The next morning, Victory decided she'd sorted out one mess in her life, and now the time had come to bridge the rift with her and Niobe. While Gage slept, Victory busied herself in the kitchen. She'd told him of the importance of food providing comfort, and that was what she hoped to inspire with a loaf of rum soaked pound cake and chocolate macaroons.

The Fairmont was arguably the grandest hotel in all of Toronto, the lobby carrying the opulence of a forgotten era with old world charm and elegance of polished brass, crisp marble and antique furnishings. She rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor and knocked outside of Suite 1202.

Even though it was early, Victory knew Niobe would be awake and counted down from ten before the door opened just shy of hitting three. She was still dressed in silken pajamas, top and bottoms of dove grey with candy pink stripes and matching buttons. But her eyes were bright and clear and slightly annoyed.

Niobe shifted those irritated eyes up, down and barely raised a brow.

"I come in peace?" Smiling, Victory raised her tray of goodies and counted down another ten seconds before Niobe conceded, holding the door open so she could step inside.

"Sam's on set. Filming." Niobe explained, her tone dry. "What do you want, Victory?"

Victory sighed, Putting down the tray of baked goods on the side table. Hearing the use of her proper name from Niobe's lips never boded well.

"Can we talk? Please?"

Shaking her head, Niobe jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Five minutes." She muttered then stomped away leaving Victory to trail behind her into the heart of the suite where Niobe flopped into the middle of the couch, sending a very clear message. Don't sit down, don't get comfy. Say what needs to be said, than leave. Wringing her hands, Victory looked at her best friend and hoped it wasn't too late.

"I wanted you to know...I've told Gage. Everything. About Derek, my financial troubles, Momma—All of it."

"Wow." Niobe's brows popped up with genuine surprise. "That's something."

"I want to apologize." She pressed on; taking a chance, she sat next to Niobe on the couch. "I'm sorry for—"

"Stop," Niobe interrupted with a raise of her hand. "I should be the one apologizing."

"No, Bee, it's my fault. For always being late and—"

"Please, Vee, let me say this." Although the delivery was abrupt, her voice held more sorrow than it did snarl. "I wasn't really angry with you for not being...available. Annoyed, yes, but I understood you had demands. It's just as things went on with planning the wedding, seeing Aubrey and Ed...all I could think was I'd never have this with my mom. And not just this," she huffed, slapping her hands down in her lap. "But when I'm pregnant, or raising kids and need help. Advice.

"I can't ask her what things were like for her at my age. She'll never tell me those funny little stories about her foray into motherhood. I'll never learn her recipe for 'Feel good' soup she would make when Paul and I were sick. Or dad's trifle we had every Christmas. I can't remember the damn words to that little nursery rhyme they sang when I was scared of the dark." Angrily, she dashed away a tear from her cheek, but more came, and they quickly filled the wavering notes in her voice.

"Those traditions—legacies—died with my parents."

Victory's heart seized and bled as tears she didn't even know she was shedding splattered against the back of her hand.

"When I was in LA, it was easy to forget." Niobe continued, pressing a tissue she snatched from the side table so she could mop up under her eyes, "That's why I never came home. Now I'm facing it all over again."

"Bee." Victory whispered, struggling to find her voice. "Please. Don't do that. You had every right to pursue your dreams. To live your life."

"I abandoned you." Niobe pushed, reaching between them to squeeze Victory's hand, regret and responsibility clouding her voice. "I got so caught up in living for the moment, that I didn't think about what leaving Toronto would do to you. After Paul..."

Although quick, she had heard it, the wavering note of pain that always seem to slice through Niobe's heart every time she mentioned her deceased older brother's name. Paul. Only twenty-two when he overdosed. Handsome, funny and mischievous Paul, whose entire world shattered the day their father passed away from a stroke.

A loss he might have endured better had they not also lost their mother but a scant six years before to breast cancer when Niobe was only ten. For a parent to lose a child, is a horrible travesty, but for a child to have both mother and father so deftly snatched away while young and impressionable...the wounds of grief carved too deep too heal, a gnawing pain he could only soothe through heroin.

And where the deaths of her mother and father had devastated, Paul's could have been the breaking point for her best friend if not for her own parents, Ed and Aubrey Clarke, who'd swooped in to pick her up, and set her world to rights again. They'd offered a calm port in the storm of grief, giving her a home, a family, and something to live for.

"You've always been so...shut in. I guess," she continued after a breath. "I thought it might help force you to open up to other people, embrace new friends. Take risks. And you did. Sort of."

"No, don't do that. Don't take that on. Derek was my mistake, Bee. Not yours. And certainly not your fault."

"Yes." Niobe argued, her voice edging with a bit of temper that Victory recognized as fierce protectiveness. "Yes, it is my fault. Because if I'd been here I would've never allowed him to take such brutal advantage of you. I would've—the point I'm trying to make is that I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. But I want you to know that I am going to be. Samuel and I are moving back to Toronto. HBO has signed him for all five seasons, pending approval after the pilot episode airs next year."

Victory's heart surged with a giddy skip. "That's...fantastic, but won't you miss LA?"

"Ah," Smiling Niobe shrugged. "I'm sure we'll travel back and forth often enough, especially when filming for the first season wraps. Sam will probably pounce on a few other scripts to fill in the time in between, but honestly, I'm happy about being back here. Home. This is home. You are home." Niobe's hold tightened on Victory's hand, her grip almost desperate. "You—your mom and dad—you're all I have. You're all I'll ever have."

"No. No, you also have Sam. You have Shayne, and Paige. And one day you might even have kids, and all those missed moments you'll be able to create with them." Gently, she brushed tears from Niobe's cheeks and cupped their joined hands.

"You're not alone, Bee. You'll never be alone."

#

Two weeks later, Victory woke to the sound of singing eggs and splattering bacon. Wonderful, she thought. Gage was up—and like the wonderful man that he was, he'd made breakfast. Strange, she mused, to feel so relaxed and at ease with having him around. He'd spent the last couple of weeks with her in her condo, working around the insane hours of her restaurant and with him under the gun as they raced towards the Sphinx's ribbon cutting Gala.

Each Sunday Gage had made a point of joining her visits to Momma, slinging on his tool belt so he could help with a few odd chores from adjusting the legs on a wobbly table to patching the broken slats on the backyard fence.

Rolling to her side, she swatted a hand over her eyes, rubbing the heels from the inner corners outward, and stretched, long and slow. Last night, both of them exhausted, they'd tumbled into bed just shy of two in the morning and dropped straight into sleep like stones into a quiet pond.

She felt deliciously loose and rested, like she'd closed her eyes and slept for a decade. Sun spilled through her open window and she could hear the buzzing rattle of construction, cars, people and life in the streets below. Yawning, she flipped over and gaped at the time blinking in bright red on the face of her alarm clock.

"Oh my god!" With a shriek, tangled in sheets, she tumbled backwards from bed. Struggling to her feet, Victory wrestled with the sticky top dresser drawer for a pair of ripped jeans and t-shirt while panting a desperate and frantic, "Ohmygod, ohmygod!"

"Morning." Gage stood in the doorway, naked to the waist with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, a spatula in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

Any other morning the sight of him, rippling naked muscle and cocky half grin, would have made her mouth water. But not today. Not when she was late.

"Move!" She slapped a hand against him, immune to the sumptuous display of delicious manly curves in her present state of panic. "I overslept! I need to get to the restaurant and—"

He spread his arms and barred her path with spatula and spoon. "It's taken care of."

"Move!" She shoved again. "Dammit, I over slept and I'm late. I have to—" Halting mid-rant, she tipped her head back and blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'It's taken care of'." Gage repeated, this time slowly and in a tone reserved for the even slower. "You've worked the last three weeks like a dog, running yourself ragged. The Sphinx's launch is tomorrow night, so I spoke with Jacqueline a few days ago and explained you needed a day off; she agreed wholeheartedly. Belinda's stepped up to run Soleil until Sunday."

"I..." Victory went cross-eyed. Frowned. "But—"

"You have the next few days off." Gage kissed the tip of her nose where her eyes were currently vee'd. "Come, your mom and I made breakfast."

Though he tugged on her hand, Victory kept her feet rooted and continued to goggle. "My—my—my—" she stammered, unable to form the word. And ever a woman to make an entrance, Aubrey breezed over, a vision in pressed khaki slacks and a pale blue blouse, sleeves rolled up and apron around her still narrow waist.

"Sweetheart," she beamed, gliding in to kiss both of Victory's ashen cheeks. "Lovely, you're awake just in time. I'd arrived early this morning with fixings for a grand breakfast because you know," Aubrey loving tapped a finger to Victory's nose, "Cap'n Crunch is not a food group."

"Mom." Victory managed, finally working her tongue free from the roof of her mouth. "Shouldn't have."

"Nonsense." Aubrey giggled. "Your father would have joined us but as it turns out he's gone golfing with Bob Simmons, you remember Bob and his lovely wife Claire? So I thought it a lovely idea to surprise my baby girl with some of her favourites." Slipping an arm around her waist, she led her daughter out to the terrace awash in morning sunlight where she and Gage had a brunch feast spread out on her outdoor table.

Everything from Belgian waffles with sliced fruit and berries, to crisp artisanal bacon, scrambled eggs, croissants still warm from the oven and glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"You..." her voice broke with something she couldn't place. "You did all of this?"

"While you snored into your pillow." Pleased with the play of events, Gage smirked. His smoky blue eyes deepened with layers of amused flecks of charcoal.

And drooled."

Victory glowered, slanted him a pointed glare. "Shouldn't you put on a shirt."

"I would," he agreed, grinning wickedly, "but you're still wearing it."

Mortified, Victory glanced down at the oversized shirt, then over to her mother.

"Nothing wrong with a man enjoying the comforts of home, is there?" She winked. "Especially when one is in such fine form, I can hardly complain about the view."

God, Victory closed her eyes, kill me now.