Gemotions

The champagne flute felt perfectly balanced in Clara’s hand as she surveyed the dance floor. The bride, radiant in white, was twirling with the groom, and the air buzzed with happy chatter. Clara spotted him near the bar, looking predictably awkward in his ill-fitting suit. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of her head was all the acknowledgment he received. She knew he'd see it, and she knew the effect it would have.

A waiter offered her a tray of hors d'oeuvres. She plucked a miniature quiche, savoring the flaky crust, then took a delicate bite. He was chatting with some of his friends, but his eyes kept darting her way. She could feel the heat prickling at the back of her neck, a delicious warmth.

She overheard him telling his friends how good the food was. "It's all delicious," she chimed in, perfectly poised, her voice clear and precise. She hadn't been in the best mood when she came. Now, the music, the lights, the sheer perfection of her dress - it all seemed just right.