I love you was the last thing she whispered once his breathing evened out and she just managed to outlast him. It was unexpected and - worse - consequential, but it didn't outdo the mortification she felt at waking up alone. She waited, her chest tightening to see if he would return with a tray and a smile (unlikely) or back from some morning business. For agonizing seconds, Angelica waited before accepting Emrys was not coming out of the closet. Angelica had conflicted feelings about that discovery. Once alone, the fear set in, and the heartbreak woke up. She allowed herself a good cry into the pillows before resolving to fix this.

The rest of the early morning had her pacing his guest bedroom, cataloging the revelation of the night before. Angelica knew that men could fancy men and women could desire women. She'd found a woman beautiful before and perhaps desired the woman over her wardrobe, but everyone felt that, certainly. For a man to take another man as his lover was so - what? It wasn't grotesque, as she knew she was meant to feel, but Angel could never condemn the unspoken understanding she had about Felix. She did her best not to dwell on her oldest friend's proclivities for her peace and nothing else.

With Emrys, it was another thing entirely. Once she gave into the reality of the statement, Angel could perhaps say she was intrigued. The idea of genuinely desiring both sexes seemed strange to her. He was hardly the confirmed bachelor, reluctantly continuing the family line and in need of a woman by necessity. If every soft thing he'd written her or breathed against her ear was a lie, she still knew passion. He wasn't lying back to think of Wales and hoping for a quick heir. He desired her, or he had until last month.  He was ever the mystery.

The day had sprinted to crawl as she forced some structure into being. Her wish did not change; her goal did not change; the tactics, of course, had been shot to hell. She had the practical reasons and the emotional ones on a tight leash. Nevertheless, the fact that he was here and hadn't demanded her departure while he was out was shocking. By the time she'd formulated her grand plan (or great stubborn determination) and sent off the owl to meet, it was time to prepare. It took securing the word of his housekeeper, but Angelica had time to floo to her own home and prepare for negotiations. That should not feel so dire.

If her perfume had soft hints of the vanilla oil he'd introduced to her baths, she would never deny it. It went without saying she'd be wearing her first gift from him tonight. The smokey quartz and soft cream of her dress were meant to appease and remind him of the woman beneath his usually bold lover. She didn't know what to give in response to his secret as she could barely articulate her reaction to the news, but she could offer him an image of her beyond their current arrangement.

Signaled to his arrival, she left her temporary base in his guest quarters and moved to the same sitting room that had a world of memories for her. She offered a smile to his stiff back, a deep breath reminding her she had only a single opportunity to get this right.

"Good afternoon," Angel took her time before further breaking the silence. "Thank you. I know this is unpleasant for you, but it will be worth the trouble." She had moved into the room and hovered near the edge of a sofa. She was tempted to sit and motion for him to join her, but distance felt precious at the moment. She wouldn't force his proximity at this moment; he needed to have every ounce of control in this decision as she could safely give him. She gave a small huff of annoyance, realizing a rather ridiculous oversight, "I do not know how to greet you presently." She gave him a tiny shrug if he'd turned to see it. How do you greet a lover whom you've come to love? How did she address him when twelve hours before, they'd been in bed together? Certainly not covered in the etiquette primers.

---