Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, the bubbles doing a clumsy dance against the pale pink liquid. She’d been staring at the floral arrangements, meticulously picking out the different varieties, when *he* walked in. Or, rather, *they* walked in. He was with someone new, a woman with a smile as bright and brittle as spun glass. Amelia’s stomach lurched, a sensation like the floor had suddenly tilted. She took a large gulp of the champagne, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the sudden heat rising in her cheeks. Everything felt…wrong. The music seemed too loud, the chatter too incessant, the air itself thick and cloying. She needed to escape. Now.