Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia's hand as she scanned the crowd. The string quartet's rendition of "Here Comes the Bride" had just finished, and the reception was in full swing. She’d been avoiding the dance floor, content to people-watch from the periphery. Then she saw him. Across the room, bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, stood Daniel, looking as effortlessly handsome as she remembered. Her grip tightened, the glass nearly cracking.

Her breath hitched. A wave of heat washed over her face, and she felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear into the nearest ladies' room and stay there indefinitely. Instead, she took a large gulp of the champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the sudden dryness in her mouth. She tried to appear nonchalant, as if studying the floral arrangements was the most interesting thing in the world.

He was talking to Sarah, their mutual friend, the bride. He laughed at something Sarah said. Amelia had to look away. The festive atmosphere around her suddenly felt suffocating.