Wonderful. An audience for my inevitable breakdown.
Brennen spots us immediately and makes a beeline across the room.
"Emma! Finally!" He's vibrating with nervous energy, holding a wine glass like a weapon. "You have to try this vintage—it's the one I'm entering in the next competition. Tell me what you think."
He shoves the glass at me before I can deflect. Red wine. Deep burgundy color. Smells like... wine. Expensive wine. Wine I absolutely cannot drink.
"Brennen, I?—"
"Just taste it. Please. I need your honest opinion."
Miles appears beside me with a glass of water. "Want to hydrate first?"
Brennen frowns. "It's a wine tasting, not a marathon."
"Hydration is important," Miles says mildly, but his eyes are on me.
I take the water and sip it slowly, buying time. Brennen's watching me expectantly. Miles is watching me with that careful expression. Sophie's across the room also watching me, and?—
Is everyone staring at me?
"Right. Wine." I lift Brennen's glass, swirl it professionally like I've done a thousand times, bring it to my nose. It smells good. Too good. My stomach does a warning flip.
I fake-sip, letting barely a drop touch my lips before swishing it around like I'm actually evaluating it. Then I pretend to contemplate while actually trying not to throw up.
"Well?" Brennen leans forward.
"It's... good."
"Good?"
"Very wine-y."
Brennen's face falls. "Wine-y?"
"Tastes like..." I search for something professional to say. "Grapes?"
Miles makes a sound that might be a cough or a laugh. Sophie's walking over now, clearly suspicious.
"Emma, you didn't actually drink that, did you?" Sophie asks.
"Of course I did."
"Uh-huh." She crosses her arms. "And what notes did you detect?"
"Notes." I look at the wine, then at my brother's hopeful face, then at Sophie's knowing expression. "Definitely... berry notes. And oak. Very oaky. The oakiest."
"The oakiest isn't wine vocabulary," Brennen says.
"It is now." I deadpan.
Alex appears with a notepad. "Emma, can you be more specific? We're documenting tasting notes for the competition submission."
I'm holding a glass of wine I can't drink, surrounded by wine experts expecting professional feedback, and I need to get rid of this immediately.
"One second—I need to—" I turn toward the nearest table to set it down and "accidentally" knock it against the edge. Wine splashes everywhere. Including on my dress.
"Oh no!" I gasp, sounding more relieved than distressed. "I'm so clumsy!"
