All You Desire (5 page)

She felt Iain plant a kiss on her neck. “My mother isn't going to get her hands on our money, Haven. She'll just make our lives unpleasant for a while. We've been poor before. We'll survive.”

“I know,” Haven said, though the thought of scrimping and saving held little appeal. She was already wondering how she might plead for a loan from her loathsome grandmother back in Snope City.

“We'll just have to be careful for a while. We won't write any big checks.”

The last two words hit Haven hard. She broke out of Iain's embrace and stumbled backward. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “I sent out a check right before we left Rome. It probably hasn't even gotten there yet.”

“A check for what?” Iain asked.

“Beau's college tuition. The payment is due next week.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Well, if it isn't Haven Jane Moore, formerly of Snope City, Tennessee. To what do I owe this rare pleasure?”

Haven's heart surged at the sound of Beau's deep drawl. They communicated mostly by e-mail these days, and she hadn't seen him face-to-face in six months—since his visit to Rome the previous July. She had never expected to miss him so terribly. Being away from Beau was one of the few disadvantages of living in Italy. Having seen him every day for almost a decade, Haven still found it hard to believe that she couldn't just jump in her mother's car and drive up to the old Decker farmhouse whenever she needed to talk.

Beau had been like family since the day they'd first found each other, and when Haven had learned that Beau had once been her brother, she hadn't felt a single twinge of surprise. Beau knew all about Haven's many faults, and, like a brother, he loved her anyway. So when she'd inherited the Morrow family fortune after Iain faked his own death, Haven's first act as an heiress had been to foot the bill for Beau's college tuition. It was the least she could do to repay him. Telling him that the Morrow money was gone was one of the most painful tasks she'd ever had to take on.

“I wish this was going to be a pleasure, but I've got some bad news.” Haven heard her own Tennessee drawl return in full force, as it did every time she spoke to Beau. “You better get ready for it.”

“Uh-oh,” Beau responded. His moods—good or bad—were often hard to break, and he still sounded relentlessly cheerful. Haven could hear him moving about his bedroom. Wire hangers jangled in the background. He was already packing to go home, she thought miserably. “Well, I've got
good
news,” he said, “so maybe they'll balance each other out. But you called me, so go ahead and get yours out of the way.”

“It's about your tuition.” Haven paused, trying to summon a second part to her sentence.

“Oh,
that
,” Beau jumped in. “Yeah, the Vanderbilt registrar called this morning. They said your check for the spring semester didn't clear. I already told them it had to be a mistake. . . .”

“It's not.”

The incessant activity on the other end of the line came to a sudden halt. “Well, how's that possible? I've never seen you buy anything but sewing supplies, cappuccinos, or hair relaxer. Did you blow your whole fortune on sequins?” He still didn't sound terribly upset.

“My accounts have been frozen,” Haven tried to explain. “Iain's mother has accused me of fraud.”

“
Fraud
?” Beau choked on the word. “
You
?”

“She claims I had someone forge Iain's will.”

“What! Who does she think you are, some sort of criminal mastermind?”

“I know, I know. It's totally insane, but she seems to have found a judge in New York who's willing to believe her. I just got off the phone with my lawyer. It looks like I might have to fight Virginia Morrow in court.”

“This sounds like the sort of thing that ought to be discussed woman-to-woman.”

“Are you
kidding
?” The notion hadn't even occurred to Haven. “She'd hang up if I tried to call her.”

“I'm not saying you should
call
her. Iain's mom lives in Italy, right? Why don't you go see if you can talk some sense into her? And if you can't, you can just give her a good punch in the gut. Or hand her a big wad of cash. That's probably what she's after anyway.”

“You know, that might not be such a bad idea,” Haven mused. Virginia Morrow lived in the Tuscan countryside, not far from Florence. Haven had come across the address on the papers she'd signed after Iain's staged death.

“And did you ever consider telling Ms. Morrow that her son isn't really dead? That would probably put a serious crimp in her plans.”

It had been the first thing Haven had suggested, and Iain had instantly vetoed the option. His mother was the last person he wanted to know that he was still among the living.

“Iain doesn't think that's the answer,” Haven offered diplomatically as she glanced over at the young man sitting in front of a computer on the other side of the hotel room. Still dressed in the sleek navy suit he'd worn to dinner, he was scanning the documents their lawyer had e-mailed, searching for a solution. Iain's confidence was usually contagious, but this time Haven had a hunch that there weren't any easy answers to be found. “But look, Beau, we'll figure this out and get your tuition paid. It just might take a while. There's not a whole hell of a lot I can do right now.”

“Don't worry about it. It's all good,” Beau assured her. “I was planning to take a little time off anyway.”

“Time off?” Haven repeated. “To do what?”

“Well, that's
my
news,” Beau said. “I've met someone.”

“Fabulous,” Haven said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. As the only openly gay kid in Snope City, Beau had endured four years of high school without so much as one date. His dry spell had ended the day he arrived at college, where there were plenty of people who could appreciate someone with the charm of a Southern gentleman and the looks of a Norse god. But Beau quickly discovered that he wasn't equipped for the blood sport of dating. He'd had his heart badly broken in his second semester, and Haven had hoped the experience would make him a little more wary.

“It's not like that,” Beau countered. “This guy is the real deal.”

“That's what you said about Stephen,” Haven pointed out.

“Yeah, but this guy is different. He says he used to know us.”

Haven snorted. “He's been to Snope City? Not much of a recommendation, if you ask me.”

“No. It's so much better than that.” Haven could hear Beau's excitement bubbling up. “He says he knew us before Snope City.
Way
before Snope City. In a previous life. When you and I were brother and sister.”

Feeling light-headed, Haven lowered herself down on the side of the bed. “What exactly did he tell you?” she asked.

“This is going to knock your socks off. He said my name was Piero. His was Naddo. Yours was Beatrice. We all lived in Florence in the middle of the fourteenth century. Beatrice and Piero were rich. Our house was a palace with three large doors. Piero and Naddo met when they were sixteen years old and started a secret affair. He makes it all sound so romantic. Tights and tunics and palaces. Rendezvous by candlelight . . . ”

“Hold on just a second, Romeo,” Haven butted in. “How does this guy know
I
was Beatrice? How does he know me at all?” Across the room, Iain set aside his work and started to listen.

“He
doesn't
know you,” Beau snipped. “I was the one who made the connection. He said that Piero had a sister he adored, despite the fact that everyone else thought she was a massive pain in the ass. Who else could it have been?!”

Beau kept talking while Haven pressed the phone's mouthpiece to her chest. Iain was watching her. “Does the name
Naddo
ring any bells?” she asked him.

A wide grin spread across Iain's face. “I didn't meet the guy,” he said. “But Piero never shut up about him.”

“Hey, I just heard you talking to Iain,” Beau said when Haven lifted the phone back to her ear. “What did he say? Was he in
that
life too? Don't I ever get you to myself?”

“Guess where I am right now,” Haven said.

“What?”

“Guess where I am right now,” she repeated.

“How am I supposed to know?” Beau barked. “Can I
please
get back to my story?”

“I'm in Florence.”

“You're in
Florence
?”

“I'm in Florence. And guess where Iain took me today?”

She could hear Beau breathing heavily on the other end of the line. “No!” he managed to whisper.

“
Yes
. A palazzo with three enormous doors. The same place we used to live when we were brother and sister.”

“It's still there?”

“It is. And I just asked Iain if he knew the name Naddo.”

“And?!”

“Going by his grin, I'm guessing there's a chance that this Naddo character might be someone you're supposed to find,” Haven announced.

“Oh my God,” Beau said. They both sat in silence for a moment, allowing the information to sink in. “Is it really supposed to be this easy?”

“I don't know,” Haven said. “How'd you come across this guy, anyway? Does he go to Vanderbilt too?”

“No, he lives in New York. And he found
me
. He saw my picture on Facebook, and he says he just knew that I was the one he'd been searching for.”

“And you? Did you feel anything when you saw his picture?”

“No. Not really,” Beau admitted. “Though believe me, the boy ain't hard to look at. But you didn't know Iain was ‘the one' until you met him in person, so I'm flying up to New York tomorrow to see the guy face-to-face.”

“When were you planning to tell me all of this?” Haven demanded, feeling a little hurt. She rarely made a move without e-mailing her best friend first.

“I was going to tell you if it turned out to be the right guy,” Beau said. “I didn't want you to get all excited for nothing.”

“Are you
sure
you have to meet him in New York?” Haven asked. Maybe she was being paranoid, but something didn't seem right. “You know it's not safe for you there. If Adam sees you . . .”

“Adam? I thought El Diablo was supposed to leave us alone for the next six or seven decades.”

“He's supposed to leave
me
alone. He didn't make any promises when it came to you. And after you threatened to send the Ouroboros Society's membership list to the
New York Times
. . .”

“Okay, okay, Haven. I get it. But New York's a city with eight million people. And Roy goes to Columbia. He lives up in Morningside Heights, for God's sake,” Beau said. “I'm not going anywhere near Gramercy Park or the Ouroboros Society.”

“So his name is Roy now?” Haven finally cracked a smile.

“Roy Bradford,” Beau confirmed. “He sounds like a movie star, don't you think?”

“He does.” Haven's smile faded fast. “You will be careful, won't you? I don't want you to get your feelings hurt if he ends up being a psycho.” Most people might not have felt the need to protect a sixfoot-four football player with a terrible temper, but Haven knew that Beau's Achilles' heel was his heart. After he'd watched Haven find the person she was meant to be with, Beau's own search for a soul mate had begun in earnest. The only problem was that he had mistaken him for half of the men he'd met. As hard as she tried, Haven couldn't shake the feeling that Roy Bradford might be another wrong number.

“I'm not going to let my imagination run away with me this time,” Beau vowed, as though he'd been reading her thoughts. “And you watch yourself too. Don't let some old lady rob you blind. Go see Virginia Morrow and let her know who she's dealing with.”

“I'll think about it,” Haven said, though she'd already made up her mind.

CHAPTER SIX

The villa perched on a small, overgrown hill that rose above the emerald green Tuscan fields surrounding it. From the road, all Haven could see of the building was the clay tiles of its roof, which looked badly in need of repair. As she turned into the driveway, she noticed that a cypress tree had grown to engulf one corner of the house while grape vines scaled the walls, pinning the last chunks of the villa's crumbling plaster to the bricks beneath.

Haven pulled her car as close to the house as she could. She'd hoped to complete her errand quickly and return to Florence before sunset. Iain thought she'd gone window-shopping, and if the trip took less than three hours, his suspicions might not be aroused. Now there didn't seem to be any reason to rush. The villa looked deserted, and Haven wondered how long Virginia Morrow had been gone. Still, she decided to fight her way through the vines to the front door. A cold wind rustled the vegetation, and Haven was assailed by the faint smell of rotting flesh. She looked down to find herself standing at the edge of a swimming pool. The corpse of a bird floated in the icy, algae-filled rainwater that had collected inside. Startled, Haven almost turned back toward the car, but she stopped herself. It would be ridiculous to drive so far only to leave without knocking.

As she stood outside the villa's front door, a cat emerged from under a bush and brushed against Haven's ankles. She reached down to scratch behind its ears. Abandoned on a desolate hill in the middle of Tuscany, the creature had the protruding ribs of a castaway. Haven wondered if she should take it back to the city, where it might stand a chance of survival.