*
Semele rang the bell to Cabe’s building, out of breath from her demented-looking power walk down the street. She glanced up and down the block again, clutching the bottle of cabernet she had bought at the liquor store around the corner like a weapon. Cabe buzzed her in and she ducked inside, relieved to be behind a locked door. She made her way to his apartment at the end of the hall, where the smell of garlic greeted her.
Cabe swung his door open and she held out the bottle of wine. “For the chef.”
“Graci! Buongiorno, buongiorno…,” he said in a flurry and disappeared into the kitchen. “Step into my house,” he called out with a bad Italian accent.
Semele took off her shoes in the tiny entryway and squeezed past Cabe’s ten-speed. The chain on the bike scratched her leg as she brushed past. She looked at the run in her stockings and grimaced.
“I hate your bike.” She padded the five steps into the closet-sized kitchen. “Smells amazing.”
Cabe poured her a glass from the bottle he had already opened. “Cheers.” They clinked glasses and he continued stirring the bubbling Bolognese.
“Ooh, this one’s nice,” she said, tasting it again. “Oliver?” His brother, Oliver, was a sommelier in the Hamptons and always sent Cabe a case of his current favorite for his birthday. Semele took another sip and nibbled on a piece of aged Gouda he had put out on a board.
Slowly, the trauma of the past hour began to loosen its grip. For now she was safe. She could worry about the man later—right now, she wanted to pretend her life was normal. She was hungry and the wine and cheese tasted delicious. She took another sip, moving the velvety red across her tongue. Cabe had made one of her favorite salads, an arugula, candied-walnut confection with feta and aged balsamic.
“Were you already cooking all this before I called?” She asked. He had quite the gourmet spread going.
Cabe shot her a pointed look. “Raina may stop by.”
Semele’s jaw dropped in horror. Raina was coming here? “Tonight? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What, you can’t eat together?”
“I’d prefer not to!”
Cabe stopped cooking. “You know, I’ve been trying to be cool about this little aversion you’ve got toward her, but really, what has she done to deserve your judgment? You barely know her. It’s so unlike you.”
Semele hesitated. In all honesty, she couldn’t answer that. She knew her reaction to Raina wasn’t rational. She struggled to come up with an answer. “Have you seen her handwriting?”
The first time she got an expense report with Raina’s comments, Semele had been absolutely perplexed. Raina’s handwriting was flat-out ugly and bore all the marks of an introvert with serious emotional baggage. Her letters were unbalanced and sprouting all over the place, like a yard with too many weeds.
“So what, Miss Quantico, it’s a little messy. Ever analyze your own handwriting?”
He had said it half-jokingly, but it still stung. Of course she had analyzed her own handwriting. Every day she saw what her pen revealed naked on the page. The large inner loops on the right-hand side of her circle letters all but announced the secrets she was hiding; the figure eights lacing her writing showed an abnormally strong fluidity of thought; and her backward crossed T-bars highlighted the critical nature she had toward herself. Only an expert graphologist would be able to tell.
She tried to dial her emotions down. Cabe did too and softened his tone. “Just give her a chance. Please, for me. She really is different when you get to know her.”
Semele doubted that but held her tongue. She’d had Raina pegged by the end of her first week at Kairos—fake. Over a year later, her opinion hadn’t changed. Raina would tear Cabe to shreds. That he couldn’t see it was mind-boggling.
“What about you and Bren the Pen?” Cabe asked, changing tack. “He called me, you know.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Cabe’s eyebrows shot up. He was close with Bren too, so Semele didn’t feel she could be totally honest, but she tried. “Let’s just say, I’m starting to have doubts. It’s complicated,” she said.
Bren had left her several messages and she had yet to return them. She was being absolutely horrible, the kind of horrible that could not be forgiven. Deep down she knew that was the point. Cabe was right. She was sabotaging herself.
She tried to change the subject. “How’s Oliver?” she asked, pouring herself more wine and studying the label. It was a 2011 Barbaresco from a boutique winery, incredibly smooth. She really should e-mail him a hello. She’d become friendly with Oliver after she had tagged along with Cabe to the Hamptons once.
“He’s fine. And don’t change the subject.” Cabe pointed his finger at her. “Bren is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.” The pasta bowls clanked together as he set them down on the table.
She let out a sigh. How could she explain that ending her relationship with Bren was the right decision? The idea of women’s intuition had been distilled into a vat of ridiculousness for centuries and was usually scoffed at—and she knew she’d sound crazy if she told Cabe the full story. While her time with Bren would always have a place in her heart, that time was over; her premonition had helped her see it.
“Let me just say one more thing and then I’ll shut up,” he advised. “Don’t be stupid.”
“You know I’m not like Allison,” she said softly. “Even if Bren and I don’t last, I’m not like her.” Allison was Cabe’s ex-fiancée. She had dumped him at the altar right before Semele moved to New York. Cabe had moped on Semele’s new couch, curled up in a fetal position, for weeks.
“But something did happen in Switzerland, didn’t it?” Cabe asked. It didn’t sound like a question.
Semele could feel the weight of his judgment. First Bren and now Cabe. Did she have “something happened in Switzerland” tattooed on her forehead?
Yes, something had happened in Switzerland. The problem was it was more than kissing Theo. She couldn’t begin to tell him that a prophet was speaking to her through an ancient manuscript, or that she had started to see the future. Thinking about any of it made her head hurt.
“Can we move on?” she asked, picking up her fork. Cabe’s doorbell sounded as if on cue. The thought of Raina made her lose her appetite.
Cabe jumped up to buzz her in. “Oh, hey, I got the DNA test back on that manuscript,” he said on his way to the door.
“And?” Semele asked, her heart stopping and starting again. She wasn’t sure she was ready to know.
“It’s from right around 46 B.C. at the latest, no question,” he said and promptly disappeared into the entry hall.