I lifted my head, and Bobby’s gaze locked onto mine. His face was hard, still harboring anger from yesterday. Grace, standing beside him, clung to his arm, flaunting her position in my presence.
"Bobby, is this what Irish meant when she said she was busy?" Grace taunted with a smug smile.
"Let her be. It’s her choice," Bobby replied coldly.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Irish's POV
"Don't be like that. Now that Irish is here, let's take a photo together," Grace said in her sweet yet manipulative tone. Her hand gripped my arm firmly, ignoring the clear resistance written all over my face. She dragged me toward the altar, ensuring that all eyes in the room focused on me.
The room buzzed with murmurs that pierced through me like daggers.
"Is Bobby's wife really just a caterer? Goodness, look at her—how embarrassing." "Grace is so much better—beautiful, elegant, a true woman of class. How could Bobby end up with someone like her?" "Maybe he married her out of pity. They’re clearly from different worlds."