Gemotions

The bride’s toast felt overly long and sentimental, each word grating on Ethan’s ears. He could feel Eliza’s eyes on him, and he refused to acknowledge it. He was not going to be drawn into another round of manufactured pleasantries.

He focused intently on the intricate details of his plate, the perfectly arranged sprig of parsley, the precise placement of the silverware. He slowly picked at his meal, each bite deliberate and measured.

Later, as the other guests began to dance, he excused himself from the table, claiming the need for some air. He stalked towards the patio doors, deliberately ignoring the subtle glances of the other guests. He was getting out of there.