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I take the time to study her features and the pink of her cheeks. What if Fisher is right? That maybe the girl can breakmy curse, as he calls it. Can she handle the weight of my secrets? Even if she can’t handle the truth about her father?

What if she’s meant to be here with me and break the chains holding me hostage to this quest for revenge? Would she even care that her father killed mine, that I spent most of my formative years on the run, waiting for her father to come after me and finish what he started?

“If you’d like you can ask me anything you want.” I rub the creases on my forehead, knowing that letting my guard down is a colossal mistake. But to her point, it isn’t fair that I keep a dossier on her while she doesn’t even know the most basic information about me. “Go on.”

“Really?” She smiles, stepping closer to me, her eyes full of curiosity. “You’ll answer?”

“Is that your question?” I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my heavy coat.

“Fine. Did you grow up in this house,” she asks.

“I did,” I answer without hesitation.

Again, she looks at me in surprise. “When did you move to the UK?”

“When I was eleven?” A smile pulls at my lips. I like that she’s curious about me.

“Hmm.” She stops to look at me. “Isn’t that already too old for someone to pick up an English accent?”

“First of all, I don’t have an English accent.” I reach for her cheek. “I think I have my mom’s English American accent. She’s from the UK but moved to the States when she was young.”

“And your dad?” She cocks her head.

“He’s from here, Bedford.” I take in a deep breath. “He grew up in this house.”

“That’s interesting.” She furrows her brows. “I wonder if our parents knew each other. I mean Bedford is not that big.”

“It’s big enough. So I doubt it.” I pull on the strands of hair framing her face. “Dad traveled a lot when he was a kid. My grandfather was an ambassador.”

“That’s funny.” She bites her lip, looking into my eyes. “My grandfather was an ambassador too.”

“That’s a big coincidence.” I clench my jaw. “On your father’s side?”

“Yes.” She nods.

I know for a fact that the Senator came from nothing. He was an orphan when Dad met him at Harvard Law. At the time, Senator Davis didn’t even have enough money to buy himself a warm coat. Dad gave him one, along with shoes, and later on, a place to live. They were roommates until they each finished their law degrees.

When Mom came into the picture, she immediately took a dislike to Dad’s friend. She could feel something wasn’t right with Maurice Davis. But Dad ignored her warnings to watch his back.

“Seems our paths were meant to cross.” She reaches for my chest.

“Don’t.” I catch her wrist and hold it inches from me.

“Why not?” The light in her eyes slowly fades. “Does it have to do with the scars on your back?”

My heart races. Can I trust her?

“No.” I opt for the truth.

“How did it happen?” She stares at her wrist for a moment, then looks up at me. “They’re burn scars, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” I slowly place her palm on my chest that now feels like it’s about to crack open. I’m putting my whole life in her hands. “It happened when I was little, in a fire.” I point toward the house.

“Archer.” Her voice trembles. “That’s awful. For a little kid. I can’t even imagine.” Her voice shakes. She thinks on it for a bit, then asks, “Is that the same fire that destroyed the east wing?”

“The same one.” I let the serenity in her eyes wash over me.

“How long ago was that?” She asks.