Page 27 of Royal Secret

“Morning,” I manage.

His smile is disarming, and as I step out of the hotel room and follow him to his car, I’m acutely aware of the conflicting currents within me. He’s hurt me, yet there’s an undeniable magnetism about him that I can’t ignore.

We get into the car, and as he navigates the city streets, I steal glances at him. Each look reveals more layers — the relaxed set of his shoulders, the softness in his eyes when he speaks of his homeland. This man is a tapestry of contrasts — royal and rogue, distant and disarmingly close.

And as we drive on to whatever awaits us this morning, the city unfolding before us, no matter what happens next, I’m captivated. By the mystery, by the country, by Jakob himself.

He ends up parking on a side street, coming around to open the car door for me before my touch is even on the handle. It’s so unexpected, so gentlemanly, that heat rises in my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I murmur, trying not to read into the fact that he came alone today. No driver. No security guards.

Just me and him. Alone.

He guides me through a narrow alley, his hand gently resting on the small of my back. The hidden path seems almost secretive, as if we’re slipping into another world far from the rest of the city.

“Here we are,” he announces, stopping in front of an unassuming wooden door that I would have walked past without a second glance. The sign above reads “Kuchyne srdce” in faded paint — the heart’s kitchen, if my limited grasp of the language serves me right.

We step inside, and the cozy warmth envelops us immediately. “What is this place?”

“Trust me, this is the best-kept secret in Bergovia,” Jakob whispers, a hint of pride lacing his words.

The restaurant is quaint, with only a handful of tables cloaked in red-checkered tablecloths. A fire crackles quietly in a stone fireplace, the flames dancing merrily. We choose a corner spot, secluded from the few patrons scattered about.

No sooner have we settled than a pair of elderly women at a nearby table glance in our direction. Their eyes widen, and they begin to chatter fervently to each other, casting furtive glances toward Jakob.

“Looks like you’ve been recognized,” I murmur.

He lets out a soft sigh, a small frown creasing his brow. “It happens,” he says, reaching for the menu. “I prefer to avoid it when I can. The attention can be… overwhelming.”

The way he says it, I believe him. Despite his loyalty to his country — and I’ve done my research and read all about it — he’s also a man who wants to carve out a piece of normalcy in a life that has been anything but.

“Is it hard?” I ask, tilting my head. “Being in the public eye all the time?”

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice lowering. “But I love my country, and I try to do what’s best for it. Being a celebrity isn’t part of that job description.”

“What do you love most about your country?” I ask, eager to deflect the conversation away from the vulnerability I see in him.

The question seems to lighten his mood. A smile plays on his lips as he leans back contemplatively.

“Well,” he begins, his eyes taking on a faraway look, “I love the people. Their resilience, their spirit. You won’t believe how warm people here can be, despite the hardships they’ve had to endure.” He turns his gaze on me, sincerity shining in its depths.

“I know I’ve only been here for a few days… but I love it. Is it strange to say I never want to leave?”

Something sparks in his eyes — he looks excited, maybe afraid… but then it’s quickly gone as he leans back towards the table. “I don’t blame you for that at all.”

I look down at the menu, suddenly embarrassed, afraid I’ve said too much, not wanting him to think that he’s the reason I want to stay here. And he’s not. Well… not the main reason, anyway.

“What’s the best thing on the menu here?” I ask, desperate to change the conversation.

His face lights up, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. “Everything is good here, but their goulash is legendary.”

“Legendary goulash,” I repeat, feeling a laugh bubbling up inside. “Sounds like an adventure in itself.”

He chuckles. “Courtney Fuller, every moment with you is an adventure.”

I freeze. There it is. The way his eyes shine when he looks at me, the way they dart to my lips…

My heartbeat picks up. Jakob suddenly sucks in a sharp breath, and, as if realizing what he’s doing, he gestures for the waitress.

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