Only then did Clay realize I was serious. He grabbed my wrist, veins bulging at his temples from the effort of keeping his composure.
"You're calling off the wedding over a makeup artist's prank?"
He looked at me, those handsome eyes brimming with hurt and confusion. "Lydia, stop this!"
"This wedding—do you have any idea how much we put into it? Our friends and family are all here. You can't just—"
I wrenched my wrist free. I ignored the whispers and pointed fingers around me and fixed him with a cold, mocking stare.
"Clay, you know exactly why I won't marry you."
"I'm giving you a chance to be with the person you actually love. Isn't that a good thing?"
I expected to see panic flash across his face.
Instead, his expression didn't waver. He looked at me with that same wounded confusion. "Lydia, what are you talking about? Everyone knows you're the only one I love."
He pointed at Roberta. "Is this about her?"
His tone turned helpless. "I had no idea she was going to pull that stunt."
"Besides, didn't I already say I'd make her apologize? If that's still not enough, I'll fire her on the spot."
Roberta burst into tears, sobs wracking her shoulders, and turned to run.