Gemotions

“This is a disaster,” I muttered under my breath, my voice barely audible above the din. The caterers were circulating with mini quiches, which looked suspiciously undercooked. The flower arrangements were gaudy. And, of course, *he* was here. I felt a surge of heat rush through me.

I gripped my clutch so hard my knuckles turned white. It took every ounce of will not to turn around and stomp away.

I faked a smile, forcing myself to make small talk. It felt like I was living a bad play. The whole situation was utterly absurd.