This time, I watched expressionlessly as Roberta threw herself into Clay's arms.
I didn't miss the flicker of desire that passed through his eyes.
But a second later, he shot a quick glance my way.
He pushed the woman in his arms back, his face turning cold. "That joke wasn't funny. Apologize to my wife right now, and take that stain off so you can redo her makeup."
"No need."
My voice was calm.
I picked up a makeup wipe and began cleaning the marks from my face.
Clay let out a breath of relief and patted Roberta gently on the head. "Hurry up and thank my wife. If she weren't so kind and forgiving, you'd be in real trouble—"
I cut him off.
"Clay, there's no need to redo the makeup. The wedding is off."
He stared at me in disbelief. After a long pause, he let out a short laugh. "That's not funny."
"It's not a joke."
I reached back and unzipped the wedding dress—the one Clay had pulled God knows how many strings to have flown in from overseas. I stripped it off and tossed it aside like it was garbage.
"The wedding is canceled. We're done."
I pulled on my coat and headed for the door.
"Lydia!"