Emrys shifted his weight, arms still crossed. He didn't know how she was reading condescending from either his words or his body language. He wanted out of this conversation, that was all. He wanted out in a way that prevented it from being reopened next week, and the week after, and the week after... because Angelica was tenacious, and indefatiguable in her efforts to unravel him any time she thought she had found a loose string. He had never asked to be known in the way that she tirelessly tried to know him. When he'd set out to marry he had specifically wanted a wife who would allow him his privacy; Angelica had never permitted him that. At least not without resentment. But she had also never made it possible to share anything with her, not after the first confession had soured the air between them like bad milk.

And now she asked whether he could understand that rejection hurt. "Yes," he said, simple and small. He shifted his weight again — took half a step away and leaned on the back foot. "You don't need my permission to experiment."

---