Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, the bubbles doing a nervous dance against the condensation. She’d spent the last hour meticulously avoiding any eye contact with the dance floor, where *he* was undoubtedly holding court. She'd told herself she looked good tonight, but now, seeing him laughing with their friends, the lie felt as thin as the silk of her dress. Her smile, she knew, was probably strained.

She should have just stayed home. The wedding was joyous, yes, a celebration of love, but it also felt like a public autopsy of her own failures. Each perfectly paired couple, each gushing speech about commitment, was a fresh jab.

"Having fun?" Liam's voice, as smooth and familiar as ever, made her jump. She forced a laugh, praying her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt. "Absolutely. Wonderful wedding, isn't it?" Her own voice sounded small, deflated.

She took a large gulp of champagne, the sharp fizz a welcome distraction. The way he looked at her...she knew, instantly, he was pitying her.