He loved me. There was no pretense to it, no prompting or reason why he should say it. He didn't have anything to gain by saying it. Which was why I believed him.

And why I knew I had to leave.

I broke the kiss and took hold of his hands. I squeezed them as I took a deep breath. I had to do this before I lost myself in him. It would be so easy to do, and it would only hurt him in the long run.

“I…I can’t...” My throat started to close, not wanting to utter the words. I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Confusion and hurt stared back at me, and I didn’t know what to say next. I pushed myself to my feet and took a step back.

Gracen stood, a bewildered expression on his face. I knew he didn't understand what I was doing or why I was doing it. Hell, I barely understood it. I only knew that it was right.

“You can't what? I don't understand.”

I turned away from him so he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. I picked up my pillowcase but didn't bother getting out any of the food I'd packed into it. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't anything. I wasn't even thinking in terms of going home anymore. I just wanted to be done.

“Honor, stop!” He grabbed my arms tight enough to hurt. “Please, just tell me what–”

“I love you too, Gracen!” The words burst out of me, as if I simply couldn't hold them in any longer.

A smile broke across his face, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. This was what real love felt like, and it was tearing me apart. I knew what I'd felt for Bruce had never been true love because the thought of never seeing him again didn't cause me any pain.

But what I’d say to Gracen next was going to rip out my heart.

“I’m going home, Gracen.” It physically hurt to say the words.

“But you love me,” he countered. “We can be together.”

“And do what?” I asked, forcing myself to be strong. “Go back to the Lightwood house where you can marry Clara and I'll spend the rest of my life watching you have a family with her? I can’t do that. And I won't be your mistress. I'm going home.”

He released my arms, and I nearly fell.

“You said your father beat you. Why would you go back to that?”

Shit. I'd forgotten about that.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could come up with an excuse. I was sure I could. But I wasn't sure I wanted to anymore. I was tired of lying.

An inkling of an idea poked into my mind. Maybe I could do it all at once. Tell the truth...and push Gracen away enough that leaving him would be easier.

“My father didn’t beat me,” I said finally. “He’s one of the greatest men I know. I lied to you before because I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

Gracen took a step back as my words sunk in. His eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimpse of his father in him.

“You've never stopped lying to me, have you?” His hands curled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. “Has anything you've ever said been true?”

“I couldn’t tell you the truth – I still can’t – you wouldn’t believe me.” I knew I needed to stop trying to explain myself. I needed to accept his anger and leave. But I didn't like the idea of his last thoughts of me being that I was a liar.

“You owe me the truth.” His voice was calmer, but I could see the anger in his eyes. “If you love me, try.”

Fuck. I couldn’t get any air into my lungs, even though I could hear the heavy panting of my labored breathing. Black spots appeared in my vision, and I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't just feed him a lie and walk away. If he was going to hate me, then it had to be because he truly knew who I was and where I was from.

“Sit down,” I murmured.

“I’ll stand.”

I nodded. My legs couldn't hold me anymore, not now that I'd made the decision to come clean, so I sat. I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the grass.

“No matter how crazy this sounds, please let me finish, because I don't think I can get through it more than once.”

When he didn't argue, I took that as the closest to an agreement I was going to get.

“These clothes I'm wearing are the uniform of the United States of America.” I could feel his eyes on me. There was no going back now. “I joined the army in the year 2004, shortly after I graduated from high school...”

I explained everything, and he let me talk. I told him about Iraq, my unit and Wilkins, everything I had seen and done overseas, everything that had set me on the path that had eventually led me to him. I told him about Bruce, and how long we'd been together, hoping he'd figure out that my fiancé was the only other person I'd slept with. I couldn't bring myself to specifically say it, but I wanted him to know anyway.

And then I told him what I knew of this war. Of what happened to the British Empire and how America grew into a powerful nation. I kept my voice even, forced myself to detach from any of the emotions that wanted to come forward with the memories.

When I finished, I felt drained, empty, but a little better. At least, no matter what happened, I'd know that Gracen knew the truth. I glanced over at him, but he was staring at the ground. I wasn't sure when he'd sat down, but he was less than a foot away now. Physically, at least. I knew he was a hell of a lot further away in every other sense.

The sun was almost directly overhead now, but I didn't ask him to hurry. It was a lot to take in. I'd lived it, and I barely believed it.

“If you didn't want to tell me the truth, you could have at the very least been respectful.” His voice was soft but angry.

“You can’t think I made all this up?” My chest tightened. It wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt.

“I don't see any other explanation for it.” He stood and started to walk away. “I'll leave you be since that seems to be what you wish.”

“I can prove it!” I called after him as I scrambled to my feet. That little voice in the back of my head that had been telling me to walk away was getting smaller.

As he turned, I grabbed my shirt and yanked it over my head.

“What are you doing? Cover yourself!” Gracen snapped as he turned. His face flushed, but I couldn't help noticing that his gaze kept snapping down to my bra-clad breasts. It was a simple white cotton bra, but by eighteenth-century America standards, it was extremely revealing.

That alone should have been a hint to him that I wasn't from around here, but it wasn't what I wanted to show him.

I took a breath and turned around. I bent my head forward so that my hair wasn't in the way. It took a moment, but then I heard him gasp. I gave him some time to adjust to the side of a tattoo on a woman, and then another minute while he absorbed it.

“What is that?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see him coming toward me, his eyes locked onto my shoulder. “What does it look like?”

He looked up at my face briefly, and I nodded for him to continue, giving him permission to touch me. A shock ran through me as his fingers touched my skin, tracing the lines of the American flag he didn’t recognize.

“It looks like a flag,” he said quietly. “But not one I know.”

“This is what the flag of the United States of America will look like in the future. In the time I come from.” I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the truth of the matter rather than the way his touch made me feel.

“Tell me.”

I swallowed hard and prayed that this meant he was starting to believe me. “The stars symbolize the fifty states that will make up the USA. The stripes are the thirteen colonies that will all eventually declare independence from Britain. Soon.”

I looked at him again. His face was pale, eyes wide.

“I swear to you, Gracen, everything I told you is the truth. Including how this war is going to end.”

I watched the emotions play out on his face. Confusion. Anger. Grief. I waited, determined to give him the time he needed.

He stepped closer and traced the lines of my tattoo with his fingers again. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips against the nape of my neck. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to remind myself not to get caught up in the physical.

“I believe you.”

The relief that went through me at those three words nearly made my knees buckle.

“Can you forgive me?”

I turned toward him, and then his arms were around me, and I felt safer than I had in a long time.

“Will you?” he murmured against my hair. “Honor, my love, will you forgive me?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He believed me. A lot of things still needed to be figured out, but for right now, in this moment, this was all that mattered.

How long we clung to each other, I didn't know, but when I finally raised my head, it was to see Gracen's face flushed, his eyes looking everywhere but down at me. He took a step back, retrieved my shirt, and held it out to me. I pulled it on, then glanced over to see him staring out into the distance, a confused expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Anxiety twisted my stomach into a knot. I really hoped he wasn't going to tell me that this all had been a mistake. I wasn't sure I could handle it if he did.

“What's a car?” he asked.

A laugh burst out of me, and I was surprised to realize how long it had been since I'd genuinely laughed. After everything I had told him and everything I had confessed, he asked about the car. I shook my head. Typical man. My father and brother would've approved.

He looked a little annoyed as he turned to look at me. “I need to know what a car is if I am to try to understand how you came to be here.”

“A car is like a much faster carriage,” I explained. I gave him a soft smile. “I'm sorry I laughed. This whole thing is just crazy.

“Are cars inherently magical?” The question was asked as calmly and seriously as someone would've asked about the weather.

“No.” I studied the grave expression on his face, wondering where he was going with this. “Why?”

“You had no expectation of being transported anywhere but to your home.” He made it a statement rather than a question.

“Correct.”

He scowled. “When I found you, you were hurt, disoriented and had just been in a carriage accident that unexpectedly placed you in a different time. And my response was to tie you up and treat you as an enemy.” He shook his head. “I cannot blame you for trying to get away from me.”

I walked over to him and placed my hands on his cheeks, turning his face toward mine. “We were both in an impossible situation that neither of us could be expected to know how to handle.”

Of all the ways for him to react to the truth, I'd never thought he'd blame himself for any of it. I remembered Wilkins telling me once that I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was beginning to see that I had nothing on Gracen.