Page 17 of Manacled Hearts

“I thought Katya told you to use Jay or Brinn. They know Queenscove like the back of their hands, they can show you everything. You must need something. Clothes or… whatever cosmetics you women use.”

Women. The choice to use that word instead of girl feels good enough that I’m tempted to confess why I haven’t been doing any of the above. I despise being called a girl.

“She did, but I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

I don’t realize I’m chewing on my lip until a coppery taste touches my tongue.

“You’re not bothering anyone. No matter. Incidentally, I came here to take you and your sister out.”

Did he really? Or does he know how pathetic I am? Who am I kidding, of course he does. Where would I have money from?

He’s perfectly aware.

My lips part, but I’m unsure of the answer I want to give him.

“Can we go for ice cream, please?” Maya rushes into the room, skipping the entire way to Maddox and me with a great big grin on her face.

I need to have a talk with her. She’s too… open. Too eager. Too trusting with these people she’s barely just met. It scares me.

“Of course. If your sister agrees, we can,” Maddox answers.

“I can’t, umm… I don’t—”

“It would be my treat,” he interrupts, his gaze flickering to mine for a moment. It’s stern enough to show he knows exactly what I’m thinking and that I can’t argue with him.

“Can we, Evie? Please, can we?” Maya tugs at my sleeve.

“Yes.” I cave, knowing full well there’s no getting out of this. “Go brush your hair and put your shoes on.”

“Yaaay!” She jumps and sprints out of the living area before I speak the entire sentence.

There was no way I was going to say no. Not because I can’t deny her, but because I need to see if this outing will scratch this incessant itch and ease the ache beneath my flesh. I’m praying even to the gods I don’t believe in that it will work.

I know what would, but I’m afraid to do to myself what was done to me.

Twenty minutes later, Maya, Maddox, and I are walking through the clean, bright streets of Queenscove. Katya’s apartment overlooks a large natural park, and I didn’t realize how close she actually is from the center of the city.

Or town?

I’m not entirely sure what this place is. I think it’s big, yet there are no modern skyscrapers or cold architecture made of nothing but metal and glass. There’s not enough concrete to make it feel like a metropolis. The building Katya lives in is one of the tallest, and I only counted seven stories.

The streets are lined with period buildings, grass and flower bed verges, and mature palms amongst beautiful birches. And the smell… It’s intoxicating. Honey and sea. Sweet and salty weaving through the humidity that’s just at the edge of too much.

Maddox insisted on walking. Now I understand why. We’re quite close to everything. Dozens of both luxurious and charming storefronts, cafés and cocktail bars with tables outside, and people walking about everywhere. Yet, they all have a strange calmness in their step. Like they have no care in the world, no worries, nowhere to rush off to.

They seem happy.

Such a contrast to the place I call home. Fleeton always looks gray, like a cloud covers it permanently. The streets are nowhere near this clean, there’s barely any patches of grass, let alone trees. And the only people who smile are the ones who can afford to.

Maddox leads us to the right onto a cobblestoned side street, and my breath catches at the view at the end of it—the ocean. Sun sizzles the calm surface and that ache that has settled beneath my skin quiets.

Beautiful.

I had no idea it was going to be like this. I barely register Maya’s excitement as she pulls at my hand.

We near the beach, catching a glimpse of people sunbathing on the soft sand as Maddox leads us to a charming, small building right at the edge of it. Big, bold letters signal that we’re about to have Ice Cream and Coffee, and the corner of my lips twitch at the sight of this place. It’s simple. No pompous luxury or fancy branding. Stepping inside is like stepping back in the 1960s. An old-time, classic ice cream parlor with all its signs of aging.

But the decor blurs behind the patron’s reactions to us. There are probably a dozen people in here, half of them got a glimpse and averted their gazes in an instant, the tenseness evident in their shoulders. The other half are staring with a fervent mixture of sentiments etched on their faces. Everything from fear, to awe, and lust.

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