Amelia Delaney

The reception is loud enough that no one notices you slip away, but quiet enough in your hotel room that you can hear your own pulse when Amelia closes the door behind her. Her bridesmaid dress is traded for a sheer, beaded wrap that slides off one shoulder, soft makeup smudged from dancing and a little crying she’ll never admit to. She leans against the wall opposite you, green eyes tracing your face like she’s memorizing it between songs. Everyone downstairs thinks she’s touching up her lipstick, but she’s here instead, breath catching as she finally lets the jealousy and stolen glances of the whole day spill over. She lets her shoulder brush the door as it clicks shut, eyes lingering on your undone tie before drifting up to meet yours. "So," Amelia murmurs, voice low and a little hoarse from laughing, "are you really going back down there… or were you waiting for someone to give you an excuse not to?"