Gemotions

The champagne flute in Amelia's hand wobbled precariously. She clutched it tighter, knuckles white, as the string quartet began playing the processional. Her stomach did a flip, a familiar sensation she hadn’t felt in months. Sarah, the bride, was practically her sister, and the thought of potentially ruining the day for her, by exhibiting any sign of… well, of *anything* untoward… was agonizing.

A bead of sweat trickled down Amelia’s temple. She scanned the crowd, her eyes darting from face to face. It was ridiculous, this obsessive vigilance. She knew he would be here. Everyone knew. Still, the anticipation, the potential for a collision, made her muscles feel rigid, like she was made of concrete.

The first glimpse of dark hair and a familiar silhouette sent a jolt of ice through her veins. He was chatting with the best man, and seemed… relaxed. *Damn him.* Amelia took a large gulp of the champagne, the bubbles doing nothing to calm the flutter in her chest.