Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, the bubbles doing a frantic dance of their own. Across the crowded dance floor, bathed in the garish glow of the disco ball, stood *him*. Liam. Her jaw clenched so tightly she thought a tooth might crack. Her carefully constructed facade of casual indifference, the one she'd practiced in front of the mirror for weeks, crumbled.

He winked. *Winked*. As if nothing had happened. As if their messy, explosive breakup hadn’t shredded her life into a million jagged pieces. She wanted to hurl the champagne, the flute, the whole damn floral arrangement at his smug, handsome face.

Amelia plastered on the thinnest, most brittle of smiles. "Excuse me," she muttered to the bewildered woman next to her, and pushed past, a sudden need to flee burning through her. The music throbbed in her ears, a relentless, pounding reminder of the life she’d lost.