Gemotions

The humid air of the solicitor's office seemed to cling to Amelia's skin, a physical manifestation of her current state. Her brother, Thomas, was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on the uncomfortable leather chair like a child. Amelia, on the other hand, felt a tightening in her chest. She had anticipated something, sure, but not *this*. The solicitor cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles. “And for Miss Amelia, we have…” He paused dramatically, as if savoring her mounting anticipation. “…a collection of antique thimbles and a single, rather unremarkable, cottage in the countryside.” A small, involuntary twitch ran down Amelia's jaw.

She stared at the solicitor, then at Thomas, who was now beaming. *Thimbles?* Really? And a cottage? She hadn't even known her great-aunt possessed such things. She drummed her fingernails against the armrest, the rhythmic tapping a counterpoint to Thomas's excited chatter about the family fortune: a vineyard in Tuscany.