Walt wondered if this was Jakob’s natural behavior, or if it was due to his role within the Masters’ Admiralty as a Ritter. He dismissed that idea out of hand. Sylvia was married to a knight in the secret society as well, and Lancelot was one of those guys with lots of funny things to say and personality to spare. It was Sylvia’s second husband, the professor, Hugo, who was more reserved and quiet.
Walt’s curiosity regarding Jakob was piqued. The man’s short, to-the-point responses to basically everything offered no insight into what sort of man he was on the inside.
Walt had always considered himself a good judge of a person’s character, but he was drawing a huge blank when it came to Jakob. The only reason he’d hypothesized for the man’s silence was that Jakob was harboring feelings for Annalise.
Though in all honesty, she was giving off a stronger vibe as far as her unrequited feelings toward her bodyguard.
“Um…” Annalise rose from her seat. “How about a tour of your place, Jakob?” she asked, working overtime to change the subject.
The way Jakob quickly turned to the doorway told Walt she wasn’t alone in trying to get off the hot seat.
Mmm-hmm. Feelings. He had them.
“That way first,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen Walt had found a few minutes ago as he went in search of a glass of water.
Walt hadn’t done much more than glance around for a glass when he’d come to this room earlier. Now that he had a chance to study the room, he had to say that Jakob knew how to pick interior designers.
No. There wouldn’t have been an interior designer. That would have been too invasive, meant giving up too much control. That meant Jakob had designed the space himself.
The kitchen was large—probably two rooms put together, since they didn’t make kitchens this size in old homes, and from the outside, it was clear this home was at least a hundred years old and had probably been a mansion when it was built.
The cabinets were white shaker style, with plenty of glass-front cabinets displaying simple, elegant dishes and glassware. The stove was a six-burner Viking with a pot-filler above it. There were accents of soft blue and matte black—a pale blue veining in the granite and marble countertops. Three blue chairs were positioned around the end of the large island that was set up as an eat-in area. The backsplash above the stove was beautiful blue and white tile that looked almost antique—as if it had been either reclaimed from part of the original house or sourced from other old buildings. The hardware on the cabinets was black, a nice contrast to the white, as was a faucet that arched over the huge single-basin sink.
“Oh, Jakob,” Annalise said, twirling slowly as she glanced around the room. “I swear this is my dream kitchen. I love this. And are those azulejo tiles?” She pointed to the backsplash, then hurried over, reaching to run her hand over them.
“Portuguese.” Jakob’s tone was calm, but the way his eyes tracked Annalise gave away how much he cared about her opinion.
Annalise made an appreciative noise. “I’ve always loved this style of ceramic. Well, ever since a visit to the Sintra National Palace in Portugal. I bought a few replica tiles, but they broke in my bag. I was so sad.” Annalise stopped fondling the tiles. “I’m sorry, Jakob. I know I’ve told you that story before. Though it’s not much of a story.”
“You told him you loved that tile? Huh, interesting.” Walt’s gaze locked onto Jakob’s face even though he was speaking to Annalise.
Jakob studiously returned Walt’s look, managing to remain impassive.
Walt did an internal headshake. Jakob didn’t know him well enough to understand that all he was doing was poking the bear. Walt had a lifetime of experience when it came to getting under his brothers’ skins, teasing them about shit they didn’t want anyone to know about.
“I swear if I ever remodeled my own place, I would design it like this. Clean, simple. Emphasis on a few beautiful details.” She gestured to the tile. “Exactly like this,” Annalise gushed. “Wait, is that a marble counter inset for dough?” There was both longing and envy in her voice.
“Just like this, huh?” Walt repeated, not bothering to hide his grin from Jakob. “Sounds like the two of you have similar tastes.”
Annalise looked over at Jakob and smiled shyly. “Maybe we’re rubbing off on each other. You have been forced to spend a lot of time with me.”
Jakob scowled briefly before managing to school his features. It was apparent the Ritter didn’t consider any time he spent in Annalise’s presence as a hardship.
Rather than contradict her, however, Jakob gestured toward a second door in the kitchen. “This way.”
Annalise walked ahead, her soft gasp of delight telling Walt and Jakob that she liked the next room as much as the kitchen.
“Jakob!” she exclaimed.
Walt followed her in, glancing around what he considered a fairly standard dining room. However, given the way Annalise’s eyes widened as she looked at the table, she thought the room anything but ordinary.
“An antique clawfoot table! I can’t believe you have one of these. My Oma had a table almost exactly like this in her dining room. My sister and I used to tease her, swearing that one night when she slept, we were going to paint the toenails on the claw feet.”
Walt chuckled. “Sounds like you and your Oma were very close.”
Annalise nodded. “We were, though I’m sure Jakob is tired of hearing all my stories about her and her house.” Annalise ran her fingertips over the top of the table, the piece clearly evoking happy memories for her. “The hours Oma and I spent sitting at a table just like this, playing board games or doing puzzles.”
“Wow. What are the chances you and Annalise’s Oma would have the same table?” he asked Jakob, sinking a little too much faux surprise into his tone.
Annalise didn’t notice.
Jakob did.
He stared hard at Walt, who blinked a few times, stopping just short of fluttering his lashes.
“The stairs are this way.” Jakob pointed, but not before he narrowed his eyes at Walt, issuing an unspoken warning.
Ah. The game was afoot.
Walt loved this game, though it never lasted long when he played with his brother, Oscar. Oscar would have already stormed out of the room or house while using “fuck” as the subject, verb, and object of a sentence.
Walt ignored the sudden stab of homesickness and the sad feeling that followed when he remembered that “home” didn’t mean what it once had. His siblings were all married now.
Once again, Annalise preceded them. She paused as they all reached the top, waiting for Jakob to direct them to the next room.
“The office,” he said, opening the door directly at the top of the stairs.
Annalise’s delight only magnified as they continued the tour. “Oh my God. I thought the kitchen was perfect. This room…” She spun around. “This is the best room in the house.”
“You haven’t even seen it all,” Walt teased. “I’m betting the master bedroom is pretty special too.”
Jakob growled, the reaction so out of character, Walt couldn’t help but laugh. Perhaps that would have annoyed Jakob more if Annalise had a clue about the undercurrents of their conversation. Instead, she’d crossed to the center of the room, glancing upwards to take in the skylight.