I look at Karl, only to see he’s already staring at me; in a way that seems a bit more appropriate for a poorly lit bar than a family brunch. “Hey, Karl,” I say casually. “I’m Saylor. Nice to meet you.”

His eyes widen when he registers my American accent, and then his eyes drift downward over my body. I thought Beck was just being protective earlier, but it seems Karl is not the most upstanding of teenagers.

“I’m hungry,” Beck says abruptly. “Is the food ready?”

“Yes, it is.” Erika lurches into motion. “Take your seats, everyone.”

Hans returns to the same chair he was seated in previously, and I round the edge of the table to sit on the side facing the house. There are six chairs, but only five place settings. Obviously, my attendance wasn’t planned upon. I start to take the seat without a plate or silverware, but Beck grasps my elbow and pushes me down a spot to the chair that’s already set.

“Take that one,” he instructs.

“Wow, so you can be a gentleman,” I whisper to him as I do as instructed.

Beck smirks as he sits in the chair next to me. “I’ve gotten the impression you like it when I’m not a gentleman,” he mutters back.

“How exactly did I give you that impression?” I ask innocently, still keeping my voice quiet as I brush my arm against his.

“Saylor.” There’s a note of warning in his voice, but the syllables of my name also sound thicker than usual.

I grin triumphantly. I bet he’s hard.

I’m distracted from our flirting when my name is said again, this time in a bubbly, female voice.

“Yes?” I reply, turning to look at Sophia.

“I was wondering if you’d like a tour of the house?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, standing. I don’t miss the way Karl’s eyes follow my movements as I walk back around the table to the doors that lead inside. As we enter the living room, I hear Hans ask Beck something in German.

“This is the living room,” Sophia announces, smiling widely and spinning in the center of the plush rug. The color scheme is muted, and one I’m pretty certain was crafted by a professional interior decorator. It’s almost too perfect; the light grays, pale pinks, and muted blues melding together like an early morning sunrise. There’s an oil painting hanging above the fireplace that depicts an old building, some sort of cathedral or church, I think. Below it a series of photographs rest on the mantle.