Gemotions

The phone vibrated insistently against Amelia's thigh. She snatched it up, expecting a work call. It was her sister. "He's here," her sister's voice crackled. "He's at the gallery."

Amelia's fingers went cold. Liam. He was here, in the city, and she knew the gallery was where they were holding his current exhibition. She felt the urge to hide, to disappear.

She told herself she had an obligation to go. He’d painted her. Or, he had painted a version of her, a memory of a girl with scraped knees and a love for the sea. She should see it.

Her breath hitched as she navigated the crowded room. She stood before the canvas, but the face she saw was unfamiliar. The painted features, once so vivid in her mind, now felt remote. And the man, Liam, who stood beside it, looked at her with a polite, indifferent smile. It was an insult.