I slide my hand up her back to cradle the nape of her neck. “I recognize that now. It’s you fighting our connection.”
“Archer…” she says in a quiet, pained voice. She pulls away from me and sits up. “Things are complicated, and you know that. Hell, you’ve known more about this godforsaken town than I ever did.”
Oh.
There were probably a lot of nights that I spent talking about my family’s history and my visceral need to know what the truth is. Everyone else in my family wanted to move on from the sordid history but I couldn’t let it go—I knew it was deeper than a horrifying night a century ago.
“I only knew the stories that were passed down through my family, and what was easy enough to find out through simple research,” I say.
Her glare deepens as she sits across from me on her knees with crossed arms. The tears are drying, but her cheeks are still flushed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tease, hoping to break the tension even the slightest bit.
“You’re lucky I’m even looking at you,” she retorts with a tilt of her chin.
“That’s true,” I murmur, moving closer to her. “If I had a clue about who you were before coming to Briarhollow, I promise I would have told you everything.” Then I add, “If I could have.”
Renata side-eyes me, but she was just as weak to our destinies as I was. We could have gone a hundred years without seeing the other’s face if that was what fate wanted.
“Everything?” she asks. “Or everything about your family history?”
“Everything, Renata. All you have to do is ask—or simply listen.”
She pulls back, and I’ve already lost this conversation.
“You’re making it sound like I’m being dramatic when you have no idea what’s going on,” she argues. I imagine if she were standing, she would stomp her foot in frustration.
The image is cute, but my patience is depleting quickly.
“And you do? Know what all of this means?” I throw my arms out. “Please, enlighten me.”
She snaps her mouth shut. I can see her biting the inside of her lip, and the sadness etched across her features. I’m immediately flooded with guilt, remembering how her mother would yell in anger and condescension.
The desire to reach out and comfort her grows, but I don’t.
Not when she’s standing across from me, looking at me like I’m the enemy.
Maybe she believes Barrett killed her ancestors and by extension, cursed her.
I’m not Barrett.
Her eyes move past me, and the deep resignation she feels is tainted by her fear.
I turn around, finding the ghost from her inn and a woman who looks exactly like her.
A doppelgänger.
Those nights since she arrived in Briarhollow—I saw those too. The details that were hidden before.
I only saw the ghost—Nestor, she called him. Which means the woman must be…
“What do you want, Petra? Huh?” Renata yells, throwing her arms out. Her voice cracks when she shouts, “Whatelsedo you want from me?”
Neither answer, only tilting their heads in unison.
They can’t talk, but it doesn’t surprise me when she pushes to her feet and stumbles toward them, finally willing to acknowledge them in hopes of an answer.
One she won’t receive.
