9. Courtney
CHAPTER 9
COURTNEY
T he room is quiet as I open my eyes and sit up, my heart a flutter of wings against my rib cage as I scan the room. The other side of the bed is empty, a dent in the pillow where Jakob’s head was.
“Jakob?” I rub sleep from my eyes and lean over to peer through the open bathroom door. It’s empty.
I frown. Where did he get to?
I crane my head, listening. There are the sounds of footsteps in the hall, but they approach and then pass right by my room. As they slowly fade away, my heart sinks, the truth a heavy stone.
He left. Without saying goodbye.
And without leaving his number, a quick glance at all the surfaces of the room tells me.
I bite my lip, pushing back the disappointment. I knew this might happen, of course, but living through it is another matter entirely now that I’m here, Jakob’s absence a silent echo bouncing off the walls of the hotel suite.
I tell myself it’s foolish to feel this sting of abandonment; after all, what were the chances? He’s from here, and I’m just passing through, a visitor with a return ticket already burning a hole in my pocket. We’re worlds apart, Jakob and I.
“Get a grip, Courtney,” I mutter under my breath as I push back the covers.
My feet touch the plush rug, and I shuffle towards the suitcase perched on the luggage rack. It’s time to get dressed and face the day, even if it means doing so without the charming stranger who swept me off my feet last night.
I flip open the clasps of my suitcase, rummaging for something to wear. As I pull out a soft cotton dress, I frown. Something’s not right. I dig deeper, tossing aside scarves and skirts, a growing sense of dread twisting in my stomach. And then it hits me — the hollow emptiness where my grandmother’s necklace should be, its delicate gold chain and the tiny sapphire pendant passed down through generations, now missing.
My hands freeze, and I feel the blood drain from my face. “No, no, no …”
The words are screams of disbelief as the truth dawns on me: Jakob. He’s taken it. That’s the only explanation.
Panic swells, and my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. I trusted him, let him charm me with his smile and his soft touches. How could I have been such an easy mark?
“He scammed me,” I breathe, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
All at once, the memories of last night — his laughter, his warm hand enveloping mine — twist into something sinister. He must have planned this from the moment he laid eyes on me. The realization is a slap, a betrayal that stings more than the loss of the heirloom itself.
How many times has he done this before? Picked up a woman and gone to her hotel room only to rob her? For all I know, I’m the hundredth person he’s done this to — and I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse.
Fury replaces the shock, heating my veins as I stand here amid the chaos of my belongings. This was no chance encounter. I was targeted, not special like he made me think. Jakob wasn’t just a thief; he was a master at his game.
But I’m not leaving Bergovia — not yet. Not without my grandmother’s necklace. I’ll find Jakob, and when I do, he’ll wish he’d never crossed paths with Courtney Fuller.
I march down to the hotel lobby, my resolve firming with each step, the anger, sense of betrayal, and determination building as I go. I reach the front desk, where a young woman with a polite smile greets me.
“Good morning. How may I assist you?” Her voice is sweet, but it grates against the turmoil inside me.
I lean in, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need to report a theft. Last night, someone— I mean, something very valuable was taken from my room.”
Her smile fades as she listens, nodding sympathetically. She motions for the security guard standing by the entrance. “Let’s check the cameras,” she says.
Together, we watch the grainy footage, scanning for any sign of Jakob’s departure. But the lobby is a ballet of guests and staff, nothing out of place. No Jakob. No evidence. It’s as if he’s vanished into thin air, a ghost among the living.
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing here that can help us,” the guard says apologetically, his face etched with genuine regret.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my heart sinking further. I should have known better than to hope for easy answers.
“You should report it to the authorities.” He writes down a number and address for me. “The closest station is just down the street.”
It’s something, at least. The hotel can’t help me, but maybe the police can. My feet carry me through the cobblestone streets, past the buildings and gardens that yesterday made me feel like I was in heaven and that this morning only remind me of the trick I fell for.
The police station is an austere building that feels unwelcoming despite its open doors. Inside, officers move about with purpose, their attention on matters far greater than a tourist’s lost jewelry.
“May I help you?” A stern-faced officer looks up from his desk, his eyes skeptical as I approach.
I recount the story, watching as his expression remains unchanged. He takes notes, asks for a description, but the absence of a photograph of Jakob makes it clear; they have little to work with, and even less interest.
“We will file a report, miss, but you must understand — we have more pressing cases.” His words echo the sentiment of his disinterested gaze.
“Of course,” I murmur, feeling the dismissal deep in my bones. The station suddenly feels colder, and I wrap my arms around myself.
I should have taken a photo of Jakob. I had my camera with me, after all! Of course, he probably wouldn’t have let me, even if I’d asked. He likely already knew he would rob me of whatever good stuff he found in my room, and he would be an idiot to leave me with something I could ID him with.
Stepping back onto the street, I realize I’m alone in a hunt that seems increasingly futile. But I won’t give up. Not yet. Not until I’ve turned over every stone in this quaint country. My grandmother’s necklace means too much to surrender without a fight.
Trudging down the street, I find myself at the café where I met Mimi yesterday. It seems forever ago now, like it was another lifetime. Ordering a coffee, I take a seat at the same table I was at the day before and stare dismally at the wall. What now?
I clutch the ceramic mug, the warmth barely registering against my numb fingers. The café is a cozy alcove away from the bustling streets, yet I’m as cold inside as the stone buildings lining the old town square. I take a sip of the coffee, knowing I should eat something but not having an appetite.
“Maybe it’s time to go home,” I murmur to myself, staring into the dark liquid as if it holds answers. My grandmother’s necklace, more than a simple chain and jewel, was a connection to a past that I now feel slipping away. How could I let something so precious end up in the hands of a thief?
I blink rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. This isn’t how my trip was supposed to end. Not with heartache and loss. Not with deception by someone who… No, I can’t even think about Jakob without a mix of anger and sorrow tangling up inside me.
I rise from my chair, needing some fresh air. Maybe a walk will clear my head, help me plan my next move. I can call Mimi and see if she has any advice about what to do.
But before I can take a step, my gaze catches on a newspaper held by an older gentleman at a neighboring table. My heart lurches, then races — Jakob’s face stares back at me from the front page.
“May I?” I gesture towards the paper, my voice quivering with disbelief. The man nods, perplexed by my urgency, but he hands it over.
“Prince Jakob,” the headline exclaims, below a photo of the man whose memory haunts me. He looks regal, untouchable — not like someone who would spend an evening with a tourist. And certainly not someone who’d need to steal.
“Why?” I breathe out.
The man frowns at me, probably thinking I’m loony.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Um, thank you.”
I step away, my balance off and the room oddly bright. A prince ? It doesn’t make sense. The story beneath his image mentioned charity events, diplomatic meetings — nothing that hints at why he’d take my grandmother’s necklace.
Determination ignites within me, pushing the despair aside. This isn’t just about the necklace anymore; it’s about the truth. And I won’t leave Bergovia without it.