The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, a tiny earthquake mimicking the one currently shaking her insides. She hadn't expected him to be here. Or, perhaps, she'd secretly hoped he *wouldn't* be. He stood across the crowded reception, laughing with their mutual friend, Ben. Their smiles seemed so easy, so effortless. A painful knot twisted in her stomach. She’d made a mistake. A colossal one. The vibrant floral arrangements seemed to blur at the edges, the cheerful music suddenly grating on her ears.
His gaze swept across the room, and their eyes met. His smile faltered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then, he dipped his head in a brief acknowledgment and turned back to Ben, the laughter returning, but it felt... hollow. Amelia's chest felt tight, the air suddenly thick and difficult to breathe. She took a large gulp of the champagne.
She watched him from afar. He looked good. Really good. Better than he had the last time she’d seen him. She wanted to walk over there. To speak to him. To say something, anything. But her feet felt rooted to the polished dance floor. She stayed put. She knew she shouldn’t go over there. She wanted to. But she shouldn't.