15. Jakob
CHAPTER 15
JAKOB
I ’m up at dawn, feeling the most excited I have in years. I stretch, sensing an unusual lightness in my chest. Today marks the third day of showing Courtney around Bergovia, and I can’t suppress the smile blooming on my face. It’s as if every cell in my body is vibrating with anticipation.
I saunter down to breakfast, trying to keep my buoyant mood under wraps. But it seems to radiate from me like heat from a fire, impossible to conceal. My family all glance up from their plates, a chorus of forks pausing mid-air.
“Good morning,” I greet them, reaching for the carafe of coffee. “Sleep well?”
“Jakob, you seem… different today,” my mother observes, studying me over her reading glasses.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Christina teases, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
I purse my lips at her. She’s trying to come across as playful, but I know for a fact that she’s digging for some sort of information to use against me.
“Nothing’s changed,” I reply, keeping my tone light and neutral.
The truth is, I can’t risk them finding out about Courtney. With our families’ history, they might think I’m betraying them by harboring feelings for her.
And so I deflect further inquiries with talk of mundane palace affairs, and finish my breakfast hastily.
Excusing myself, I stride out of the breakfast room. I can feel their curious stares on my back, but I don’t look back.
I arrive at Courtney’s hotel, its quaint charm bringing a smile to my face. She steps out, looking effortlessly beautiful, and my breath hitches slightly. She’s wearing a soft, floral dress that sways with her every move, and her hair cascades down her shoulders, catching the morning light. There’s a scent around her, delicate and sweet, like the lilacs that bloom in the palace gardens.
“Good morning, Jakob,” she greets me with that radiant smile I’ve grown so fond of.
“Morning, Courtney,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my stomach.
We set off in my convertible, and I sneak glances at her when I’m sure she’s absorbed in the surroundings.
“Today is going to be special,” I promise, more to myself than to her.
The road unwinds before us, a ribbon threading through the lush tapestry of Bergovian countryside. With every mile that slips under the car’s wheels, I watch Courtney’s expression transform, wonder lighting up her eyes as rolling hills and verdant fields spread out before us.
“Jakob, this is… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she murmurs, leaning forward in her seat to gaze out the window.
I feel a swell of pride. “It’s one of my favorite places in all of Bergovia,” I reply, guiding the car along a narrow lane flanked by towering oaks.
The landscape here is part of my heritage, a scene I know by heart, yet sharing it with Courtney lends it a new vibrancy, a freshness I hadn’t known it lacked.
We come upon a meadow, where the wildflowers paint the ground in splashes of color and the air hums with the tranquil buzz of life. I park near an ancient stone wall, remnants of some long-forgotten boundary, and we step out into the open air.
Courtney reaches into her bag and retrieves her camera, holding it reverently in her hands. She is a hunter in search of beauty, her lens the trap that captures and tames it. With careful steps, she moves around the field, the click of the shutter punctuating the silence between us.
“Here,” she says suddenly, excitement lacing her voice. “This is it.”
She has found a particular vista, a view framed by two gnarled trees, their branches entwined like lovers’ fingers. Courtney sets up her shot, peering through the viewfinder, adjusting the focus, and finally capturing the image with a satisfied press of the button.
“My grandmother photographed this same spot over half a century ago,” she explains, her eyes gleaming with a blend of nostalgia and triumph. “I found it in her old photos before I left Texas. I never thought I’d see it with my own eyes.”
“Your grandmother had good taste,” I say, though what I really want to tell her is how much I admire this connection she has to her past, how it makes her even more intriguing to me.
She looks up from her camera, her smile soft and genuine. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Of course,” I respond, though the words seem inadequate for the gratitude I feel — that she’s here with me, that she’s letting me into her world, piece by precious piece.
I lean against the hood of the car, my gaze fixed on her as she moves through the field with an artist’s grace. The sunlight dances across her hair, creating a glow about her that makes it hard for me to look away. There’s a lightness in her step, an ease in her smile that I’ve come to cherish over these past days.
A laugh bubbles up from her direction, pure and infectious, and I find myself smiling even though she’s too far to see it. She’s different from anyone I’ve ever known — unaffected by the pomp and circumstance of my title, more interested in the stories etched into the landscape of Bergovia than in the gossip permeating its grand halls.
But as I watch her, a knot forms in my stomach. The joy of our shared moments is overshadowed by the weight of history, by a feud that our great grandparents started and that my parents continue. How could I ever explain to her that the burgeoning warmth in my chest feels like a betrayal?
“Hey, you have to see this!” she calls out, beckoning me over.
Her enthusiasm is contagious as I join her side, but the conflict within me grows. I don’t want this day to end, don’t want to return to a world where our names dictate who we should be. Yet, the reality of our situation looms over us, unspoken but ever-present.
“Beautiful,” I comment, looking at the scene she’s captured on her camera but secretly referring to her.
“Isn’t it just?” She looks up at me, eyes sparkling, unaware of the turmoil beneath my calm exterior.
In that moment, I make a decision. I will not let the shadows of the past darken our future, not when I have the power to create a new narrative. I pull out my phone, thumbing through my contacts until I find the number I need.
“Good morning,” I say into the phone. “I need a favor…”
Courtney’s questioning gaze meets mine, but I offer only a mischievous grin in response. “Trust me,” I tell her. “You’re going to love this.”
The call is brief — a few words, a promise to repay the favor — and then it’s done. An outing unlike any other awaits us, one that will take us soaring above the mountains and valleys of Bergovia. A hot-air-balloon ride at sunset, just the two of us, leaving the ground — and our family’s old grievances — far behind.
“Are you up for an adventure?” I ask her, heart racing with anticipation.
“For sure,” she replies, her hand grazing against mine.
I know it must be an accident — she didn’t mean to touch me — but I don’t draw away. Nor do I break my gaze from hers.
As she gazes back at me, I know that, whatever comes next, I want to face it with Courtney by my side. No matter what anyone else has to say about it.