Glossary Terms: Buonasera - Good Evening - Italian
Buonanotte - Good Night - Italian
"We can't wait to see you! It's been too many years." Emmett is grinning ear to ear as he talks to our contact in Malta. I'm sitting on the bed, arms crossed, trying but failing not to roll my eyes because he's lying it on a little thick.
It's not that I don't like the man; I do. He's incredibly charming and kind, but he also thinks Edgar Cayce is a reliable authority on all things Atlantis. That's not to say that Cayce can't be considered a "reliable" source, but I personally don't put much stock in someone labeled "America's Greatest Psychic," but that's just me.
"She can't wait to see you! She's waving at you right now." Emmett smiles broadly at me, and I can't help but laugh. Regardless of any other glaring concerns I might have about our contact's ideas about Atlantis, he's a kind and generous man who is eager to offer any help he can, along with a boat and a stay at his villa. "We'll see you in a couple days."
"Did you have fun catching up?" I glance down at my watch. "You were on the phone for almost two hours."
He flops onto the bed with a haggard sigh before lolling his head over to look at me. "You know how he is."
"Succinctness has never been his strong suit. What's the plan?" Poking his shoulder with my toe until he smiles.
"We're flying to Roma where we'll meet up with his first mate, who's already in Italy with his boat. She'll take us to Malta by sea. It's about a day's trip."
I mull it over in my head for a minute, and it actually sounds like a great plan. I was out when Emmett first called, so I missed the first portion of the conversation. "Did you tell him anything? Promise him anything?"
"Just that you were looking forward to foraging with him." He beams up at me before I hit him with a pillow.
The flight from Ponta Delgado to Rome is only a little over six hours. We have to stop off in Lisbon, and poor Emmett is more than ready to never see the inside of an airplane again after the little prop job from the islands hit turbulence for the entire two-hour flight.
We have an hour before our flight to Rome, so he sneaks off to check in with work, and I decide to do the same. Dean Brody doesn't answer right away, but chances are fairly good that he's sitting in on my TA giving lectures or he's trying to give them himself.
As I sit in the terminal, waiting for our connection, I'm racking my brain trying to figure out who sent me the USB drive. Regardless of what this adventure brings, that is the biggest mystery at this point. Half of me believes with all my heart and mind that Atlantis existed, thrived at one point in the world; the other half knows that it was just an allegory.
What I don't know is who sent me the USB and why, and it's killing me. Who would have the access to something like this—this map and all the information that came with it—and believe that I was the right person to send it all to?
"Everything okay at work?" Emmett looks too serious as he approaches my seat.
"Oh, yeah. Any reason Marcus Brody would be poking around looking for me?" He doesn't sit but grabs his bag by my feet just as our flight is called.
"Marcus? Like, my Dean, Marcus Brody?" I'm confused, alarmed, and some other feeling that I can't quite quantify.
"One and the same. He had a meeting with my director today; asked a lot of questions about me and whether she knew where I was currently." He shoots me a pointed look.
"What?"
"Rosie. Don't 'what' me. What does Marcus know?" He pulls me to the back of the crowd as we let other passengers file past to board the plane.
Sighing, I shrug my shoulders. "I love Marcus, really. He's been a pseudo-father figure for many years. And he's a smart man, well educated, but he's not involved in this, if that's what you're suggesting."
"He's not? Because my director seems to think Marcus is trying to track us down."
Cringing inwardly, I smile tightly. "He's always been curious."
"What did he tell you when you left? You told me he said something to you about this, about Atlantis?"
Racking my brain, I think back to the phone call when I decided to fly to DC to talk to Emmett. "He said I'd been searching for my entire career …"
"You never tell anyone about Atlantis, at least, not your personal theories. Did you tell him? Really tell him? I know you teach about it, but—"
I grasp his arm tightly. "I never did."
I sleep fitfully on the flight, trying to remember the last fifteen years or so whenever I am awake. I can't recount every last conversation with Marcus, but Emmett is more than right; I don't share Atlantis with everyone. I never do.
As an anthropologist, Marcus' initial field of study was focused on evolutionary biology and how it related to modern humans and what we could potentially look forward to. While he studied our ancestors, he didn't take an active interest in ancient civilizations; at least, I didn't think he did.
I wake about an hour before we're set to land to find Emmett sketching quietly. He angles the book over so I can take a peek, and I see my sleeping form, furrowed brow, mussy hair, and all. "It's good. You always had some talent there."
"Not enough to be good, just enough to keep entertained." He stows the book and pencil. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know. I'm worried now. I want to believe that I can trust Marcus, but what if I can't? What if everyone in my life is somehow out to get me or against me?" Turning away, I look out the window.
"I'm not." Emmett grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. I can feel his warmth and strength. "I never have been."
I look over my shoulder at him. "I know, I know."
"I need to know something before we get off this plane, before Malta, before … whatever comes next. You and me? Is there a future for us?"
I adjust myself so I can look at him. "Before, I would have said no. It was clear that we were friends, colleagues."
"And now?" He raises our joined hands to press a kiss to the back of mine.
"I'd be lying through my teeth if I said it's always been you, but we always come back to each other. We were talking about it the other morning; this is what we make of it. So, we get to make the rules for ourselves."
"Really? Just like that?" He grins, but I can see his eyes searching, always, for the true answer.
"Just like that." Some answers are easier to find than others.
Since our flight out of Ponta Delgada was early afternoon, we make it to Rome in the late evening. Hailing a taxi isn't difficult, but once we reach the marina, we realize we have no idea which boat belongs to our contact.
Emmett is considering calling again to confirm when a vibrant woman approaches us. She's dressed for sailing with sturdy non-slip shoes, pants, and a sweater. She has dark hair that looks like flaming auburn under the bright flood lights, and her olive skin almost sparkles.
"Buonasera, you must be Emmett and Rosalie?" She's smiling wide, and I'm fighting a strong sense of déjà vu.
"Buonasera! You must be the first mate?" Emmett extends his hand, not offering any other information, waiting for her to answer.
"Carlisle said I was the first mate, eh? I'll have a word or several with him about that." She shakes his hand, and then mine. "My name is Esme Cullen, Carlisle's wife. I run everything at the villa; Carlisle likes to think he's in charge." She winks at us both. "Do you have any other luggage?"
We shake our heads, and she beckons us to follow her. If neither of us knew how eccentric Carlisle Cullen was, this might be strange or dangerous, but this woman is, at first impression, nothing like her husband, and I feel completely at ease.
She leads us down the dock to a large and rather imposing, yet beautiful, sailing yacht. I'm staring at it in awe as crew members are walking on the deck, making last minute preparations. "We'll be casting off in thirty minutes." Esme is looking at me expectantly from the gangplank, and I shake my head.
"Do you have to invite me aboard or something?"
"Are you a vampire?" She laughs, and I roll my eyes. "Come on. I'll get you settled before the tour."
She makes brief introductions to some of the crew as she leads us down to the lower deck to stow our bags in one of the bedrooms. When we emerge and meet her on the upper deck, she informs us of our course and estimated arrival time.
"The trip itself takes about twenty hours or so. If the wind prevails, we could make it earlier." She smiles and offers us seats across from her.
"You'll have to forgive me because I'm almost completely ignorant about boats and sailing, but isn't it sort of unsafe to sail at night?" I look around at the black water surrounding us, and she laughs.
"We won't be sailing overnight. We'll be using the engine, and once the sun rises so will the sails." She leans forward to pat my hand. "Everything is perfectly safe, but if you would prefer to wait until first light, we can do that. There's plenty of space for the crew."
Something in her touch and her eyes is so familiar to me, but I can't quite touch it. "No, no. If it's safe then it's safe. My apologies."
She waves my words away. "No need for apologies, my friend. When we don't know things, we are sometimes fearful, are we not?"
"Sometimes."
Esme is a lovely hostess for a few hours as we make our way into open water, serving us a small buffet of meats, cheeses, and fruits while asking about our relationship with Carlisle. It doesn't escape my notice that the conversation seems to be directed solely at me, but I let it slide for now. Emmett and Car have always been close; I've never questioned it. She seems genuinely interested, and I personally enjoy her company a great deal. She's curious about our respective work, and while she doesn't work in history by trade, as she says, she's always been fascinated.
Around three AM, Emmett calls it a night and heads below deck but not before planting a deliberate kiss on my lips, a signal to me not to stay up too late.
"So, you found the open gate." Esme smiles at me broadly as I stare at her, confused for a few moments before it clicks.
"That was you? On the plane from Africa? That was you!" I jump up and move to a seat next to her, grasping her hands.
"I wasn't sure it was you at first. You've grown up from that younger woman, matured and learned so much more since then. But as I listened to the way you talk about learning the truth, I knew it was you. Is Emmett the one you cried over?" Esme searches my eyes, waiting for my answer.
"He was. But, we became friends, and I trust him the most in my life. I don't have a family I can count on, so it's him." I can feel my cheeks heat, but Esme doesn't let me wallow in any embarrassment.
"Family is a choice. Loving is a choice. Sometimes, you have to choose not to love the family that was given to you and love the family you choose. I too have no family to speak of. They didn't approve of Carlisle. But I love him, and for me, for us, that's all that mattered. I always wondered what happened to you; I'm glad to find out." Esme gives me a quick hug, and I choke back tears.
This woman, who had such a huge impact on me, whom I only interacted with for such a small time, had wound up back in my life, by happenstance. I couldn't be any more grateful, and I would be counting my lucky stars tonight.
"We should all get some rest. Go, get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Buonanotte."
I sit out on the deck for a few more minutes before heading down below and crawl into bed next to Emmett.