[not your darling] we are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same
no.
what do you mean 'no'
angler i know you speak english
two days out of your undoubtedly hectic schedule, keel, it won't kill you
are you high, by any chance
only enfys is allowed to do anything insane, i forgot. get on the plane. i'll get us kicked out of a VS for old times.
Enfys meets him at the airport.
(She doesn't bother correcting him about her surname, which has more to do with the fact she knows he's waiting for it than any reluctance on her part to argue with him. He found her the divorce lawyer. She can find the high road on her own.)
The 'occasion' is Rosalie's wedding - overpriced, overseas, and Blake is, as it happens, over it. Enfys puts her book down and gives him a suitably outraged look as the plane lifts off: "What the fuck am I, Angler, psychological warfare?"
"In a word? Yes. Smile pretty."
She hits him with the book.
***
"Hey, try this on."
"...not on your life," Enfys sails past Blake and something masquerading as a dress to the next rack, squinting at the selections. She didn't have anything in her wardrobe even suitable just for scandalizing wedding guests (Blake seems unflatteringly certain she can do that without sartorial assistance, but Blake's an asshole with shitty taste in ties), and having not been informed he intends to take her as a date to his sister's wedding, she hadn't even considered it when she was throwing clothes in a case and cursing herself.
She's never liked Rosalie. She doesn't even like Blake. She has no idea what she's doing here, holding a slip of something green against herself and trying to imagine how it'd look on, if she should get some shoes, whether or not she's going to make him sleep on the hotel room sofa.
(A little too wishes-she-were-a-fucking-dryad, something with a heel, probably not.)
***
It's been nearly twenty years since Enfys has seen Rosalie Angler, and absence hasn't really made either of them any fonder. Rosalie McDonald, she should say, going all the way to Paris (really?) to marry 'some dickhead, belongs in pro bono' who looks like he'd be more at home in boots and third-day jeans than the three piece suit he wears to solemnly say I do.
At the reception, the brand new Mrs McDonald's eyes promise a swift death if Blake fucks up her big day, and Enfys is perversely glad she picked the dress she did, miniscule as it ended up being; it's all bad enough without the added discomfort of trying (and probably failing) to look respectable. She forces Blake onto the dance floor a few times, drinks the nonalcoholic bubbly they're passing around as an alternative, and turns traitor without a hint of shame to make ostensibly friendly conversation with the Angler patriarch who's been wondering when they can expect the next wedding in the family and who remembers 'the little English girl' from Minneapolis just fine.
"I'd almost forgotten how much a prick your father is," she remarks, later, leaning against him.
***
Her back hits the door to their suite and Enfys fumbles with the keycard, trying to decide whether or not she actually cares if they make it into the room, which is hard to do when two decades of sexual tension are just begging for cracks about coming in his pants and, okay, okay that is really nice.
(She loves him, she's so fucking stupid, they don't talk about this, they're not going to, this will change all of shit between them and sweet merciful Mary those are his teeth.)
"Just - shut up," Blake says, kicking the door shut and pressing her back towards the bed they managed to share without touching one night before, "okay, Enfys, for fuck's sake just don't talk."
"You old romantic, you."
He kisses her like a suckerpunch.
***
"Is this because I wouldn't drop his surname?" Enfys yells from the bathroom, trying to figure out how to hide all of these marks in the clothes she normally wears around Ossus.
"Please."
***
They don't talk about it in the back of the car on the way to the airport. They don't talk about it checking their luggage. They don't talk about it waiting in line at Customs. They don't talk about it after Enfys buckles her seatbelt and hits him to buckle his.
They don't talk about it.
She's not surprised.
***
"Where've you been?"
"No place special. Are you gonna eat the rest of that?"