 
Ghostly Tours

A Halloween Novella

Fantasy Romance

By

Kathy Bosman

Ghostly Tours

By Kathy Bosman

Cover Design by Kathy Bosman

Cover Image courtesy of hyena reality at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

GHOSTLY TOURS

Copyright © 2017 KATHY BOSMAN

# Dedicated To:

My late Aunty Helen and late Granny Bubbeh. Love you lots.

#  Acknowledgements

To my spiritual guides. Thank you.

To my writer friends who encouraged me while I've battled through two years of writer's block. I appreciate you and love the community.

# Chapter One

"There's a storm on its way. Will be here Sunday," Susanna's colleague told her from across her desk in the open-plan office where she worked. Susanna nodded. It didn't concern her. She stayed on the fifth floor in an apartment block, a good distance from the sea. Sure, she had a sea view, but there was no way a bad storm with galeforce winds could make the waves reach her. She'd just close up all the windows and the whines would seethe through her home. She kind of liked the sound. It made her boring evenings a bit more interesting. Sometimes, she'd sit by the window and watch the trees bowing below and the waves lash against the shore. As long as the powerlines didn't get knocked down or her Wi-Fi didn't get cut. Selfish, yes.

"And it's Halloween." Donna grinned.

"Is that supposed to be bad luck?" Susanna asked, anxious to get back to her work and go home. It had been a crazy day with several disgruntled clients. On days like this, she hated her job. Working in tourism was usually fun—organizing getaways and family vacations for people, but not when they didn't appreciate her efforts. Not when the hotels or tours she'd chosen weren't to their picky liking. And she knew the best of the best.

"Ah, thanks for reminding me," she said to her friend who ignored her question. "I was planning to have a scary-movie marathon the whole weekend. I'd forgotten it was Halloween. And it's a Friday." Her mood suddenly upped several notches.

"Can I join you?" Donna asked.

"What? Aren't you going out with Bart? I mean, it's Halloween weekend."

"And you?"

"I don't go out on holidays. I hate crowds. You know that."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Don't I? I've been trying—"

Their boss, Estelle, dropped a file on her desk. "New tour company in Tuscany vineyards country. Take a look."

"Ooh." Susanna snatched it up. "My favorite."

Estelle shrugged and walked away.

"I wish," she whispered. When would she be given the privilege of actually testing the tours? She always had to do her research online, or Estelle or Brian got to actually go on the tour and handed her a report after the fact. The woes of being a junior travel consultant.

"I've always wanted to tour Tuscany," she mumbled to Donna who suddenly looked deeply studious.

"Haven't we all."

Donna's dismissive comment dropped her mood back to the dry valley it had been in before she'd remembered it was Halloween. No, seriously, the Italian province had been her dream for years. It had been one of the reasons she'd become a travel consultant, in the hopes that she'd actually get to stay there and savor its delights: Italian food, green vineyards, wine tasting, whitewashed houses, handsome Italian men.

After typing up several emails to companies, she settled back into her chair and read through the tour company's file.

"Ghostly Tours," she said aloud, but Donna had taken some work over to discuss with Brian. "Who on Earth calls their company...?"

She grinned. The tour company liked to take their clients to all the monuments, war memorials, and cemeteries, going over the history of vital people who had died in the area.

"Of all the things to do in Tuscany..." She looked up to find Estelle peering over the partition in front of her computer. She jumped in surprise, and Estelle's eyes filled with a strange mixture of amusement and an emotion Susanna couldn't quite put her finger on, but couldn't help thinking was a little malicious.

"I've been thinking..."

That sounded ominous. "Mmmh-mmmh."

"Seeing you're really keen on Tuscany, and well, this tour company seems rather gloomy, to be honest, and Brian and I are rather snowed under at the moment, I was thinking..."

Susanna jumped up, aware how wide her eyes and mouth were, but not caring a bit. "Yes, oh yes! I'll do it."

"Sit down, Susanna." Estelle sneered at her. The woman truly had a way of making her feel like a worm and not a woman. "It's your job; it's not a vacation. We'd like you to take the Ghostly Tours Tuscany tour—the full three-week one. You'll have to take your admin work with you and do as much as you can in the evenings else you're going to get way behind." It didn't bother Susanna a bit that when Estelle and Brian went on tour, Donna, Susanna, and the twins ended up having double workload. No, not a single blip.

"And I want a full report—a breakdown of every day while on tour. Even the boring stuff—the graves, the cemeteries." Estelle cackled; she could easily play the villainess in some creepy horror movie. She had "nasty" down to a fine art. "So, you're going to be insanely busy and probably bored out of your socks during the day, then working till midnight every night. You sure you're still keen?"

"Of course, yes." She touched Estelle on the arm; the woman flinched and stepped back, her face filled with disgust. "Thank you so much," Susanna bumbled out.

Estelle stiffened her back. She snatched her skin away from any touch—yes, the only "love" she could stomach was reptilian Brian's lustful ones. "Well, you'd better start preparing. Your plane leaves tonight."

"What?"

"I've booked your flight already."

"You what?"

Estelle scowled. "It's your job."

Susanna wanted to say that Estelle should really check these things first. What if she'd made plans for the weekend? But she clamped her mouth shut and sat down, her legs jelly and her insides on fire. How could she back out of a dream come true, no matter how oddly it was coming together?

"It's Halloween," she whispered.

"Yes, Ghostly Tours. You may leave early. I'll arrange a lift to the airport for you. Your tour starts on Sunday." Estelle's eyes held an eerie light, and an involuntary shiver ran through her body. The woman disappeared, leaving Susanna to ponder the full impact of what was about to happen. Should she be filled with dread? She'd never flown out of the States. What would it be like to go on a long flight? Would she have enough clothes? What would the weather be like there? How about a visa? Estelle knew how to organize those fast. She had a feeling the woman was probably busy sorting it out right this minute. It was rather odd—her whole creepy behavior, but maybe her thoughts earlier about her scary-movie marathon, while all alone in the apartment, with the wind whining through all the cracks and swaying the building, had put her in a "scary" frame of mind. Surely, there couldn't be anything wicked about Tuscany?

# Chapter Two

The taxi drove along the Florence streets at what felt like slow motion to Susanna. With scratchy eyes, she tried to take in the sights, but the tiredness made it increasingly difficult.

"This sucks," she muttered to herself, the taxi driver peering at her curiously in the rearview mirror. Susanna had a few hours to settle in her hotel, then she needed to get some sleep before the tour started the next morning, early. She'd hardly slept on the long flight and kept yawning, but she feared she'd be unable to sleep tonight, the nerves playing havoc on her body and mind. She'd hardly had time to sort out her personal affairs. Thankfully, her friend and next-door neighbor, Kaylee, had been available to come over to pick up her parrot, Sedward. She'd pet-sit him for the next three weeks. Susanna had thrown things in her case last minute. If she needed anymore clothes, she wouldn't have time to go shopping. She had no idea if she'd packed the right things at all; at least she'd made sure to bring two pairs of decent walking shoes.

The taxi driver pulled up in front of a hotel in Florence. It looked quaint and too beautiful for a two-star; apparently that's what Estelle had arranged for her to stay in until the tour started. Of course, she would book a two-star, because no way could junior Susanna live it up like she and Brian always did. Susanna had no complaints, but the long flight had got her thinking on the way her boss treated her. Despite her excitement about touring Tuscany, she couldn't help the resentment building. It was a bit harder to enjoy something when you couldn't even prepare for your trip and buy a decent wardrobe. She had a feeling Estelle had booked her in a while back, but only broke it to her at the last minute so she didn't have a chance to back out.

The driver rattled off a figure in euros, and thanks to Estelle's organization, she did have some foreign currency and could pay for her fair. She thanked him profusely and made her way to her room. Within minutes, her cases were placed by her bed and the bellhop disappeared with a handsome tip, so she flopped on the garish bedspread and closed her eyes. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She covered her eyes with her hand and sighed. Phew, the last few hours had been stressful. Finally she'd made it here.

***

Susanna woke up with the room in darkness and her throat dried up like a cotton ball.

"I need a drink," she croaked out and then moaned when she looked at the time. It was close to midnight. How would she find a restaurant at this hour? But she desperately needed something to wet her throat and her stomach felt like a bottomless pit. Airline food had been an insipid fare; no wonder she felt she could eat for days.

After wetting her face and bringing some sense of normalcy to her wild curls, Susanna went down the stairs to find some food. The lobby of the hotel was empty and everything practically in darkness. The silence seemed deafening, then she nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud, deep chime bonged twelve times, booming through her body like a bongo drum, echoing through every crevice of her brain.

"Midnight. Great," she muttered. The hotel could've invested in a more pleasant-sounding clock. Thankfully, the doors to the hotel had been left open. Florence should be alive at night; it was a tourist destination, after all. Surely, it would be more welcoming than the hotel. She'd have to walk around a bit to find out.

Venture out, she did, but it didn't prove as fruitful an endeavor as she'd hoped. The hotel was flanked by several other businesses, all closed at this hour. The clip-clop of her court shoes on the pavement echoed through the stillness. Not a single star could be seen in the sky, which was covered with clouds, and she shivered, more from a feeling of unease than cold. The sound of a crowd could be heard, wafting from what she thought must be the end of the street. Hope! She headed in the direction of life and prayed it was a restaurant or nightclub which served something moist.

When the noises grew louder, her ease increased. Even Italian strangers would be better than her own company in an empty street. How safe was it to walk alone in Florence? She had no idea.

People streamed out of a building. She marched toward the entrance. It appeared like a theater.

"Oh great," she mumbled.

Maybe there was some food inside. She slipped in through the wide doors, past impatient people firing away in Italian, feeling out of place in the rumpled clothes she'd worn on the airplane and slept in for the last few hours. When she discovered it was a cinema and not a theater, the relief was palpable. At least she could buy some popcorn and soda. At this hour, she was content to settle.

Eerie music streamed out from one of the movie houses. She looked up at the posters to see what was showing. Every booth had a scary movie related to Halloween.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that." She leaned against a wall to get out of the way, all the energy seeped out of her. Somehow, it made her sad that she wasn't at home plowing through her scary-movie marathon. It was Halloween, after all. She didn't even have Sedward to chat to. He loved making commentaries during the movies.

She spotted the popcorn queue and joined the long snake, surprised at how tired her feet felt; it's not like she'd been standing for hours.

While she stood in the queue, she took out the spare phone Estelle had lent her which would connect to an Italian network. She booted it up.

"Are you sure you want to go on the tour tomorrow?" she heard a woman behind her say in American English.

A man chuckled. "You're scared you may see a ghost?"

"I'm not coming with, if that's what you think. It's creepy."

"No, it's fun. There's been nothing like this, ever. Aren't you game?"

Susanna wondered if they were talking about Ghostly Tours. She honed her ears in case she missed something, and tried to look like she was interested in her phone.

"It sounds stupid to me," the woman said with mock disdain.

Susanna itched to see what they looked like but kept facing the front of the queue. If she turned around, they may stop talking about the tour.

"Finally something different. It's about time people connected to something paranormal in this city."

"Come on, Shane; Italy is a place of art, food, and history. You never appreciate what really matters." There was tease in her voice.

"It's Halloween, for goodness' sake, Mom. It's about time I actually felt a bit scared."

"Nothing scares you, son. Nothing at all. Except..."

"Well, I want that to change."

Susanna's eyes popped open wide. She'd never heard a conversation like this before. And how could someone not be frightened by a scary movie? They terrified her. Why she put herself through them when she lived on her own, she had no clue.

"

Anyway, while you go on your gloomy tour, I'm going to be tasting Italian pasta and gelato."

"They do allow us to eat, you know. It's not like Ghostly Tours isn't totally professional. As I told you, Ryan and Jessica know what they're doing. They've run tours all over Europe."

"Meh." The woman sounded tired of the conversation.

Susanna couldn't resist it any longer. She turned round to see who had provoked such intense curiosity in her. The man stared right at her with piercing blue eyes. His dark hair contrasted them beautifully, and his roughened face made lust rise up in her—a sensation she hadn't experienced for a long time. But something made her shiver, maybe the way he stared intently into her soul or a feeling she got in close proximity to him: uneasy and goose-bumpy and scary. She glanced at the mother, who seemed too concerned with a paper she held in her hand. The woman seemed like an ordinary middle-aged American female. But the man...

She whipped her head round to find she was at the front of the queue. With shaky hands, she paid for her popcorn, soda, and a candy bar. She could slip into one of the scary movies; it would help the night pass quicker before the tour tomorrow, and she'd feel less like she was missing out on her Halloween movie marathon, but something in her couldn't quite face up to it tonight. Yet, how would she manage the walk back to the hotel all on her own? It was only a block, but the thought made her insides clench tight.

Rendered useless by her indecision, Susanna instead found a corner of the room by a pillar and tucked into her "meal" while people-watching. The place seemed to team with tourists, but she liked studying the Italian people the most. They really were good-looking with their olive complexions and dark features.

The room emptied fast as the people filed into the dark theaters. A few stragglers remained behind—the theater workers and some latecomers. Susanna's uneasiness increased as the room emptied and eerie music filtered through from the cinema rooms. How would she make it back to the hotel? Why hadn't she just gone to sleep on an empty tummy?

Eventually she was eating the salt and kernels at the bottom of the popcorn carton and taking her last sips of soda. The candy bar was stashed in her purse for later. It was time to face up to the short walk back. Surely, she would be safe. Or should she wait until the movies were finished? There were bound to be moviegoers heading in the same direction as she. There was nothing worse than indecision brought on by irrational anxiety. Yet, somehow that man had made her feel uneasy; it was like he wanted her to feel that tingly, shivery feeling up and down her arms.

Someone touched her on the shoulder. She gasped loudly and turned around. The very object of her thoughts faced her in all seriousness.

"Are you okay?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm fine." Her voice came out a bit too defensive.

"You seem lost."

"I..." Her eyes filled with tears. Oh, crud. She tried to blink them away furiously, but it only made the moisture fall out of her eyes.

He looked deeply concerned, so she began to seriously doubt her sanity; why had she thought he was creepy earlier?

"Are you waiting for someone? They didn't arrive?"

"No, um, well..." Honesty was always the best route, even in times like these. "I came here purely to get some food. I couldn't find any restaurants open at this hour. My taxi ride only dropped me off at the hotel a few hours ago. I fell asleep because of a horrible flight, and woke up just before midnight."

"You're in Italy all on your own?"

She lifted her chin. "Yes, why not?" True, why didn't Estelle arrange for someone to accompany her? What was her problem? As a travel agent, she should be up to these things.

"It is my first time though. I'm kind of unsure of things."

He pressed her gently on the elbow, making her shiver in a different way—a warm, comforting shiver. "May I accompany you back to your hotel entrance?"

His blue eyes sparkled with gentlemanly concern.

"I don't know, though you seem nice, I..."

"I'll ask my mother to join us. Will that make you feel more comfortable?"

"That would be great. Thank you so much, um..." She knew his name was Shane. She hadn't forgotten, but she didn't want him to know she knew.

"Shane. And yours?"

"Susanna."

"Wait here, Susanna. I'm going to call my mother."

She lurched forward to stop him, by standing in front of him. "Please don't disturb her movie. I'll wait until—"

"Believe me, Susanna, I think she'll be quite relieved." The twinkle of amusement in his eyes made her chuckle lightly. The relief was quite intense as she watched him march into one of the cinemas. She took out the candy bar and took several bites. What a good thing she'd found a fellow American to help her in her time of need. The world truly was a friendly place, after all.

***

The walk back to the hotel was pleasant and peppered with light conversation. Shane's mother, whose name was Eriza, asked Susanna about her travel consultant job. "So why Ghostly Tours?" she said just as they reached the entrance to the hotel.

"I'm not sure. It's a new one on my desk. My boss heard that I have dreamed of visiting Tuscany and offered for me to come. Although I have a strong suspicion she's been planning this for a while. I don't think she was keen on it herself as she's normally the one to take the tours."

"I honestly don't blame her," said Eriza. "I don't know why Shane insists on wasting his vacation on the tour."

Shane remained quiet and tight-lipped. Susanne thought he must be the moody type, but then he suddenly chirped, "If you enjoy ghostbusting, this tour will be a total hoot." He chuckled mock-wickedly.

Eriza gave him an annoyed look. "Shane, how many times have I told you that it's just going to be boring memorial sites and graveyards? You'll be reading gravestones and looking at war mementoes."

"I have inside knowledge it's a lot more than that."

Susanna shivered involuntarily. "Don't say that. I think I'd prefer to stick to the boring history."

Shane gave her a knowing look. "That's just because it's nightime and it's Halloween." His eyes turned strange. If the Ripley's Believe it or Not music chimed in the background, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

"Well"—she cleared her throat—"I need to head to bed. I have to be fresh as I'm working tomorrow."

"I'll see you at the tour." Shane seemed pleased.

"Thank you so much."

They headed back toward the cinemas and Susanna made a fast retreat toward her hotel room. Part of her couldn't wait to see Shane again—he did have the most entrancing eyes, but another part filled with dread. Something didn't feel right. Could he enchant her somehow? Was he some non-human creature like a vampire or werewolf? Okay, she really had seen too many scary movies in her lifetime.

Once in her room, Susanna headed to the bathroom. They had a claw-foot tub, deep and shiny, and peppered around it were bath bombs, bath salts, and all sorts of pamper items. Two-star? Something didn't add up. She ran the water and popped three bombs into the hot spray. They exploded into a kaleidoscope of bubbles, color, and delightful scent. Without bothering to close the bathroom door, she dropped her clothes on the spot, and slipped into the glorious ice-cream-like liquid.

Her whole being eased as she immersed herself up to her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed. A breeze blew her hair. Huh?

She opened her eyes, wondering if she should've closed her door. Maybe a draught was coming in through the whole hotel room. A shadow streaked across her vision. She blinked and puffed air at her eyes—possibly a hair had flicked over her eye. The shadow seemed like a dark cloud against the white ceiling. She sat up, displacing the water violently and making it spill over the sides of the bath. The breeze cut at her skin. She stood up; it didn't decrease. She stepped out onto the fluffy white mat and slammed the door shut, then slipped back under the water. The shadow could only be her imagination, but the breeze could never be. Her body eased as the warmth from the water seeped into her.

She closed her eyes again. A stiff coldness swept across her face. She moaned and opened her eyes. A pair of chilling blue eyes stared at her. The scream that ripped through the echoing bathroom scared her as much as the face. She swatted at the visage, spraying bubbles all over the air. "What are you? Go away!"

"Susanna," it said with a deep and soothing voice. "Don't be afraid."

She stood up, then realized the face was on top of a masculine shape, very hazy, but definitely masculine. And she was starkers. She flung herself back into the water, sending a good portion of the water over the sides. The cleanup was going to be fun. As if she should be thinking of that now.

"Are you a ghost?" she blew a bubble toward the visage.

"I am what I am."

"Did you see me naked?"

The eyes blinked. "I did. Is that a problem?"

If this wasn't so freaky, she'd be laughing now. Was she talking to a ghost?

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I am usually a modest person, but well, I don't normally get a male visitor in the bathroom with me. Now please can you go away. I want to wash myself. I desperately need some sleep."

"You are surpisingly calm, I have to give you that. I shall be waiting for you in the bedroom." With that, poof, he was gone. She stared at the tiny window above the basin. Maybe she could make an escape. She'd put her dirty clothes back on...

Of course, she wasn't on the ground floor. And well, something in her wanted to know who he was. Why, she had no idea.

"I'll take my time though. Savor the bubbles and crème." She lay there, but her heart beat so fast, she couldn't enjoy the glorious scent or velvety sensation of the bath bombs. With haste, she washed herself, even shampooing her hair. She towelled herself dry with the lush white hotel towel and wrapped it around her. The ghost would have to accept her partially naked form. If he wanted to disturb her peace, he needed to understand she didn't want to waste her bath and put back the icky airplane-smelly clothes.

Her hands shook so much, she could barely tie the little knot at the top of the towel to hold it around her, above her breasts, but she did succeed. Bracing herself, she stepped into her bedroom. The room was strangely normal. Everything looked the same as she'd left it. She scanned the ceiling and walls.

"Hello," she called, "are you still there?"

Silence. It pierced her with fear more than his voice had. Was he ready to pounce on her? Possess her? Scream eerily into her ears?

"Show yourself, whoever you are."

Nothing.

She sat on the bed, craning her neck to look around at every nook and cranny of the room. After quite some time, she began to feel cold. She rummaged in her suitcase for her nightdress and slipped it on. She buried herself inside the fluffy covers of the bed and closed her eyes. Had she imagined the whole thing? It could be a mixture of lack of sleep, exhaustion, and Halloween.

It could only be that.

# Chapter Three

The first thought, as Susanna woke up in the morning, was how come the covers were back to those garish maroon paisley things, thin and scratchy against her skin, and the pillow flat as a yoga mat? Gone was the fluffy down duvet she'd fallen asleep in. She stumbled to the bathroom and found a tiny plastic tub and a nasty, old toilet, bordered by an ugly maroon mat. No soft towel adorned the rail, neither were there any pamper things surrounding the bath.

Had she imagined last night? The whole bath experience with the ghost with blue eyes? She chuckled as she pondered it more deeply. It must have been a dream—a garble of her thoughts on how unfair it was that Estelle and Brian got to stay in the fancy hotels, plus her strange encounter with the man Shane at the movie theater who possessed the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

Her humor was shortlived when she realized how much time she had to get ready—only twenty minutes. It looked like she would go hungry again. Why hadn't her alarm woken her up?

She rushed around and barely had time to style her hair and put on makeup. If Shane saw her as a mess, what would it matter? It's not like they would ever meet again after the tour. He lived the other end of the States, from the little she'd learned about him.

When she arrived at the tour spot—an office in a block in the opposite direction of the hotel—she had to stand outside for a few moments to catch her breath. Barely recovered and sure her face was as red as a beetroot, she stepped inside the Ghostly Tours office. For some reason, she'd expected gaudy decorations like a bad Halloween shop, but instead, the office looked neat and professional and the walls were adorned with boring war memorials, historical posters, and elaborate maps of Tuscany. People milled around, tucking into finger foods. She gravitated straight to a map of Tuscany. The food could be munched on during the talk. Didn't all tour groups give a talk beforehand? A tingly sensation blanketed her shoulders; she turned around, confused. Blue eyes, familiar, and crystal-clear, stared at her from dark brows and olive skin. "Shane, hi." She couldn't help grinning. The guy did crazy things to her being: thrilled and scared her at the same time—a potent cocktail.

"Susanna." The way he said her name sounded oddly familiar, yet he'd never said it like that before.

She shook her head. "Have a good sleep, Shane?"

He shrugged and his eyes shuttered. For a brief second, she thought she glimpsed deep pain in his eyes, but the whole Shane experience had confused her from the start, so she didn't jump to any conclusions.

"You?" he seemed to tag on the end.

"The duvet was heavenly." She coughed. "Well, let's just say I dreamed it was." She shook her head. "I was tired. I dreamed lots of strange things."

"Stranger than fiction? Or more real than fiction?" He turned to the tour guides who walked toward him.

"Shane Gibson! It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Hi, Ryan. Jessica." He shook the couple's hands. "This is Susanna."

"Welcome, Susanna." Ryan took her hand enthusiastically and Jessica gave her a hug. What a relief the tour guides were friendly.

"Ready for the ride of your life?" Ryan asked her.

Susanna grinned. "Sure thing. I'll be working though. I'm with Estelle's consultancy from Sarasota."

"Please help yourself to some snacks. We'll only be stopping at lunchtime." Jessica pointed at the snack table. Susanna reasoned she wouldn't have time to study the map with so much friendly conversation going on, so she picked up and gladly tucked into a croissant with thick mango and pear jam, a buttery, cheesy muffin, some shiny cherry tomatoes, and a slice of halloumi.

While Susanna finished off her muffin and alternately sipped a cup of steaming cappucino, Jessica quietened the crowd and gave the instructions for the tour—the usual, to be expected stuff: check the booklet for the schedule, stay with the group, and make sure to return to the bus at the designated times. Always feel free to ask either Jessica or Ryan for assistance.

"And last but not least, leave the ghost talk to the pros. You may not photograph or video any paranormal activities as it disturbs the spirits."

The crowd laughed nervously, and Susanna stared at Jessica, then Ryan, and lastly Shane to see if Jessica had made a serious comment or a joke. The three faces looked matter-of-fact—not a single amused look or twinkle in the eye.

Surely not!

"And Happy Halloween," Ryan boomed with a wicked cackle. The people joining the tour cheered in response.

Once again, her head spun with the strangeness of her experience since she'd arrived in Tuscany. It all had to be some silly joke—maybe they'd mixed up Halloween with April Fool's Day.

But she couldn't brush away the last comment as they gathered their booklets and other brochures of the area and made their way to the tour bus. Shane stayed close to the tour guides—a good thing, she supposed, as it would be easier to relax and concentrate on her work without the distraction of his mesmerizing gaze and gut-penetrating voice.

The first stop was a short distance south from the center of Florence—Florence American Cemetery. The tour bus pulled up outside a beautiful wide gate with a golden wreath in its center. The driveway into the cemetery was flanked by rows of trees hiding expansive fields dotted with pure-white crosses. Susanna watched in wonder. She'd never considered a cemetery beautiful before.

Jessica spoke for the first time since they'd climbed on the tour bus. Her deep, confident voice rang out. "This cemetery holds the burial site of more than four thousand American soldiers, most of whom died in the Second World War, after the capture of Rome, and some in the battles in the Apennine's Mountains that actually occurred after the war."

"I can't believe they were all Americans," Susanna said to Shane once they'd stepped out the bus. "I didn't know so many of our soldiers gave their lives in the Second World War." She stared out at the perfect rows of white crosses patterning the lush, green grass. A sadness swept over her, poignant and intense.

"Inside the atrium are the names of the soldiers who were missing—over a thousand, although some of them have been found since," Shane added. He gazed up at a statue on top of a huge, white pinnacle. She watched his face, how pensive he seemed. Maybe he felt it too. "Will you take a look at them later?" he asked her, his eyes darker than they'd ever been—a deep indigo.

She nodded numbly.

Ryan led them throughout the cemetery. They walked beside the rows of white crosses, and Susanna read some of them, wondering who they'd been, whose son they were, or father, or husband. There were even a couple of women amongst the memorial stones. Were they nurses? Soldiers? Spies?

Later they filed into the atrium, with walls covered in names of soldiers and which state they hailed from. She looked around for Shane, surprised not to see him anywhere. He seemed to really want her to look at the missing soldiers. Some of the names had rosettes next to them—as Jessica had said—a sign they'd been found since. She stood before one of the concrete plaques and read through the names. A breeze picked up, tickling the hairs at the back of her neck, below her ponytail. She blinked. Everything seemed fuzzy, like a cloud of mist stood between her eyes and what she tried to read.

Blue eyes stared, unblinking, at her, blocking her view. She tried to scream, but a cold hand muted her mouth. "Be still, Susanna." The same voice spoke, the deep voice that entered into her being and rumbled inside her—Shane's.

"Shane?" she said in her head. "Is that you?"

"I'm lost," he said. "Have been for the last seventy-three years."

"Who are you?"

"I'm—"

A piercing wail streaked through her consciousness. Susanna whipped her head round to find one of the ladies in the tour screaming and pointing above Susanna's head. "A ghost. I saw a ghost."

Ryan's face turned dark. "Be quiet."

The tour members stared above Susanna's head. She felt her face heat with all the attention although all they cared about was her blue-eyed ghost. Someone snapped a photo.

Susanna shouted. "Hey," but then a series of flashes ensued. The mist disappeared with the light-flashes, and Shane was gone. Or so she thought it was him.

"Do we need to stress again that no photography of paranormal activity is allowed?" Ryan said, his voice like stone.

A middle-aged man in the group mumbled, "We honestly thought that was just a joke. Do you really expect us not to want to show people what we saw?"

"If you wish to enjoy the full benefit of Ghostly Tours, you need to refrain from photographing any paranormal activity," Jessica said, her face strained.

Susanna turned away from the conflict—she'd always hated any confrontation—and glanced at the plaque, hoping that blue-eyes would appear for her again. She blinked in shock. A name on the list of missing men seemed to pulse with energy, the way it highlighted itself in her eyes—McDonald Shane T—SGT—something about bomb squad—Maryland.

"We're going to the next spot," Jessica said behind her. Susanna turned to see the place empty except for her and the tour guide. "Oh, where did everyone vanish to?"

"You've been staring at that plaque for ages; is there someone you know on it?" Jessica's expression looked strange.

"I don't know. I... Don't you think it's so sad—all these men missing—their families never knowing what had happened to them?"

"Yes, it's tragic."

"But I suppose it was a long time ago. People have moved on." She followed Jessica out the atrium, down past the tall, white pinnacle and along the pathway, back to the tour bus. They walked in silence. The day was beautiful, the sun bright, the sky blue, and the greenery added to the brilliant colors. "That's what I love about Tuscany—the colors, the hazy feel, the warm air."

"You've been here before?" Jessica asked.

"No, just always dreamed of it."

Jessica smiled. "I like that."

***

"Next stop: English Cemetery, Florence." Ryan assumed the tour guide role and spoke in the bus this time. In the strange dreamlike state that Susanna had climbed back into the bus in, she'd somehow missed seeing Shane get in there too. He sat on the seat across from her, buried in some papers resting on a book.

"Where were you?" She wanted to elbow him in the arm, but the aisle was too wide between them.

"I had some paperwork to do."

"I should be the one doing paperwork, not you. What you up to?"

"I'm doing research for a thesis."

"A thesis?"

"To do with American soldiers dying in Europe."

"Oh, quite apt. Is that why you're on this tour?" She frowned. Surely Shane's mother would understand his fascination with Ghostly Tours then.

He chuckled. "I'm just kidding." He swatted her on the leg. She pulled away, a little annoyed at his strange joke.

"So, what are you up to?"

"Just some business paperwork. I'm an actuary."

"Oh."

"Yes, I know. I should be enjoying my vacation, but I had some leftover work to complete. May as well make use of the time."

"But you missed the atrium."

"So I did. I've been there before."

She nodded. Sounded about right.

"Many times?" She stared pointedly at him.

Ryan broke the awkward silence her question had created, with another speech. "After this site, we'll be stopping for lunch and then an hour of free time. Thankfully, the area where we'll have lunch is surrounded by several interesting shops. Don't spend all your money on the first day of tour."

The entrance to the English cemetery wasn't as grand as the American one, but Ryan spoke as they walked in, piquing her interest with what he said. "The Florence English Cemetery is known as the Victorian cemetery, and you'll soon see why. So, the graves here were for the non-Jewish and non-Catholic people, who died during the eighteenth century, as they weren't allowed to be buried in Florence. Elizabeth Barrett Browning is buried here as well as Shakespeare's relative, Beatrice Shakespeare. Please take time to study Elizabeth's grave as it's quite elaborate. You can spend half an hour perusing the grounds. There are several delightful statues to photograph."

"This time are we allowed to use our cameras?" the middle-aged man asked with a scowl.

"We don't expect to encounter any paranormal activity here at this hour, but if you do find something, please let us know. We're always keen to see," Ryan said.

"Mmmh," the man mumbled.

Elizabeth's grave looked like a British version of the arc of the covenant, mounted on Roman columns.

"Very fancy and very British, I tell you," Susanna said to one of the touring ladies who stood next to her.

She nodded with a smile.

"Do you think she's inside that box or under the ground?" she added.

"I don't know." The woman with windswept hair shrugged.

Susanna spent the next half an hour looking around. She enjoyed going at her own pace and staring at the artwork around the place. The historicity and style fascinated her. She shivered when she came across a tall statue of a skeletal man with his eyes blindfolded—well, more like sockets, not eyes—and his gnarly, fleshless hand holding a staff.

"He's the grimm reaper," Shane whispered in her ear from behind. She jumped, nearly dropping her purse and clipboard onto the ground.

"Hey, you spooked me."

His eyes darkened. "Didn't mean to."

She punched him lightly in the stomach. "Yes, you did. Don't lie." Something warm entered her being at the contact with his firm stomach.

"I confess." He patted his chest. "It's Halloween; what else can I do?"

"Are there any other scary statues around here? I've only seen ordinary ones. Well, the woman with her head in her hand is beautiful, so tragic."

"I'll show you." She followed him through the grounds, peppered with overgrown creepers and swaying trees, while he showed her several more. They walked in silence; Susanna couldn't help feeling that Shane carried a deep secret in his being. Sometimes he went deathly quiet. No pun intended, she told herself with a grim smile. Yet, he seemed so alive, so male, so magnetic. She'd touched him briefly. He was warm; his scent was a mixture of earthy and spicy. She couldn't ignore his delightful features: Greek nose, big, deepset eyes, fluffy, dark brown hair, firm chin, and thin but soft-looking mouth. Sometimes, he spoke with a slight accent; she couldn't quite place it—Irish, Scottish, Welsh?

How could he be her blue-eyed ghost? But his voice? Those eyes? The fact he'd disappeared. It all pointed toward—

"See this one." He turned her by the shoulders to face a simple plaque of a man lost to his wife and children.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she mumbled, finding it hard to think straight after he touched her.

"Tragic." He went quiet. "It must've taken them years to get over their grief."

"My dad died when I was ten. You never quite get over it," she said.

"I'm sorry." He took her hand in his. She considered pulling away; they hardly knew one another, but somehow it provided a sense of comfort, mixed with a thrill.

"There are so many flowers on the graves."

"The Italians are loyal to their dead."

"But these graves are old."

"This cemetery has a special place. And if you go inside, you'll find some info on Elizabeth Barrett Browning."

"Shall we go inside then?" Shivers ran through her being. She began to tremble, unsure why holding hands with him had such a strange effect on her. Sure, it was definitely a desperate lust, but there was more, and she didn't want to face up to what that more could be.

As they walked toward the building, he kept her hand firmly yet comfortably in his grip. "The gypsies are helping to restore the statues and tombs."

"They are?" She didn't ask him how he knew so much; surely he should be one of the tour guides.

Susanna had never been much into poetry, but when she picked up some of the brochures containing Elizabeth Barrett Browning's work, she enjoyed the flow of the words, although she didn't really understand them. She looked around to point something out to Shane, but he'd disappeared. The tour was heading out again. Her growling stomach assured her it was a good thing. When would she get a chance to document her day?

Slipping a brochure in with her folder of papers, she found the rest of the tour. Shane sat at the back of the bus next to two young female British vacationers. He seemed to be on his own mission. She shouldn't see the hand-holding as meaning anything. Maybe he'd found some comfort in her. And anyway, she'd tried the whole long-distance relationship thing twice; she wasn't about to go down that route again.

He could be her vacation dream, that's all. He was kind of dreamy.

They stopped off at a classic pizzeria for lunch. Susanna ordered a gorgeous double-cheese margherita, as advised by Jessica. Always one to find it hard to blend in with a group, she found a table by herself to cherish the Italian cuisine and catch up on some paperwork. With her left hand digging into the tomato-rich pizza and her right hand writing furiously, she didn't notice Shane sitting next to her until he made some mumbled comment.

"Sorry?" she asked, surprised to see him.

"You need to savor the flavor. Concentrate on nothing else but the burst of taste in your mouth. It's what vacation is about. Haven't you read Eat, Pray, Love?"

Susanna chuckled. "I read it a few years ago."

He snatched the pen out of her hand and snuck it into his pocket.

"Hey! I need that."

"Nothing that you can't do later."

"But I'll forget."

He sniggered. "Really?" He picked up a piece of her pizza, slipped the triangle at the non-crust end into his mouth, took a huge bite, closed his eyes, and moaned. A shiver of desire ran through her, surprising her in its intensity. Oh, how she'd like to savor his mouth, not the pizza.

He opened his eyes after chewing for some time. "You'd really forget that? Try it." He held another piece out for her.

"Nah-ah." She shook her head, her face heating. "I'll feel watched."

"I'll look away."

"Fine." She grabbed the piece, took a bite after making sure he'd turned away, and closed her eyes. The flavor did seem richer, almost potent in her mouth—tangy and sweet tomato, earthy herbs, and salty, creamy cheese. The dough melted in her mouth, but had enough crunch to add that extra resistance.

"Mmmh," she couldn't help saying. Opening her eyes, she found him staring at her mouth. His hand was a hair's breadth away from her free one, his eyes darkened to violet. She could barely swallow.

"You cheated."

He laughed, mischief lightening his eyes.

"Admit it. You enjoyed it much more than when you were working and eating at the same time."

"I know. I know."

"It's called mindfulness. You should try it."

"I will, yes." She nodded. "May I have my pen?"

"Nope. You'll get it back after the tour."

She laughed. "I can just buy another one."

"Oh, but this is your special pen. It even has your name engraved on it."

Goose bumps tripped up and down her arms. Her voice instinctively lowered. "How did you know...?"

"Shane." Jessica came up to them in a flash. "I need your help." She looked angry. What?

Shane jumped up as though he had to obey her at once. "Excuse me," he said and left without another word.

# Chapter Four

After a glorious supper at the hotel diner, Susanna headed for her room, anxious to catch up on some work and then chill. The afternoon had been fairly uneventful with one more cemetery visit and then a walk around a Florence museum. Tomorrow, the tour would travel out the city and stay in accommodation together. Surprisingly, it hadn't been as boring as she'd expected, despite the Italian museum guide. Jessica had translated some of his words for them. Most of the time, Shane had hung around Ryan. He'd distanced from her; she found him an enigma, to say the least. Maybe it was good. The last thing she needed was a distraction from the tour. She had to absorb as much as she could. The future of her job was at stake. Estelle would never send her on tour again if she failed to report this one well enough.

Once in her room, she flopped onto the bed, anxious to rest her tired muscles. They'd walked far today. The bed felt soft and bouncy; had they changed the linen? The garish paisley bedspread had been replaced with a fluffy comforter in cool greens and blues. She moaned and buried her head into the thick, lush pillow.

A row of candles and several incense sticks had been placed along a dark-wood mantelpiece beside her bed. They'd even provided matches to light them. She lit them all, as well as the patchouli incense stick. Oh, how she loved patchouli.

Switching off the main light, she allowed the candles to soften the room.

She blinked. Had that champagne glass and bubbly been there the whole time? On the table in the center of the room, stood the crystal-cut glass and a tray of Lindt chocolates in various flavors.

"Sweet."

She remembered what Shane had said so she poured a few sips of champagne and savored them little by little. Then she took a chocolate and bit into it slowly and deliberately. She closed her eyes, but all she could see were Shane's blue eyes, looking at her with desire.

So much for savoring life's simple pleasures.

When she opened her eyes, blue-eyed ghost hung in the air above her. She nearly dropped her glass.

"You're back." Her voice came out surprisingly calm. It didn't match the boom-boom of her heart and the tightness of her throat.

"Did you think I would abandon you?"

Her mind couldn't come up with an appropriate retort. It's not like she welcomed him, did she?

"What do you want?" she managed to get out while she carefully placed the glass onto the table before she put a wine stain on the plush cream carpet under her feet. Had that carpet always been there?

"To spoil you."

She frowned.

"You haven't noticed?"

It all fell into place.

"Oh, the bed linen, the bubbly, the chocolates. Even the carpet."

"The bath bombs last night."

"Right." Nothing made sense really. "It's Halloween. So I get that you're here. Indulge yourself." She hoped that didn't mean killing her.

"That's what you should be doing. Go for it." He hovered above her, all eyes, surrounded by the softened form of a man. Actually, she hadn't looked at him too carefully before. He wore a soldier's uniform, but without the hat.

"It's a bit hard with you around."

"Why? You don't like being watched?" He laughed. It should be eerie but it wasn't; it reminded her too much of Shane.

"Shane. What's going on?"

"I have to go."

With that, he was gone. Her heart sank. Finally, she was getting answers. The bubbly and chocolates hadn't disappeared. The candle and incense still added to the atmosphere of the room; the bed linen invited her to curl under and head off into dreamland. Yet, the best part of her evening had disappeared.

It could be that she'd watched too many scary movies in her life. The twisted interest had taken a toll on her psyche. She needed to get out more. Maybe this tour was the perfect thing for her. If only the human Shane wasn't around to mess with her mind.

***

The next morning, as to be expected, the hotel room looked two-starrish again. Susanna didn't have much time to ponder it or her strange night before and how relaxed she'd felt after her blue-eyed ghost had disappeared—not because he fled, but because he'd pampered her silly. Now, she had to pack her suitcase and head to the tour bus pronto. They'd be traveling to Pisa today—a one and a half hour trip.

The tour patrons were in an upbeat mood; they milled around the office in chatty groups, partaking of the delicious midmorning snack fare. Susanna felt deeply refreshed too, and was keen to get going. She figured her paranormal experiences may be over, seeing Halloween was behind her. Besides, she didn't need pampering as the tour promised stays in three-star and over establishments.

Shane kept with Jessica and Ryan so she decided to try to befriend the lady she'd spoken to at the English cemetery. "Hi," she said as the woman tucked into an egg roll.

"Hi there. Did you have a good evening?" she asked.

"Great." Heat covered her neck for some reason.

"I heard we'll see the tower today."

"The Leaning Tower?"

"Yup. After our first cemetery visit. They reluctantly agreed to add it in as it wasn't originally part of the tour, but seeing we're going to the old Jewish cemetery in Pisa, which is just next to the tower, they're happy to oblige us."

"Oh, I missed that conversation."

The woman, who'd introduced herself as Jean, laughed lightly. "They are an odd bunch."

Susanna nodded. "Couldn't agree more," she said in a low voice. "Why did you join this tour?" she asked, curious as to why people would go on something like Ghostly Tours when they could savor the luxuries of Italy and not wallow in its dead.

She smiled, lighting up her pretty pale face. "I'm studying historical art. Cemeteries are wonderful fodder for such research."

"You're right there." I pointed my coffee mug toward her.

"It's a hobby really. Nothing serious."

I nodded. "I like that."

"I also blog about it."

"Great idea."

"I have a fair amount of followers." She spent the next ten minutes filling Susanna in on her travels. They were fascinating and provided her with some more info for some of her other work at the agency.

"Ready to head out?" Ryan boomed.

Everyone cheered and marched to the bus. Susanna found a window seat on her own, glad to have over an hour to catch up on some paperwork. Shane sat opposite her and glared at her, shaking his head.

"You're supposed to be looking out the window at the Tuscan countryside, not doing paperwork."

"I had a spare pen." She winked at him.

"Don't do that, Susanna. The trip is beautiful. You don't want to miss out."

"Fine." She stashed her papers back in the folder.

"You're welcome to take some photos too."

"I'm not too good at photographing moving countryside through glass."

"You'd be surprised how much you can capture."

"I'll try."

She obeyed him without question. He gave her the impression he really cared and that he knew what she liked. If he was blue-eyed ghost, he knew how to pamper her; he knew the things that made her feel special. A romantic ghost? Mmmh, that was an interesting thought.

The countryside didn't let her down and she snapped away happily on her camera. She'd brought along a real camera to take quality pictures. She had left it at the hotel room yesterday and regretted not getting some shots of the cemeteries.

Susanna didn't think Estelle wanted the report in visual snapshots, but too bad. It may help her later in putting everything together. And it would be her memory bank of the tour. She didn't think she'd ever forget it though.

While she focused on a pretty hillside, she felt movement next to her. Shane had removed the papers and placed them on her lap so he could take the seat by her.

"Why so surprised?"

"I don't know. You...I..."

"Yes?" He grinned at her, an easy and warm grin that put her stomach in loops.

"Why are you being so friendly with me?"

"Aah, you like to analyze things. Just go with the flow." He grasped her hand in an alternating finger grip. She looked around to make sure no one had noticed. The sexual tension, that flooded her being from the simple touch, made her face heat and her body start to tremble.

"Maybe you shouldn't..."

He bent down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. What a relief he didn't give her a kiss on the lips; she wouldn't have known what to do. It would be utterly delightful, but totally distracting.

"Enjoy your tour, sweets." He said it almost sadly. A pang hit her in the gut. Would he be going soon? She had a feeling he hadn't fully been there anyway.

"Shane?"

He rubbed her cheek with the ball of his thumb. "I'll always be there."

Her eyes filled with tears; she had no idea why. It was so confusing, yet she realized she had a deep bond with this man—a bond that spanned more than her lifetime.

Her throat clogged so much that she couldn't talk. He looked ahead, silent, distant, but at least he still held her hand. She clung onto that one connection with all her being.

Jessica walked down the aisle. Her gaze dropped to their intertwined hands. "Shane. We need to talk." She sounded urgent, angry even. The look she gave Susanna made her squirm.

"I have to go." He stood up.

She nodded. Whatever was going on she had little control over.

He turned back to look at her, his eyes infused with regret. He walked to the front of the bus. Susanna wrapped her arms around her abdomen as if it could ward off the cold emptiness. Her hand still burned from his touch. She picked up her camera and tried to take shots, but she couldn't focus.

When they reached the Jewish cemetery near the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the group disembarked from the bus and gathered outside the castle-like walls on a stretch of lush, green grass. Susanna looked out for Shane but didn't see him anywhere. There was no way he could've gone anywhere—they'd just left the bus and they hadn't made any other stops. Jessica and Ryan gathered the group together.

"This cemetery is quite plain except for the frescos. We wanted to show you their beauty. And we thought you'd appreciate the age as some of the inscriptions date back to the seventh century. You will even find those who died in the plague. The Jewish place stones on the graves instead of flowers—a more permanent testament to the love they had for their loved ones." Jessica glanced at her as Ryan spoke. Why did she look at her like that as though she knew something—something deeper and more significant that what Ryan was saying. Susanna felt disoriented, deeply lonely, and confused. She tried to block out the thoughts, but the feelings remained. It's like something was going on here, something more powerful and more scary than a simple tour.

They walked through the gigantic wrought-iron gate into a place crumbling with age and overgrown with grass and weeds. They were allowed to split up to look around. Susanna relished the chance to get away. The intensity of the last few hours dissipated as she walked around, reading inscriptions—many of them in foreign languages, but enough of them in English to fascinate her. She imagined what it must have been like to live all those years ago.

Her only friend on the tour came running toward her. Her insides tightened. "What's wrong?" she asked as Jean neared her, breathless with the exertion.

"There's a ghost again. Why did you break away from the group? You missed it."

"I thought we were allowed to go our own separate ways. What ghost? Is he still there?"

"He looked so real. He wore Jewish garb from a few centuries ago—well, that's what Ryan said. He was so handsome, yet his eyes were sad. Deeply sad. I wonder how he died. Or why he hasn't found his rest."

"I'm disappointed I missed it. Do you think he'll still be there?"

"No, he left. He stared at us all for a short few moments, then, poof, he was gone."

"Can you describe his features?"

"Dark hair, piercing eyes."

"Blue?"

Jean laughed. "It was hard to tell. He wasn't exactly saturated in color." She winked at Susanna.

Susanna joined her with a chuckle of her own. "I get the point."

"We're heading out soon to the leaning tower. We're going to walk there. It's so close."

"Yes, I saw it when we arrived."

Jean and Susanna strolled back to the entrance and joined the rest of the tour. They chatted on the way to the tower, sharing bits of their lives with each other. Although Jean was a bit older than her, they clicked. She'd also worked in similar situations to Susanna and encouraged her to keep going and work on developing her competence so that one day she could run her own company.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Jessica said to the group as they stopped in the field opposite the tower. "It's better to see it at a distance, but we can get closer up in a moment."

Susanna snapped some shots. Several of the tour members were trying out the perspective photos of someone in the foreground pushing the tower over.

Ryan rattled off a string of facts about the tower, and she tried to absorb them all in her tired and busy mind.

"Why don't we grab some food and come back here with a picnic on the grass?" Jessica suggested. Most of the group liked the idea so they headed out to find the closest takeout place.

"We have to go for pizza," Jean said. "Even if we eat it picnic-style."

"I agree," Susanna said. They walked together, and she couldn't help feeling grateful for a friend to distract her from thoughts of Shane. Of course, Estelle would've wanted her to remain solitary throughout the tour so she could concentrate on her work, but the strange happenings had made her keen for some human interaction and support. Should she tell Jean about all the odd things that had happened? By the way Jessica stared at her, she got the impression she already tread on thin ice; why, she had no idea. But she had a feeling it wouldn't be wise to share her experiences with anyone. Not yet.

They ordered pizza layered with olives, pepperoni, red peppers, and lots of cheese. The smell taunted them all the way back to the tower. Susanna looked around for Shane but couldn't find him anywhere.

"Where's Shane?" she eventually asked Jean.

"Who?" The woman looked puzzled.

"Oh sorry. I thought he knew everyone. He's the cute guy with dark hair, blue eyes, and that charming walk that makes any woman melt into a puddle on the floor."

Jean's frown deepened. "Is he on the tour?"

"Yes." Susanna hated that she sounded irritated with her new friend.

"I didn't see him."

She laughed. "I suppose you didn't notice as he's too young for you."

"Oh, that's not possible. I notice eye candy at any age. Well, older than eighteen, of course." Jean gave a cheeky grin.

"Maybe he's not your type. You prefer the blonds?"

"Nah. Tall, dark, and handsome it is. Every time."

Susanna shook her head. "He hangs around with the tour guides quite a bit. He's friends with them. I'm just so shocked you haven't seen him. He talks to people. He's not invisible." Those last words came out a little strained. Was she going bonkers? But Jessica and Ryan chatted with Shane. He had to exist. Had she imagined every single interaction? Could the horror movie stop, please?

"I wanted a scary movie marathon weekend, but this is getting to me," she mumbled.

"You okay?" Jean asked.

"No, I'm not. This Shane guy. He's been playing tricks with my mind. I'm getting scared."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Not scared in the sense that I think he's going to hurt me." What did she fear? That he'd disappeared for good and she'd never see him again? Why did it matter so much to her? Was it the mystery of it? Or did she just enjoy the way he spoiled her at night in the form of a ghost and engaged with her during the day in the form of a delicious male?

"What happened?" Jean sat on the grass, placing her legs to the side. Susanna chose a cross-legged stance. With her galaxy leggings on, she could contort in all shapes. Okay, it helped that her joints were flexible. The older lady tucked into her pizza with relish. Susanna took a piece and bit the corner. Bursts of taste filled her mouth. She glanced at the group to find Jessica staring at her, eyes dark, and mouth pursed.

"I don't know if I should talk about it."

"Well, if you need a shoulder to cry on or a sounding board, I'm good at it," Jean said.

"Thank you." Susanna ate hungrily and stared at the tower. She tried to plan her daily report, but all she could think about was the ache in her heart. She missed him. It didn't make any sense. How could you miss someone you hardly knew? But then in the bus she'd felt that they'd known each other through many lifetimes. As if she'd ever considered that she may have lived before. Could it explain the ache she'd always felt in her heart as if something was missing? Even when dating other men—decent, kind ones. Is that why she'd been unable to settle down?

As Jessica had described, The Leaning Tower, The Baptistry, The Camposanto Cemetery, The Sinopie Museum, and the Duomo Cathedral formed what was called The Piazzo Del Duomo. They would visit the cathedral first and then the cemetery, followed by the museum which housed important info about the square. Susanna had to admit she was pleased to see something other than a cemetery for a change, although none of the ones they'd visited had been boring—far from it.

At least blue-eyes wouldn't visit in a cathedral and Jessica wouldn't watch her like a hawk. It was starting to feel really uncomfortable the way the woman stared at her constantly. Maybe she should talk to Jean—

"Halt!" Ryan stopped her roughly at the door. Now what?

"What's wrong?"

"You're wearing a sleeveless blouse."

Were they intent on picking on her? Maybe Estelle had something to do with it.

"Didn't you hear our instructions yesterday? If you want to go inside the cathedral, you have to cover your shoulders."

"Oh, I missed that."

He frowned at her. "You can wait outside."

The disappointment could almost be tasted in her mouth as she waved good-bye to Jean and watched the other tour members file into the huge building with multiple columns, built in the same style as the tower. Deciding her time shouldn't be wasted, she snapped some photos of the outside of the cathedral and headed toward the baptistry, seeing they weren't planning to go in there. At least she could get a few shots of the building that also leaned slightly. She slipped in amongst wandering tourists and walked around, letting the beauty of the architecture ease her mind. This is how a vacation should be—freedom to go wherever she wanted, at her own pace, without being watched or frowned at.

After a while, she decided they must be finished the cathedral and should be heading to the cemetery. She'd better join them, purely for the reason that she had to write a report. By the time she reached the building, the tour members came streaming out. Jean came to her.

"Where were you?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've seen the cemetery already."

"What?" Susanna glanced at her watch. She'd only been in the baptistry for half an hour; surely they hadn't finished their tour already. "Well, there couldn't have been much to see and you must have rushed through."

"We left early as there was another paranormal sighting and the people were getting restless," Jean said with a hushed voice, her eyes shining. "I've never seen anything like it."

Susanna's heart sank. So, she'd missed him? She glanced at Jessica and Ryan. Had they planned this? Had they deliberately not told her about the cathedral dress code? Was that dress code for real? No, it was too farfetched. They wouldn't know she'd go off to see the baptistry while she waited, or did they?

"What did he look like?" she asked Jean as they headed toward the Sinopias Museum.

"He stood in front of that gryphon statue," said Jean. "I love that artwork, but I'll never look at it the same way again."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, but his eyes spoke volumes."

"Blue, very blue?"

She nodded, staring at Susanna. "Blue and sad."

"I knew it."

"It's like he was searching for something, or rather for someone. You know when someone has lost the person they love?"

Susanna nodded, although she wasn't sure how that looked on a person.

"I believe this is the same ghost we keep seeing. I don't know what the whole point is, but I don't like it," Jean added.

"Me too," whispered Susanna, for her voice wouldn't work. The sadness encompassed her like a shroud falling onto her. They walked around the museum, but she heard very little that Ryan said as he described the sketches of the frescoes. The place seemed dark and lifeless and she needed to get out; she needed air. Abandoning the tour once again, she headed out of the building and stood staring out into the blue sky, taking in gulps of fresh air.

Why had Tuscany called to her all these years when it just meant pain?

She longed to go home.

Thirty minutes later, they drove to their new accommodation with the tour bus—a simple hotel on the way out of Pisa. Once in her own space, Susanna flopped onto the bed and closed her eyes. The last thing she felt like doing was writing a report. It could wait, couldn't it?

She looked around the simply decorated room. It appeared that her spoiling ghost hadn't arrived yet. Or had he disappeared for good?

It was crazy that she craved the company of a ghost. Had she been single for too long and looked for companionship in a creature that could never really provide what she needed?

She stared at the ceiling for some time. Her eyes grew heavy.

Across a meadow stood a man in uniform. Susanna yearned for him. She tried to run toward him but the grass was too long; she kept tripping and falling. When she stood up, he appeared to be farther away, and more muted, shrouded in a type of mist. Desperation clawed at her. Her legs seemed to be weighted; her arms pummeled the air as if they could help pull her closer. He was disappearing.

"Shane!" she called out. Her voice disappeared into the air. Rain began to fall—harsh, icy drops that pelted her head and skin. She watched it landing on him. It seemed to wash the vision of him away. He began to dissolve into the air as if he'd never existed. Yet, it all came back to her—flashes of their moments together—hugging, snuggling, kissing, talking, even cooking together. He'd been her husband. Visions of another Shane, from another lifetime, tumbled through her mind—in Italy, during the Renaissance. Shane was a writer, she a seamstress. Then in the time of the early Roman empire. He was a lawyer, she a servant in the court. They'd had a forbidden love affair due to her lowly status. They'd sneak away and fervently partaken in erotic moments together. Her love had been intense then, but immature, based purely on lust. But their love had grown through the ages, in maturity, in selflessness, throughout their lifetimes. Until he'd disappeared.

Her eyes popped open. Susanna held her hand on her chest, shocked at how fast her heart hammered. She swallowed. Her throat was dry. It had grown dark. Once again, she'd fallen asleep for longer than she'd hoped. Was it midnight again and she wouldn't be able to find supper?

"Drink. I need a drink," she mumbled as she stumbled toward the bathroom. After freshening up, she noticed the time was only eight. She'd head down to the hotel restaurant; they should still be open. Oh how she craved a pink lemonade or a sparkling grape soda.

# Chapter Five

When she stepped out the elevator, she stopped in her tracks for a moment. Everything looked deeply familiar, yet different. She'd been here before. Yet the décor had been much older. How come she hadn't noticed this when she entered the hotel? Probably pure exhaustion.

She took a seat with her back to the door and stared across the restaurant. A few of the tour people were dining there, and a couple of other tourists, but mostly the restaurant was quiet. Feelings of déjà vu overwhelmed her, almost taking her breath away. She'd sat here before. With Shane. Or had she been searching for Shane? Yes, she'd come here to find him after the war.

A waiter came to her and handed her a menu, then spoke with an Italian accent. "May I help you?"

"When did this restaurant first open?" she asked.

The olive-skinned, rugged-faced waiter smiled and shook his head. "I'm not sure. I can find out for you."

"I'd like that. Thanks."

"In the meantime, can I offer you a drink?"

"Fruit juice. Soda. Any one. Something natural and sparkling would be great."

"Here they are." He pointed to a part of the menu. There were several fruity, fizzy options. She chose the pomegranate and orange sparkling fruit juice.

"Thank you." Her mouth watered in anticipation. "And a bottle of water too."

She looked down at the menu, but struggled to concentrate. Eventually she settled on a creamy chicken pasta dish with a salad.

As she ate, she began to plan the rest of her evening. She really needed to work on a report of the last two days. At this rate, she wouldn't have a job when she got back. Did she want to go back?

The thought popped into her head out of the blue. Or had it been simmering in her heart for some time?

She felt close to Shane here. Yes, they'd never be together. He didn't exist. He'd always been a ghost. Well, in this lifetime anyway.

Her food arrived and she tucked in, surprised at how hungry she was. The rich sauce and high percentage of carbs helped to restore her sense of normality, combined with the plenteous liquid in the form of a delicious fruity concoction and icy, refreshing H2O. She took out a small notebook she carried around in her purse and started making notes. She may as well spend the next hour in the restaurant near people—more welcoming than her quiet room. To keep the waiter happy, she ordered a dessert and a coffee.

The notetaking took over her thought processes, helping her forget about her sadness and pining for Shane.

"It was opened in 1946, the year after the war ended," the waiter said, making her jump out of her skin. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay." She chuckled. "Do you have any records of the guests who stayed here in 1946?" she asked, doubting he'd say yes.

"I can ask." He shrugged. "But I doubt it."

"Me too." She grinned. "I can only try."

He gave her a sympathetic look as if he understood this was important to her. She had no idea where the information would lead her. Maybe she'd recognize her name from her previous life. Crazy thought.

By the time she'd savored her dessert and coffee in slow mode, she'd finished a draft report of the last few days. The waiter came to her with the bill. "I'm sorry, but the kitchen is closed. But you may stay here until ten."

"I should head to my room. It's a busy day tomorrow." She hadn't even looked at the itinerary.

His smile seemed so genuine.

"Thanks." She touched his arm. Besides Jean, he'd been the nicest soul she'd met in Italy so far. Shane couldn't exactly count.

"I spoke to the owner. She has a record somewhere. She will find it in the morning and make a copy for you."

"That means a lot."

"I know." He walked away before she could question exactly what he meant.

She headed to her room, the food having made her more relaxed. Knowing she didn't have to stress about being behind in her work added to the sense of contentment. The room had a shower, no bath, so she stood under the hot spray with a song on her lips. She lit rip her favorite love song, fantasizing about one day being in love with a real man, not a ghost. And none of the loser-types she'd dated in the past. She needed to let Shane go. This restlessness had to cease. Didn't it? So, why had she asked the waiter to find the list of guests for her?

"You never found me." His voice echoed in the small room. Less concerned about him seeing her naked because they had actually been lovers throughout the centuries, she turned to look into the haunting eyes of her blue-eyed ghost.

"When you went missing in the war?" she asked, trying to remain calm. She didn't want to chase him away; she craved answers.

"I wasn't dead."

"Where were you? Captured?"

"I never came home. I stayed here."

The words shot like a hot arrow into her gut. She doubled over. The tears filled her eyes.

"We couldn't keep up the farce, Suzie," he said. The name he gave her echoed in her head, bringing back the memories like little arrows piercing her skin as if she were Gulliver at the mercy of the mini people. Yes, she'd been Suzie.

They'd fought. She'd begged him not to leave for war. He'd insisted on fighting for his country. She'd warned him that if anything happened to him she wouldn't forgive him.

"Don't come crawling back to me with a war injury. I'm not a nurse. I'm your wife." He copied the very same words that swirled in her mind.

"I was scared," she screamed into the spray.

"Switch off the water." He held a white, thick towel out for her; she'd never seen it before. She turned off the faucets and stepped into the towel. He hugged her in it, as best a ghost could. She shivered with need and sadness; oh how she missed his physical closeness, craved it from the depths of her being—always had.

"Come to the room."

She shook her head. "You'll disappear again." Sitting on the lush bathroom mat, she hugged the towel to herself and shivered. At least the room would keep the cloying steam inside for a bit and keep her warm.

"I won't disappear."

"You always do," she bit out, shocked at the bitterness in her tone and the hot tears flowing down her cheeks.

"You didn't want me to come back with an injury. I was paralyzed, Suzie, from the waist down. I couldn't walk."

"Don't you get it?" She punched the floor in frustration. "Ouch."

"I didn't want to put you through that."

The silence hung like deadly fruit between them.

Eventually she asked, "So, you disappeared in Italy?" She pulled on the carpet pile, threading it around her fingers.

"I assumed a new identity. Made a life for myself here."

She tried to picture it. All those months of searching for him; why didn't she find him? "Did you marry again?"

"You know I did. And so did you."

She shook her head. "No."

"We don't own each other, Susanna."

For the first time since she'd sat on the floor, she picked up her chin and stared into those blue eyes again. "I know."

"We need to let each other go. I have to live my life. I have a new life now."

"But you're a ghost."

"I'm also Shane Gibson. Living in Chicago. With my mom."

"I don't get it."

"But I keep disappearing."

She laughed, despite the pain pulsing through her. "Explain. This doesn't make sense."

"I can't fully incarnate into my body because my soul still lives in the past. I'm part ghost and part human. It's driven my mom absolutely crazy. I want to fall in love one day, have kids, follow my dreams, but there's no way that can happen like this."

"What? So you're blaming me?"

He looked hurt, but didn't disagree with her.

"I think a part of me always felt incomplete because I chose to never come back to you. I believe that my soul always wondered what would have happened if I did give us a chance after the war. Maybe you'd have forgiven me and taken care of me. I would've taken care of you too; I became a successful writer and play director. I had the means."

She pulled on the pile, wishing she could yank out the hurt and ache she'd carried in her soul her whole life. And the latter part of her previous life. "But I never stopped thinking about you. I loved you more than my second husband. You know that."

"It can't sustain us. We have to break this bond we have. It's stopping us from growing spiritually and meeting other people. It's affecting the evolution of our souls."

"Who told you this?"

"I've been studying up. I've done some soul work. Past life regression therapy. I've been desperate for answers, for healing, Susanna. You'd be too if you changed into a ghost."

"How often?" She stared at his form. He had the uniform; she could make out its shape, the muted brown color, the war colors with a badge or two.

"Maybe once a week, twice a week. It's worse since I came to Italy, but Mom agreed that it may be the answer. I could finally come to terms with... And then you arrived. I was drawn to you; my ghost came to you as if pulled by an invisible force. Or you came to me in the theater. I saw you standing in that line. I felt your energy pulsing out of you, larger than the room itself. You have such energy." He stretched a cold finger to her cheek. "Oh, Suzie, you're just as beautiful in this body as you've always been."

Tears sprang anew. "Shane." Her voice croaked. "Please, don't."

"I'm sorry." He began to fade.

"Don't go."

His visage dissolved. The steam in the room had dissipated too. Shivering, she dried herself fully and headed to the room to dress and get under the covers. Shane, the real Shane, sat on the bed. She nearly dropped the towel.

"How did you get here?" she squeaked.

"I was determined to put an end to this," he said with a grim smile, but he also perused her with interest in his gaze. The ghost Shane hadn't shown any sexual attraction to her, obviously not, but the human held lust in his eyes. It set her alight. Why was she always doomed to feel something so strongly for him, no matter what body he came to Earth in?

"I think that..."

"What?" he asked.

"Even if you were ugly, I'd probably still want you," she said, breathless, just standing there. The shivers took over again. He picked up her robe and brought it to her.

"I thought you'd want this."

"Thanks. Maybe you'd better turn around."

He nodded and like a gentleman, turned to face the curtained window. She slipped the robe on and left the towel hanging over a chair. She sat on the edge of the bed as far away from him as possible. He'd still hurt her; as much as she understood where he was coming from, the rejection hurt.

"What do you want, Shane?"

"To end this centuries-long love affair once and for all." He sat on the other end of the bed, arms stiff on his lap, face grim.

"Is there someone else?"

"Not yet, and if there was, you don't own me."

"You said that already."

"I thought it would hold more sway when I'm in human form."

"I could never really connect with anyone else."

"You're still young."

"I'm nearly thirty."

"So, you're older than me?"

"Does it matter?" Her teeth were set in a sneer. She wanted to punch him, so instead grabbed a pillow and stuffed it against her aching middle.

"It's going to hurt in the beginning, but if we both choose to let each other go, this soul tie, this cord, will be broken. Then we can be free to live, love, to explore the universe."

She nodded. She had to let him go. It was for the best. "How?"

He reached for her hand. She shook her head. "Don't make this harder than it is."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"So, you're not hurt at all?" she asked, anger swirling in her gut.

He turned away, his jaw stiff, his Adam's apple bobbing. Was he hurting too? Or just hating doing this to her? She couldn't think too deeply about it—that would only keep them tied to each other longer.

"Does Jessica know the situation?"

He nodded.

"I thought so."

"Her sister is my therapist. They organized for me to come on the tour so I could finally come to terms with the past. The last thing we expected was for you to show up."

"Maybe it's the universe's way of taunting us."

"Or its way of bringing closure, once and for all."

"Cruel universe."

"No, it's helping us. Source, God, or whatever you call it, wants us to be free."

Susanna nodded. He probably knew best. He'd done the soul work, more than she could admit to doing. All she'd ever wanted was to travel to Tuscany; she'd never been particularly deep and spiritual. Tuscany had been her life dream. And now she understood why. Maybe it had been holding her back. There could be so much more waiting for her. She could open up her own tour company—travel the world, visit Austria, Ireland, Taiwan, do safari in Africa, climb Mount Everest, do a spiritual pilgrimage, fall in love...

"You're right. There's so much more to life than this old, dusty love affair."

His face pinched. His eyes went dark. "Yes," he croaked out.

"So, how do we do this?" She lifted her chin, determination filling her. Maybe, finally, she'd lay this restlessness to rest.

"Well, from what I understand, we may have some karma or cords between us because of unforgiveness."

Susanna bit her lip. Was he saying he had a grudge against her? She wanted to lash out, but if she could get free, it was probably wiser to bear with him. "Explain."

"Well, I need to say I'm sorry for what I did. For hiding from you."

"Sounds a little stilted. Don't you think you would need to be genuinely sorry?"

"And you'd need to apologize for putting me in the position to make that decision."

She clenched her fists and bit her lip. His gaze dropped down to her mouth. "You would've felt the same way if you had to stay behind and do nothing. At least you could fight, work in some way to end the war."

"How is that better? I saw my friends killed. I knew they'd never go home. Some of them had wives, kids—"

"We could've had a kid. How do you know we didn't?"

"What do you mean?" His whole body stiffened. "Were you...?"

"I'm just saying." Susanna couldn't remember the finer details. She had a feeling if that were the case, she would've remembered it. Yet, she wanted to punish him in some way. The depth of her anger toward him scared her. How would she ever shake it?

"I'm sorry," she got out. "It's probably my fault you're in this mess. I have so much residual anger; maybe there's more to it."

He rubbed his face. The exhaustion was evident in the dark rings under his eyes and the paleness of his face.

"Do you sleep much at night?" she asked, her voice softened.

"No." He shook his head, his shoulders stooping. For a moment, she got a glimpse of the new Shane, the modern-day Shane. He'd carried a burden of a strange paranormal-type mental illness. It couldn't have been easy. She wanted to hug him.

"Would you like a drink? I bought another bottle of water." She held it up. "Otherwise, I could order room service."

"At this hour?"

"I'm sure..."

He stood up. "I should probably head back. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. It seems the cemeteries make it even harder for me to keep grounded in my human body. They remind me of death and draw out my ghost side."

She stood up to let him out. He brushed past her toward the door. A longing burst through her at the simple touch. He turned to her, his face inches from hers. His scent infused her—fresh with a hint of musk. Her mouth watered. Those lips. When had a man ever had such... How would they taste?

"Like this," he whispered, his pupils large, making his eyes black pools. He pressed his soft yet masculine mouth to hers. She gasped and tried to tell him "no, this is wrong," but his smell and the sensation of his touch overwhelmed her with ecstacy, wiping away the turmoil of the last hour. He slipped his arms around her to pull her flush against his hard chest. She sank into his big arms; this was home; this was where they belonged, melded to each other. Could they forget about the past and just enjoy this life? He explored her mouth and she his. A ferocious need rose up in her for more, but her head screamed no, no, no.

"Shane." She pulled away. "You said you don't want this."

"I couldn't resist. Ever since I saw you, Susanna, I wanted you. You're a beautiful woman. My body craves you. It's just a physical thing. We can forget about—"

She pushed him away. "As tempting as that is, no."

He cupped her face and bent his mouth toward her. She stared longingly at it, but held back, stiff and reserved. "I can't, Shane. I can't give myself to you again. If you don't want all of me, all that I am and have ever been, you can't have any." She nudged him gently out the door. He looked at her sheepishly, not saying a word as she slipped the door closed. She leaned against it, panting, trying to calm her over-excited body and confused heart. She bunched her hands into fists to stop herself from calling him back. It took everything in her to resist. She'd been hurt enough; that's all she knew. She could never go through it all over again.

# Chapter Six

Day three of the tour, Susanna arrived by the bus with a pounding headache from lack of sleep. She tried to stay out of Jessica's vicinity. The fact that the woman knew so much about her—even stuff from her previous life—made her feel exposed and vulnerable. She gravitated straight toward Jean who looked excited for the new day.

"You look exhausted. Did you work the whole night?"

"Almost," Susanna lied. In fact, writing the reports had been the easiest part of the night. The worst had been the tossing and turning until three, thinking through the conversation with Shane. And the kiss. She tried to put it out of her mind, but she couldn't deny that she wanted him. And would love to explore a relationship with him because she'd never felt a connection with a man so strongly before. Well, not in this life. Her other lives were fuzzy in that regard. Even the moments with the previous Shanes seemed a blur.

Ryan gathered the group together. "Before we head out, we're going to eat breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The meal is part of the tour, so please feel free to tuck in."

"Woohoo," said Jean, her eyes dancing like a twenty-year-old and not a forty-something lady. Susanna almost got swept away by her enthusiasm. At least she wouldn't start off the day hungry.

As she entered the restaurant, memories flooded her again. She remembered sitting here, waiting, poring over papers and information, trying to find any trace of Shane McDonald's whereabouts. The emotional memory was strong as she found a seat near the window—the frustration, the grief, the uncertainty of not knowing if she'd ever see her husband—the love of her life—ever again.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked, staring at her strangely.

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should eat. Coffee should perk you up."

"I suppose."

Her waiter from the previous night came up to them. "Hi." He smiled. "I found some information for you. Wait a sec." He marched off.

Jean developed a puzzled frown. "You'd better explain."

"Wait." Susanna couldn't think straight. She stared down at the menu, but all she could think of was what the waiter would bring her. He dropped an envelope on top of her menu, gave a quick bow, and walked off to the next table.

Her fingers shook in the eagerness to open the envelope. She tried not to tear it in case she ruined the contents. Inside was a photocopy of a list of guests and one of a newspaper article. The lady in the photo on the clipping stared back at her. Although quite different from the person she was now—this woman was tall, slender and graced with brown, curly hair—she felt a connection to the woman. A deep one. That was her—Susan Walkins.

Heartbreak Hotel: American Woman, Susan Walkins, Searches for Her Lost Husband in Pisa, Italy

Susan Walkins traveled from the U.S.A. two months ago to conduct a search for her husband who went missing in Italy during the last year of the Second World War. Susan interviewed other soldiers who fought in the war and visited hotels and cemeteries, without much success. After spending several weeks accommodated at the Villa Mia hotel on the outskirts of Pisa, she spotted her husband in the restaurant. He was dining with another woman. He took her hand and kissed it. After enlisting investigative help from the hotel staff, it was discovered that her husband had married an Italian woman and was now residing with her in Italy. She was pregnant with their first child.

Unable to read anymore, Susanna slammed the article upside down onto the table. Tears blurred her vision. The overwhelming anger and betrayal tasted bitter in her mouth—as strong as an espresso, as real as if it had happened an hour ago, not in a previous lifetime. It had been in this hotel that she'd seen him kissing another woman's hand, staring at her as if he didn't have another wife in another country.

Aware of Jean watching her, all Susanna could do was stare out the window at the Italian skyline. She couldn't see the tower from there, but that's where she wanted to go—to the baptistry to wash away her past, to walk around that room by herself again, to find the peace that she needed.

How had she come to terms with the truth in her previous life? She must have healed, so why the fresh pain?

Eventually, she sipped her cold coffee and picked at a piece of toast with a poached egg on her plate. After Jean excused herself to go to the bathroom, Susanna turned the article over and read.

Former Mr. Shane McDonald, now Mr. Edwardo Marchiono, severely injured from the war, had been unable to walk. He'd chosen not to return to the U.S. but rather to stay in Italy and start a new life there, ashamed of his physical disability. He'd changed his name and eventually met a new woman. When approached by the newspaper, he was unwilling to comment on his actions, but promised to send Susan Walkins divorce papers as soon as possible. His current wife said she forgave him for his actions and defended him, saying he feared rejection by Susan if he returned home. Susan Walkins remained a guest at the hotel for a month after her discovery. She toured around Tuscany, searching for answers to her grief. After returned to the States, she wrote a long letter thanking the hotel management and staff for their support and for providing a comfort to her in her time of deep sorrow. She also enclosed a letter for Shane should he ever return to the hotel restaurant.

Tucked deep inside the envelope was a piece of yellowed paper, ancient and tatty, spotted with age. Was that the letter? Susanna opened it carefully, afraid she would destroy this poignant link to her past. Her head spun with unanswered questions as to how the hotel staff knew this information related to her.

Dear Shane,

I saw you at the Villa Mia Hotel in Pisa with another woman. I found out you'd married her. They said you couldn't walk. Were you injured in the war? What happened? I hope you didn't suffer too much.

I should hate you.

I did at first. I thought you'd had an affair.

Well, in a way you did, but I know now that you were afraid.

I'm sorry I made you afraid. It was my own fear that made me unable to let you go, unable to trust. So, I'm letting you go now. Yes, sure, it's pointless because you've made up your mind to stay with your new wife, but I let you go to live a new life, a new beginning in Italy. I wish you the best.

My heart aches. I don't know if I'll be able to love again, but I'm going to make the most of my life. I'm going to have a good life. I believe I can survive without you. I believe I've grown stronger as a person. I've learned so much about being independent and strong, and happy on my own. I've learned to trust in God. He's been with me the last few months. He's taught me so much.

Lastly, but certainly not least, I want to express my sincere apologies for hurting you so much. I put such undue pressure on you to succeed in the war, but war is a wild beast that spares no one. Only the extremely lucky come out unscathed. I'm truly sorry for holding you back from following your need to save the world. I held you back from your soul's purpose, and for that I am truly regretful. I controlled you. I choose to never do that again.

Know that I'll always love you. I forgive you, Shane.

Yours always,

Susan

Susanna held the letter in her hand. She'd been a better soul then. She'd forgiven his deep betrayal. If she could do it then, she could do it now. Just as Jean sat opposite her, she looked up with a half-smile on her face.

Jean reached over and placed her hand over hers. "Whatever's going on, Susanna, just know that I care. You don't have to tell me anything, but I do want you to know that I don't like to see you sad. I hope that makes a difference."

"Thank you, Jean. One day, I'll explain everything to you."

"I'd like that."

"But right now, I need to book a ticket back home."

"You're leaving the tour?"

Susanna nodded. "Yes. But before I do that, I need to talk to Jessica."

# Chapter Seven

"Thank you so much for looking after him," Susanna said to Kaylee as she held Sedward's cage in her hand.

"It wasn't even for a week. Why are you back so soon?"

"I'm... Let's just say I'm going to lose my job. But that's not the end of the world; in fact it's a good thing."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know really. I've considered going back to school. Or maybe I'll open my own travel agent. Not that I know enough, but I'll soon find everything out the hard way." The tension had mounted over the ocean on the way back; why had she left the tour? It meant a shaky future. She'd left because she couldn't deal with never seeing Shane again but being reminded of him on each stop in Italy. Italy was a bittersweet place for her. She'd found herself there—well, in her previous life, and she'd lost her love there too.

The cage dug into her fingers. Sedward chirped but didn't say anything. He was unusually quiet. He must've missed her. "Did he talk?"

"Oh, yes, all the time. Cheeky thing. Kept swearing at Blythe."

"Your new boyfriend?"

"Well, that's the thing. He's no longer my boyfriend. I think Sedward helped with that. The guy showed his true colors when Sedward annoyed him."

Susanna couldn't help laughing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't find that fu—"

"Not at all. I should buy myself a parrot. Handy creatures. They seem to sense things about people."

"Good Sedward." She bent down to him and he said in his chirpy voice," Goodday me love."

"Love you too, Seddy. Missed you stax."

"Missed you stax," he echoed.

She pushed her finger through the bar and he perched on it, then gently pecked her with his beak.

"Aw," Kaylee said.

"He's tame because I bought him as a baby and fed him mush."

"I want one."

"Best companion in the world. Better than any man." She hated the listlessness in her voice, but what she said was true. No man stayed forever. Yes, Sedward would die, but his life expectancy was longer than hers anyway. He'd be with her the rest of her life. She'd have to adopt a kid or have a niece or nephew to inherit him. Why was she thinking about death already? She'd only just turned thirty.

"I get what you're saying. Although, you haven't dated much, Susanna. You've never really had any serious relationships to have suffered a broken heart. I've always wondered what's holding you back. I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry. It's none of my business."

Susanna sat down on Kaylee's bottle-green, velvet couch she'd bought at an antiques auction. "Past life issues."

Kaylee giggled. "You believe in that stuff?"

"Yep, I do."

"What happened on tour? Was Ghostly Tours really ghostly?"

"Very much so."

"You've got to tell me some time. I can see you're suffering travel fatigue, so I'll let you head home, but I know something happened. Something deep."

Susanna nodded. "Yes, it did."

When she went home to her apartment next door, she realized something profound. Sure, her heart had been broken by Shane all over again, but she felt free. That letter had freed her to move on. It's as if she'd dropped a burden she'd been carrying for centuries. It was a type of death. Death brought sadness, but it also cleared away all the gunk. Could she possibly heal and find a way to get rid of the restlessness in her heart?

"I want more. I want to find my strength in more than just the day to day," she muttered to Sedward. "I want to get close to the divine—find my way, grow as a person. I was a strong person as Susan. I should be even stronger now. I can be."

"Missed you stax," Sedward said.

"Missed you too," Susanna sang as she unpacked her suitcase. "Missed you like the whole world."

The singsong morphed into a popular country love song as she stripped and stepped into the shower. The words of the song echoed in the cubicle. Tears flowed with the water—tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of grief, tears of answers and relief.

A deep voice sang along with her. For a moment, she thought Sedward had found someone to imitate, but then her eyes popped open as she recognized that voice.

"Oh no," she screamed. "Not you again. You have a habit of visiting me when I'm naked," she moaned at her blue-eyed ghost.

He smiled, for yes, he could smile quite well, and sang along.

She shrugged and continued to shower, turning her back to him. They were supposed to be moving on, so why was he still here?

She couldn't ignore the spurts of joy entering her being. Even if it wasn't the tangible, in-the-flesh Shane, it was still him, and she'd missed him. Hence the grieving tears.

"Please remember me when you're out walking," he belted out the Tim McGraw song she'd begun.

"And I can't hurt you anymore..." she added at the end of the verse.

"Please remember me..." he put in the chorus.

They sang together and the words made her cry but she washed them away. Once again, he held the towel out for her—this time an opulant plum with glittery embroidery. "Where do you get these things?" she mumbled.

He engulfed her in the towel and she longed to lean up against his chest. But he slipped away in the air to the corner of the room. She dried herself and grabbed her terrycloth gown hanging on the back of the door. He followed her to her room this time and she didn't say anything. Next to her bed was a novel by one of her favorite authors and a mug of steaming hot milk with honey.

"How did you know?"

He hovered at the foot of the bed, staring at her, unblinking.

"Know what?"

"What I like. I'm Susanna. You don't know me in this life. I'm different. I'm a new me."

"Instincts, I suppose," he said.

"Why are you here?" she eventually asked after she'd sipped the soothing hot drink and lay her head back on a fluffy large pillow he'd put against the wall as she didn't have a headboard for her bed—she'd been using an old mattress for years.

He blinked at her for so long, that she wasn't sure if he'd heard her. Maybe ghosts didn't get everything; the communication could be broken as they were on different wavelengths.

"It didn't work," he said.

"What didn't work?"

"The letter."

She gulped. "You read it?"

"Yes. The hotel staff, Ryan, Jessica, they all tried to help me. Everyone, including you, wanted me to find release from my curse."

"I don't understand."

"My therapist thought that if we cleared any karma, if we forgave each other, the tie between us would be broken and we could find closure. I thought it was the pain we'd caused each other, well, especially the pain I'd caused you, that had held me captive. When I read how you'd forgiven me, Susie, and Susanna, I felt free. It was such a release."

Tears filled her eyes and she nodded. "Me too."

He drew closer. Coldness or fear didn't creep up her spine. Really, his ghost was pretty ordinary, except for those blue, blue eyes.

"I still keep changing into a ghost. In fact, it's becoming more and more frequent." He swept across the room, circling the ceiling in a frenzy. She gripped onto the comforter, afraid he'd explode or die. Could a ghost die? Cease to exist?

"Shane, stop it."

He wailed. The eerie sound pierced through the room. Kaylee would come to investigate any moment. What could she say? She clamped her palms over her ears and shook her head. "Shane," she mumbled. "Shane, stop it."

When she opened her eyes, he was inches from her face and she squealed. He burst out laughing. She tried to smack him but her hand went right through him. "What's so funny?"

"I'm scared." He said, his face serious again. "I want this to end."

Hot tears pricked her eyes again. She was tired of crying.

"We need to get together. It's the only way," he said.

"The only way for what?" she bit out.

"For me to be free. That must be it. We are destined to be together. We're twin flames, soul mates, or whatever they call it. That's why I'm a ghost—because I'm refusing to be your lover. Yet, I keep getting pulled toward you, wherever you are. Do you know how many times I've come to visit your city? Almost every year, I arrange a trip here. I've been to Tuscany multiple times. My restless heart needs a home."

"Shane, please."

His form brushed past her. A shiver ran up her arm. She wanted to tell him to go away. She'd just begun to feel like she could start over and build a new life for herself. Finally, she'd found the reason for her restlessness. And now he wanted to trap her in a relationship because he needed her—needed her for his sanity, not because he loved her.

He wafted around the room. She watched him through narrowed eyes.

"I won't love you because I have to," she eventually said. "I can't do that, Shane, and you know it. It's not fair to either of us."

"But we've always loved each other."

"No. You don't know me. You know nothing about me. Just because you pamper me when I bathe or shower at night—with these gorgeous towels, and linen and drinks—doesn't mean you know me, the real me. I want to grow spiritually. I was looking forward to finding myself, the real me, because this empty hole all the time has stood in the way. I was obsessed with Tuscany my whole life. And it was all because of what happened there when I was Susan. But that obsession isn't the new me; it's not the Susanna me. It's the Susan past. I can't live in the past. I have a life to live. A new life brimming with possibilities. Yeah, sure, I probably won't have a job in the morning, but I honestly don't care. It wasn't the job for me anyway."

"Why won't you have a job?" he asked, as if he really cared.

"Because I left the tour. This was my first tour. I'm a junior. I push papers around a desk all day. And I thought this was a chance to prove myself—Ghostly Tours, I mean."

"Why did you leave?"

She clenched her fists. "Isn't that obvious?"

He turned to the window, his visage growing fuzzy. Was she losing him? Why did that make her feel so empty, so bereft? She'd just told him she needed to find herself.

"Let me help you. Come back on the tour. Finish Ghostly Tours. We'll do it together, the real Shane and you. We can get to know one another. Give us a chance. I'd never suffocate you; I know how that feels." He was fading.

She stared at those eyes, clear as the sky, bright as a promise of goodness and love, but steeped in pain. She remembered the pain she'd seen in Shane's eyes the first night she'd met him, in the cinema in Florence. How attractive he'd been to her, how fascinating, how much she'd wanted him then, with all her being. Maybe they could have something—the new Shane and the new Susanna. Could they form a new bond?

"I don't know." What if she lost herself in the relationship? What if the spiritual growth and meaning she'd been missing her whole life would get neglected in her pursuit of Shane? And then he'd leave again and she'd be truly empty. She needed to find her happiness by herself, without him. He could only add to it, but he couldn't give it to her. She was too weak; she wasn't ready.

"The same goes for you," she said aloud.

"I'm sorry?" His eyes faded into gray.

"You need to find your happiness..."

He was gone.

The room felt empty. The enormity of how she'd turned him away echoed throughout the room, boomed in her head, and thrashed in her heart.

Was it too late?

Had she doomed him to a life of ghostliness?

She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her throat clogged with sadness, her mind spun with confusion.

"I don't know what to do," she cried out to the universe. Her heart ached with love for him. Why did she still love him? How could she abandon him? But could she give him anything at all? What did she have to give?

"Missed you stax," Sedward said.

Susanna burst into tears. "Missed you, too." But she wasn't talking to Sedward.

"Please remember me..." Sedward sang with a perfect imitation of Tim McGraw's voice. Susanna laughed through her sobs.

She remembered, all right. She couldn't forget how it felt when Shane had chosen to break away from her because she held onto him too tight during the war. And there was no friggin' way she was going to do the same to him.

That was the spiritual lesson she had learned. To love. Love is it. Love was her spiritual peak. Not pity, but love. Pure, unadulterated, unconditional love.

"Shane," she called out softly to the air, hoping he'd hear her. "Shane, I'm coming. I'll be there in a couple of days. Just let me book my flight. There'd better be something else to do on tour besides look at graveyards. What do you say, buddy?" Her sobs turned to laughs and Sedward belted out a broken version of "Just a Kiss" by Lady Antebellum.

***

"Another cemetery," Susanna said as she spoke to Jessica, on the spare phone Estelle had given her, while waiting in the Florence airport.

"Actually it's the last one in Tuscany. Then we go on a wine-tasting expedition, and we'll even spend a couple of nights at a vineyard."

"Ooh. So, where is this cemetery so I can meet you there? I'll have to rent a car."

"Do you want me to ask Shane to fetch you?"

"No, please don't. I want to surprise him."

Jessica went quiet and Susanna's insides hollowed out. Had Shane left the tour? Was he okay? Had he dissolved into the walking dead?

"I have to warn you that he's been more ghost than human lately. He's been disturbingly restless. Look, I'm sorry for misjudging you. I know what you and Shane went through during the war is not your fault. He explained everything to us."

"Jessica, you have my dearest respect for wanting to help and protect the man I love." She couldn't believe she was saying this about a man she hardly knew, yet knew better than anyone else in the world.

"Thank you, Susanna, for loving him. He's a special person, and my sister and I want him to be healed once and for all."

"I haven't been totally loving toward him all the time, but I intend to change that."

"We're all growing; not a single one of us can love completely from the beginning. I must go, Susanna. The tour bus is stopping off for lunch. I'll WhatsApp you the coordinates for Arezzo War Cemetery. It's really not that far from Florence. It would probably be easier for you to catch a taxi so you can hop on the bus afterward and not worry about returning a rental car."

Susanna was anxious to get going. She called a taxi to take her straight there. Her savings were just about depleted, but she had to get to know Shane. Even if it didn't work out between them in the end, she felt compelled to give them a chance. Whether it healed him or not. That wasn't the point. Although she'd really like him to be at peace. She hated the thought of what he must be going through. What actually happened to him when he became ghost? Did his body disappear?

The Arezzo War Cemetery was empty when she arrived. Obviously the tour was still on lunch. She paced outside the entrance, the loneliness of the place seeping into her soul. The custodian invited her to enter early so she walked through the little house-shaped archway into the grounds, weaving her way around the gravesites of Indian, British, and other Commonwealth soldiers.

"Here early?" Shane's voice behind her made her just about jump out of her skin. She'd so hoped to see the real Shane first, not the ghost. She spun around, ready to face the blue-eyed visage. Instead, Shane, in all his human, masculine glory stared at her, hands on hips, a cocky grin on his face.

"Shane." She ran toward him and engulfed him a hug. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into her grasp and wrapped his big arms around her. She loved how well she fitted into his arms. He smelled amazing.

"I didn't expect to see you at another cemetery." He chuckled.

"Me too." She looked up at him while their arms were still linked. "I came to see you."

"You did? I thought maybe you realized you needed your job."

She shook her head. "Not sure I want it back, but I suppose I'd better be sensible. I have a parrot to feed."

"The one that sings country love songs?"

"Yes, that one."

They spoke so easily as if they'd known each other for years. Well, yes, they had, but she hadn't expected it to be so natural.

"Where are the rest of the tour?"

"There." He pointed toward the gate. "I saw you from the tour bus and told Jessica. She said she'd delay the tour a bit to give us a chance to talk."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being willing to talk to me. You have every reason to hate me."

He linked hands with her in an alternate finger grip. "Why?" She loved how genuinely shocked he looked.

"Because I didn't say I wanted to give us a chance straight away."

"No." He lifted her hand and pressed the top to his lips briefly. The small contact shot rockets through her body. "I should be the one to apologize. I'm sorry for putting you under that pressure to 'love' me just to set me free of my ailment. That's not true love. I was doing to you what you'd done to me, and it was despicable. I was going to come to you after the tour, and explain everything."

"No, you weren't despicable. You're desperate."

"I'd rather be a ghost forever than force you into a relationship with me. I want what's best for you. I want you to be happy. Although I don't know the new Susanna, I love your soul, have loved it for centuries, and I want the best for your soul's growth and happiness."

She stretched up to kiss him before he could say anymore. "Me too, Shane, me too." She deepened the kiss and he groaned in response, and cheekily slipped his hand under her shirt to touch the soft tummy flesh. Her body washed with goose bumps. She sighed and slipped her tongue into his mouth. Oh, how smooth and glorious his mouth felt—a perfect home for her tongue. They couldn't get enough of one another, so that when Jean tittered behind her, she spun around, her face hot.

"Oh, so this is the handsome blue-eyed guy that you kept talking about?" she said.

"Yes, Jean. This is Shane, my new boyfriend." She winked at him and he held her hand firmly in an affirmation that he agreed.

"Well, pleased to meet you. Susanna has great taste," the older woman teased. "I'm sorry I never spoke to you at the tour before. We must have missed each other."

Shane shook his head. "I can be a bit elusive at times. Nice to meet you, Jean."

"Can you believe this is the last cemetery? Then we get to taste wine. I can't wait."

"Me too" Susanna agreed.

"This cemetery is a victory post for the Commonwealth. It was built a few months after Italy pushed back the German forces with the help of New Zealand. Ryan told us the story on the bus. I guess you both missed that." She chuckled.

"Strange," Susanna said as Jean wandered off to join the tour while Shane led her by the waist to look at some graves.

"What?" he asked, and she shivered with a deep sense of completeness at walking around with him, at being his woman. Finally she'd come home; it felt so right.

"Jean never saw you before. I could never understand it. Even though you were here in human form."

"Mmmh," was all he could say.

"I believe we may have broken the curse."

"The sleeping beaux has arisen by the kiss of true love," he spouted off.

"It has indeed. Care for another?"

He answered by covering her mouth with his, and pressing flush against her. Unfortunately, that second kiss just wasn't enough. Seems like she'd always want more.

