12. Courtney
CHAPTER 12
COURTNEY
T he immensity of what I’ve just found out presses heavily on my shoulders as I stand in Jakob’s office, surrounded by his expensive furniture and framed photos of men and women in suits. This still doesn’t make sense.
How could my grandmother have taken something that wasn’t hers? The idea seems alien, impossible even, yet here I am, face-to-face with a prince who claims the necklace belongs to his family.
“Listen,” I say, voice barely more than a breath. “The necklace — my grandmother cherished it. It was the one thing she left me when she died.” My eyes lift to meet his, searching for some understanding. “I can’t reconcile the woman I knew with theft. It doesn’t make sense.”
He watches me with a look that’s part pity, part regret. “Courtney, I understand this is difficult. But sometimes, history has a way of hiding its less favorable chapters.”
I nod slowly. Despite the turmoil inside me, if the necklace is rightfully theirs, then I won’t keep it. That’s not who I am or who my grandmother and mom raised me to be. But the sting of betrayal still lingers, turning the air between us thick with unsaid words. Did he get close to me just for this piece of jewelry?
I glance around his office, at the espresso machine that looks like it cost tens of thousands of dollars, and the amazing view of the city. A world so removed from mine, a world where Jakob isn’t just a man — he’s a prince and a bigwig in this security department, with all the responsibilities and expectations those titles carry. And yet, he’s offered to show me around Bergovia, his home, his realm.
“Is this your way of apologizing?” I ask, the question hanging like a fragile ornament in the space between us.
“Partly,” he admits. He steps closer, and I’m acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him. “But also, I want you to see the beauty of Bergovia. Through your lens, perhaps even through your heart.”
My breath hitches. His words weave a spellbinding image, tempting and sweet, but I can’t forget how we got here — that he played me.
Then again… could it be that he wants to spend more time with me? Does he feel something beyond duty and obligation? Or is it just the guilt of using me to retrieve a lost heirloom?
“Jakob, I…” The words tangle in my throat, uncertainty clouding the desire I still shamelessly have to spend more time with him.
Despite what he did, last night’s touches and kisses still linger, and I can’t just shed them. They cling to my skin, to my heart, impacting my every thought and breath.
“Please,” he says, and there’s an earnestness in his voice that makes it hard to stay guarded. “Let me show you my country. Let me make this right.”
The offer is compelling and, despite my better judgment, incredibly enticing. There’s a part of me that yearns to say yes — to explore the cobblestone streets, the rolling hills, and the ancient castles that make up the tapestry of Bergovia. To possibly unravel more about my grandmother’s past. And maybe, just maybe, to understand the enigmatic prince before me. And to even…
No, I can’t think that way about the two of us. Jakob is off the table. For one, I can’t trust him. For another, he’s a prince! How could we ever make anything beyond a one-night stand or a fling work?
“Okay,” I utter, giving in to curiosity, to the adventure, to the chance of discovering what lies beneath the crown. “Show me Bergovia, Jakob.”
His smile is gentle, a soft curve that reaches his eyes and, for a moment, I allow myself to believe that there’s more to him than just royal blood and hidden agendas.
“Under one condition.” I hold up my finger. To my satisfaction, he looks disappointed.
“And what is that one condition?” He quirks a blond eyebrow.
“We start with a trial day,” I say. “So we can see if we can even stand each other.”
He looks like he’s trying not to smile. “I am fairly certain we can do more than stand each other.”
I stare him down, my eyes narrowing. “A lot has changed since last night.”
That makes the smirk fall right off his face. And it should. He’s the one who royally — no pun intended — messed things up between the two of us. If he wants to make things better, he’ll have to try a whole lot harder.
Also, on my end, this is my way of testing him a bit. Of seeing if he’s actually willing to show up and put in some effort. After him stealing away with the necklace, it would be foolish of me to just automatically trust him.
“Then one day it is,” he says. “But I have a feeling you’ll find Bergovia quite captivating and want to continue for more than only one day.”
Find Bergovia captivating? Or him ? Which one is it that he really wants to say?
I’m sure he’s used to women falling all over him, jumping at his smallest whim and treating him like a god. Well, not me. He might be handsome and slick, but the prince thing won’t work on me. Not since I’ve already gotten a taste of the real Jakob.
His fingers dance across his phone screen, likely notifying someone of his change in plans. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
I watch, amazed, as he issues instructions to postpone meetings and shuffle appointments. Each spoken word is deliberate, each command carrying the authority of someone who knows they will be obeyed. The prince is clearing his schedule for me — for us — to have this day together.
And I have to admit… I’m impressed.
“Where do you think we should go?” There’s a lilt to his question, playful and brimming with possibilities.
“Somewhere historical,” I suggest, the idea sparking sudden excitement within me. “How about one of Bergovia’s old castles?”
“Perfect,” he agrees, and I notice the glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes. It mirrors my own. “I know just the place.”
Before I can ask where, he’s on his phone again, speaking in rapid Bergovian to someone on the other end. He hangs up with a smile that’s both triumphant and conspiratorial. “It’s settled. We’ll visit the Schloss Klein. They’re preparing for a private tour as we speak.”
“Private?” I echo, surprised by the exclusivity of it all.
“Of course,” he responds, his smile never wavering. “I wouldn’t want our trial day marred by crowds or distractions. This way, you’ll see the castle as few ever do.”
The idea of exploring the castle with him thrills me more than I care to admit. I won’t show it, though. I’m taking a page from Jakob’s book and holding my cards close, making sure that I don’t reveal too much.
“Ready?” He opens the door for me.
“Um… sure.”
“Do you need to stop at your hotel first?”
“No. I’m ready to go.”
Twenty minutes ago I was ready to tear into him for taking the necklace and deceiving me. Now I’m headed out for a day of sightseeing with him. Should I feel manipulated?
Maybe, but this is also what I want. I came here to see Bergovia, and no one has more exclusive access than a prince and the head of the security department. I doubt there’s anywhere in the country he can’t get us into, so why squander a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
He leads me downstairs, past the guards, who bow and address him as “Your Highness,” and out to the curb. A sleek black car glides to a stop in front of us, and something about its quiet arrival makes my pulse quicken. Jakob opens the door for me with a courteous bow, and I slide into the plush leather seat, feeling every bit the stranger in a fairy tale that’s not mine.
As the driver pulls away from the curb, I’m acutely aware of the curious stares following us through the window. Heads turn, whispers flutter like leaves in the wind, and for a moment, I imagine what it must be like to live under such scrutiny every day.
“Is it always like this?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from the onlookers who seem both intrigued and respectful.
“More or less,” Jakob replies, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. “One learns to find privacy in plain sight, or not at all.”
I nod, still processing. Prince Jakob. It’s strange to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the royal before me now. He catches my gaze, a question in his eyes, but I have no answer to give. Instead, I focus on the changing scenery as we leave the city behind.
The castle emerges on the horizon like a sentinel watching over Bergovia. Its ancient stones are a testament to history, standing proud and unyielding against the passage of time. I catch my breath as we approach, the grandeur of Schloss Klein dwarfing everything around it.
“Welcome,” Jakob says, as if he can sense the awe spilling through me.
We’re greeted at the entrance by a guide whose knowledge seems limitless. Each room is more stunning than the last, with tapestries that recount tales of old, and chandeliers that sparkle like constellations. Jakob remains close by, a constant presence, pointing out hidden details and sharing anecdotes that bring the stone walls to life.
“Go ahead, take pictures,” he encourages, gesturing to an ornate fresco that stretches across the ceiling. “You’ll want to remember this.”
I pull out my camera, trying to capture the essence of each moment. Through the lens, I see not just the beauty of the castle but also the care with which Jakob treats his heritage. His pride is palpable, and as he watches me frame a shot, there’s a softness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the view or something else entirely.
“Very,” I reply, and in that second, it’s true.
The castle, the country, this unexpected journey — it’s all breathtakingly beautiful. And maybe, just maybe, so is the prince beside me. But I tuck that thought away, focusing instead on the here and now as we continue our tour through the heart of Bergovian history.
The tour guide, to my surprise, leaves us, telling us to take our time looking around.
“She trusts us?” I ask Jakob, before remembering who I’m talking to.
Correction: she trusts Jakob. A prince of Bergovia. Me, she doesn’t know from anyone else.
“I want to show you something,” is all he says.
Jakob leads me through a set of heavy double doors into a secluded garden, and I find myself grappling with more than just the beauty surrounding us. The air here is sweet with the scent of roses and lavender, and the air feels different here. More precious.
“Most visitors don’t get to see this part,” he says, a hint of pride lacing his words. “It’s my mother’s favorite retreat.”
I trail my fingers over the petals of a blooming rose. Jakob watches me, and there’s that same tenderness in his gaze. It occurs to me then; he’s trying so hard to win me over.
But why? Can a prince truly be interested in a commoner like me? Or is guilt over the necklace compelling him to kindness?
“Thank you for showing me this,” I say, not wanting to accuse or question him yet, instead expressing genuine gratitude.
His smile deepens, reaching his eyes, and there’s an unspoken connection that passes between us — a current of what we experienced last night. Or maybe just of what I experienced. For all I know, Jakob faked even being interested in me.
“Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?” he asks, gesturing toward a cobblestone path that snakes through the foliage.
“Sure,” I reply.
As we walk, the chemistry between us seems to thicken, tangible in the shared glances and light touches as he guides me past a fountain, his hand briefly resting on my back. I’m not imagining it. He’s here because he wants to be. He wants to be next to me.
The idea of extending our trial day bubbles up inside me, and I already know I’ll ask. Teasing myself with possibilities seems foolish — after all, he is a prince — but then again, when will I ever get another chance to experience Bergovia like this? I didn’t come all this way for nothing, and the allure of spending more time with Jakob, learning about his world, is too tempting to resist.
“Jakob,” I begin, pausing beside a bed of tulips that paint the ground in splashes of color. “Would it be possible to… extend our day together? There’s so much more I’d love to see.”
He turns to me, eyes alight with pleasure. “So, our little trial day worked after all.”
My cheeks warm. “Don’t pat yourself too much on the back.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles.
Too soon, the sun is setting and it’s time to go. The cobblestones are uneven under my feet as we step out of the castle, its ancient stones casting long shadows in the waning light. Jakob pauses at the edge of the manicured lawn that stretches out before us, looking every inch the storybook prince with the grandeur of legacy rising behind him.
“Mind if I take a picture?” I ask, already reaching for the camera slung around my neck. It feels natural to capture this moment, to freeze him in time against the backdrop of history and heritage.
“Of course,” he replies, offering me a relaxed, boyish grin that takes me by surprise.
I peer through the viewfinder, focusing on the way the golden-hour sun drapes over him, highlighting the angles of his face. He’s undeniably handsome, more so than any photograph could convey, with an ease and charm that seem to radiate from within. The shutter clicks, and I take a few steps back to frame him from another angle.
“Okay,” I call out, not lifting my gaze from the camera, “look off to the side, like you’re pondering your kingdom or something.”
He chuckles, obliging with a thoughtful expression directed toward the rolling hills in the distance. Another click, and I know I’ve captured something special — something candid and unguarded.
I lower the camera, suddenly struck by the reality of the man before me. How did I end up here, at an old castle with a prince? The urge to step closer, to bridge the gap between royal and commoner, is nearly overwhelming.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, but I’m not just talking about the photos.
“Thank you.” His voice is softer now, filled with something that sounds like hope. Or maybe it’s desire.
I swallow hard, feeling the pull of attraction, but I have to be careful. He may be charming and sincere in this stolen moment away from the world, but there’s no forgetting the crown that awaits him, nor the ordinary girl I am. Falling in love with a prince isn’t just unlikely; it’s the sort of fantasy that can’t survive in the harsh light of reality.
“Let’s keep going,” I say, tucking away the camera as I fortify the walls around my heart.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could let go, to see where this chemistry might lead, but he’s given me more reasons to trust him than not to, and even if he hadn’t slipped away with the necklace, I would still be wary.
“Lead the way.” He gestures with a sweep of his hand, and I wonder if he senses the battle waging within me. But I offer him a smile, stepping forward into the remnants of daylight, determined to enjoy the here and now without worrying about the impossibilities of tomorrow.