The champagne flute felt heavy in Amelia's hand, a leaden weight mirroring the feeling in her stomach. Every forced smile felt brittle, threatening to crack under the pressure of seeing Daniel. He was across the room, laughing with the groomsmen, a picture of effortless charm. It was sickening. They'd been together for five years, and now, here he was, looking happier than she'd seen him in years, at a wedding he was attending with *her* best friend. Amelia took a sharp breath, the floral perfume of the room suddenly cloying. She excused herself, muttering something about needing air, and fled to the patio.
The evening breeze did little to soothe the knot in her chest. She spotted him, minutes later, strolling toward her, the light catching the silver in his hair. He looked so damned… handsome. She focused on the imperfections: the slight crinkle around his eyes, the way his jaw always clenched when he was trying to appear relaxed. "Amelia," he greeted, his voice smooth, as if they hadn't ended things in a screaming match a year ago.
"Daniel," she replied, her voice sounding tighter than she intended. She refused to meet his gaze, instead, focusing on the manicured lawn. The perfect, green, *fake* lawn.