcy came bursting up the stairs, Victory could have kissed her in gratitude for the shifting of focus.

"Sorry, sorry, that call took longer than expected." Darcy announced. "Mrs. Donovan, wonderful to see you again." Sweeping in with an easy grace Victory quickly came to admire, Darcy took hold of Nora's shoulders and lightly kissed either cheek. "Such a beauty, you are. What's your secret?"

Flushed with pleasure, what little formality that had stiffened her shoulders melted out of Nora's face and as Darcy swung around to include her mother. Seeing an opportunity for a clean escape, Victory stealthily edged off to the side.

"Not so fast." Amused, Shayne locked her arm around Victory's shoulder, the gesture one of affection and entrapment.

"Come on." She groaned.

Smirking, Shayne held fast. "Coward."

Struck, Victory sagged a little against Shayne's supporting arm. It didn't take long for attention to shift and return to the whole of the group.

"I've set aside a few I think would be spectacular," Darcy clasped her hands together at her chest so that the dazzling rings gold set with black gems to glint and sparkle. "How about we start with you two," she shot out her hands and linked with Aubrey and Nora, and gave Victory a knowing wink. "Feel free to look around, ladies, and see if there's anything else that catches your eye."

"Thank God." Victory sighed when she and Shayne were out of earshot. "Remind me to give her a very expensive bottle of champagne."

At that, Shayne chuckled. "Come on, let's start here." Near the front stood a trio of mannequins, faceless and sleek grey, wearing a stunning collection of dresses that boasted fine detail and fantastic workmanship.

"I don't know how she does it. "Victory murmured, circling one in cobalt blue. The dress hugged from breast to hip then flared out in wings of sheer chiffon. With such a bold and dramatic colour, no other embellishments were needed, save for the boarder of crystals along its hem, giving the dress weight and prominence.

"She has a fine talent," Shayne agreed. "A true calling."

Clutched at her side, Victory's purse began to pulse, rumble and chime. Reaching a hand inside, she whisked around in search for her phone for a full minute before she found it; missed call and voice message flashed on screen.

"Just a sec," she mumbled, taking a few steps to the side. "Could be the restaurant." Finger plugged in her ear, Victory listened as the line hummed and white noise popped before Detective Bartz' hoarse voice punched through.

"Miz Clarke, Bartz here." He paused to muffle a rattling, phlegmy cough. "Wanted to check in and let ya know we're closing in on Cole. Found his stash yesterday afternoon. The delivery he sent you was charged to a Mrs. Donnna Keibler. A wealthy divorcee who owns a dozen cards, all platinum and with enough credit to purchase a small island. The sort of broad who doesn't know how to open a can of coke, let alone keep tabs on her finances, so she didn't know the damn thing was missing till we called. 'Parently, she met Cole at some swanky restaurant where he wooed her over beluga and champagne—which she paid for. Ha!" He barked a dry laugh laced with disgust.

"Talked her into taking him back to her mansion in Forest Hill. Stole a particularly expensive bracelet and matching Burmese ruby earrings, which she did notice and reported stolen the next morning. But didn't think to check her purse or wallet. Or call the bank. Honestly," Bartz broke off with a dog-weary sigh.

"Rich people. Blows my mind."

Hanging up, because a bright laugh was bubbling and fit to burst, Victory smiled into her hand. They were on to him. Circling like vultures to a wounded animal. Soon Derek would be gone from her life. A forgotten problem. And, finally, her past would be just that.

The past.

"You're suddenly looking awfully perky," Shayne commented, shifting a few dresses hangers. "The call was good news, I take it?"

Too elated to keep the moment to herself, Victory slipped her phone back in her purse and added her barely touched bottle of Voss.

"I took your advice—about Derek, that's his name," and seeing Shayne quickly caught on, continued, "The call was from the detective overseeing the investigation. They're closing in on him." She ended with a giddy, barely contained squeal and because Victory looked so pleasantly overjoyed, Shayne smiled. Brilliant and bright and beautiful.

"Bravo." She paused in her thumbing through the glittering blouses. "How does it feel?"

Was there a way to sum up this feeling, this huge and all-consuming sensation? Victory wondered, lingering over a dress of blazing red with decadent clusters of golden crystal flowing along the gathered skirt like fire, she thought, come to life. Flowing and molten in fabric and stones.

"Free," she decided, brushing her fingertips across the gems. "For the first time I'm fighting back. And I like it."

"I understand exactly. We cannot move ahead in our futures until we've resolved ourselves of our past. And speaking of resolution, how are things between you and Niobe?"

Forgoing the siren red number, Victory steered over to the next. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

"I do indeed," Shayne admitted with laugh that held no shame. "It seems I've been demoted." At her playful pout, Victory echoed her mirth.

"I could say I was sorry." 

"And you'd be lying through your teeth." Shayne countered with a teasing wink. "I am just happy it's all sorted and the world has been set back to rights."

"You're good at that."

"Hm?" Because her gaze had drifted across the shop to where Nora and Aubrey were heavily engrossed in conversation while they examined Darcy's first selections in the mirror, Shayne cocked a brow in question.

"Fixing things," Victory supplemented. "Establishing order from chaos."

Her smile curved with dry humour. "Being a mother of three children under six, you learn rather quickly to assume order from chaos. It's a necessary skill we all must learn to survive, or perish." Wistfully, she sighed, shaking her head. "I love my children, don't get me wrong, but I have sincerely enjoyed the reprieve. Do you have any idea how long it has been since I last managed to sneak in alone time without needing to keep an ear out for battle cries and declarations of open war?"

"I'll bet." Victory smirked, this time allowing her eyes to linger and drift over the display of jeweled evening bags and shelves of dazzling heels. "Although one could easily argue Niobe is hurling battle cries and declarations of war on a daily basis with the wedding only a month away."

"Touché." Shayne agreed. Then, sliding her gaze to her right to ensure the mother hens were still out of earshot, she assessed Victory through eyes, watchful and translucent as smoke. The moment had come for her to steer the conversation towards deeper waters. "You know, the first time Roarke sent me shopping with Nora was just before he professed his love and proposed marriage."

Picking up a black clutch with elaborate silver and crystal beading in a damask motif, Victory studied and scrutinized the detail with all the interest a museum curator would a newly uncovered Rembrandt.

"That so?"

Recognizing what she now knew to be Victory's classic maneuvers of evasion, Shayne gave her shoulder a stubborn nudge. "Has he said it yet?"

She could have pretended not to understand the unspoken implication, but recognizing what she now knew to be Shayne's relentless pursuit of information, Victory set down the purse—tried not to gape when she caught sight of the two thousand dollar price tag—and faced her jury.

"Yes." She admitted in a single weary breath. "Yes, he has."

Shayne's smile stayed but the look in her eyes narrowed with concerned interest. "And you're not sure how you feel about that, are you?"

"It's too fast. Too soon. Too much." Expelling a heavy breath, Victory set her back to the overpriced bags and pushed her bangs from her brow.

"And is that bad?"

"We don't know each other. How can we? It's been barely two months." Victory ended on a whisper, careful to lower her voice as she saw her mother and Nora steering away from the dressing mirrors over to the shawls in search of one to match the shimmering royal blue number her mother was wearing.

Lowering her voice as well for discretion, and angling herself so that Nora and Aubrey where locked in her peripheral vision, Shayne stroked a hand down Victory's arms, currently crossed over her chest. An instinctive gesture, she'd come to notice, that Victory relied heavily upon when feeling defiant or overwhelmed. "Roarke and I were together little over three, and look at us now. A couple of years later and with kids under our belt."

At the mention of children, Victory visibly shuddered. God, kids? She'd barely wrapped her head around the possibility of love.

"Sweetheart," impeccable timing as always, her arm looped through Nora's, the mothers glided over. "Mrs. Donovan has found a fantastic dress that is perfect for you. Come, let's get you into it."

"Oh," Victory flushed and knew, from the smirk on her mother's face, that her cheeks had gone a deep and embarrassed red. "I wasn't—I mean, I don't need—surely I could just wear one of my little cocktail numbers at home."

"Dear," Nora inclined her head and slid her arm from Aubrey's grasp so she could loop hers around Victory's reluctant and stiff shoulders. "An event such as this demands elegance and drama. Everything you'll need to shine will be a gift. My son insists, and so do I."

"But—"

"I won't accept no for an answer." Nora interjected, a vision in palest pink, folding her hands neatly before her. "Go on, dear, and let us know what you think."

Shayne watched as Aubrey swept in and ushered Victory towards the dressing room in the back, and kept her tongue in cheek until they were alone.

"Adorable, isn't she?"

"Stubborn." Nora beamed, "And as Gage tells me, hardworking, devoted and as grounded as they come. I like her immensely. Her mother, too. Fascinating woman." Patting herself on the back for a job well done, Nora flowed—for the woman never seemed to walk, Shayne mused, but glide rather, in a regal and careful sort of manner she so admired and envied. When she lowered to the edge of the soft lavender settee, Shayne sat next to her.

"She's been through a lot," Shayne added, slanting her gaze over to the door, knowing neither Victory nor Aubrey would be able to hear a word of their exchange. "And she doesn't come around easy. I think Gage is in for a bit of a battle."

"Perhaps," Nora agreed. "But not for long. She's already in love with him."

Doubtful, Shayne pursed her lips. "How can you be so sure?"

Amused, Nora turned her glittering, all-knowing eyes to her daughter-in-law and felt a flush of adoration and maternal pride. Here was another fantastic woman, she thought, equally devoted and loving and the sort she had always hoped would steal Roarke's heart. And how desperately she had hoped and prayed for the same for Gage. Now, at last, that time had come.

Nothing, she thought, reaching between them to rest a hand over Shayne's, absolutely nothing could touch a mother's heart more than knowing her sons were loved.

"The first night I met you," Nora began, "I knew. I estimated it would take six weeks for you and Roarke to sort it out and see for yourselves; I wasn't far off." Releasing Shayne's hand with a pat, Nora folded her hands in her lap, and her smile spread. "Ms. Clarke won't last the weekend."