Gemotions

The room was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Across the vast dining room table, a woman, whose name was also Emily, sat with her hands clasped tightly. In front of them both, a waiter stood frozen, holding a single, exquisitely decorated dessert plate. Two portions of the same chocolate cake. Each with a single, perfectly placed raspberry. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "So," he said, his voice strained, "he likes cake, then?"