Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand as she spotted him across the crowded reception hall. Sunlight glinted off the polished wood floor, mirroring the sickening sheen that bloomed across her own forehead. She took a swift, unnecessary gulp, the bubbles doing nothing to quell the sudden churning in her stomach.

He was laughing, his head thrown back, a gesture she’d once found charming. Now, it just felt...wrong. She quickly turned away, bumping into a waiter and spilling some of her drink. “Oh, excuse me,” she mumbled, her cheeks flaming. The waiter’s proffered napkin felt coarse against her clammy palms.

She sought refuge in the relative quiet of the ladies’ room, splashing cold water on her face. Even the scent of the floral soap couldn't wash away the lingering sense of unease. He was here, a physical manifestation of a past she desperately wanted to keep buried.