Page 63 of Muerte
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.
"I heard strawberry is your favorite.”
I accepted it and tried not to grimace. One guess where that small detail had to have come from. Jesus. How much did he know about me? What part of my life hadn't he dissected and laid bare for his perusal? I wasn’t sure I’d ever have that answer. It was unsettling. He had spent so much time gathering the smallest pieces of me, just so he could hold them close and claim them as his own.
I sipped the drink distractedly, its taste unsurprisingly perfect. Nicolette's voice pulled me back to them. "Is there any other store that caught your eye?" she inquired, her tone casual. “We could pop into one before heading to Chapel.”
Esther chimed in then, her voice light and encouraging. "Don't worry about the funds. Whatever you desire can be delivered to the estate. Just say the word."
"Just how wealthy is your brother?"
Esther smiled and took a bite of a lemony treat before answering. "If he didn’t already own the Isle and you asked for it, he would buy it for you. And if you wanted a second one, he'd make that happen too."
"Whatever you want, Lolita. If it can be bought by monetary means or taken with power, consider it yours,” Nicolette agreed.
If I wasn’t imagining things. She sounded slightly bitter. It surprised me for the simple fact that I didn’t get the impression Alexander’s people did anything less than revere him. I already knew he had money, and power, but in my head, it was to a certain extent. Their explanations shed new light on that assumption.
His money and influence weren’t the largest of my concerns, though.
The reason I was here and why he had chosen me was far more pressing.
Had he branded his other wives like he had me? And where were they? I sipped my drink and glanced around, noting some of the women from the back table were darting looks at me and then quickly looking away…blushing? What the hell was that about? My face heated in response to the not-so-subtle attention. I pretended I didn’t notice and looked out the shop windows.
I locked eyes with a familiar figure across the street and immediately stopped drinking. My heart skipped a beat as I continued to stare.
I knew him.
I’d seen him the night everything happened. His intense gaze held mine, unblinking. There were only two reasons he’d be at this place. He’d either been taken too—or he’d belonged here all along.
The latter was more likely, given his attire was similar to the few male servitors we had passed while out and about.
Nicolette's abrupt grip on my arm interrupted our stare-down. Her fingers pressed into my skin with a warning that bore pain. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss. "Don't look at other men. It's the fastest way to get yourself killed."
Her words sent a chill down my spine. Before I could ask, Esther interjected in an equally hushed tone. "Nicolette, not here," she cautioned, her eyes darting around the room. Her warning was clear: this was neither the time nor the place for such a conversation.
I resumed sipping my drink, barely tasting it anymore. The man's gaze still lingered in my mind, a haunting reminder of the world I had been torn from and the perilous situation I now found myself in.