Gemotions

The champagne flute felt heavy in Amelia's hand, a tiny, crystal weight that mirrored the leaden feeling in her stomach. She saw him across the room, the familiar swoop of his dark hair, the way he always stood a little apart from the crowd. Liam. Of course he was here. He was still friends with the bride, even after everything. Amelia refused to acknowledge him with more than a glance, her gaze fixed instead on the elaborate floral arrangement adorning the head table. She wouldn't be the one to break eye contact, not even for a second.

A small child bumped into her, sloshing champagne down the side of the glass. Amelia huffed, a sharp, irritated sound. She swiped at the moisture with a napkin, her movements precise and quick. This was ridiculous. She could simply move to the opposite side of the room, pretend he didn't exist. The thought flickered and died. She wasn't going to be the one to retreat.

The best man began his speech, his voice booming through the hall. Amelia found herself actively tuning it out, focusing instead on the pattern of the wallpaper. It was a tedious floral print, she decided, utterly uninspired. She would not be swayed.