17. Jakob
CHAPTER 17
JAKOB
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under my weight, my mind wandering away from the to-do list and the calls I don’t want to make. It’s been days since I’ve seen Courtney, and her absence feels like a weight on my chest.
Every report I file, every meeting I attend, it’s her laughter that echoes in my mind, her smile that I see when I close my eyes. She extended her stay here in Bergovia for me, and guilt gnaws at me for not being there for her as promised.
I glance at the clock, its hands inching closer to the time I’m supposed to pick her up. Today has to be perfect. I need to make up for the lost time, make her see that my showing her around isn’t about…
Isn’t about what, exactly? Isn’t a facade covering something else up?
Because, as I hate to remember, that’s exactly what it is. I’m whisking her through the countryside, from small town to small town, deep into the oldest parts of the city, because my father wants me to keep an eye on her.
If I had it my way, I’d be doing it anyway. Yes. Of course I would. The guilt would be there either way, though.
So, what does that mean for me?
That I’m screwed either way? As long as Courtney is in my life, I’ll be hopelessly tempted by something I can’t have due to my fear of losing the crown.
As I rise from my chair, smoothing out the front of my shirt, the soft buzz of my phone catches my attention. My heart races at the text that appears. Father wants to see me in his study — now.
“Jakob,” he greets me, his voice stern as I enter the study.
“Father.” I nod, taking a deep breath. “You wanted to see me?”
“Sit down,” he instructs, pointing to the chair across from him.
As I comply, I get the feeling that I’m about to be cross-examined.
“Tell me about Courtney,” he begins, folding his hands on the desk. “Has she done anything… unusual during her stay?”
I feel my cheeks warm slightly as her image dances before my eyes — the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the curious tilt of her head when she’s pondering something deeply.
“Nothing at all, Father,” I stammer, trying to maintain my composure. “She’s just interested in her family history, the culture. That’s all. I’ve been showing her around… some.”
A brief look of surprise crosses his face, but he quickly composes himself.
“Are you sure she is only curious?” His tone carries an edge of skepticism, and I wonder who he’s more curious about. Courtney or me.
“Absolutely,” I assert more confidently this time. “Courtney is harmless. She’s genuinely fascinated by Bergovia, nothing more.”
Father watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he deliberates my words. Finally, he nods, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “Very well. Carry on, Jakob. But remember, vigilance is paramount. And don’t get… distracted.”
My throat tightens. I know what he means, of course. He’s seen photos of Courtney. He knows how attractive she is; it would be hard for any man to resist her.
But I am not any man. I am a prince of Bergovia. Duty, my country, comes before all else.
“Of course, Father.” I rise quickly, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the study.
His words prickle the back of my neck as I head to the garage, get into my convertible, and drive off. Am I already too distracted? If so, how would I know it? At what landmark have I passed the point of no return?
In front of Courtney’s hotel, I pause to adjust the cuffs of my shirt before heading into the lobby. My heart thrums with anticipation at the thought of seeing her again after days absorbed in work. The guilt of neglecting her simmers within me, but I’m determined to make today count.
The moment she steps into the lobby, time seems to slow. She’s wearing a light-blue dress that complements her green eyes — a shade reminiscent of Bergovia’s summer skies. Her hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, and the subtle hint of blush on her cheeks adds an innocent glow that captivates me. She’s effortlessly beautiful, and for a second, all my prepared words slip away.
“Good morning,” I manage. “You look… absolutely stunning.”
She smiles, but there’s a hesitance in her eyes that wasn’t there the last time I saw her. “Thank you. I’m excited to see what you’ve planned for today.”
“Trust me, it’s something special.” In an attempt to bridge the distance I sense between us, I reach out to gently touch her arm. “I’ve really missed spending time with you these past few days.”
Her smile falters just slightly, and she subtly shifts away from my touch. “That’s nice of you to say,” she says, her words measured.
I instantly regret my forwardness, realizing that perhaps I’ve misread the signs, mistaking her gratitude for something more.
Perhaps it’s just that she is keeping her head about her, whereas I am not. She knows that things could never work between us, and she does not need the information I have in order to be assured of that. I did her dirty, as much as I hated to. A decade of playing tour guide would not make up for that.
“Shall we?” I gesture toward the door, eager to recover from my blunder.
“Of course,” Courtney agrees, and together we step outside into the fresh morning.
The drive to our destination is filled with casual conversation, but I still feel that my earlier flirtation has cast a shadow over our rapport. Determined to focus on the surprise I’ve prepared, I steer the topic to her life in Texas, and she tells me about her job, the farmers markets she and her grandmother would go to every weekend, and the occasional weekends spend volunteering at animal-shelter fundraisers with her best friend.
Upon arrival at the Bergovian History Museum, I reveal the day’s agenda. “I’ve organized a private tour for us,” I tell her, gesturing to the grand building. “There’s an expert on Bergovian heritage who will guide us through the exhibits.”
“That sounds great.” She seems to be trying to temper her excitement, but it sneaks through anyway.
“Nothing but the best for your exploration of Bergovia,” I reply with a warm smile, relieved to see her enthusiasm reignited.
As we enter the hushed halls of the museum, flanked by artifacts and treasures of ages past, I feel a sense of pride sharing this piece of my country’s soul. Courtney and I have this in common — a love of history, of the stories behind the obvious. When she eventually does leave Bergovia, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself. I’ve gotten closer to her than I ever expected to, and she makes every woman I’ve ever dated look extremely dull in comparison.
There is not, to put it quite simply, anyone else in the world quite like her.
I’ve saved this museum in particular for a special day. It’s Bergovia’s finest, one that my family has supported for years. Not only that, but it is renowned throughout the world. To say I feel pride bringing Courtney here would be selling myself short.
The tour guide, a woman who is clearly in love with her job, animatedly takes us to each case. Courtney asks questions here and there, while I just listen. I know almost all of what’s being said, but from time to time a new, interesting fact catches my attention.
“Did you know about this?” I ask, pausing before a tapestry that depicts a pivotal battle in our nation’s past. The intricate stitching tells stories of valor and sacrifice, the threads woven as tightly as the bond between the people and their land.
Courtney shakes her head, her expression rapt. “No. That’s a beautiful tapestry.”
My gazes catches on a detail in the tapestry I’d never noticed before — a small emblem in the corner that resembles the crest I’ve seen in my own family’s archives. A sense of connection to these ancient threads courses through me, linking me to ancestors whose blood I share but whose lives are cloaked in the mystery of time.
“Come, this next part is especially for you,” I say, guiding her gently by the elbow to where the guide awaits beside the next display.
“Ms. Fuller,” the guide says, “we have records that suggest your ancestral family were not only nobles but also esteemed confidants to the royal family. It’s quite an extraordinary lineage.”
Courtney’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with wonder. “My family… they were close to the royals?”
“Indeed,” the guide confirms, pointing to a faded letter encased beside portraits of stern-faced nobles and gentle-looking royals. “The J?gers played a crucial role in advising the crown and were greatly respected for their wisdom and loyalty.”
Watching Courtney absorb this revelation, I feel a twinge of sadness — sadness for the disconnection she has endured from her heritage. But there’s also joy; joy in witnessing the unfolding of her understanding, the reclamation of her family’s place in Bergovian history.
“Jakob, did you know about this?” she asks, turning towards me, her face alight with a mixture of emotions.
I nod, offering a smile that conveys both my happiness for her discovery and my wish to bridge the gap between her past and present. “Yes. I did.”
Her eyelashes flutter. Is she upset that I didn’t tell her this myself?
“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” I explain, hoping I did not get this wrong. “Seeing it here.”
She nods, mute, seemingly in shock. Is she thinking the same thing as I am? Wondering again about how the sapphire necklace ended up with her grandmother?
The tour guide seems to sense the tension in the air. “I will give you some time with the exhibit. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
She moves on to the next room, leaving Courtney and me alone.
“Do you know something I don’t?” Courtney stares at me, eyes big and unblinking.
I square off to face her. “No. Now, we know all of the same details. There was a political disagreement between my family and yours, and shortly after that the J?gers left Bergovia.”
She bites her bottom lip, contemplating that. “Why would my grandmother hide her life here?”
I sigh. “I do not know. Perhaps she wanted to start afresh. Cut all ties with the past.”
“Perhaps,” she murmurs, her eyes becoming unfocused.
Fearing that I’ve brought the mood down significantly, I reach for her hand without giving it proper thought. “I think your grandmother would be happy to see you here now.”
To my surprise, she doesn’t pull her hand away. In fact, her fingers tighten around mine. “I think so, too. Thank you, Jakob.”
Her words are so heartfelt, so sweet. My chest swells with pride, and it feels as if I’m standing two feet taller. For now, a brief moment in all of time, I am the happiest man in the world.