The Eternal Ones (17 page)

She paced the room, searching for a means of escape. The air was dank and musty, and she was starting to shiver when the door opened. Iain Morrow stood in the hall, looking unusually disheveled and slightly out of breath. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at her with wide eyes.

“There you are,” was all he said before he took her in his arms, bent down, and kissed her. Once she’d managed to convince herself he was real, Haven began to kiss him back.

“Eeeeaaaannnn. Eeeeeeeeaaann!” sang a voice in the hallway.

“Where did he go?” whined another in a English accent.

“Ooops!” There was a loud thud, followed by giggling.

“You did that on purpose!” one of the girls screeched. They were moving closer.

“Damn,” Iain muttered, letting his hands fall from Haven’s face. He was even better looking when annoyed.

“Are those your
dates
?”

Iain pretended to sniff at the air. “Is that . . . no wait . . . is that
jealousy
I detect? They’re not my girlfriends. They’re more like
props
.”

Haven blushed. Somehow his words were more intimate than his kiss. Iain Morrow was
teasing
her. He knew she could be jealous—and he knew she could take a ribbing for it. She felt exposed and exhilarated, as if he’d caught a glimpse of her naked.

Taking Haven by the hand, Iain guided her into the hallway, where they found the two models clinging to each other, each struggling to keep the other upright.

“Iain!” slurred the fragile-looking blonde with raccoon eyes. “Where did you go? We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“The awards show is starting and they won’t let us inside,” the tall brunette wailed. “You
know
they’re doing the tribute to Jeremy first. Why did you leave us?”

Iain shrugged. “Ladies, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been right here all along.”

The two girls traded a glance, each hoping the other had understood.

“Who is
she
?” the blonde slurred.

“This is my cousin,” Iain replied, bringing Haven’s hand to his lips.

“
She’s
your cousin?” The brunette started to snicker, but ended up looking sick.

“Now, Gwendolyn,” Iain chided the brunette like a naughty child. “Is that any way to behave?”

“Who do you think you are?” Haven bristled.

“I’m an actress!” the British girl announced to Haven’s amusement.

“Eeeaaannn!” moaned the American. “How are we supposed to get in without you?”

“My dear, the building is packed with men much richer and lonelier than I am. Do you really need me to spell it out for you? Now please. Excuse us,” he added, and the girls began to shuffle away, still supporting each other like contestants in a three-legged race.

“They’ll probably be wandering the halls for the rest of eternity,” Iain noted as the two models came to a halt, bewildered by a fork at the end of the corridor. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he told her.

WHEN THEY REACHED a door with a flashing EXIT sign, Iain paused and let go of Haven’s hand. He peeled off his linen jacket and passed it to her. She was both touched and confused by the gesture. It was well over eighty degrees outside.

“There’s a car waiting for us. Put this over your head until we’re inside,” Iain explained.

“You want me to put your jacket over my
head
? Did you run out of brown paper bags?” Haven snapped. He’d just kissed her, and now he didn’t want to be seen with her?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Constance. You’re adorable as a brunette. And that accent is just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. But we can’t afford to be photographed together.”

Haven pretended not to notice that he’d called her Constance, but her entire body was tingling. “Why not?”

“Because I’d rather not set the paparazzi on you just yet. You’ll see. After a while, they won’t even let you use the bathroom alone. Plus, I doubt your latest set of parents would want you running around New York with a notorious miscreant. Do you really want them to find out about it on
Access Hollywood
?”

“No,” Haven admitted.

Iain grinned, and Haven hoped he couldn’t hear her heart racing. “Of course you don’t,” Iain said. “Some things
never
change.”

“Okay, you win. But how am I supposed to get to the car if I can’t see where I’m going?”

“Allow me.” Iain threw the jacket over her head and scooped her up into his arms. “Try to look limp. They’ll think one of my dates didn’t make it through the show.”

Haven leaned her head against his chest and inhaled deeply. The scent that rose from his skin made her lightheaded, almost giddy. She heard the door open and then the sound of a dozen cameras clicking.

“What happened, Iain? D’you slip her a little something?” a man shouted.

“She’s not dead is she?” another yelled, and Haven kicked her feet in mute response.

“I’m merely escorting this young lady home,” Iain blithely informed the paparazzi. “She had a little too much to drink.”

“Which one is it?” It was the first man’s voice. “The Victoria’s Secret girl or that Chanel model?”

“Do I look like the sort of man who kisses and tells?” The photographers snickered. “Never mind. Don’t answer that question. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Haven felt herself being lowered into a car. The door slammed and suddenly there was silence.

“You can take that off now,” Iain told her, and Haven peeked out from underneath the jacket. “Tinted windows. They can’t see a thing. Not even the driver.”

Outside, countless men with cameras dangling from their necks pressed their faces to the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the car’s occupants. With their cheeks and noses mashed against the glass, they appeared monstrous, subhuman. Iain pushed an intercom button on the armrest.

“The mews,” he told the driver. “And try not to be followed.” As the car screeched off, Haven nervously studied Iain’s handsome profile. For a moment, he seemed troubled. His brow sank, throwing his eyes into shadow. His lips were pressed tightly together as though sealed against leaks. This was not the shallow playboy she’d been expecting. For a moment, Iain Morrow looked like a man with a terrible weight upon his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Haven asked, suddenly acutely aware that she knew next to nothing about the person beside her.

“Don’t mind me,” Iain assured Haven, taking her hand. “I just didn’t expect to find you so soon. There were a few things I was hoping to get out of the way first.”

“I’m sorry,” Haven said, afraid to ask what he meant. “My timing has never been very good.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”

Iain’s gloom had lifted, leaving the familiar grin in its place. Just a little bit lopsided, it was the same smile Constance had fallen in love with when she first saw it across a piazza in Rome. The face framing it might have changed, but there was no doubt it belonged to the boy she’d adored. No one else could have mastered an expression that was equal parts mischief, caution, and pluck. This is Ethan, Haven told herself. The thought left her so giddy she was glad she was already sitting down.

“You’ve really been waiting for me?” she asked.

“Let’s see if I can prove it to you.” He pushed Haven back on the plush seat of the car and kissed her once more. His hands wandered over her silk dress, but Haven didn’t stop them. Every part of her body was on fire, and when she felt his hand on her bare thigh, she thought she might pass out from pleasure.

“Not yet,” she told herself without realizing that she’d spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry.” Iain pulled Haven upright and helped smooth her hair. “I guess I couldn’t help myself. Ninety years is a long time to wait.”

“Too long,” Haven agreed, adjusting her dress, which had ridden up almost to her waist. There was no longer any doubt in her mind. Iain Morrow might have looked nothing like the Ethan she’d drawn as a little girl, but Haven knew she’d found the man from her dreams. That’s what Constance had wanted. Now all Haven had to do was figure out
why.

Just before the Mercedes reached Washington Square Park, Iain’s driver pulled up at one end of a cobblestone lane. Tall iron gates kept unwanted vehicles and trespassers out of a block-long passage, which was lined with houses that resembled quaint, ivy-covered cottages compared to the skyscrapers around them. Old-fashioned lanterns lit the lane, and colorful blooms dripped from window boxes. The entire scene appeared charmingly antiquated, like an illustration ripped from a fairy tale. The street sign read WASHINGTON MEWS.

Haven stepped out of the car and slipped back in time. Everything looked exactly as it always had. Aside from a shiny new motor scooter parked outside one of the buildings, there was no trace of the twenty-first century.

“We’re home,” Iain said, taking Haven’s hand and guiding her toward a little white cottage. They were alone in the lane. Even the roar of the Fifth Avenue traffic was silenced, and all she could hear was the click of her own heels on the cobblestones. When they reached the red door, Haven stopped and peered up expectantly at the second floor. The green velvet curtains were still hanging in the windows. Her entire body began to tingle again. This was the place she was destined to find.

She turned to Iain. “I died here,” she said.

“We both did.” Iain reminded her as his fingers gently stroked her cheek.

“What happened?”

He shook his head. Either he didn’t remember, or he didn’t want to tell her.

“The house is yours now?”

“I asked my father to buy it for me for my thirteenth birthday. He thought I’d gone insane.”

“You’ve known about me for that long?”

Iain smiled. “I’ve known about you so much longer than that.”

 

INSIDE, THE HOUSE was pitch-black, and she heard Iain fumbling around in the darkness. Then, lamp by lamp, the room was revealed. Haven stood stunned as her eyes roamed the cottage. She could see her own taste in every piece of furniture, every work of art. They were exactly what she would have chosen herself, and she knew that Constance had been the decorator. The space itself was immaculately clean. It was as though the little building had been patiently waiting for her to return for almost a century.

“I thought the house burned down,” Haven murmured, overcome by nostalgia.

“It did. It’s taken me years to get it back into shape.”

“But all the things. They’re mine, aren’t they?”

“They’re replicas,” Iain explained. “Reproductions. I re-created the house from memory.”

“You remembered all of this?” Everything Haven knew about the past had come from her visions or her father’s notes. Constance and Ethan still didn’t feel quite real to her. Yet here was the first undeniable proof that they both had existed.

“I remember everything. Go ahead,” Iain urged her. “Have a look around.”

 

HAVEN WANDERED the ground floor of the little house with her hands at her sides, afraid at first to touch anything. A dressmaker’s dummy stood naked in one corner, next to a desk stacked with brightly colored tins. She opened one and found it filled with emerald beads. Another held mother-of-pearl buttons. Little objects cluttered every surface, and Haven reached out and picked up a palm-size sculpture of a reclining nude, which lay on the fireplace mantel. A warm, pleasant sensation rippled over her skin. Turning the object over in her hands, she knew somehow that it was an exact copy of a piece that Constance’s grandmother had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

“What do you think?” Iain was sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting nervously for her reaction. His eyes hadn’t once left her face. His gaze was every bit as intense as Ethan’s. It felt as if he could peer inside of her.

“You did this for
me
?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wanted it to be perfect when you got back. So you’d know for sure it was really me. So we could pick up where we left off.”

“You knew I’d come to New York?”
He knows who you are. And he’ll be looking for you,
she heard Leah Frizzell’s voice say. Haven pushed the thought from her mind.

“Well, there was always the chance that you’d ended up somewhere in China, but I
hoped
you were close enough to find me again. I went to a great deal of trouble to make myself conspicuous. I used to have my assistant alert the paparazzi every time I went out for a cup of coffee. I thought that if I let them photograph me, you might see me one day. Of course, that was before the paparazzi turned against me.”

“But they were the reason I found you. I saw you on TV.”

“Then I guess it was worth it, after all.” Iain was pleased. “Aren’t you going to finish your tour?”