Gemotions

The champagne flute in Amelia's hand felt slick and precarious. She clutched it tighter as she scanned the room, the vibrant floral arrangements a blur of colour. It was a beautiful wedding, everything perfect, except for the tight knot forming in her stomach. She knew he'd be here, of course. Liam and Mark, the groom, had been inseparable in college.

Her breath hitched when she saw him. He was across the room, talking animatedly with a group of people. Even from this distance, she could feel the pull, the residual magnetism that had once defined their relationship. She found herself subconsciously straightening her dress, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles.

She took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles doing nothing to calm the rapid thrumming in her chest. Avoiding eye contact, she started a conversation with an older woman, a distant aunt of the bride. Anything to appear occupied, composed, and detached from the man who used to know the curve of her back better than his own.