Gemotions

The champagne flute nearly shattered in Amelia’s grip when she saw him. Across the crowded reception hall, leaning against a pillar and laughing with *her* best friend, was Mark. A vein in her temple throbbed. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face protesting the insincerity. That smug look on his face! How dare he?

Amelia subtly adjusted the strap of her dress, suddenly feeling the confines of the fabric. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the tempest brewing inside her chest. The wedding music, once a pleasant backdrop, now grated on her nerves. She needed a drink. A strong one.

"Well, well, well," she heard a voice say. It was Ben, the groom, his usually jovial face etched with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Everything alright?"