Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I nodded slowly, hearing what she wasn’t saying. "But why? Why have something like that here?" My question was genuine, reflecting my growing fascination with the complexities of this place despite my perilous predicament and its true nature.
Esther's explanation was straightforward yet revealing.
"It's another strategic distraction, really. Plus, you'd be surprised how many visitors come to the Isle specifically for that." Her words reiterated a calculated purpose behind every facet of this mysterious community.
Nicolette added, "The women there are carefully chosen and trained for their roles. They're a different kind of servitor, dedicated to providing a very specific service."
She meant sex, obviously. I didn’t have a problem or strong opinion on sex workers, but even with my limited understanding of things, I understood these women weren’t being paid for their services. I wouldn’t allow myself to think too strongly about how they wound up in such a position to begin with. I couldn’t exactly bust in and save them. And it was a given that some might not believe they needed to be saved at all.
As we continued our stroll, my thoughts involuntarily drifted to Alexander, and a twinge of annoyance pricked at me.
He seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my mind—and not entirely in a negative sense. The thought of him possibly visiting this Pleasure House nagged at me. I quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the stores we passed.
I refused to acknowledge any feelings of jealousy. Admitting that would mean acknowledging a deeper connection to him, something I was not ready to confront. I was caught between detesting my captor and being drawn to him, his presence now a constant echo in the back of my mind. It was exhausting.
Why couldn’t I hate him for what he’d done? Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I couldn’t say the tour of the town was largely insightful. It had been more frustrating than anything, highlighting more obstacles between me and freedom. But it also served as a distraction and break from Alexander’s estate. Even if it failed to distract me from thoughts of the man himself.
As we continued our outing, we found ourselves in Celestial Crafts, a quaint store run by a trio of sisters who were known for their exquisite handiwork. The shop was filled with handmade crafts, including ornate tapestries depicting the Isle’s history, intricate lacework, and pottery infused with traditional motifs.
Once we left there, it wasn't long before our little group made its way to a charming confectionery. As we stepped into Isla’s Sweets & Treats, the atmosphere shifted dramatically from the gothic allure of the craft store to a delightful, almost whimsical ambiance.
The interior was a confectioner's dream, adorned with pastel colors and vintage décor that conjured images of a bygone era. Delicate chandeliers cast a soft, inviting light over the space, and the air was rich with the scent of freshly baked goods and chocolate.
Around us, the tables were dotted with patrons, a mix of Isle natives and tourists. In one corner, a group of women from the Isle sat together, their dresses vibrant yet modest, their conversation a blend of hushed tones and gentle laughter, exuding a sense of belonging.
It was a sharp contrast to the more tentative, wide-eyed tourists who seemed to soak in every detail of their exotic surroundings. Their voices carried a note of excitement and curiosity, a visual display of the Isle's allure to outsiders.
As we found a table, I couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from both groups. I was neither a carefree tourist nor a settled native but something else entirely—a captive caught in the intricate web of Alexander's world. The juxtaposition of the quaint, cheerful bakery and my own tumultuous thoughts created a surreal feeling, as if I were observing a scene from someone else's life.
Esther went to order for us, leaving me momentarily alone with Nicolette. She was quiet, her gaze occasionally drifting over the café's other patrons. I wasn’t sure what to say to her, so I said nothing.
“The other day was a test. You passed, by the way.”
I slowly turned and looked at her. Had she been speaking to me? I assumed so, but her attention was still elsewhere. Common sense told me she was being cryptic for a reason, which meant I couldn’t ask her anything.
Esther returned, a tray of beautifully crafted confections in hand. She placed three elegantly prepared frappes on our table. One was a rich mocha, its cream swirls dusted with cocoa. Another shone brightly in strawberry, topped with whipped cream and fresh berries. The third, a classic vanilla, was sprinkled delicately with cinnamon.
Beside them was an assortment of macaroons and neatly cut sandwiches, ranging from cucumber to smoked salmon and cream cheese. She handed me the strawberry frap and smiled knowingly.